What's in a name?

A lot, apparently. Especially when you’re a white woman with a Zulu last name.

When Langa and I got married, I took his last name. I guess for all my liberal ideas, I’m still a traditionalist at heart. I wanted to have the same last name as my husband, and the same last name as our children. I considered the double-barrelled approach (Gentile-Mchunu) but it just seemed like a lot of work, so instead I became Jaime Clare Gentile Mchunu (Clare and Gentile both becoming my middle names because both have sentimental value). It turned out that the 4 name approach also require a lot of work, including an extra line on my driver’s license and THREE failed attempts by the US embassy to get my name right on my passport (I have three extra passports now, all with different varieties of Jaime Clare Gentile Mchunu).

I’ll be honest, I went through a bit of a mourning phase when I transitioned from Gentile to Mchunu; it wasn’t as simple as I thought it would be. When you spend 26 years introducing yourself by one name, there is a feeling of loss to suddenly identify yourself by another name. And even more than that, I was now identified by a last name which is ethnically different than mine. It is a traditional Zulu last name. I’m struggling to find the words to explain how this feels. I wonder if my German grandmother felt the same way when she married my Italian grandfather. Did Clare Heller have a hard time adapting when she suddenly became Clare Gentile? Was it hard for her to leave her family in Philadelphia and move to New York City where she had to adapt to the Italian-American way of life? I wish she were still here so I could ask her. All I can say is that your name says something about you; and my new name was saying something very different than my old one did.

What I did not anticipate was the reaction of other people to my last name. It’s very revealing when I introduce myself as Jaime Mchunu. First of all, people immediately know that my husband is black. This is not something I would ever hide, but basically when I introduce myself I am saying “My name is Jaime and my husband is black.” This opens up the opportunity for people to ask all sorts of questions into my personal life: “Did he pay lobola (aka traditional bride price) for you?” “Do you know how to make samp and beans (a traditional Zulu meal)?” “Is your family okay with you being married to a black man?!” No, receptionist at the post office, he did not pay lobola, I do not know how to make samp and beans (although I do like to eat it) and my family is absolutely okay with the color of my husband’s skin.

Often, my last name helps me out. If I want to break the ice or to be memorable, I can just throw in my last name and it works like a charm. For example, if I want to set up a meeting with someone in the government (which I have to do often for work) all I have to do is introduce myself as Jaime Mchunu, and I’m golden. Zulu people usually love that I am married to a Zulu man. It means that I am non- racist; I’m open-minded and I understand their culture. Langa and I are the face of the new South Africa. People usually like seeing us walking hand in hand, and they like us even more when they find out we’re married. We’re a bit famous in our neighbourhood because there aren’t a whole lot of mixed race couples. When people meet us or serve us at a restaurant/ grocery store/ veterinarian/ etc they remember us and I’m often thereafter referred to as Mam’Mchunu or Umama ekhaya (mother of the house).

There is also sometimes a bizarre reaction from Zulu men. I have found on a few occasions that when a Zulu man finds out that I am married to another Zulu man, he sees this as an opportunity to hit on me. I guess in his head he’s thinking “cool she’s open to dating a black man” but he ignores the fact that I’m married, and not interested in taking a mister (or whatever the male equivalent of a mistress is).

Often when people look at my credit card or passport and see my name they look up at my face in shock, then back at the card, then back to my face. Then they say “You’re a Mchunu?!” Usually it’s a kind-spirited question coming from genuine interest and/or confusion. To which I usually respond, “it’s my married name” or “my husband is Zulu.” Should I have to explain myself every time I introduce myself? Probably not. But it’s just easier. Once the airline employee taking boarding passes at the gate chased me onto the plane yelling, “Ma’am, you gave me the wrong ticket!” It happens when you’re a white Mchunu. These questions always come from Zulu people (I’ve never had a white person ask me about my last name) and they’re usually innocent and kind-spirited questions.

And now we get to the crux of the story. Sometimes the “How are you a Mchunu?” question is not so friendly. It’s more of a “How are YOU a Mchunu?” with attitude. Sort of “Just who do you think you are?”

