SPLITTING THE DIFFERENCE: A Travellers Tempestous Trip to Likoma

 

MY EPILOGUE AT NKHATA BAY

It is the best of the times; it is the worst of the times. Charles Dickens’ bitter-sweet aptly captures my impression of the boat rides Likoma citizens endured since MV llala broke down on June 30 last year.

"It’s an adventure when you arrive well, but an accident if the wind overpowers your boat," warned Matthews Chizuwi, a crew member for the 80-passenger MV Tafika, while escorting me to Malungo Transport's boat which was departing Nkhata Bay Port around 9am.

IN CONGESTED MV MALUNGO BOAT I TRAVELLED

As the orange sun was emerging around 6am, my ears were already familiar with tales of how travellers had dumped their priceless possessions into the lake to save lives when Limani Boat was overcome by mwera waves—southerly winds that also held travellers hostage for about 24 hours on the water voyage that normally takes four hours.

"Let there be calm," I murmured as hissing waves whipped the shore on my walk to the harbour where Malungo was gulping a multitude alongside bulks of goods.

With no alternative transport to Likoma, the vessel was constipated with people, alcohol sachets, bags of maize, canoes, drugs and other medical supplies, eggs, fizzy drinks, goats, groundnuts, oranges, potatoes and a zillion other things that made the boat resemble the biblical Noah's Ark.

I jumped into the Dickensian affair after the crew had finished loading an alphabet of goods, wondering whether there was space for my tired frame which had survived a night-long bus ride from Blantyre.

Outside the boat was a spectacular signal of the country's ailing water transport, with Nkhata Bay Jetty reduced to a mash of rusty iron floor fitted with crashed timber and withering concrete panels leading to an aging office building.

We departed Nkhata Bay around 9am, swerving left and right, up and down on waters haunted by vuma, an easterly wind.

Shortly afterwards, we saw latecomers raising white flags at the harbour.

"Stop, NyaChirwa is not here!" exclaimed a woman in the crowd. The boat hummed on, trembling as I tried to figure out how it feels to be among those that were flagging in the air.

But it was not unusual, said my elderly neighbour.

He said: “Every time, latecomers spend between K5 000 and K10 000 on speedboats just because they couldn’t withstand a temptation for sweets or drinks when the vessel was leaving."

THE LATECOMER ON ARRIVAL

In no time, a small boat was cruising after Malungo, bringing a speechless woman who was buying a bun as we started off.

Besides paying a K7 000 penalty for her K30 bite, she was shivering—soaked by tears and spills like the baby on her bosom.

Such was the rough ride that at times half of the haul of the boat was suspended in the air and hit the lake with a smashing sound as the tide withdrew.

I remembered the Titanic disintegrating after hitting an iceberg. But only a television set fell from its raised cabinet in front.

Being a first-timer, I wanted to see my God walk on the water and come to my rescue.

“Why are you sleeping while I am sinking?" I interrogated him.

But we were not sinking yet. A few, who couldn’t stomach the turbulent tides, were vomiting. 

Some of the daredevils, who were perching atop the ship, started descending into the hall where a faint-hearted many were.

THE DAREDEVILS ATOP MV MALUNGO

My tummy was turning terribly and I was about to join the 13 that had puked before I fell asleep around 11am.

Good riddance!

When I woke up around 3pm, my body was accustomed to the tidal ride and the lake was so peaceful.

My stomach felt empty. The tongue craved for a drop of the bottled water and juice I had earlier donated to the crew to avoid vomiting.

I bought a few sweets and oranges from boys who were vending confectionaries and liquor sachets on board.

Calm prevailed for slightly over an hour when Chizumulu Island appeared at 4pm. I was relieved to see land, rocks, baobabs and houses after hours in the middle of a seemingly endless blue.

The boat stopped at a port near stone-perched Makwenda Lodge and Chizumulu Trading Centre before proceeding on what was meant to be a two-hour trip to Likoma Port.

"We will be there by six," promised crew member Golden Munkhwamba. But we got there at 9.45pm.

A four-hour journey from Nkhata Bay had spanned over 12 hours—spending 30 minutes of the duration offloading 59 bags of maize at Likoma Secondary School.

I was only happy to have tasted a bit of life the Likoma way and to arrive without throwing my camera, notebook and life as others might have done during the fateful year without Ilala. I wasn’t fish food like Jonah of the Bible.

BUSINESS AS USUAL AT LIKOMA PORT

The following few days, I found myself observing happenings and capturing muted voices in marketplaces, government offices, villages, lakeside resorts, schools and prayer houses in line with my mission: Getting to the bottom of life of the islanders with and without the Ilala.

And my quotable quote welled from a woman who had survived a crocodile's jaws and Ilala’s sinking substitute: "Where were you when we were about to die due to Ilala's vanishing?" 

wondered Alleluya Machira, who is striving to rebuilding her life after throwing her business merchandise into the lake to save lives in a troubled boat.

She felt equally let down by a myriad of civil society organisations who claim to be voices of the voiceless when they were campaigning for anything except Likoma residents’ birthrights while the cheaper and safer ship was nowhere.

So eventful and painful was the long wait that throngs of grannies and grandchildren poured onto the port when Ilala arrived for the second time after the year-long hiatus.

For me, it was time to split the difference between IIlala and opportunistic boats.

In the absence of a jetty, the ship anchored about 200 metres in the lake and passengers were using boats to get there.

At its doorstep was an upright staircase too steep and hazardous for the sick, elderly and other special-needs persons.

SCRAMBLE FOR THE NARROW DOOR

Beyond the stumbling block, the ship was roomy, with clear partitions between cargo and human beings, top-class and low-class ticket holders.

The rest was a thrilling adventure and Ilala arrived at Nkhata Bay at 7.50pm, completing in about three hours a trip the boat had clocked half a calendar day!

Perhaps, that is why its dependents call it cheaper and better although it disappeared when the cheapest ticket was selling at K840, only to re-emerge when the same costs K2 000.

It is really a lovable darling.