The man who walked up a hill, and came down into Malawi

I wanted to get an early start. I hoped I could make it to Lilongwe by the end of the day. So I got up at 5.30, packed my bag and left the room. Down in the reception, the manager sat sleeling in a chair. He woke up when I walked down the stairs, and switched on the lights. I paid for the room and left. It was a tad cold outside. LIke it always has been this trip. It is, after all, winter in these parts of Africa. I walked towards where the chapa had dropped me off th night before. I asked around for a bus or chapa for the border. In the end, I found one that was heading there. A guy who spoke some English pointed me to the correct one, and adviced me to get into the front seat. "There are so many dirty people in the back." "Ok?" I said. Admittedingly a bit surprised at his comment. But I didn't mind riding in front. It was the best seat, and if the trip should take some time, I would arrive without having to break my feet into shape again. An hour after I arrived, the chapa was finally full, and we could set off.
The road towards the border was terrible, to say the least. Giant potholes everywhere. Big long-haul trucks trying to navigate between them. It was obvious this would take time. It did. So I just tried to enjoy the scenery, and accepting the fact that Lilongwe seemed like more of a distant dream the longer it took. We arrived at the border at around 10. almost 3.5 hours after we left Tete.

The good part of the road from Tete to the border 

We were immediately surrounded by money-changers. And when they saw me, the massungou, they almost started fighting to get my attention. One of them opened my door to get to me, and this resulted in the bag with my water and coke fell onto the muddy ground. He looked down and realized what he had caused. Picked up the bag and handed the mud-soaked plastig bag to me. I just shook my head, took out the coke-can and walked off. With a tail of money-changers behind me. I just waved them all off and walked to the immigration-building. Inside, I was given a small form to fill out, and the guy behind the counter said "go outside to fill!". Ok? I walked outside, and a money-changer slipped in by my side. "Cambio?" I ingnored him, and filled out the form. Walked back in and gave it and my passport to the guy behind the desk. He barely looked at the form, and stamped my passport. Now I was in the mood for changing the rest of my meticais.
If you think "tax-free"-shops at airports is the worlds greatest scam, you haven't tried money-changing at border-crossings. I have seen every trick in the book on how to scam foreigners. I took out 1300 meticaisand said I wanted to change them. The guy gave me 7000 kwatcha. I did a quick calculation in my head and based on the exchange rate my friend Sigrid had sent me, it was about half of what I should expect. I waved him off. He "apologized" and said he had given me the wrong sum. He gave me another 1000 kwatcha. I laughed and gave him back the wad of money and walked off. He came running after me. And showed me a calculator. The number 8000 flashed on the display. I took the calculator and wanted to show him the calculation I did in my head. And here is the beauty of the scam. He had already punched in 8000 into the calculator. And no matter what calculation I wrote into the "calculator" it always came out as 8000. I tried dividing 1300 by 30 to show him how many dollars it was, and the result was 8000. He pointed to the display and said "See? 8000! Like I told you!" I laughed and gave him back the calculator. "It is fixed!" I said and walked off. He didn't give up. I told him that I knew the exchange rate should be at least 350 kwatcha to the dollar. "Off course. But that is dollar, and this is meticais! Meticais is 1 to 10!" "Ok, and if I give you 1300 meticais, that should beeeeee...?" I said. He did the calculation in his head. "13000!" he replied. "Yeeees! Imagine that. Not 8000..." I did a quick calculation in my head and found that it wasn't too far off. And he was the only moneychanger still hanging around, so I just accepted the small loss. He gave me 13000 kwatcha and I counted them. After confirming the sum, I gave him the 1300 meticais. He counted them, and I said goodbuy. I later found I should have gotten around 14000, but I was happy with the deal. So there you are. This is about as many tricks as you can encounter. And the rules are :
1) Never trust "calculators" they show you. They are fixed into giving the "correct" answer. I saw this the first time on the border between Equador and Peru in 1996. A bit more advanced. It actually did a calculation, but the answer was just redicoulous. And always in favor of the money-changers.
2) Always check the exchange rate before you reach the border, and decide on how much you want to change, BEFORE you do it. So you have a rough estimate on how much you should get. You will never get that sum. No matter how much you haggle. The banks are the only one who give you the correct amount.
3) Never be intimidated by "insulted" money-changers who have no scruples (sometimes loudly) calling you rasist, liar, thief and the lot to get you intimidated enough to accept their offer. Just walk away and choose someone else.
4) Never give them your money until they have given you their money, and you have counted them. If, after you have given them your money, they offer to "add some more and count again", refuse. They will surely replace some of the big notes with smaller ones. And if you try to count again, they will say "police is coming, we must run" or something and split. Leaving you with half the money you expected. (Some places moneychanging on the street is illegal)
5) Always check the notes that they are the correct value and not the least : currency. Or you might end up with the right number, but some worthless currency.
6) Women are the worst scammers. Most people (expecially women) trust women more than men, and some exploit this to the max. They can rob you blind while they give you the sweetest smile. Haven't experienced this myself, but have spoken to people who have.
7) If there are a lot of moneychangers around you, there is bound to be one or more pickpockets around too. Do not take your money out until you are either alone with one a few. If you cannot get rid of the mob, stand against a wall to control them. Again, never take out your money until you are satisfied with the money you have been given, and are ready to close the deal. The pickpockets are waiting for you to reveal the location of your money. So only keep the money you are planning to change at that location.