Last week at the supermarket I apparently got the only cashier who has never seen or met me and Langa. A Zulu woman, she looked down at my credit card and back at me and started laughing. Laughing AT me, not WITH me. And then she said “that’s not your name! You’re not a Mchunu!” She yelled something in Zulu to the woman who was bagging groceries and showed her my card and then they both started laughing and talking in Zulu. Then I reached for my card, and said “I am a Mchunu!” But she pulled the card away to look at it again and kept laughing. To which I replied “I AM a Mchunu, now give me my card!” I then took my card and left the store.

I’m not usually the type of person that speaks up about something like this. If the waitress brings me a pasta with mushrooms after I had asked for no mushrooms (I HATE mushrooms) I would rather just pick around them than ask her to take it back. I don’t like conflict and I don’t do well in confrontations. So I’ll eat around the mushrooms and move on with my life. My husband is the other type of person. He has a strong sense of justice, and when he feels that he or someone he cares about has been treated unjustly, he will speak up and he will do it loudly.

So when I told Langa about this incident, he immediately demanded that we go back to the grocery store. He asked to speak to the manager and we told the story. I was TERRIFIED they would make me speak directly to the cashier who had made me feel so.... unwelcome? discriminated against? I’m not sure, but I didn’t want to see her again. The manager was amazing. She said “Well this is absolutely unacceptable! In this day and age in South Africa, we do not have room for people like this who would tease someone like this. Trust me, this will be taken care of.”

I suspect the cashier no longer has a job now. I don’t feel great about that. But I also didn’t feel great about the way she treated me. I guess it was up to the manager how to deal with a customer complaint. Maybe she just gave the cashier a strong talking to.

Basically all I’m trying to say is that in the last year and a half I have learned that there is a whole lot that people interpret and judge based on my name. Usually the response is positive, but sometimes it’s pretty rude or intrusive. I’m interested to see how this phenomenon will translate when we move to the US, where people will not know that Mchunu is a Zulu name, but they will know that it is a foreign name. I often wonder if our children will be treated differently and how they’ll react. Will they take the “pick around the mushrooms” approach like their mother, and later write a thoughtful, reflective blog post about an injustice they’ve experience? Or will they stand up for themselves in the grocery store like their father? No matter how they react, I hope that they are proud of their name and the heritage that they come from; I hope they’re proud to be a result of the “new South Africa” and a product of a love that is color blind. Only time will tell.

I'm back!

It's official: I'm bringing the blog back. But I'm doing it secretly. So only the old faithfuls will know (aka those who still check my blog, even though I haven't updated it in over a year). It makes me a bit sad that I haven't done a better job of blogging. I think I lost interest when life in South Africa became less foreign and more mundane. I felt like I had less to report on. But unfortunately, I've also stopped journaling somewhere along the way. And by "somewhere along the way" I mean, 2007. Shocking. I'm not sure why I lost interest in journaling. Maybe it had something to do with the mundane-ness of life. Or maybe it's just that I don't like writing by hand. One of my special skills in life is typing super fast. Coincidentally, my other special skill is making amazing chocolate chip cookies. With these powers combined I could very quickly write a very short cookbook... but I digress. So one of my reasons for reincarnating the blog is a (perhaps egotistical) desire to have a written record of my thoughts, observations and experiences again.

And there's another reason. In the near future (no set date yet, but it's out there), Langa and I will be making the big move to America. Langa passed his green card interview. That's right; the news just went viral (I think that's the term people use when something hits the cyber world?). He doesn't yet have the green card because it's only activated when he enters the US, but he's gotten the American nod of approval to become a resident of the USofA. And I want to capture this last (-- enter unknown number of months-- ) in Durban. This will be a big transition for Langa and me (and for Tyson of course, who as you can see from the picture is VERY excited to become an American) and the exciting-ness of this transition has motivated me to start up the blog again.

I have lots of ideas of what I want to write about, so I'm going to create a list of sorts. Partially to whet your interest (and by "your" I mean the fictional people who are reading this because I don't think anyone is) and partially as a reminder to myself over the coming months of what I was thinking of writing about. Perhaps this will serve as a "how-to" blog for fellow ex-pats who are contemplating making the big move home. So get excited, because this is what you have to look forward to...

