Our first dealt with the public boat which crosses from Nkhata Bay to the island of Likoma close to Mozambique across the lake, and which later continues south on the lake towards Cape Maclear. With our limited time in the country, though we were excited to see the island, we wanted to make sure that we wouldn’t risk over-stretching our visa if the boat’s schedule was impractical. And what other options to cross the lake existed? Our second question was whether the train still functioned between Blantyre and Nayuchi (at the border of Mozambique) and whether it still continued from Nayuchi to the coast of Mozambique? If we had all of the train’s times and dates, we could plan ourselves accordingly.
And finally, what was the process to extend our visas if we got stuck and needed to. This question spoke more to our distrust of accurate information and schedules in Africa generally.
We headed in the direction of Lilongwe’s Ministry of Tourism (split into two divisions: National Parks and Tourism, and Game Reserves and Tourism), where we figured we could receive quick answers to all of our questions. We chose arbitrarily, since the difference between their two subtle ministries seemed more a result of a minister needing evidence of “doing something” during his term in office, than actually having an efficient need in the government. When we arrived we were met by a man in the lobby who, after explaining our purpose for visiting (to ask a few touristic questions to someone) asked if we minded waiting a minute while he found the appropriate person to answer all of our questions. I was impressed. When he came back to escort us to the office, we were bemused by the central mezzanine of the building, with its life size sculptures of a buffalo and it’s flowing water fountain…not a bad building to work in. We we handed over to the care of a woman who seemed very busy and I was glad she could make time for us.
“And what exactly can I do for you?” she asked which is when we listed quickly our questions as to not take too much of her time. She sat as if considering each of our questions carefully and then smiled and responded, “And what can I do as the accountant for the ministry to help you ?”
After the smoke of confusion cleared all of our brows, we were finally told to wait one more moment as she disappeared down the hall, returned and said the Minister can see you now. As we entered the Minister of Tourism’s office, he had three men rapidly sketching on pieces of paper whilst juggling cell phones and rushing in and out the door. The Minister himself was overwhelmed by the ring on his phone, though was incredibly kind and kept apologizing for making us wait (though it was we who felt embarrassed by our intrusion for such questions into what was clearly a very busy man). When finally he got the others out of his office, he asked “so now, what can I do for you?” We again went through our short list of questions. “Um,” he uttered, “why didn’t you just go to the office of the ladies? They deal with these questions. » We explained and he accordingly explained that not many people ever actually come for tourist questions, so no on knew how to deal with us, but that being himself late to catching transport to Blantyre for a meeting, he would escort us to the office where the « ladies » dwell.
The office was through a maze of unmarked corridors, then outside, behind the building, in a mobile home unit (obviously). The door said nothing. Inside sat two sad women engrossed in R&B music through their headphones. Neither raised their heads at our entrance into their miniscule working quarters. The first made it clear she was not going to take her headphones out of her ears, so we moved on to the second one. “Hello, may I help you?” she finally and very kindheartedly spoke, raising her well drawn eye-brows and hard-ironed weave compassionately in our direction. We would later discover that she had been the previous year’s national beauty queen winner, Miss Malawi, and that a job working in this office was part of the prize for such an honor. This time, to our surprise and joy, as we listed our poor list of questions, she nodded her head approvingly, jotting down each question on a pink sticky pad upon her desk. She then, even more strikingly informed us in a professional manner that she did not know many of the answers to our questions, but that she would take down our number and call us in the afternoon with all the answers we needed. She did add though, that the train she was sure was no longer running for passengers however. Never in Africa had we seen such efficiency and customer care as in the case of Miss Malawi, and we spoke for nearly an hour after leaving about how well an image it painted of Malawi to have been handled so well by an official for the office of tourism.
Not but one hour had passed before Miss Malawi called me on the phone (a sentence I have never dreamt I’d utter) to urgently tell me not to change my plans on account of her grave mis-information she had delivered to us earlier in the day…the train does in fact run. She apologized for having spoken without all the facts and thanked us for giving her the opportunity to learn vital information for tourists since we had been the first tourists to ever ask about the train in the office. Were we dreaming? Was this a candid camera show, seeing how tourists react to efficient workers in East Africa where more than not an official is likely to make up information rather than ever suggest they don’t know everything! She finished by letting me know she needed to wait until after lunch to get the times and dates, and have the rest of the information for us since all the workers would be on lunch breaks in the various places she needed to call, but that she would definitely call us by the end of the day with our answers. We were elated.