That's about it. The Ragnar's guide to moneychanging at the border.

After I had changed my money, I started walking to towards the Malawi border post. I knew it was a bit of way, but thought it would be nice to walk after the long chapa-trip. Some taxi's and motorbikes shouted at me and said it was impossibly far to the border. I ignored them and walked on. Soon I was walking up a hill. The landscape was beautiful. Mountaneous, with mist-covered peaks. A slight drizzle, but not that bothered me. I liked it. A tad cold, but when I walk, I heat up quickly. Some cars and motorbikes zoomed by from time to time, but most of the time, I was alone. I sniffed the air. Watched villagers going about their daily life. At some point, it was dead quiet. I just had to stop and enjoy it. Just a few birds chirped. I closed my eyes and soaked it in. Took out my camera and filmed a 360 view. I wanted to save the moment. Then I walked on. Up ahead, I saw a small village on the edge of a cliff. I hear the unmistakable sound of children playing. As I was closing in, they saw me, and they obviously became excited. They probably had seen white people before, but I suspect not many walked the few km across the border. When I passed the village, they all stood around a large rock. I smiled and waved, and they screamed and laughed and waved back. I took up my camera, and they all stood very still until I had taken the photo. Then they screamed and ran back to their village. You just gotta love these children. After about half and hour, the solo walk was over. The Malawi border was closing in. I saw the cargo trucks piling up. Waiting for customs clearance. And heaps of people. Back to civilization. I stopped for a few seconds. Took a few deep breaths and walked into the pit.

Walking into the hills

Beautiful

The kids in the village watching the road show

Marketing, even at the border

Into the pit

Immigration was surprisingly easy. Fill in a form, stand in line, show my passport and get a stamp. That was easy. I walked into Malawi and started looking for trasport to Blantyre. I was hoping I would get there early enough to catch a bus to Lilongwe. I found a chapa, and was given the front seat. White folks ride shotgun. I know that now. It took an hour to fill up the chapa. And we were off. At least for 5 minutes. Then it stopped for people to buy some fruit and nuts and other essentials. Then we were off again for 2 minutes before having to stop at a police checkpoint, where the driver took out a 1000 kwatcha note and jumped out. Came back half a minute later and said something in local tounge. But I got the word "contribution". Right. That's what they call it here... And in this way we stopped our laaaazy way to Blantyre. It took almost 3.5 hours to drive 98 km. So we weren't breaking any speed records. More slow records. So it became obvious to me I would not be able to get to Lilongwe before nightfall. I got off the chapa at the chapa station in Blantyre. Which was basically a mudfield. I had to take a leak and found a public toilet on the field. Paid 30 kwatcha to enter the sewer inside. The whole place reeked of old urine and faeces, and since there was no water to flush the toilets, it was obvious that urine was the way the solids where soaked. I stood there and did my deeds while studying the pile of floaters in the toilet. Not the worst place I have seen. But close. I have a strong stomach. It comes in handy at times. Washing my hands in the sinks? Naaaah. It was probably better if I didn't. I have disinfective gel anyways.
I walked into the city and found the shawarma place I saw when we drove past. Ordered a chicken shawarma plate with coke. And then rang my friend Sigrid. I had been trying to text her, but for some reason, it failed all the time. I received text messages from other people, but couldn't send any. I told her I would arrive the day after.
The meal was great, and did not cost a fortune. Unlike Mozambique. After the meal I went to the bank to change a fistful of dollars. I entered the first bank I found and found a huge line of people. I love standing in line...NOT! I looked around and found that there were a lot of teller counters and one forex counter. I asked one woman in the line if anyone was chaning money. "No, this is the deposit line!". "YESS!" I thought, and walked straight up the the forex counter. The woman behind the glass at writing something, and I sat there for about a minute before I knocked on the window. She turned and saw me. "Oh! Sorry! Change money?" I put the money and my passport into the slide-drawer. She counted them. "$200 sir?" I nodded. "Ok". She checked each note carefully before putting them away. Then she started filling out the details of my passport on a form. "Where do you live in Blantyre?" she asked. "I don't know." I said. She smiled. "You dont know? You have to live somewhere!". "Yes, but I need money to get a hotel, so I need to change money before I know where I am going to live." I could see she was trying to figure out what to do about it. "Ok, write your home address." I jotted down my home adress and returned the form. She was satisfied. Then she started to assemble the money. I say "assemble" because it is a BIG stack of notes. She even had to leave her booth to get more. In the end I had 136 500-kwatcha notes in a bug wad. It made a huge bulge in my pocket. Oh well.

