Landing was spectacular – this is the clichéd Africa of Simba and flat-topped trees and sudden plateaus sprouting from sweeping grasslands (and, of course, gorgeous smiling children). The urban elements of this capital city elude me thus far; the sprawl is so graceful and the in-betweens so lush.
I’m out here working for Nomogaia to assess the potential human rights impacts of a uranium mine. Everyone in Lilongwe knows the mine exists, which is impressive, since we are a near-impossible drive away from there (6 hours to Mzuzu, no transport til the next day, then 3 hours to Karonga, then an impassable, washed-out road 52 km to Kayelekera – the name of both town and mine – presently only driven by the mine’s vehicles), but no one I’ve met has an opinion on it.
I’m amazed by how *clean* everything is here. The gutters aren’t clogged with trash, the pathways lining the roads are tidy and wide (most people walk everywhere, including the hugely pregnant women heading to the hospital for 3rd trimester check ups). After the rains, you hear the sounds of broom-on-ground up and down the streets.
People have been fantastically kind to me. They walk me to my destinations and double-check that I’m not lost. Everyone agrees that Malawi has problems, though, and everyone is poor. The carpenter who escorted me to the US Embassy makes 40 bucks a month to feed his family of 5. I’m picking up Chichewa, the local language, with all the skill of a doorknob. Moni banshi! (means “hi how are you” required response: ‘ndiri buino, gainu?).
I haven’t eaten Malawian food yet, because all the local shops closed at 5 and I was stuck eating an “Italian” avocado salad while listening to mariachi music near my hotel.
