The Birthplace Pilgrimage

After a 2,068 kilometer trip which included every type of ground transportation imaginable, crossing through ghost-town country border posts, and kids puking near or on us, we think we’ve officially earned our “experienced traveler” gold stars. Here’s the summary of our amazing journey into Malawi and back:

The trek began with a trip to Chimoio, a larger city in the central region of Mozambique, where we attended the Project Design Management Conference. The conference gave us great information on how to implement a project within our communities and the opportunity to bring along Mozambican counterparts for the sustainability factor. It was a great few days with lots of food, hot showers, and time with our PCV and Mozambican friends. After the conference, we still had over a week until the third trimester of school started so we figured it would be a great time to travel. We have a laundry list of places we want to go during our time here in Mozambique. Like most PCVs, we’re hoping to take advantage of our proximity to awesome locations and the free time we have to travel since we may not have the opportunity to see some of these places again.  Malawi, where Chris was born, was one of the highest on our list. Chris’ parents, Steve and Karen, were also Peace Corps Volunteers back in the early 80s and served at a time when PC was allowing families to join (this is no longer the case). So Steve and Karen took their two-year-old son Peter along to Nsanje, Malawi and Chris was born a year into their service and lived there until they returned to the States two years later. Chris has no memory of his time there but of course, he has always hoped to go back and visit. When PC placed us in Mozambique, we knew we would have to make the trip because it’s a neighboring country. Since we were already headed that way when we reached Chimoio, we decided to continue north for a Malawian adventure. We weren’t exactly sure how we would accomplish this but we’ve gotten used to the whole figure it out as you go travel thing as that is really the only option we have here.

Our first step was finding a way to Zoube, the Mozambican border town and one of the more popular places to cross into Malawi. We woke up in the middle of the night to catch a bus out of Chimoio into Tete City, about 2 hours away from the border. The 5 hour bus ride was pretty uneventful so we were hoping the travel gods would be with us that day but no, our trip was not so easy. We hopped on a Chapa (mini bus) shortly after reaching Tete City, happy that we were getting so close. And 5 minutes later, the thing rolled to a stop and died. We quickly found another chapa heading in the right direction and began to ascend the hills into Zoube. We were joined by a few very nice Malawians (which would turn out to be a theme for the trip) and a very annoying drunk one, but all in all, things were looking good again. And then the thing rolled to a stop and died. Twice. So the second time, only mere minutes away from our destination, it was time to find another ride.  After about an hour of waiting, we piled our hot, tired, sweaty selves into the back of a truck and were taken only a few kilometers up the road as the truck was going to a town in a different direction. Then finally, one more truck ride and we reached the border where we got our passports stamped in both countries and were finally standing on Malawi soil. One more short car ride and we had finally reached a place where we could find chapas into Blantyre, one of Malawi’s biggest cities. The 2 hour ride into Blantyre was exciting as we ooh’d and ahh’d at the new sites of Malawi and sampled the interesting new street food of baby parrot and other mystery meat (well, only Chris did that part). We were joined by an incredibly helpful Malawian man who had been with us since our ride from Tete City. He walked us through the border posts, showed us where to find transportation to Blantyre and gave us directions to our hostel. By the time we reached our hostel, it was dark but we wanted to get a move on making plans for the next day. Our initial goal was to see Lake Malawi, one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, and of course, Nsanje, where Chris was born. Against our better judgment we decided to walk down to the transportation terminal to see what our options were. We had a slight scare with a seemingly friendly Rastafarian dude who said he was going to help us, but wouldn’t leave us alone after we realized he was a bit sketchy. We tried to get away from him but he kept following until eventually, a helpful bystander helped us shoo him away and some other Rastafarian guy eventually grabbed him but not before he yelled out a few threats. Ughh. Nothing further happened but it was a bit jarring and at the moment, we also realized how much we had adapted to Mozambique. We let our guard down a bit because in Malawi they speak our native language English, but that doesn’t mean you necessarily understand a place or culture. Meanwhile, We grabbed dinner and headed back to our room where we decided it was best to wait until morning to figure out our next move. The following day, after talking to a few people at the chapa terminal and looking at a map, we realized it was going to be too difficult to do both Lake Malawi and Nsanje as they were in opposite directions. There was no way we’d have time to do both so we had to choose only one. Lake Malawi would have been the easier choice as there was tons more transportation options there and we knew we could easily get back to Blantyre and head back into Mozambique the same way we came. But, seeing Chris’ birthplace and his parents PC site was just too once in a lifetime to pass up and besides, we are lucky to live next to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world so we could do the beach thing back in Mozambique.  We knew this would definitely be the path less traveled as no one gave us a straight answer on how long it would take to get to Nsanje and we couldn’t find anyone (PCV, Mozambican or Malawian) who had used the southern border post closest to Nsanje, making it difficult to know if we could successfully cross back to Mozambique from there. But we had faith we would somehow figure it out or if worse came to worse, we could go back to Blantyre and make it home the familiar way.

