Plus this was the beginning of bilharzia territory -- a tiny fluke that is a parasite in freshwater snails which enters a human body by burrowing through the feet and causes irrepairable damage to a person's internal organs. Not pleasant. Especially when urinating blood is one of the initial signs of infection. Basically, no freshwater is safe. Of course, that didn't stop me from going in the water, specifically Lake Malawi, and someday soon I'll have to take the pills I bought from a chemist in Blantyre which will kill the fluke. Since the pills pretty much kill everything in your system, however, the only question is do I suffer through the pills now (people feel like crap for a day and a half after and Emma, our trip leader, burned her esophagus from swallowing the pills) or take my chances and wait for the red stream?
Also had a bit of a weird experience on the drive from Mulanje to Cape Maclear. Everyone was on a high after the Mulanje experience and having a good time on the truck, raiding the bar and the toybox (full of random items of clothing people have left behind or purchased and donated, including things like a green and black sequin dress that has seen better days). We were going to bushcamp due to our late start time and pulled off the road in the dark looking for a place to camp for the night. We attracted some villagers immediately, but didn't think anything of it because we are so used to being a spectacle. Emma went off to go find the local chief for permission to camp while we set about getting everything set up and dinner ready to cook. Then things started to derail. More and more villagers appeared, shouting now, most staying out of the lights of BiRT. We were all still in a jovial mood and didn't pick up on the undercurrent of anger coursing through the crowd. Then the first rock came flying out of the dark. And another. And another. We were stunned. It was completely outside the realm of our experience. Where were the friendly smiles of Zimbabwe? About this time, Emma reappeared and said "Pack it up, let's get out of here!" Within minutes we were back on the truck, completely shocked, crashing through the now mob-like crowd as the occasional rock hit BiRT. Nobody was injured on the truck (or the mob, for that matter), although a couple of people had been hit with small rocks before we made our quick exit. I still have no explanation for what happened. Nobody does. Clearly we weren't welcome, but why? And it all happened so quickly with no warning. As luck would have it, we found a secure campsite a few kilometers down the road and passed the rest of the night without incident.
The only true highlight for me other than Mulanje in Malawi was cooking Thanksgiving dinner with Diana, the other American on the trip, in Cape Maclear on the white sand shores of Lake Malawi.
Typical Cape Maclear scene of fishing boats and colorful nets:
Somehow we managed to make duck with a ginger garlic soy sauce, lamb (neither of us had cooked either duck or lamb), homemade stuffing (one portion contained a vegetable stock I made from scratch for the vegetarian in the group), mashed potatoes and lamb gravy, corn pudding, pumpkin pie, flan, and mango pie for 18 people using only fire.
You may have noticed some non-traditional items in that list. With no turkeys in sight, we decided to go with fresh duck for our poultry. Our ducks came to our camp alive and preening, and hung out near the fire. They were awfully quiet and I'm sure they knew what was coming, especially since their legs were tied together and they couldn't move. Diana and I had a few hours of staring at them uneasily while they stared uneasily back before a fellow came and butchered them for us. Talk about fresh duck. Then there was the flan. I've never had flan for Thanksgiving before, but Diana is of Argentinian descent, makes a mean flan, and it was a great addition to the dessert course. As for the mango pie, well, we had wanted to do apple pie and there were no apples to be had. The country was lousy with mangoes, however, and it was possible to buy them for next to nothing, so we decided to make a couple of mango pies. With no guidelines and a ton of eggs left, we created what was probably the first ever custard-y mango pie for Thanksgiving. And it was good. Real good, in fact. Couldn't tell you what we put in it now, but after that meal I'm through using recipes anyway. I had doubts about pulling the meal off -- especially without having any type of temperature control other than "Do you think we need more wood on the fire?" -- yet it all came together and everyone gorged like there was no tomorrow.
There was, however, one little problem. I had not eaten any rich food in months and, well, let's just say the massive infusion of fat drippings and butter and whole milk and eggs caused my digestive system to revolt. A few hours after the immensely satisfying meal, I barely made it out of my tent in time to throw up. Then I proceeded to spend the next few hours running to the bathroom, becoming far too well acquainted with the toilet bowl as I alternated between vomiting and crapping through a needle. A happy post-Thanksgiving, indeed.
After picking up eight people joining the trip in Lilongwe and saying goodbye to Joe, we headed north toward Tanzania. I, for one, was ready to get out of Malawi.