1. The big scary green card process
2. Reasons to move to the USA
3. Things to miss about RSA
4. How to transport a cocker spaniel across the Atlantic Ocean
5. Being the prodigal daughter
6. South African-isms I may have to un-learn
7. Learning how to be an adult in America

And much, much more...

Two Weddings

They say that every girl dreams of her wedding day her whole life. To be honest, I don't think I was really that kind of kid growing up. Sure I'd given my someday-nuptials a passing thought here or there, but I had never put much concern into it. Getting married was something that grown-ups do and therefore something that I didn't need to worry about.

Had I been one of those little girls who had her whole wedding planned out by the age of 8, I don't think I could have in my wildest dreams imagined that I would someday have two wedding celebrations in two different languages, two different cultures, two different continents.

Our "white wedding" (this is what South Africans call the church wedding) took place in Rochester, NY on August 6, 2010. Langa and I agonized for the first few months of our engagement over where to have our wedding. Unfortunately, there was no possible solution that would incorporate all of our friends and families and cultural traditions in one location and one ceremony. In the end, we decided to have the white wedding in the US, followed by a traditional ceremony in South Africa. This seemed to be the best way to include as many of our loved ones as possible and also incorporate as many of our individual traditions as possible.


After a few months of long distance wedding planning (with much assistance from my amazing parents and sisters), Langa and I travelled to Rochester for our wedding, along with Langa's best friend Champ, his Aunt Sane, and his cousin Londi and her husbnad Sbu. The week before the wedding was a whirlwind of preparations. The day of the wedding was absolutely amazing and more perfect than Langa and I could have ever imagined.



The ceremony was perfect, filled with memorable readings and songs. There is a South African song called "Ndihamba Nawe" by Mafikizolo. It means "I'm going with you" and is often used in South African weddings. our wonderful friend Dave agreed to compose the song for his band (The Dave Savine Quartet) from listening to it on youtube, and our equally wonderful friend Jessie agreed to sing the Xhosa lyrics to the song. It was simply amazing and the perfect way to end our ceremony. It was such a joyful, wonderful day and we felt incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by so many amazing people who love and support us. And more than anything else, we had so much fun! Langa and I really felt so grateful to have friends and family join us from all over the country, and in fact from all over the world, to mark the beginning of our new journey together.

Fast forward one week and we were on a different continent heading to another wedding ceremony. The ceremony in Zulu is called ukugenisa umakoti ekhaya, which means "welcoming the bride home." Symbolically, it is the ceremony in which the groom's family welcomes his new wife into their family. Although Langa's family has always been incredibly welcoming and I've felt a part of the family for a while now, this was the day when I officially became a part of the Mchunu family.

As we drove up to Langa's mom's house in Umlazi (where the ceremony took place) I started panicking, saying to Langa "I can't do this! I don't want to get out of the car!" I was so nervous to participate in this ceremony which I didn't fully understand and didn't fully know what to expect. But slowly slowly as I exited the car, I started to see familiar faces. Several of my colleagues from work and several of my close friends were there. And Langa's granny came up to the car and took my hand. Langa's niece, who was acting as our flower girl, came to lead me to the tent. Langa's mother and aunt gave me hugs. Other family members came and greeted me as well. Everyone was singing a traditional Zulu wedding song and dancing. Truly, I felt welcomed into their home.

One of the traditions related to the ceremony was that I was meant to lead a goat to the house, and then it would be slaughtered in the backyard by Langa's older male relatives as a symbolic offering to the ancestors, letting them know that I am part of the family now. Rather than leading it (it was a very resistant goat... perhaps it knew what was coming), I just touched the rope, thus symbolically having a part in leading it to the house.