Feeling like a millionaire after changing $200

Next : Hotel. I walked around town trying to find the el-cheapo's. Backpacker joints. But they where obviously not around the centre. I only found the big, western-style hotels with $200 rooms. But in the end, I found a cheaper hotel at $45 a night. I decided to look a bit more. And while looking, I ran across a bus-company with buses going in the morning to Lilongwe. I bought a ticket. And walked across the street to a internetcafe with wifi. I set up my pc and enjoyed the blistering speed of at least 128 kbit/s. I searched for cheap hotels in Blantyre, but only got the expesive ones I had already found. So I gave up, and published the last entry for Mozambique in my blog. The I walked out into the windy streets og Blantyre. It was getting dark, so I knew I had no more time to find a cheper place. I found a small shop and bought something to drink and some snacks, and walked to the "cheap hotel". I checked in and was taken to a room on the first floor. It was big. And had what appeared to be an altar in just the right height to bang your teeth out if you accidentaly bumped into it during a nightly trip to the bathroom. Which was without water... I went down to the reception and complained about the water. "No hot water?" the girl asked. "No water at all!" I said. "Ok, we will fix!". After half an hour, there was a knock on the door. A girl stood outside with two huge buckets of water. "For the toilet?" I asked. She nodded. "But there is no water in the shower either!" I said. "But this bucket has warm water for you to bathe in!" Aaaaah. But of course. How silly of me. She used one bucket to fill the toilet flusher, so now I could flush once. Would have to save up for the big event... And I managed to wash in the warm water. But no shower. Ah well. I didn't smell like a monkey anymore. And I got to shave.
I ate the snack, listened to some music and started writing this entry. But around nine, I almost fell asleep over the keyboard. So I decided to call it a day. I fell asleep in an instant.
At 4 in the morning, I woke up. The wind was howling outside. I dug farther under the sheets. I was getting up at 5.30 to get to the bus. But I was unable to fall back into sleep. At 5.30 I got up and packed my bag. Went down to the reception. There was nobody. I had paid with a $50 bill the night before (foreigners HAD to pay with dollars), and she had promised me change later. And now I was leaving. I asked a girl who was washing a corridor. She went into a room and talked to someone. A drowsy woman came out with 1800 kwatcha. "Your change!". I thanked and left. The air was cold. But I had warmed up, so it didn't bother me. It was a nippy 12 degrees in the air, and windy. I found a shop where I bought some crap for the trip. The bus left almost on time. The seats were nice, and the bus-attendant served us drinks and a small snack (samosa and a muffin). It was nice. But when we got out on the highway, there was a real loud and schreeeking sound in the bus. After a short while I realized it was an alarm, and it only started when the driver was driving fast. I told the attendant that the sound was really annoying. She said that the bus was fitted with a speed alarm. If the driver drove faster than 80 km/h, the alarm sounded. Like constantly. She told me that it would be impossible for them to keep their timetable if the driver didn't speed. I told her that O would go nuts if I had to listen to that sound for 3.5 hours. She talked to the driver, and ther rest of the trip, he always slowed down when the alarm sounded. We arrived 45 minutes late. Massungou was to blame. Oh, well.
The bus stopped outside City Mall in Lilongwe. I found a supermarket and bought some simple snacks before calling my friend. She was preparing lunch for us (wish I had called her before I bought the snack...) and she said she could come and pick me up in her car. I waited around the mall for her to come.
She drove me to a backpacker place she had found so I had a place to stay. I checked in and we went to her place for lunch. She lives in one of the more affluent areas of Lilongwe. After a delicious lunch, she took me to a cafe with guards that saluted us when we arrived. It was obviously a place where the rich came to dine. "You have to see both sides of Malawi!" Sigrid said and laughed. I had one of the best vanilla shakes ever, and a brownie. It was great. After this, she took me for a brief spin around town, including a trip to the presidental palace. Or more precisely, the gates. You couldn't see the palace. All in all, a great day. Not many pictures from Lilongwe. Maybe later.
I am now back at the backpacker place, and what a place it is. The joint is packed with people from all over. In my dorm I spoke briefly with 19-year (!) old Sara who had worked as a teacher at a school for a year. I expressed my surprise at her young age, given she was working as a teacher. "Ah, it's a form of charity.". Whatever. The place is loud now. But hopefully, it will calm down before I go to sleep.