So we jumped on a chapa headed for Nsanje and watched as the road became more desolate the further we went outside of Blantyre. Anticipation and excitement swept over us as the small white sign saying “Nsanje” finally came into view. Chris, who had been telling everyone on the chapa that this was where he was born, even showing the place of birth section on his passport to prove it, grew especially gitty to have finally reached this place he had not remembered but still felt like a home. We put our stuff down in Nsanje’s biggest guesthouse (Still a small motel by US standards) and began to walk into town. We were struck by the beautiful scenery and surprised to see how built up it was with paved roads, schools, hospitals, restaurants and guesthouses and signs noting all the foreign aid that had been there to help. Malawi, in general, seems to have a much better infrastructure than Mozambique which is something we were surprised to find throughout the trip but of course it makes sense as Mozambique is still newly recovering from a 20 year civil war. And, then again, when Steve and Karen were there 30 years ago, it certainly didn’t look the way it does now. In fact, they no longer have PCVs there since there are many other smaller, less developed places in Malawi that need volunteers. After taking a quick stroll through the market, we found a cute little restaurant serving your standard rice and beans and decided to get dinner. Here is where we met Mr. Mike, the man who helped us figure out the rest of our trip through Malawi. Mr. Mike, the owner of the joint, sat down to have a chat with us. We learned that his wife had remembered serving Chris’ father when he made the trip there in 2007, that it was actually possible to make it across to the southern border post and that 2 PCVs lived in villages close by. After dinner, we walked back to our hotel with the backdrop of a beautiful sunset and decided we would venture to the hospital the next day. The Nsanje hospital was where all the major stuff happened: Chris’ Dad was a doctor there during his PC service, they lived in a home on the hospital grounds and, Chris was born in the maternity ward. We walked in that morning feeling a little apprehensive as we took pictures and treaded around the campus. This was a hospital after all where life or death really does occur so we didn’t want to interrupt anything or bother anybody. We almost left without speaking to anyone but Chris decided that he wanted to go into the administration building just to see if anyone remembered him or his father. We spoke to the secretary who greeting us with a huge smile after Chris explained why we were there, she happily said she’d like to take us on a tour and show us the maternity ward where he was born. We walked through the corridors, many expanded since Steve was a doctor there 30 years ago, and saw all the areas of the hospital including the very same maternity ward where Chris was born (**Side Note: Rock on Karen, for giving birth in a developing country! You’re awesome!) Throughout the tour we met people who had known Chris and his family back in the 80s and some who had worked with his father when he returned in 2007. One man, Catindica, said he remembers holding Chris as a baby and told us that Steve used to climb up the water tower with Chris on his back, which sounds a little crazy and exactly like something Steve would do! Then Catindica showed us that water tower, and even more amazingly, the house where Chris and his family lived for the three years they were in Malawi.  The picture I had seen of Chris thousands of times, as a two-year-old adorable child with blue overalls and his feet in the African sand was finally coming to life. It was an amazing thing to weave together a family portrait while standing on the other side of the world.  We left with huge smiles on our faces and feeling like we had a better understanding of the life of baby Chris.  