We then settled into a stunningly decorated tent. I must give props to Langa's mom who has an impeccable sense of style. She helped pick out the design for my dress for the traditional ceremony (which I love and hope to find an opportunity to wear again). She also had the tent in her front yard decorated beautifully. There were several speeches; one by the master of ceremonies (a male relative of Langa's) and by an elder in the family (Baba Mchunu) who led the traditional parts of the day. There was also a speech by the reverend who led us in our pre-marital counselling prior to the wedding and is also a relative of Langa's. He also had us renew our vows, which was very special because then our South African friends and family got to hear us say our "I do's." Other relatives spoke, including Langa's aunt and granny. Most of it was in English, but the bits that were in Zulu were translated for my benefit and for the benefit of other non-Zulu speaking guests. The speeches were broken up by outbursts of song and dance.

One of my favorite lines from the speeches was when Baba Mchunu said that Mchunu men can be difficult and stubborn and they sometimes misbehave. But one thing he knows for sure, is that when it comes time to pick out a wife, Mchunu men have very good taste. And they always select a very good woman, and a very tall woman. All of our guests got a good laugh out of this. I have to admit I'm a good head taller than most South African women, and many South African men as well for that matter. There's one picture from the ceremony where I'm walking into the tent, surrounded by people, and I look like a giant. One of my friends said "wow you must have had tall heels on!" I was wearing flats.

Following speeches and dinner, Baba Mchunu took the gall bladder from the slaughtered goat and placed a dot of its bile on my forehead, my thumbnails, and my toes. This was the culmination of the ceremony and was the official welcoming of me into the family and introducing me to the ancestors as a Mchunu. As I looked out at the crowd gathered, all of them smiling at me, I have to admit I was a bit overcome with emotion. When I think of the person I was when I first came to South Africa in 2005, when I returned in 2007, when I met Langa in 2007... it is amazing to think of the person I am now. Not to say that I have changed drastically, but rather to recognize the amount that I Have learned and grown. The amount that I have been challenged. The amount of love that I have experienced. It is truly stunning.

Langa and I both feel very grateful to have such wonderful, loving families on both sides of the world. It's really quite incredible to have families that are so accepting and that have welcomed us into their lives so warmly. And our two perfect wedding ceremonies demonstrated this for us.

Now we are settling into married life. I'm getting used to being Jaime Mchunu (I googled it and I think I'm the only person ever to have the name Jaime Mchunu). We are holding off on a honeymoon for now, although we did spend a 12 hour lay-over in Cairo on the way back to SA from the US. We got to see the pyramids and the Sphinx, and even got to ride camels. Not a bad mini-moon if you ask me.

And now, I've had my dream weddings that I never could have dreamt up in my wildest dreams. We're looking forward to the adventures that marriage has in store for us and the journeys that we'll take together. And we couldn't be happier.

Bafana Bafana

Two very unfortunate things have happened in my budding literary career... 1) I’ve stopped writing in my journal. After faithfully keeping a journal since my teenage years, in the past two years I have somehow stopped completely. And 2) I’ve stopped writing blog updates. Equally as tragic, I haven’t written a new blog in ten months. And somehow it seems that my life is passing, unrecorded. I’m not sure why I’ve stopped writing. Perhaps it’s because life here has become somewhat less shocking and new than when I first moved here.

But now I will commit myself to at least attempting to keep the blog more up-to-date. There is a lot to update you on from the last 10 months. Many of you will already know much of this, so you can just skim this update part and go onto the rest.

Let’s see... in September I travelled to a conference on Inclusive Education in Germany to present a paper that I co-authored on education strategies for children with disabilities in developing countries. The conference was in Dusseldorf, which I loved, and then after the conference I hopped on a train to Berlin to spend a couple days there. I really enjoyed what little I saw of Germany, and even got to use some of the limited German that I remembered from my high school days. But as is often the case with travelling, this brief visit gave me an itch for travelling and I hope to someday return to Europe and do some backpacking. We shall see...

Then in October, my boyfriend Langa popped the question! We are now in the midst of planning an August 2010 wedding in Rochester, NY, which will be followed by South African celebrations here later in 2010. It’s funny that I feel comfortable writing about my feelings of homesickness, my experiences of culture shock, my travel adventures, and all other emotions that I experience, but when it comes to mushy things like love, I feel less inclined to share my feelings on such a public forum. So let me just say, we are exceedingly happy and I can’t wait to be Mrs. Mchunu.

