Sitting at a beachside bar, music wafting over you, looking out at the last remnants of light slowly melting into the crystalline waters of the lake as you order another Green. It’s not exactly Africa as the locals know it, but it’s hard to beat. The still waters of the lake dance reflections of the soft distant string of lights that line the horizon. This is not the opposite shore, but the multitude of fishing boats that trudge out for their working day, clocking on every sundown and fishing religiously through the darkened hours to earn a living. Peak hour here is a few extra ripples in the glassy surface as the vessels move out to their hunting ground. Then, with their day well under way and most others sleeping in their mud brick or thatched straw housing, you can see it. From the banks of the lake, where the tourist lodges ply their trade to the comparative wealth, you can gaze out at what is colloquially known as the ‘Malawian Highway.’ And I must say, it’s the best damn highway view going around.
Lake Malawi is the third biggest on the continent. Its shores form a spine for tourism down the country, both figuratively and literally. Lodges catering to backpackers, package tourists and expatriates alike serve pizza and omelettes, throw on dance music at the drop of a hat, and are more than ready with a cold beer or a glass of Malawian Gin. Cape Maclear, rivaling Nkata Bay in the north for the crown of biggest tourist trap in the country, is a stunning promontory of white sand beach that pits the true disparities of wealth in this country side by side. The local village is a characterful ramshackle affair that is hardly glanced at by the tourists who head straight for the walled enclosures of the lodges. It is an absurd dichotomy, considering the debaucherous wealth within the walls and the flagrance with which it is dispensed here, but that is unfortunately the reality of this country. The ‘haves’ and the ‘have nots’, side by side, like it or leave it.
Despite these negatives, Cape Maclear is gorgeous, and is it little wonder that it has developed into the place that it has. For us it is the perfect setting for a weekend away from the working world of Blantyre. Small private huts that front directly onto the fine sand, a lodge that is secluded up in the northern corner of the cape, and perfect clear weather ideal for lounging on the beach or in the water… schistomsomes and all. It seemed that every man and his dog from Blantyre had descended upon Chembe Lodge this particular weekend, meaning that the place was crammed with expats there for one thing only… to party. This meant that our weekend was dominated by the generosity and hospitality of others, and by a supply of every drink you could imagine.
Chembe is owned by Aubrey, a loud, heavy drinking South African who was here for the weekend from Blantyre with a group of friends. He has built his own house next to the bungalows and decked it out with the purpose of entertaining. A pool table, dart board, huge bar and big speakers all get a thorough workout by everyone he can find to invite back to his place, meaning that every night there is simply one enormous party. Not exactly how you would choose to live every day of your life, nor what I would want to do every time I came to the lake, but great to get to know a few people and get away from Blantyre for the weekend.
The trip to the lake is not without highlight either – even dismissing the crater that Katharine, our friend who drove us there, managed to career straight into. Small villages dot the roadside, people congregating beside this vein of activity, with market produce being vended to every passerby who slows. Tomatoes, green vegetables, onions, shoes, bicycles, chitenjes (the material that the females use for sarong-style skirts, baby carrying and anything else), pottery and even mice. Yes, mice. Boys dangle these appetizing little babies out in front of you five or so to a skewer, having been barbecued whole and ready to sell. They catch them using small fires to attract the rodents, then cook them up to earn a few extra kwacha. So if you’re hungry on the way to your relaxing weekend getaway and you’ve forgotten to throw an apple or a bag of chips in the car, fear not, you can simply grab a half dozen mice to much on. Mmm, mmm.
