Malawi, East and Central Africa, Kenya,Tanzania, Zambia to Malawi. 1993-1994. By Pamella Allen

I sat up one day and decided it was time to go to Africa.  After much research and many shots, I set off with an old friend for "The Motherland" for what was to be a 3 month trip backpacking through East Africa.  Fifteen months later and ten pounds lighter I returned home to NYC a very different woman. With backpack and tent in tow I set off on a journey that I hoped would bring me closer to the land that always held such mystery for me, to see it with my own eyes.  Friends at home had given me the names of a few older expatriates who lived there.Kenya is a good spot to land if it is your first time in East Africa it gives the much needed crash course on the combustion of cultures that reside in the heart of Africa.

During my travels I met many interesting people.  I was introduced to Dave Barton by another traveler, he stopped at Twiga beach to work on his safari truck on his way overland to his new campsite farther south  in Malawi . I had no knowledge of Malawi its landscape or its people, but was assured that if I wanted to feel the "untouched" Africa, this was the place to go. I talked about it with my traveling buddy Andrea and  two days later we were driving south in Dave's truck en route to Malawi.   There is no better way to see the African country side than from the open back of an overland safari truck.  We passed the green and yellow of corn, sugar cane, bamboo and bougainvillea and the sky that does not end.

Up and over into the mountains winding on roads not built for the width of any truck. Children walking from school, the smell of wood burning from a distance, women bent over to work the fields, mothers carrying wood, babies, and harvest to and from market. As we passed through the border to Tanzania, people were pointing and shouting "mazungu mazungu", which is Swahili for westerner. One should be warned that police corruption at border patrols is common, and bribes are a must. Our shortcut through Zambia frightened me the most.  The landscape seemed "wired", it was extremely hot and dry, and the landscape was severe and sharp. The people we came across were equally as severe.  Like their landscape, they too frightened me.

Finally we reached the border of Malawi and drove farther south toward Lake Malawi, where the landscape and the people in it became softer and quieter. After 5 days driving overland and much anticipation we are all excited to be in the home stretch. We turned off of the main road and onto a much smaller sand covered path that had mango and almond trees hanging low over head. While driving pass the rice paddies and small cement homes, the local children were running behind the truck screaming and cheering us on as we tried to avoid running into the fallen trees from the previous rainy season.

About a half a kilometer away from the campsite we lost the battle with the sand the road and the fallen trees.  Our truck was stuck!  To our amazement, half the village came to our aid to help us push the truck out of the sand ditch. This was my first real experience with the people and the landscape of Malawi. It marked the beginning of my deep relationship with the people of Kande village and ultimately with Africa itself.

Pamella Allen Copyright January 2003 Pamellaallen@aol.com

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There, I lived in a tent on the beach beneath the palms.  Early in the morning, no alarm clock is necessary, the
heat from the morning sun woke me.  I would unzip my tent, crawl 10 feet across hot white sand into clear
cool water, as little transparent fish would rush past as the tide.

In general my interactions with locals were pleasant, but on the days that I went into Mombassa to shop or do
banking dressed like a Swahili girl in colorful kangas, I was treated  with much less respect, especially by
African men, until I opened my big Jamaican born Manhattan bred mouth.  To most Kenyans, flannels, jeans
and Timberlands identify wealth.  Kanga and flip flops, while beautiful necessities for Kenyan life, are
considered poor mans rags.

After a couple of months of tourist heaven and acclimation in Kenya I grew tired of the excesses, extremes and
corruption in the urban life of Mombassa and Nairobi. I also grew tired of the decadence of the expatriates.  
Afterall, if I wanted to hang out with a bunch of English people, I would have flown to London.  And their term
"house boy" had started to rub me entirely the wrong way.  I felt that I wanted a closer interaction with
Africans on a more personal level, my connection to the Maassii and the Kikuyu was always cursory, to them I
was  instantly identitifed as mzungu (westerner) and I was grouped with the Anglos who were also traveling
through Africa.  Eventually I knew it was time to move on.