In December, Langa and I travelled with his best friend Nkululeko (also known by his nickname Champ) to America for a visit. During our one month in the US we travelled to Las Vegas, Philadelphia, DC, Delaware, New Jersey, New York City, Denver, and Rochester. It was a whirlwind visit, but we were able to see a lot of wonderful people and visit a lot of wonderful places.

So those are the big highlights from the last 10 months. Work is going well. I continue to work as a researcher. I am currently working on two projects: one looking at special education policy in KwaZulu-Natal province and the other monitoring our new HIV prevention programme in high schools. I really feel very fortunate to have had the chance to work at MIET for the last 2 years and have learned more than I ever imagined I could have.

So that is a very abbreviated version of what has happened since my last update in July 2009. And now onto what is most of interest to me (and to all of South Africa) at the moment... The 2010 Soccer World Cup! For those of you who don’t know, the World Cup will be hosted in South Africa next month, and South Africans have spoken of little else for the last 6 years. The big looming question now is whether or not South Africa is ready... will the transport system be able to handle the tourists? Will crime run rampant? Will all of the games sell-out?

Many South Africans have very strong opinions of the World Cup. I am a bit torn. On the one side there is the sceptic camp... those who see the millions of dollars that are being poured into building “world class” stadiums and wondering whether this money might be better used addressing the health, housing and education concerns of the country. There are other development issues connected to the World Cup... like the buses that will drive around the city picking up street children, who will then be dropped off outside of the city centre to present a better picture of South Africa for tourists; aka one without hungry children begging for food on street corners. Basically, trying to hide the poverty, rather than addressing the real issues that cause the poverty. And then the question of why the country can spend money improving the transportation and policing systems for tourists. Shouldn’t they have done this for South African citizens in the first place? Why do we need to wait until there are some foreigners who need to be transported and protected to improve services?

And then there is the vuvuzela blowing, flag waving side of the story. Hosting the World Cup is a great source of pride for South Africans, and for the African continent (this is the first World Cup ever to be held in Africa). Perhaps the event will increase tourism and increase respect internationally for South Africa. Every Friday, South Africans are encouraged to wear Bafana Bafana jerseys (Bafana Bafana is the name of the national soccer team and means "boys boys"). It is wonderful to walk around on Friday and see many people of all races wearing bright yellow shirts to show their pride in their country. And to see the South African flags waving out of car windows. This has been a wonderful example of positive nation-building. But as has been pointed out, national pride and impressive stadiums do not feed the hungry...

After 6 years of preparation... the World Cup will officially open in about 2 weeks time. Games will take place in various cities throughout the country for one month, culminating in the final match in Jo’burg in July. I’m hoping for a US-South Africa face-off in the final, but only time will tell. But after spending 6 years of preparation and 6 years of talking about little else besides the World Cup, the real question is... what will South Africans have to talk about after the World Cup is over???

Learning to drive on the other side of the road.

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The Warm Heart of Africa

On the flight from Lilongwe, Malawi back to Johannesburg, the woman sitting in front of me was a self-appointed expert on America. Although her blatantly South African accent revealed that she was not in fact an American, she clearly felt that she knew everything there was to know about America. I sat there, laughing to myself, as I listened to her tell her neighbor in great detail which cities were safe, which were fun, where the weather was best, etc etc. Although she had a very positive view of America, it was also unquestionably that of a tourist. And so I sat there smiling, feeling blithely superior because no matter how much she thought she knew, I obviously knew more.

This got me thinking about these blog updates I write. Am I that know-it-all tourist who claims to be an expert on another country? Perhaps, although I like to believe that having now lived here for more than 2 years I am no longer classified as a tourist, or am at least classified as an expert-tourist. And I also like to believe that I don’t come off as a know-it-all. But now as I sit down to write a blog update about our visit to Malawi, I am going to try to keep in mind that spending seven days in a country by no means makes me an expert. With this warning, please feel free to take my thoughts with a grain of salt and recognize that it is, in the end, just the rambling observations of a young American exploring a different part of the world.

