I aimed to do as little as possible in Senga Bay, Malawi, and this was not difficult. It’s pretty easy to do very little anywhere in Malawi. I stayed in an old marina with a restaurant on stilts over the lake. The place is owned by an enormous (in girth not number) Zimbabwean family, who sit behind their desks, constantly shouting to their staff, all of whom never walk, but run all over the property even for the most inconsequential tasks. The owners had some pretty interesting ideas about certain things, like despite the political instability and massive inflation in Zimbabwe, that things are fine, that fuel and food are plentiful, that nothing has changed. When I inquired about reports I’ve heard to the contrary, one looked at me as though I am incredibly stupid and said, “well not for the locals” (read: black people).
Senga Bay is quite spread out, and it is several kilometers from the lakeshore to the town center. It took me a few hours to walk there, and I went the short way, which took me through a lot of private property, as well as past a herd of cows on the beach (there is something that feels wrong about seeing cows on a beach). From the road, I took a bike taxi (which is just a regular bike that you cling to the back of) to the best banana pancakes in Malawi. Given my experiences with the variety of Malawian cuisine, I can’t imagine that there are many other contenders for the title. I also think that after people peel bananas they should just eat them and not hide them in other foods.
After getting a little shaken up by snarling Mozambican dogs, I was happy to start running again in Senga Bay. I found that as long as I wore a skirt, I attracted no more attention that if I’d been walking, and probably less than if I’d been walking in pants. Two young women saw me running through the village and trailed behind me, giggling. Although I know little Chitonga, and even less Chichewa, the language of this region, I know the word for “Let’s go.” I started shouting “Tien! Tien!” at the women, and I don’t know if they were more surprised to hear me speak their language or that I wanted their company. One of them only ran a few meters, but the other ran quite a ways with me. She ran with me the next day as well, and although she stopped first, I’m pretty sure I was breathing harder. Tien!
Senga Bay is quite spread out, and it is several kilometers from the lakeshore to the town center. It took me a few hours to walk there, and I went the short way, which took me through a lot of private property, as well as past a herd of cows on the beach (there is something that feels wrong about seeing cows on a beach). From the road, I took a bike taxi (which is just a regular bike that you cling to the back of) to the best banana pancakes in Malawi. Given my experiences with the variety of Malawian cuisine, I can’t imagine that there are many other contenders for the title. I also think that after people peel bananas they should just eat them and not hide them in other foods.
After getting a little shaken up by snarling Mozambican dogs, I was happy to start running again in Senga Bay. I found that as long as I wore a skirt, I attracted no more attention that if I’d been walking, and probably less than if I’d been walking in pants. Two young women saw me running through the village and trailed behind me, giggling. Although I know little Chitonga, and even less Chichewa, the language of this region, I know the word for “Let’s go.” I started shouting “Tien! Tien!” at the women, and I don’t know if they were more surprised to hear me speak their language or that I wanted their company. One of them only ran a few meters, but the other ran quite a ways with me. She ran with me the next day as well, and although she stopped first, I’m pretty sure I was breathing harder. Tien!
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