Malawi: Senga Bay and Monitor Island

We spent our last night in Zambia at a Peace Corps transit house near the Malawi border. After 14 hours riding a bus, seven hours waiting in a station and one night in a rain-soaked tent in Lusaka, we were ready for a break. The Zam PCVs welcomed us, and we stayed up late swapping service stories and contrasting our Peace Corps experiences. The tin roof, real beds, running water and hot showers felt like luxury after a week’s worth of wet tents, damp clothes and constant downpour.

The next morning we piled into one tiny taxi with our big bags and headed towards Malawi. We met a man named Happy—a businessman from Zambia—who was also on his way to the capital city. He ushered us through customs and into a taxi, where he negotiated our fare to a nearby town. Then, upon arrival, Happy helped us find a combi on its way to Lilongwe. As we waited for the remaining seats to fill (combis never leave until they’ve reached—or more often exceeded—capacity), I noticed this sticker fixed to our windshield:



The way I saw it, we were two for two: Guided by a guy named Happy. Protected by the Big Man upstairs. Malawi, it seemed, was even better than we’d heard.

The inland country, which borders Zambia, Mozambique and Tanzania, is just a small sliver in Southern Africa. But its population is still about six times that of Namibia. This was evident almost immediately. The sides of streets were lined with people. Men rode bicycles piled high with maize meal, fish and produce, while women wrapped in brightly colored chitenges balanced baskets on their heads. Traditional houses with thatched roofs and dung walls were as plentiful as the palm trees. In Namibia, it’s possible to drive a hundred kilometers—even more—without seeing another living thing. In Malawi, there were people at every turn.

Our combi ride was scenic--cloudless skies above fields of rich, fertile soil--and Mozambique off in the distance. After a year in the desert, it was nice to be traveling amid green grasses and tall trees.

But all of that changed when we arrived in Lilongwe. Yes, I was used to the crowds of New York City. Elbowing turnstiles and tourists, particularly when I worked in Times Square, was a part of daily life. We’d already survived the insanity of the Lusaka bus station and the disorder of the Zambia border crossing. But Lilongwe—with its impassable streets, crowded corners and five o'clock gridlock at most every hour was simply overwhelming. The fresh, clean air was gone. Now, the scent of oily meats, body sweat and diesel fumes hung heavy around us.

There was no denying it. We were in Africa.

Happy must have known that we, his foreign friends, would be totally overwhelmed. (After all, Namibia is one of the least-densely populated countries in the world—and this was a seriously big city.) So he’d arranged for our combi assistant to deliver us from one ride to the next. He grabbed my bag before the car had come to a complete stop and yelled, “Follow me!” as he took off across a congested street. We followed, single file, as quickly as we could. He led us through a maze of alleyways and alongside endless rows of combis. Drivers grabbed our arms, pulled our bags and yelled their destinations as we soldiered by and pretended not to notice. And then finally we arrived: an almost-full combi bound for Senga Bay.

Stopping in Senga Bay was a last minute decision. It’s not one of Malawi’s most famous beaches, or even its most popular. And while beautiful, there are certainly others more breathtaking. But we were limited to the northern part of the country since we were making our way towards Tanzania. And after days packed like sardines, traveling along rock roads, we were ready to stretch out by the water. Senga Bay was less than two hours from Lilongwe.

Our combi dropped us by the side of the road, where five locals met us to find out where, exactly, we wanted to go. The answer? We had no idea. We’d flipped through guidebooks as we made our way towards the lake, but hadn’t settled on anything. Our new friends took note of our Nalgene bottles and immediately recognized us as Peace Corps volunteers. From that point on they suggested only the most inexpensive accommodations.

We decided on a tiny place owned by a friendly ex-pat, nestled between a local market, where we could purchase tomatoes, bananas and chips, and the shores of Lake Malawi. It rained every night, but unlike Zambia, the days were clear and sunny. The staff was amazing and kind and after just one day they knew our names (and our drinks).

Though Senga Bay lacked the adrenaline rush we’d found in Victoria Falls, it did offer plenty of time to relax, play Scrabble with a group of friendly South Africans and catch up on a little reading. (By trip’s end we’d all swapped books at least a couple of times.) It was nice to take it easy after so much time in transit.

We spied an island about three miles from the shore that looked like the perfect place to spend a sunny afternoon. So after three days of pure relaxation, we slipped into a traditional fishing boat with the friends we’d met the day we arrived, and paddled towards Monitor Island. The tiny island in the big lake is home to several rare lizard species, as well as trees, plants and birds unique to the country. Our friends guided us through rocky passes, to the edge of jagged cliffs and through wooded forests, while they pointed out other islands in the distance and talked about the culture of fishing in Malawi.

I loved it all, but realized after a few of hours of barefoot hiking, I still prefer concrete sidewalks to moss-covered paths.