Three weeks later, still no call. We had already begun doing more research on our own, since we realized she had forgotten us. Of course getting reliable information is sometimes a struggle, particularly when others have something to gain from your choices, but we did our best to stay rational. We answered our first question while between Cape Maclear and Chinteche. We learned that we could go to the island by ferry, but that we’d be stuck for a whole week before the ferry came to pick us up again. There were rumors that you could haggle with fishermen to get there, but there was no guarantee that the fishermen would pass to bring people back to mainland earlier than the ferry, and we never found a fisherman who knew anyone who actually did that. We decided against it.
Our second question was a bit harder. We were 1000 km south in Limbe when we finally got to go to the railway station (not simple to find since no one in town seems to know it still runs) where we got confirmation that it still ran, but only once a week (Wednesday mornings). And once on the other side, we learned that the train no longer runs between Nayuchi and Cuamba (the first town in Mozambique we could catch the train), and even then only ran to Nampula, not to the coast. No one could give us dates and times of the train from Cuamba.
Then when only 350 km north of there, while in a small fishing village of Kachulu, we discovered that twice weekly there was a push boat (a small boat being pushed by long sticks across the shallows of Lake Chilwa) that brought passengers to the other side. But from what we could understand, once on the other side we would (with our now 23 kl each sacs) walk across the border (without a border post) and then walk another 40 km by foot (without road) north to another village where there was a border post and only once-a-week transport to Cuamba. We would have to get our passports stamped out of Malawi in Zomba (80 km from Kachulu) then travel to Kachulu without a visa, which made us also nervous. We full heartedly knew we didn’t want to extend our visas on pure stubbornness.
We still had one element to the questions: as to whether we should finish a few tail-ends of a project in Blantyre and risk missing the only train from Liwonde to the border with Mozambique? Thus on our return to Lilongwe, we once again offer our fates to the office of tourism, led by our dear beauty queen and her accomplices (the ladies). There she was. I ignored her as we walked directly to her colleague.
“Seamus, right?” She speaks to my back as her stage smile melts into her lap and she sinks lower and lower in her chair trying to line it up to her face again. The futility of a small child’s realization they’ve forgotten to feed Skylar the Goldfish again, and now he’s floating upside-down. “I really wanted to call you, but I lost your number. Then, I found it, but I lost your questions. Then, I found your questions, but I felt bad since it had taken me so long…. » Eugénie stopped listening and immediately began requesting information from her colleague. Her most pressing question was “is there a road with transport from Liwonde to the border with Mozambique at Nayuchi? And if not, how do we terminate our visa to not go over while making our way towards the border without a problem?”. She answered very clearly, « I have no idea, go to ask a minibus driver in Liwonde (400 km away), they should know ! »
“Thank you ladies for your infinite help.” Miss Malawi’s head looked down as we walked out of their office as if a crown had tumbled from it’s perching and laid on the floor in a shambled state. After some inquiry we discovered the job had been given as a prize during her crowning. How long, we wondered, before a new Miss Malawi shall take her place ?
We had, at this time, three maps of the country. Not a single one showed any road between Liwonde and Nayuchi. Though logic should denote that Nayuchi cannot exist solely, an island without access (excepting the weekly train) particularly as such an important border post between two countries. But then again, we’ve seen stranger things, and the more people we asked the less confident we became that a road exists (with public transport that is). We went to Blantyre to finish our work. While there we went to Blantyre's office of tourism where again she suggested we ask at the minibus station of Limbe (a town not far from Blantyre) where minibuses leave for Liwonde. When we asked at the principle bus station we were told we could not go from Liwonde to Nayuchi directly, but had instead need to go past Liwonde to a village (not on any of our maps) and transfer there to a minibus which goes to Nayuchi. The good news was, there is a road to Nayuchi.
We once had notions of such romantic passage between Malawi and Mozambique. To pass by train from Liwonde all the way to the coast of Mozambique (though learned that the train runs only a few sections of the way now and you must fill in the gaps with minibuses and a few days of waiting). Or to cross the lake by push boat and walk across the border as free as if borders never existed in the first place. The problem with this second option had been our paranoia surrounding the conflict immigration has the power to give us, despite the legitimacy of our choices (a situation we try to avoid whenever possible). And why then should we choose to go to Nayuchi if not by train, and without train between Nayuchi and Cuamba (the next place we could catch the train in Mozambique)? We realized our ambitions had become a simple border crossing, so knowing we had to be out of Malawi the day we left Blantyre, we opted instead to head to the less complicated border crossing north of Nayuchi (equally distanced from Cuamba with better roads) of Chiponde. When we finally passed Liwonde, we saw a line of minibuses pointed in the direction of Nayuchi on a beautifully paved road! We crossed the border within hours of our visas finality, though with less grandeur than we would have like to. All this, no thanks, to Miss Malawi.
