4/5/07 – 4/6/07
As the sun began its quick descent, I walked up to the Blantyre Bus Depot, ticket in hand. The fact that my bus was late didn’t surprise me in the least; after all, this was Africa. I was in high spirits, for I was headed north, on the express line to Mzuzu.
Shortly after 8:30 I boarded my 5:30 bus. I took an aisle seat, and attempted to stuff my bag under the school bus like bench. As we pulled out of Blantyre, I readjusted myself and attempted to get some sleep. I was in high hopes that when I woke with the sun, we would be climbing the hills of northern Malawi.
An hour later we sputtered to a halt on the side of the road. I didn’t need anyone to translate the Chichewa being spoken around me; it was clear that we were broken down. We waited for an hour or so, until an empty bus pulled up behind us. Overjoyed that help had arrived, we grabbed our bags and climbed down off our debilitated bus. We weren’t allowed to board the new bus right away. Not being able to speak Chichewa I was confused. I sought out an English speaker among my fellow passengers.
“What’s happening? Why can’t we board the new bus?” I asked.
“They are examining the buses, to see which one has a better chance of making it to Mzuzu.” He replied.
I was speechless. After a few more minutes the conductor told us to board the new bus. The normally patient Malawians, surged for the doors as if they were a herd of buffalo converging on a water hole. I fought my way on board and was able to secure my seat once again. The engine started with a roar, and we gave each other reassuring looks. Surely a vehicle with such a mighty engine would get us to Mzuzu without difficulty. As we drove on facial expressions turned from satisfaction to dismay. Our new bus roared like a lion, but it moved like a snail. With the engine roaring, we crawled north through the night. I tried to fall asleep but the engine’s grown and the lack of a head rest kept jerking me back into consciousness.
Around 2:00AM, neither fully asleep nor awake, I was jolted upright by a loud bang. As we waited on the side of the road, I once again found an English speaking passenger.
“What happened? Why are there two buses here?”
“Didn’t you see?”
“I was half asleep. I heard a bang; did we hit something?”
“We hit the other bus!”
In my exhausted semi-conscious state, this somehow didn’t even seem out of the ordinary to me. After about 15 minutes or so, we were told to re-board. We fought our way back to our seats, and the bus crawled on once again. Apparently no serious damage was caused by the collision.
At 8:30 in the morning (when we should have been arriving at our destination) we pulled into Lilongwe. Through my limited Chichewa skills I was able to ascertain that we would be stopping here for repairs. I was relieved to hear this, since our bus had been traveling at a maximum of 40 km/hr, and we were still a long way from Mzuzu. But as we pulled into the Shire Bus Yard, I was horrified by what I saw. There were dozens of buses in the yard, but not one of them was fit to travel. Their axels rested on cinderblocks, and it looked as though every usable piece had been removed from these dilapidated old buses. Rusted metal and broken glass was everywhere. Having finished a Heart of Darkness only hours before, I couldn’t help but think of Marlow, finally reaching his destination, only to see the ghastly ornaments outside Kurtz’s hut. Surely there was no hope to be found here. An hour later we got on our “fixed” bus. As we crawled out of Lilongwe it roared louder than ever.
The hours dragged on as the sun began to sink once again. All the while the noise of the engine roared as if it were coming from inside my head. In the late evening, rain began to fall, and we were dismayed to find out that our mighty snail was not a sea worthy vessel. As we squirmed this way and that to avoid the rain, I struggled to maintain my sanity. The already incomprehensible dialogue around me seemed to get more and more distant; everything was drowned out by the awful noise of the engine. What was that ghastly thing sitting next to me? Hadn’t I sat down next to an attractive young woman? Indeed perhaps the only thing that allowed me to keep my sanity at all was the mental composition of this very story.
Eventually the rain let up, and as we climbed the high hills of the north I could look out over endless seas of green. The landscape was truly fantastic. I began to think that perhaps this ride had been worth it after all. We arrived in Mzuzu around 6:00, more than 24 hours after I had arrived at the Blantyre Bus Depot. I got off the bus and walked onto the streets of Mzuzu to begin the next stage of my journey. The incessant noise of the engine droned on in my head.