My dad came to visit me for three weeks; the first two spent in South Africa, the third in Malawi. While in South Africa, we spent a few days in Johannesburg, almost a week in Durban (where the above picture was taken), and then made short trips to a game park to the north and to the beautiful beaches of the Wild Coast to the south. All in all, I think dad got a good feel for South Africa in a short amount of time. On my side, it was really great to be able to show him a bit of my life here. And he was a great sport about trying everything and fitting in as much as possible.

And now, on to Malawi. Dad, Langa, and I spent a week in Malawi, where we visited two of my friends there (Kevin, who was finishing his Peace Corps service there, and his girlfriend Briana, who recently finished her Peace Corps service in Namibia). We also visited Andy and his brother Pete, family friends from good ole’ Rochester who are in Malawi doing research.

I don’t want to go on and on about our week there, although I certainly could, so I will just share some highlights.


1. Our arrival at Senga Bay

After arriving in Lilongwe (the capital), meeting up with Kevin and Briana, picking up our rental car (a ’99 Corolla with questionable brakes… and by questionable I mean they squealed loudly even when touched ever so lightly), we drove about 2 hours to Senga Bay, where we would spend our first night. Our first observation: it smells like chicken poop. Our second observation: it’s getting dark and I hope they have food. Our third observation: it is quite pretty here. Our fourth observation: there’s a bar in the lake at the end of a dock. Sweet.

Unfortunately when we went to check-in and get settled in our chalet that we reserved, we were told that they had lost the keys. Our fifth observation: apparently they don’t keep spare keys here. And so we instead settled into our tents, which thankfully had cots and linens because we didn’t bring sleeping bags with us. After eating arguably the best burger of my life and having a few drinks at the bar-on-the-lake, we all settled into our tents for a good nights sleep, disrupted only by a windstorm and dangerous flying branches. In the morning we were served a delicious breakfast on the lake, and then headed off for our next destination…


2. Cape McClear

After a beautiful drive we arrived at a bumpy dirt road which led us to Cape McClear. Fortunately our Corolla (with the help of Langa’s driving skills) made it safely along the 15 or so kilometers of ditches and bumps that made up the road. Cape McClear is absolutely beautiful. It’s interesting in that it seems to be a tourist hotspot plopped down in the middle of a typical rural village. The road is dotted by backpackers, lodges, restaurants, bars, and craft-sellers, as well as small local homes. Children run barefoot along the dirt road and local men ride beat-up bikes. And as tourists walk down the road, it isn’t uncommon for a small child to run up and hold their hands, often saying the only line of English they seem know: “Give me money.”

The backpackers we stayed at was lovely and was located right on the beach so that we literally rolled out of our tent (we again stayed in a tent with cots) and into the lake. Unfortunately it was a bit noisy because it was a holiday weekend so the place was PACKED. And it was located right next to a local bar. We were awoken in the wee hours of one morning by drunken men shouting “I love Malawi! I love Malawi!” which somehow quickly mutated into “F*** Malawi! F*** Malawi!”

While there we did some swimming, some lying in the sun, and some snorkeling. It was very nice and very relaxing. The service was a bit slow (one morning I waited two hours for a grilled cheese sandwich) but the laid-back atmosphere was intoxicating.


3. The market in Zomba

After spending two days on Cape McClear we drove a few hours to the city of Zomba, where Andy and Pete (from Rochester) are currently doing research. They’re staying in a beautiful house just outside of town and we were all pretty excited to have showers, beds, a kitchen where we could cook, and their kind hospitality.

One of the highlights of our stay in Zomba was the market in town. Briana and I went there the first day to do some shopping to make fajitas. In addition to the fruit and vegetable market where we did our shopping, there was a “stuff” market that sold pirated dvds, knock-off purses, and sarongs. My favorite sarong, by far, was the one with the face of our very own Barack Obama. It had a map of Africa and writing in Chichewa (the local language), and Barack Obama’s face. I wanted to buy it, but was too stingy, so took a picture instead. In retrospect, it might have been a good investment.