Dotés d’un visa d’un mois délivré gratuitement à la frontière du Malawi, nos plans de voyage étaient plutôt définis. Mais, parce qu’au Malawi comme ailleurs rien n’est jamais acquis, quelques unes de nos interrogations sur les transports demeurent encore sans réponses. La première concerne le Ilala, le ferry qui traverse le lac Malawi du nord (à Nkhata Bay) jusqu’au sud (à Cape Maclear). Ce dernier est le seul moyen de transport public pour rejoindre les îles Likoma et Chizumulu situées tout près des côtes mozambicaines. Les questions sont plutôt simples : quelles sont les horaires de ce navire et ce dernier est -il y le seul moyen pour traverser le lac ? Notre seconde interrogation concerne le chemin de fer, autre moyen pour quitter le pays.
Les ont - dits prétendent que le train circulant entre Blantyre, la plus grande ville du pays et Nayuchi circule encore, mais le malawite lambda vous dira que c’est impossible et que la ligne ne fonctionne plus depuis des décennies. Au-delà des informations basiques sur ce train nous pensons qu’il est peut être possible d’être renseigné sur la continuité de la ligne de l’autre coté de la frontière, au Mozambique. Comme la SNCF renseignerait sans doute le voyageur sur les trains transfrontaliers en Belgique. L’idéal serait aussi de pouvoir en savoir plus sur les procédés d’immigration et la prolongation d’un visa. Bref, notre calepin était noirci de questions. A première vue Lilongwe ne manque pas de bureaux adéquats pour renseigner le voyageur dubitatif. La ville compte le Ministry of National Parks and Tourism et le Ministry of Game Reserves and Tourism. La subtilité entre les établissements est difficile à saisir mais, elle aura au moins eu l’avantage d’avoir créé quelques emplois et donné à celui qui en a eu l’idée la fierté d’avoir inventé un nouveau ministère.
Le Ministry of Game Reserves and Tourism est un grand bâtiment situé dans le quartier bureaucratique de la ville. Comme il se doit, les gardes postés à l’entrée du lieu sont nombreux. Une réceptionniste nous accueille puis nous fait patienter, cette dernière part à la recherche de la personne qui pourra nous renseigner. Nous voilà dragués au premier étage du bâtiment rempli de gens bien habillés, les talons résonnent du fond des couloirs. Une jeune femme attablée à son bureau nous invite à l’interroger. Son visage tend à se décomposer au fur et à mesure des questions posées, sa réponse ne se fait pas attendre « mais pourquoi pensez vous que le bureau de la comptabilité peut répondre à ces questions ? ». Tout aussi confus, nous admettons qu’il y a en effet peu de chance que cette agréable dame puisse nous renseigner. Nous pensions simplement avoir été conduits auprès de la dite adéquate personne. Erreur de parcours. Faute de pouvoir trouver cet interlocuteur, nous voila conduit dans le bureau du ministre. Souriant et très plaisant, ce dernier bien que pressé nous invite à poser nos questions, « mais pourquoi ne vous adressez vous pas aux dames du rez-de-chaussée, elles sont payées pour ça ! ». Bien que déjà sur le départ, l’homme prend la peine de nous conduire chez les dames du rez-de-chaussée à l’extérieur du bâtiment. C’est ici que se trouve le centre d’informations touristiques.
Le petit local abrite deux bureaux et un bon nombre de cartes du pays sur les murs. Le visage de la première employée laisse explicitement deviner que cette dernière n’est clairement pas disposée à nous renseigner. La seconde est alors commise d’office à la tâche. Ecouteurs sur les oreilles et dotée d’une étrange et complexe coupe de cheveux, la jeune femme n’est autre que Miss Malawi 2009. « C’est le gouvernement qui lui a proposé ce poste après son couronnement ! » ne peut s’empêcher d’expliquer un très sarcastique ami malawite.
