We flew in on our first trip to Malawi. Me and Aitch. At Lilongwe airport we hired a car from the brochures on the desk, where the man on the phone said they didn’t have any presence at the airport but they were nearby, they’d be there in a jiffy. Cheap.
The airport emptied till it was just us, so we took our bags to the entrance and sat in the shade waiting. There was no-one there but a bored youth sitting in a Honda with sagging suspension, but we were chilled and the airport garden needed birding.
Eventually I went back to the desk to phone the man. He was amazed: “My man should have been there long ago!” ‘Twas him. ‘Twas our car: The Honda. “No, no” we laughed, “there must be a better car than this!” (thinking of the rough roads we’d be traversing). “Come back to the office and choose” said the friendly man. Well, of course, it was their best car, bless them, so off we headed to Kasungu National Park in our dark blue Honda Civic with Formula 1 ground clearance.
In the park we drove with one wheel on the middle bump and one on the left edge of the road. On the open road we drove slowly and avoided anything above deck. Vwaza Marsh, Nyika Plateau, Nkhata Bay and beautiful Lake Malawi.
South of Nkhata Bay we suddenly came on a stretch of smooth road! I crept the needle up to 40km/h. Then 50 and eventually 65! “Careful, Koos” admonished my Aitch, clinging white-knuckled to the dashboard (kidding! Sort of). Then we came up to the big yellow grader that had smoothed our path. It moved aside and we went past with a wave to the friendly driver. The road was back to interesting so I slowed down to 40. “Slow down, Koos” admonished my Aitch. We’d been doing 30 so this still felt fast to her and I knew she was right but I had tasted speed . . .
WHUMP! We hit a brick and I knew immediately that we’d be getting to know this remote stretch of Malawi. I parked on a low level bridge and leaned out to peer under the car: Oil pouring out the sump. Do you have any soap? I asked Aitch. Here, she said shoving a bottle of liquid soap into my hand. Um, no, a bar of soap. Ever resourceful she whipped out a fat green stick of Tabard mozzi repellant. Perfect I said and shoved it in the hole. It went into the sump without touching sides! To break the tension I took my binocs and went for a walk and straight away things got better. “Come look!” I called Aitch “A lifer!” A Fire-Crowned Bishop flitted around in the reeds of the stream we were parked above.
Aitch made us a snack and we waited. Before too long someone came by. On foot. A few schoolboys who said Not to worry, they know a mechanic in a nearby village. He will fix it. Great! I said, Would you ask him to help us? thinking Actually guys, there’s no ‘nearby village’.
An hour later a car zoomed by without stopping. Unusual for Malawi. Another hour later and a Land Rover stopped, the driver got out and shook his head sadly. He couldn’t help us as he was in a government vehicle. As he drove off we saw his female passenger appearing to give him a thousand words. He stopped and walked back with a 5l oil can in his hand. “I can’t sell you this oil because its guvmint oil, but I am going to give you this oil” he said. Great, we accepted it with alacrity. It was half full. It was a start.
Another hour or so and some figures approached us on foot, one with a greasy green overall and a red metal toolbox on his shoulder. It was our mechanic! The schoolboys had come through!
Soon he had the sump cover off and I started tapping the hole closed using a shifty and a spanner. As I tapped I asked if anyone – perchance – had a bar of soap. Nope. No-one. Holding up the cover to the sun I tapped until not even a glint of sun shone through. I had closed the hole. As we started to replace it, I muttered “I’d give twenty kwacha for some soap” whereupon one of the guys whipped out a sliver of red Lifebuoy soap from his pocket. Boy! Did the others turn on him! “How can you be so unkind to our guests?” was the accusation and they refused to let me pay him more than four kwacha for his soap, despite my assuring them that it was worth twenty to me.
As we prepared to depart we gave them each a cold can from our hebcooler, paid the mechanic his dues (he didn’t charge travelling costs) and gave them each a cap.
1500km later we handed the car back and I told the man at the airport: “Please check the sump. Its leaking oil”. It wasn’t, but I wanted him to check it.