After the hospital visit, it was time to start the very long journey towards home. We had called Neil, the PCV who lives close by, and he said he would be happy to have us spend the night at his place since he lived close to the border and could help us find contacts that had crossed over to Mozambique. The only issue was that transportation was scarce to his place but luckly, our dude, Mr. Mike, found us a ride to Ntowe, Neil’s village, from one of his restaurant patrons. We jumped in the back of the open bed truck and sat on comfy rice bags as we made our way to Ntowe. The weather was perfect for a truck ride and we watched the mountains whiz by, content with the birthplace pilgrimage we just completed. We made it to Ntowe and spent the night with Neil and another Malawi PCV, Kendal, who lives in a village close by. They made a great dinner and we enjoyed swapping PC stories from different countries. It was a lovely way to spend our last evening in Malawi. During our time with Neil we met Lampson, a Malawian friend of his, who said he could guide us through getting back to Mozambique as he had frequently visited friends there. The next morning we took the only transportation available, bicycle taxis, down to the border post which involved straddling a small cushion over the back wheel and hoping the bike rider could balance us and our oversized backpacks. We made it without a fall, so clearly they had some practice. The villages on both sides looked like deserted towns out of a horror movie as this is not a popular place to cross the border so we were really glad to have Lampson show us the way. Our passports were stamped on both the Malawian and Mozambican side just as they were when we came in and with little fanfare, we were back in Mozambique. Lampson had a buddy who made a daily drive from the border to the next biggest town, Sena, and had let him know we’d be coming. We sat in the front seat of his truck as he flew like a bat out of hell up and down rocky, unpaved roads for two hours. After almost having my first bout of car sickness, we made it to a small town where we needed to cross a 7 kilometer bridge over the Zambezi River to get to Sena. Our options were to walk or take a bike taxi just as we had in Malawi, so we straddled those cushions like we were experts now that we’d seen this type of transport. We biked over the bridge, my face at the exact height of the riders smelly armpits, but it was still awesome to be crossing over a river on bike taxi, especially when we spotted hippos in the water. In Sena, we met Lampson’s friend who told us how to get to Caia, an even larger town with access to transportation all over the country and the place where we thought we’d reach the final leg of our journey. We said goodbye to our trusty guide Lampson and took another truck ride to Caia. After the car was pushed to a start, we sat in the front seat of the crammed rickety truck with a plastic bag containing animal intestines below our feet (the driver’s dinner, I guess). We looked out the broken window at parts of Mozambique we had never seen, feeling accomplished about how much we managed to travel. We had hoped to reach Caia in time to get a ride to Inchope, a place we were familiar with and knew would find transportation to get us back home to Mapinhane. But, we didn’t make it to Caia until late in the afternoon so we decided to stay in the hotel there, and finish the trip in the morning. We enjoyed our last night of the trip by taking advantage of the electricity and running water, then woke up to make the final ride home. We waited for 2 hours in the hope of finding something directly to our house, but it wasn’t happening so we finally got into a chapa and squished ourselves up against a family traveling with 4 kids. We had heard the ride was only an hour or two so we thought it would be no big deal as we’ve had plenty of practice with uncomfortable rides over the past 10 months. Unfortunately, 2 hours was actually 5 and a half, the kid in front of me puked all over the father’s lap she was sitting on and my shoe, and our limbs were reduced to complete numbness by the end of the ride. Not to mention crying babies and getting sneezed on frequently. Oy, it was one of our worst chapa experiences we’ve had but we finally arrived in Inchope where the transportation gods were smiling upon us again and we quickly hitched a ride with a hotel owner in his private Land Rover on his way to Vilanculos. He dropped us off in Pambarra, about 25 kilometers North of Mapinhane and we were almost home! We didn’t wait long before a truck came by and brought us to our doorstep around 8:30 that evening.

We slept like rocks that night and woke up in the morning revitalized and happy to be back, ready for the beginning of trimester three, our final trimester of this school year. While the trip was nothing short of amazing and we’ll be talking about these adventures for the rest of our lives, it’s great to be back in Mozambique. Even though they don’t speak English, we have no electricity and neither of us were born here, it still feels like home.