A Very African Summer Trip - Written by Chris

The latest adventure for Johnny and I (besides a 15k run today which involved a beautiful sunset, a meter-long dead snake, and coaxing my friend’s dogs back to their house after one of their escapades on the road), was a trip up to the northern city of Mzuzu to visit our friend John Mark. We’ve been meaning to do this for a long time, but finally got around to it this summer break. It was well worth it.

We’ve known John Mark, hereafter referred to as JM because he hates being called Jim or Jimbo, for almost four years. We first got to know him well at a conference/team gathering in Zimbabwe, during which we had a week of mostly free time. We spent it goofing off, playing some soccer and card games, and listening to the same TobyMac album on repeat. The last item on that list was probably a mistake.

Since then we have visited him in the North 3 times (including our most recent trip), and he has also come down here a handful of times. JM and his family are Afrikaaners, meaning that they are Afrikaans speaking South Africans. JM is fiercely patriotic and also a fellow history buff, so whenever we see him he fills in the gaps in my knowledge of South Africa (surely one of the world’s most fascinating countries).

Our trip to Mzuzu started with the alarm clock going off at 5 AM. Rolling out of bed, we made the 1 hour trip to Blantyre as the sun kissed the beige horizon. Arriving at the Sososo bus station (seriously, I have no idea why they named their bus line that), we discovered that apparently you have to book tickets in advance. Thankfully we found a different bus service, and by 7:30 we were on our way. After that time warped. The next 12 hours seemed like an endless loop of eating PBJ sandwiches, reading Mockingjay by Suzanne Collins, and trying not to be annoyed by the constant boppy African music tumbling out of the bus speakers. Two hours after dark we made it to Mzuzu, where John Mark’s dad (“Uncle” Mark) picked us up. One of the Malawian guys told us “your dad is here to pick you up,” pointing at Uncle Mark. I think us white guys all look the same to Malawians.

Our time with John Mark was amazing. Although his mom had said that he would have to do some home school while we were there, he ended up having a pretty loose schedule. We spent our chill time playing multiple games of Risk, going on hill runs, playing multiplayer Civilization IV, and throwing sticks for JM’s tireless dog. Midway through our visit, Uncle Mark took us on a two-day trip. The first night we visited Kusintha Farm, an off-the grid eco-farm that the Beckett’s and their colleagues are creating to demonstrate sustainable farming practices. It was cool touring the property and fantasizing about playing airsoft on its wide expanses of indigenous forest. That evening we ate a simple but delicious meal of sausage and mashed potatoes in front of a fire, before turning in to our sleeping bags.

Next morning, we piled into Uncle Mark’s pickup truck (or “bakkie” as South Africans call it), and headed for “Elephant Rock”. We had an hour’s long drive before we got there, through the scenic highlands of northern Malawi. When Elephant Rock came into view, the idea of climbing/hiking it without equipment seemed a bit ominous. It is one of the unique African monadnocks of solid rock that never cease to amaze me.

Above: Elephant Rock. We climbed up the "head".
This is an example of a monadnock, a large igneous (often granite) mountain that sticks up out of the landscape and isn't part of a larger mountain chain. Malawi has hundreds, if not thousands, of these.

The ascent took about an hour, which involved a lot of climbing and scrambling on all fours - especially once we reached the "head" of the Elephant and things got steeper. At the top, we enjoyed a view of a large portion of the Northern Region, meanwhile snacking on dried fruit and apples.

The next day, our final one in Mzuzu, we went to basketball practice with JM (who is over six feet tall and perfectly suited to the sport). It was just the three of us and JM’s coach, and Coach focused mostly on beating me and Johnny into shape. Given that I can’t shoot a hoop for the life of me, this was rather intimidating. For the next two hours Coach alternately berated and coaxed us into performing better, until I could finally get a sloppy 3 lay-ups in a row. It was exhausting and challenging, but that’s a good thing. I like to push myself. While trying not to die of frustration at my basketball skills, I also had to attempt not to stare at a nearby group of druggies smoking pot, or at the deep scars on Coach’s arm. I later learned he got those scars during a crocodile attack.

That evening we said goodbye to JM as we piled onto a night bus. It was bittersweet, since we have no idea how many times we might see each other again before I head off to university. The next morning my parents picked up two very tired boys from Blantyre, and we told them all about our crazy trip on the ride back to Zomba.