Sunrise sunburst over Kande Beach.

Roger and I wanted to sleep in today since we are at Kande Beach for two nights. We have gotten up at 5:00 am for the last five mornings, so we thought a nice quiet morning dozing in bed would be fantastic. But alas, it wasn’t going to happen. A storm, Lake Malawi style, rolled in during the early morning hours. The lake, which had been tranquil changed into a crashing, roaring ocean. The waves were big enough for surfing, and the noise was a constant drone.

Stormy Lake Malawi.

The windows in our room didn’t have any glass, just mini-rebar for security and screening for the “mosies”. The reed blinds were flailing around, and the door was thumping in the wind. I got up just before 7:00 am to see what all the commotion was about. From the veranda, the early morning light was amazing, golden and grey. The wind was howling in from the lake with enough force to throw the toothpaste back in my face when I tried to spit it out. I think I heard something once about pissing into the wind – I just wish I had been warned about spitting.

Later:

Roger and I went for a walking tour of the local village. Our guide was a man named Christopher Columbus.

Christopher took us to his home, a red mud-brick building about the size of a one car garage.  He lives there with his wife, three children, his brother and sister-in-law, and their two children. The house has no running water. There is a Canadian designed water pump about 5 minutes walk away.  The electricity consisted of a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling.

Christopher’s house.

Water pump near Christopher’s house.

Christopher’s kitchen.

People still cook over wood fires here. They use a shed outside as the kitchen so the smoke and soot don’t ruin the inside of the house. A fire is built on the ground, with a small clay stand to hold the pots. Christopher proudly pointed out the two chicken nests in the shed filled with eggs. He told us that he will let the chickens hatch, rather than eating the eggs, so he can have more chickens.

Later, Christopher walked us through the village and up to the local hospital. The hospital is a squat, one story affair, made of the ubiquitous red mud brick. I don’t think it even had running water. It was big enough to have a couple of rooms for clinics, and maybe a dozen in-patient beds. At the hospital, hundreds of people were milling around outside, talking, sitting in the shade of a tree, holding babies. They were all waiting to be seen for one thing or another. Some had medical problems, some were there to have their children vaccinated. After I get back, I promise I won’t complain about a full waiting room for at least a month!

Waiting to be seen at the hospital.

Christopher then took us to the local primary school, where we met the Headmaster. This is where the whole tug-on-the-heart-strings manipulation really began. We had been warned…. The Headmaster told us about children who needed funding to continue going to school, and about costs of text books, the need for pencils and uniforms. This is standard operating procedure with all visitors. We were told not to make any donations because half would go into the pocket of the Headmaster, and the other half would go to Christopher for taking us to the school.

Studying outside.

The school, the children, and the people are obviously very poor. But the system is corrupt, with individuals taking what is intended for whole communities. Also, the African mind-set has become one of “give me”. As we walked down the dusty roads, children always came running up, taking our hands, and saying “Give me my pen” or “Give me money”. I have come to believe that all the aid, all the volunteering, all the charitable donations have created a culture of dependency.  All “our” good intentions have done is teach people that someone will give them something any time they ask.

Village boy.

So Roger and I hardened our hearts, thanked the Headmaster for his time, and walked back towards the camp with Christopher. The walk took about 20 minutes, and Christopher spent the time trying to get anything he could out of us – he asked repeatedly for clothing, hats, would we sponsor one of his children for school (also a scam where he splits the money with the Headmaster), would we send him our old computers from home, did we have an old cell phone we could give him, on and on and on…

Foot traffic on the village path.

Village kids love being photographed.

I was exhausted by the time we got back to Kande Beach Camp, and were able to take refuge behind the closed gates. We were glad we did the walking tour, but as we were warned, there is a lot of emotional manipulation.

That evening we enjoyed a freshly roasted suckling pig for dinner. The pig was slow roasted on a spit over charcoal for the entire afternoon. Ebron cooked up some great side dishes to go with dinner, and I made a apple crumble over the coals for dessert.

Dinner is roasting.

Dinner is ready.