As the sun began its quick descent, I walked up to the Blantyre Bus Depot, ticket in hand. The fact that my bus was late didn’t surprise me in the least; after all, this was Africa. I was in high spirits, for I was headed north, on the express line to Mzuzu.
Shortly after 8:30 I boarded my 5:30 bus. I took an aisle seat, and attempted to stuff my bag under the school bus like bench. As we pulled out of Blantyre, I readjusted myself and attempted to get some sleep. I was in high hopes that when I woke with the sun, we would be climbing the hills of northern Malawi.
An hour later we sputtered to a halt on the side of the road. I didn’t need anyone to translate the Chichewa being spoken around me; it was clear that we were broken down. We waited for an hour or so, until an empty bus pulled up behind us. Overjoyed that help had arrived, we grabbed our bags and climbed down off our debilitated bus. We weren’t allowed to board the new bus right away. Not being able to speak Chichewa I was confused. I sought out an English speaker among my fellow passengers.
“What’s happening? Why can’t we board the new bus?” I asked.
“They are examining the buses, to see which one has a better chance of making it to Mzuzu.” He replied.
I was speechless. After a few more minutes the conductor told us to board the new bus. The normally patient Malawians, surged for the doors as if they were a herd of buffalo converging on a water hole. I fought my way on board and was able to secure my seat once again. The engine started with a roar, and we gave each other reassuring looks. Surely a vehicle with such a mighty engine would get us to Mzuzu without difficulty. As we drove on facial expressions turned from satisfaction to dismay. Our new bus roared like a lion, but it moved like a snail. With the engine roaring, we crawled north through the night. I tried to fall asleep but the engine’s grown and the lack of a head rest kept jerking me back into consciousness.
Around 2:00AM, neither fully asleep nor awake, I was jolted upright by a loud bang. As we waited on the side of the road, I once again found an English speaking passenger.
“What happened? Why are there two buses here?”
“Didn’t you see?”
“I was half asleep. I heard a bang; did we hit something?”
“We hit the other bus!”
In my exhausted semi-conscious state, this somehow didn’t even seem out of the ordinary to me. After about 15 minutes or so, we were told to re-board. We fought our way back to our seats, and the bus crawled on once again. Apparently no serious damage was caused by the collision.
At 8:30 in the morning (when we should have been arriving at our destination) we pulled into Lilongwe. Through my limited Chichewa skills I was able to ascertain that we would be stopping here for repairs. I was relieved to hear this, since our bus had been traveling at a maximum of 40 km/hr, and we were still a long way from Mzuzu. But as we pulled into the Shire Bus Yard, I was horrified by what I saw. There were dozens of buses in the yard, but not one of them was fit to travel. Their axels rested on cinderblocks, and it looked as though every usable piece had been removed from these dilapidated old buses. Rusted metal and broken glass was everywhere. Having finished a Heart of Darkness only hours before, I couldn’t help but think of Marlow, finally reaching his destination, only to see the ghastly ornaments outside Kurtz’s hut. Surely there was no hope to be found here. An hour later we got on our “fixed” bus. As we crawled out of Lilongwe it roared louder than ever.
The hours dragged on as the sun began to sink once again. All the while the noise of the engine roared as if it were coming from inside my head. In the late evening, rain began to fall, and we were dismayed to find out that our mighty snail was not a sea worthy vessel. As we squirmed this way and that to avoid the rain, I struggled to maintain my sanity. The already incomprehensible dialogue around me seemed to get more and more distant; everything was drowned out by the awful noise of the engine. What was that ghastly thing sitting next to me? Hadn’t I sat down next to an attractive young woman? Indeed perhaps the only thing that allowed me to keep my sanity at all was the mental composition of this very story.
Eventually the rain let up, and as we climbed the high hills of the north I could look out over endless seas of green. The landscape was truly fantastic. I began to think that perhaps this ride had been worth it after all. We arrived in Mzuzu around 6:00, more than 24 hours after I had arrived at the Blantyre Bus Depot. I got off the bus and walked onto the streets of Mzuzu to begin the next stage of my journey. The incessant noise of the engine droned on in my head.
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