Another terrible, horrible, no good, very bad transport night in Chikwina. For some reason the car that goes from Chikwina to Mzuzu didn’t run today, so that meant holding my breath for the infamous Mpamba transport. If you recall, the last time I mentioned the Mpamba transport was when we broke down half way and I hiked 10km up a mountain in the mud and rain in the middle of the night with all my katundu. But that time had a happy ending, as does this one.
This time, I waited three hours in the crummy little village of Mpamba on the side of the tarmac being stared at. The little-matola-that-could was there but missing its driver, a driver that never showed, by the way. It was coming on 6:30pm, dark already for an hour and a half and freezing. I’m way past impatient and into worried. If this guy doesn’t come, and quick, I’ll have to find transport in the dark to Nkhata Bay, get my ass there with my 50+kg backpack, and deal with finding a room and blah blah. Kitty is home alone and unfed and I have school in the morning. Not up for it. Luckily, there was another guy waiting for the same transport in an equally impatient/worried position. He finds another truck to hire, but since petrol is still a problem, no go. Then he finds yet another truck for us to hire, which is packed to bursting point of 35+ of my male students coming back from a football game and still pumped with game time adrenaline. It’s dark, but I’m Azungu, so I pretty much glow.
My students spot me and instantly begin a cheer which translates into something like “if we lose next match our opponents can keep Madam!!!”. One of their favorites, demonstrating their affection for me. P.S. When I say the car is packed to bursting point, I mean they are all standing in the bed of this little pick up holding on to each other, sitting on top of the cab, and standing in the open windows gripping onto whatever they can. But, like the gentlemen that they are, they give me the front seat. It’s late and all the villages are asleep by now (its 8pm at this point and like I said, the sun’s been down awhile) but that doesn’t stop them from letting everyone know their team spirit. Also, they’re all teenagers, and you know what teenagers are like on a field trip. They yell and sing and argue the whole way, full throttle, doesn’t matter who falls off the truck. I’m squeezed next to their team captain, a guy named Steven who lives in the same village as me, plays mid field, and graduated three years ago, among other little nuggets of info I gathered from him. He a very nice guy who politely translated the guys’ excited chants for me as the truck crawled up the mountain.
Me: “What are they singing about now?”
Steven: “They are saying that the driver is a good driver.”
Driver: “He he he! It is true!”
Me: “And now?”
Steven: “They are saying that we are coming home victorious, even though that’s bodza (a lie).” Me: “And now?”
Steven: “Now they are just yelling.”
This time, I waited three hours in the crummy little village of Mpamba on the side of the tarmac being stared at. The little-matola-that-could was there but missing its driver, a driver that never showed, by the way. It was coming on 6:30pm, dark already for an hour and a half and freezing. I’m way past impatient and into worried. If this guy doesn’t come, and quick, I’ll have to find transport in the dark to Nkhata Bay, get my ass there with my 50+kg backpack, and deal with finding a room and blah blah. Kitty is home alone and unfed and I have school in the morning. Not up for it. Luckily, there was another guy waiting for the same transport in an equally impatient/worried position. He finds another truck to hire, but since petrol is still a problem, no go. Then he finds yet another truck for us to hire, which is packed to bursting point of 35+ of my male students coming back from a football game and still pumped with game time adrenaline. It’s dark, but I’m Azungu, so I pretty much glow.
My students spot me and instantly begin a cheer which translates into something like “if we lose next match our opponents can keep Madam!!!”. One of their favorites, demonstrating their affection for me. P.S. When I say the car is packed to bursting point, I mean they are all standing in the bed of this little pick up holding on to each other, sitting on top of the cab, and standing in the open windows gripping onto whatever they can. But, like the gentlemen that they are, they give me the front seat. It’s late and all the villages are asleep by now (its 8pm at this point and like I said, the sun’s been down awhile) but that doesn’t stop them from letting everyone know their team spirit. Also, they’re all teenagers, and you know what teenagers are like on a field trip. They yell and sing and argue the whole way, full throttle, doesn’t matter who falls off the truck. I’m squeezed next to their team captain, a guy named Steven who lives in the same village as me, plays mid field, and graduated three years ago, among other little nuggets of info I gathered from him. He a very nice guy who politely translated the guys’ excited chants for me as the truck crawled up the mountain.
Me: “What are they singing about now?”
Steven: “They are saying that the driver is a good driver.”
Driver: “He he he! It is true!”
Me: “And now?”
Steven: “They are saying that we are coming home victorious, even though that’s bodza (a lie).” Me: “And now?”
Steven: “Now they are just yelling.”
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