4. “Mzungu”

While in Zomba we went for a hike on the plateau there. During our walk we were passed by many men riding bikes, piled several feet high with logs, which would later be used for firewood or to turn into charcoal. Andy informed us that the word for white person in Chichewa, “mzungu” could also mean “one who wanders aimlessly.” It seemed pretty appropriate as we walked leisurely, stopping for pictures and jumping through streams, while these men huffed and puffed down the dirt road, directing bikes which probably weighed a couple hundred pounds.

This term took on even more meaning the next day when Dad, Andy, and I visited a mental hospital in Zomba where a British girl that Andy knows is working as an occupational therapist. It’s the only public mental hospital in Malawi, and also has people staying there from Zimbabwe and Mozambique. It was a pretty powerful experience visiting the place and seeing the conditions there, especially for my dad (who works in mental health). The most difficult part for me was seeing the children, who are often just dropped there with no contact details for their parents/families, meaning that they will be there for the rest of their lives, even for minor problems. Many families feel that a mental disability is a sign of witchcraft and a shame on the family.

The British woman who gave us our tour told us that the main reasons for admitting someone into the hospital were: 1) Talking too much and 2) Wandering aimlessly. I briefly considered admitting dad, who is guilty of both of these maladies, but decided mom might miss him too much.


5. Pit stop

After spending a couple of days in Zomba, we headed back to Lilongwe, about 5 hours north. Unfortunately, we failed to realize that gas stations are not on every corner in Malawi, but rather you can go a couple hundred kilometers without seeing one. About half way through our trip the gas light came on, with us still a good one hundred kilometers from the next town that might have a petrol station. And so we started the great petrol hunt.

A gentleman at a museum we visited told us that we would be able to get petrol in a village about 5 km away, and that we just had to turn off the main road onto a dirt road and follow it to the trading centre in the village. After finding the turn off we stopped at a high school to ask for further directions, where a student told us to follow the road and look for “happy happy,” which would have petrol. After the Corolla scraped bottom a few times on the bumpy dirt road, we eventually found our way to “happy hap”… close enough. But after a conversation with some guys who didn’t seem too familiar with English, we discovered that “happy hap” was all out of petrol. Then a truck driver told Langa that he could help out, but that Langa had to go with him. So Dad instructed Langa to park in the shade and leave the keys. We all had a good laugh when Langa asked if Dad intended to leave him in the village if things went awry. Then Briana went off in search of some chips to snack on, leaving me and Dad in the car. While dad was for the majority of the trip up for any adventure, this was a bit more than he had bargained for. He sat in the front seat, looking in all directions nervously, saying that we shouldn’t have let Langa and Briana go off on their own. He then said, “this is how those scary movies start out when a bunch of foreigners get abducted.” Now I’ve never heard of such a movie, but eventually Briana and Langa both returned. Unfortunately this village was out of petrol, so we continued our hunt.

We stopped at little markets on the side of the road for the next few kilometers, until eventually we found one with some promise. Langa got out to explain our predicament (dad again requested that we park in the shade and keep the keys) and soon a group of men gathered to hear our story, or just to stare at us. Eventually a teenage boy wearing a Diesel shirt (always a good sign when you’re looking for petrol) ran off, and then returned a few minutes later with a 5 litre jug of petrol. While we paid a pretty penny and risked our lives (according to Dad) for this petrol, all in all we made it safely to our destination and got to experience a lil’ bit of Malawi along the way.


6. The warm heart of Africa

Malawi is known as “The warm heart of Africa.” I have mixed feelings about this. On the one hand, we met some very friendly Malawians (such as the Diesel boy who found us petrol) but we also had some negative encounters, such as two gentlemen who yelled at us to “F*** off!” and then chased our car when we stopped to take a picture of a billboard. I think this negative encounter may be more indicative of a negative view towards tourists rather than a reflection of the attitude of the entire country. All in all, I loved Malawi. I loved the beautiful lake, the bustling markets, the plateau in Zomba, and the long drives through miles and miles of open land. More than that, though, I loved that Dad was able to share this adventure with me, Langa, and our friends. So until the next adventure, this know-it-all (expert) tourist is signing off from the country just south of the warm heart of Africa.

Ntando's birthday party

Pics from my homestay sister Ntando's 4th birthday.