Montana kuna ng’ombe wengi kuliko watu, lakini mimi si mshamba.

Montana has more cows than people, but I am not a redneck. Yep, I know how to say that in Kiswahili. And that was after only six days of class! The best part is that before meeting me, my language teacher had never heard of Montana much less had any idea about the stereotype of Montanans being rednecks. And redneck wasn’t exactly a word I was expecting to add to my small but growing Kiswahili vocabulary. Tunku, my teacher, just offered it up more or less out of the blue. Who knows what I’ll be able to say after a full month of lessons…

Well, another six weeks have gone by since my last post and I’ve crossed two borders. I left Zambia for three weeks in Malawi and am now at a language school in central Tanzania attempting to beat Kiswahili into my head for the majority of my waking hours. It has been a moderately good adventure. I say only “moderately” not because it wasn’t enjoyable, but because I don’t really have any thrilling tales of daring expeditions. And really, that’s just fine by me. Malawians are incredibly laid back, so much of my time was spent wandering around various towns and beaches, meeting and chatting with random people. Yeah, tough life.

After a phenomenal sendoff in Chirundu (which included a hilarious talent show put on by the kids from the parish and lasagna dinner—entirely from scratch!—prepared by my housemates), I left for Lilongwe, Malawi. While there’s not a ton to do in Lilongwe, I enjoyed spending time in a big city, mostly because of food. Not only was I finally able to buy a bar of chocolate, but there was a phenomenal vegetable market near my hostel. I welcomed broccoli, cucumber and green pepper back into my life with open arms. Unfortunately, I also had the poor idea to get a haircut. It had been over a year since I had even had a trim, and I thought hairdressers in Lilongwe would have a broader range of experience than just plaiting. I was wrong. Though he told me otherwise, it became obvious rather quickly that the guy who cut my mine had never touched mzungu hair before. But my hair wasn’t maimed too badly and it was certainly an experience to have it cut by a guy wearing a T-shirt with a huge eagle curving around the side of an American flag.

Lilongwe also introduced me to the incredible Malawian friendliness and kindness that I would experience throughout my time in the country. I was shown where to buy a notebook in the market by a guy named Malawi (yes, the awesome names continue) who approached me because he could tell I was an American by my Chacos; I was guided through the industrial area by another random guy when I made a failed attempt to see the tobacco action floors (they weren’t trading that day); and the morning I got on a bus to leave Lilongwe someone not only showed me who to buy a ticket from, but found me a seat and stowed my bag for me on the most crowded bus I have ever experienced. As a solo female traveler my guard is always up really high and I wish it weren’t only men who are talkative, but I really was floored by how far out of their way these guys went to help me out without my asking.

After Lilongwe I headed to the lake. Lake Malawi (called Lake Nyasa in Tanzania) really is incredible. The water is astonishingly blue and clear, there are tons of brightly-colored fish that are not shy around snorkelers, and plenty of birds—including amazing fishing eagles—taking advantage of the abundant fish populations. I also spent plenty of time just sitting on the lakeshore watching fishermen glide by in their dugout canoes.

The highlight of my trip was my time on Likoma Island. Likoma has great walking and hiking, the water and beaches are even more pristine than on the mainland, there are hundreds of baobab trees, and Likoma is actually much closer to Mozambique than to Malawi so there is a spectacular view of mainland Mozambique. It was so nice to walk around by myself and feel completely safe. Well, I guess I was rarely actually alone as the locals are probably the friendliest people I’ve ever met. In my first day on Likoma a man explained the island’s electrical system to me and I discussed Shakespeare with a high-school-age boy (the only literary conversation I’ve had with a local). I was also escorted halfway back to my hostel by a group of girls who I’m guessing were about eight years old. They spoke about as much English as I spoke Chewa (meaning about 10 words), but they eagerly grabbed my hands and led me along the lakeshore road for a while until they all gave me several hugs and ran back home. Another day I inadvertently attracted the attention of several children who had been bathing in the lake so I was then followed around for a while by a bunch of naked kids. As you might imagine, it was both awkward and hilarious.

Getting to and from Likoma was probably my biggest adventure in Malawi. Unless you have the funds and desire to charter a flight from Lilongwe, the only way to reach the island is to take a trip on the Ilala ferry. The Ilala is basically the only large-scale form of transportation on the lake so in addition to carrying people it carries an incredible amount of cargo. Most of this cargo is small dried fish but there are also enormous bags of maize and, of course, many live chickens adding to the katundu (the Chewa/Nyanga word which I have become very familiar with meaning “a lot of stuff”). This meant to get on and off the ferry my luggage and I had to crawl over piles of cargo in addition to squeezing/pushing my way through all of the people either sitting with their stuff or also trying to force their way through the crowd. Very few of the ports have piers, so all of the loading and unloading is done with small boats while the Ilala is anchored a bit offshore. The whole process is incredibly shagalabagala (disorganized, my favorite Kiswahili word) and takes several hours at each port. When we reached Likoma Island’s harbor I clambered over several bags of maize, waded through the kernels from a bag that had split open, and then followed my bag (thrown by another helpful Malawian) into one of the Ilala’s two lifeboats that was loaded well beyond its stated 22-passenger limit to go to shore. I also ended up soaked from the waist down because there were some pretty significant waves coming in while we were wading through the surf onto the beach. Though boarding the Ilala five days later wasn’t really any less chaotic, I certainly preferred the ordeal in the daylight.

I also spent a total of about a week and a half in Nkhata Bay, before going to and after coming back from Likoma Island. It was both a nice and strange town. It is a really popular place for backpackers which has resulted in the typical touristy things like overzealous curio vendors and unnecessarily expensive restaurants, but I was not expecting the relatively large population of rasta “beach boys” who were quite eager to chat up a new white girl, i.e. me. There were a couple times where I had to psych myself up to leave my hostel because I was so sick of being hassled. However, in addition to meeting several other travelers at my hostel, I did make one reasonably good (though certainly also awkward) local friend. First he was the guy who, though I already knew where I was going, led me to my hostel from the bus so he could collect his commission. Then the next morning as I was headed into town to do some exploring he caught up with me on the road, told me he had been waiting to meet me again, and proceeded to “escort” me around town. Yeah. I wasn’t thrilled. However, after he wasn’t deterred from showing me around even when I had told him about my serious boyfriend back in the states (a lie I have become quite good at) and rather pointedly said I wasn’t interested in paying a tour guide, I enjoyed spending some time with him. The language barrier didn’t allow for much conversation with any depth and there were plenty of awkward silences, but I learned quite a bit about life in Nkhata Bay. I also ate a few meals at his house where I unsuccessfully attempted to cook nsima, ate many whole dried fish, carried a bucket of water on my head (and didn’t spill!), watched a couple Bob Marley videos, sang “head, shoulders, knees and toes” with the kids in his compound, and met his brothers, friends and neighbors. Certainly a series of positive experiences.

As a final note, another aspect of my travels I have enjoyed is seeing Obama’s face everywhere. And I mean everywhere. He is on T-shirts, shopping bags, hats, chitenges (the cloth that women use for wrapping around their skirts and heads, making baby slings, or any number of other purposes), and, my personal favorite, holographic belt buckles. I also saw a couple advertisements for Obama brand whiskey, “the winning spirit.” Most people are quite keen to talk about him as well. After “Are you married?” or “Do you have a boyfriend?” the question I am most often asked is “What do you think of Obama?” And then people tell me how much they love him.

Baadaye!