Curieuse et accueillante, la Miss, la belle Blandina nous écoute avec grand intérêt, notre voyage la fascine. Très honnête, cette dernière reconnait qu’elle ne peut absolument pas répondre à nos questions, nous ne nous attendions pas à mieux. Elle peut juste nous garantir que le train ne circule plus, car il n’a d’ailleurs jamais fonctionné de son vivant. Blandina prend cependant notre numéro de téléphone et promet d’appeler une fois les diverses informations récoltées. Cette attention à première vue très anodine est une vraie victoire, dans un « office du tourisme » en Afrique, un « je ne sais … pas allez demander à la gare (ou ailleurs)» fait souvent office de réponse inconditionnelle. Quelqu’un va pour la première fois se renseigner pour nous. Une heure plus tard le téléphone sonne, Miss Malawi nous annonce la voix légèrement fluette qu’elle s’est trompée et que le train circule, 
Comme d’habitude, nous voilà donc contraint de partir à la recherche d’informations sans l’aide de personne. Au port de Nkhata Bay nous en apprenons plus sur le ferry. Ce dernier dépose les passagers sur l’île Likoma le lundi pour ne repasser que la semaine d’après. Savoir si des bateaux de pêche font les allers et retours est le type d’informations inaccessibles, il faut simplement s’y rendre pour le savoir. Passer par Likoma peut donc s’avérer être un vrai piège pour le voyageur pris par le temps. L’employé du petit bureau local du tourisme est lui aussi plus agréable qu’utile. 800km plus loin nous voilà en face du directeur à la gare ferroviaire de Limbe. L’homme connait les heures de départ et d’arrivée des trains à la minute prêt. Ce dernier part comme prévu de Liwonde pour la frontière une fois par semaine. Coté mozambicain, la ligne fonctionne toujours mais elle ne reprend qu’à quelques centaines de kilomètres de là. Aucune liaison directe n’est donc possible. A 350 km d’ici, au bout du village de pêcheurs de Kachuku nous découvrons qu’il est d’ici possible de se rendre au Mozambique. Les informations restent vagues mais une fois le lac traversé la frontière se trouve à un km de marche. Faute de « vraie » frontière, il faut au préalable faire 60 km de marche arrière pour régler les formalités de son départ dans la grande ville. Coté mozambicain personne ne sait vraiment comment cela se passe, rares sont ceux ayant fait le voyage. « Le poste frontière se trouve à 35km … ou peut être est-ce 35 miles, mais il n’y a pas vraiment de route pour s’y rendre » nous indique un marin qui traduit les informations fournies par tous les pêcheurs venus apporter leurs grains de sel à la conversation. Cette alternative ressemble d’avantage à une impasse, surtout avec vingt-kilo sur le dos.
Plus par plaisir que par utilité nous revoilà à Lilongwe au dit centre d’informations touristiques, elle était encore là Miss Malawi. Cette dernière nous reconnait sans hésiter puis elle baisse les yeux, confuse, comme un enfant qui aurait oublié de nourrir le poisson rouge qui flotte à présent le ventre à l’air dans son bocal. « Je voulais vous appeler… mais, mais j’ai perdu le papier avec les questions et votre numéro et quand je l’ai trouvé, je me suis dit qu’il était trop tard ». Nous comprenons parfaitement Miss Malawi, vous nous avez oublié et vous vous êtes dit que de toute façon vous ne nous reverriez jamais, les touristes ne font toujours que passer dans le fond ? N’allons tout de même pas jusqu’à lui avouer que c’est justement pour assister à cette scène que nous sommes revenus. Miss Malawi ne prend même pas la peine de nous demander les informations que nous avons pu récolter, on ne sait jamais, juste au cas où quelqu’un d’autre aurait un jour l’idée de venir se renseigner ici. Sa collègue quant à elle ne trouve rien de mieux à faire que de nous envoyer à 400km de là, se renseigner auprès des chauffeurs de minibus qui en savent plus qu’elle sur les routes du pays. Miss Malawi garde la tête basse, un peu comme une princesse ayant perdu sa couronne.
Ferry, train, route au barque, quitter le Malawi pour le Mozambique n’est donc pas un problème, tout dépend de envies du voyageur et de sa capacité à gérer l’imprévu. Certaines routes manquent sur les cartes du pays, faisant ainsi de petites localités des îlots isolées au cœur du pays, c’est le cas de Nayuchi, ville frontalière. La route existe mais vu son état, les cartographes ont décidé de ne pas prendre la peine de la mentionner. Notre décision est prise, quand le temps manque, il faut savoir éviter les chemins de traverses pour des voies plus sûres. En route pour le nord à la frontière de Chiponde au-delà d’une petite chaine de montagnes verdoyantes remplie de singes postés sur le bord du tarmac. Une traverse définitivement moins aventureuse qu’à l’accoutumée. Merci Miss Malawi.
