The most noteworthy part of the 4-hour ride from Mzuzu to Karonga was not the baboons, volcanic formations, gorgeous view of Lake Malawi as we descended the escarpment of the Great Rift Valley plateau, or capsized semi in the middle of the road. No, the bus only slowed for everyone to stare at cattle.

The herd’s owner was killed by magic, so now no one will take it over, for fear of inheriting the curse. Magic is deeply rooted in belief systems and strongly tied to a sense of equilibrium. Excess good or excess bad is often a sign of witchcraft. When a person becomes too successful he may be accused of witchcraft. Alternatively, a rich person may offend some spirit and suffer consequences that are most apparent in impacts on his prosperity (as a peace corps volunteere  described to me, the 4 cattle he has more than his neighbor may be killed by magic, the nice shirt he bought may lose a sleeve to magic… sometimes much worse, though). I wonder how much of a problem witchcraft will prove to be when certain community members get high paying mine jobs and start improving their houses and buying new bicycles and whatnot.

Karonga is roasting hot. People (wisely) take 3-hour lunches. Three of my planned interviews for this afternoon have taken 6-hour lunches. People will let you sit around to “wait,” but I think you’re supposed to know better. When I opted to wait at the hospital for the district health administrator, I sat for 5 minutes, someone made a phone call and muttered the word “mzungu” (white person, or white devil, depending who you ask) and I was rapidly passed off to 4 different people, none of whom were the district health officer, before being advised that maybe I should just leave my number and he’ll call me.

He hasn’t called me, but that’s cool.

Tomorrow I go to the mine with the community relations staff.

I am sunburned. I have taken pretty pictures of Malawisaurus, which I will send when I find wifi or a computer with a USB port.