I wrote that last blog about our travel day and I thought that was it. I thought the worst was over and all we had left between us and our ministry in Mzuzu was a dinky little 7 hour bus ride.
How wrong I was about Wednesday, July 2.
It started when the shuttle that had agreed to take us to the bus terminal in Lilongwe forgot to pick up my team (Oak) and another (Calm Waters). Luckily, the hostel owner offered his own truck and a friend’s, and we put all of our packs in the back. Heidi, Kori, and I climbed on top of the heap because there weren’t enough seats inside, and we rode to the bus terminal. No problem.
The bus was a half hour late, but that was fine, because I had time to buy some fries and eat them on the curb. While we were waiting, our hostel owner introduced us to Dan, a guy from South Africa who was traveling to Mzuzu and from there, a hostel called Butterfly Space, where Calm Waters was going to be serving this month.
I think it was Dan that mentioned how important it was to fight to get on the bus because they often overbook them and some people have to stand for the 7 hour ride.
Some of the seatless were Dan, Arden, Jason, and me. As the sweaty, crowded bus lurched out of the parking lot, Arden stood in the back while Dan, Jason, and I took our seats in the very front, sitting on the engine cover, as you may be able to see in the picture below. The backup bus driver had a whole row to himself in front and was passed out over two seats. I kept taking up too much room because I bumped into his feet whenever the road was rough.
There was no breeze and it was a hot and sticky hour or two, but it was a good ab workout, and I learned so much about how to drive a bus in Malawi.
Speed is important. So is passing other vehicles. Sharp turns are best taken as quickly as possible. You don’t need to slow down when goats are in the road, but if there’s a person, you should probably honk the horn. People on bikes are not an issue. Since they’ll probably move without a warning from you, you can ignore them.
The bus stopped after a while and some people got off in front of a building. I wandered inside and bought a Sprite. When I came back, some seats had opened up so I took one in front of the bus.
From my new seat I had a clear view of what happened next. We’d been driving for another hour when the bus driver, the ticket guy, and the backup driver started talking. The ticket guy, whose name we would later learn was Elijah, lifted the engine cover where we’d been sitting and stepped inside. He stood on part of the engine and dug around for a while before replacing the cover.
Twenty minutes later, the bus pulled off the highway at a little roadside market, pictured below. The vendors all cheered for us when we stopped. Elijah told us, “The bus will go no further.” He said the fan belt was broken and they needed to wait for a mechanic and it would be a two and a half hour delay.
The projected “two and a half hours” quickly turned into a more honest “nine hours” and we had to decide if we wanted to wait for a mechanic to come and repair the bus, or if we wanted to find another way to Mzuzu. Since we were right in the middle of our trip, it didn’t matter which city the mechanic came from. It would be a long wait either way.
While we thought about this delay, we smothered Nutella on sesame seed buns and had lunch. Someone suggested that we catch a minibus the rest of the way to Mzuzu.
“Will there be a minibus big enough for thirteen of us and our big backpacks?” we asked.
The answer to that question was no. No 15-seater could fit 15 people and 13 big packs and 13 daypacks and a mandolin, two guitars, water jugs, and groceries.
That didn’t stop it from happening.
Before I knew it I saw my 65-liter pack being jammed into the back of a minibus. Then another. And another. My team and the other team and Dan started moving to that little van. We asked Elijah, the ticket guy on the broken bus, if we could get refunds for the rest of our bus ride to cover the rest of the way to Mzuzu.
“No problem!” he said and he told us how to get to the offices.
“From the DPT you will go out the exit–” he started.
“Is that where we’ll be dropped off? The DPT?” I asked.
“No,” he said, and continued, “From there you will walk past a red building on your right. You can’t miss it. Walk by that building and you will come to an intersection.” He drew the intersection on a scrap of paper and started labeling things on the cross street.
“But before you get to the intersection, you will come to a building called AXA or AMPEX that is, well… do you see those?” He pointed across the lot to a table piled high with dark red onions.
“Yes.”
“The building is the color of those onions. You can’t miss it.”
“Well, okay,” we said. “And where should we say the bus broke down, so they know how much to refund us?”
“This is Jenda. Not ‘gender equality,’ but Jenda.”
“Jenda. Could you write that down?” He wrote it down on our map, folded and licked the paper, and handed it to us. Then it was time to get in the minibus.
Our drivers had done a great job at getting most of our packs shoved into the back of the van. The back door wouldn’t close and we had to secure it with a broken belt. We also put some more packs on the top of the van and tied them down with a single string the strength of a shoelace. It reminded me of the way my family ties our Christmas tree to the top of our car each year. Except what we were tying down didn’t smell like fresh pine.
We shoved and contorted ourselves into the minibus, which, thanks to the packs, had become a 12-seater, at best. We jammed ourselves in the van and just when we thought we couldn’t fit anything else, the driver’s assistant opened the door because he needed in too.
So I was in the middle row, pressed up against the window. I had half a seat, the kind that folds down, and I was holding my backpack and a bag of groceries. We’ve been on rides like that all the time, but it’s always for, like, 20 minutes to get to town. But this time, we had about three hours of driving ahead of us.
It hurt, a lot. It was rough. That bus ride was as painful if not more so than getting my hair braided at the orphanage next store last month. It was hot, but the breeze coming in through the open window was cold. Jason and I had a big bag of potato chips on our lap that was just taking up too much space, so we decided to let the air out of the bag by opening it. Then we accidentally-on purpose ate all of them and made the van smell like our favorite Chipsy flavor, Spicy Chicken Tikka.
Finally, we saw city lights in the distance, and our driver said we were only two kilometers away from Mzuzu. We all rejoiced.
Then we slowed down, and the minibus pulled over in the dark on the side of the highway. We were told we could get out if we wanted to, because the van needed more fuel and the driver had to go get some, presumably from Mzuzu. So while our driver got out and hitched a ride into town with his empty gas container, the other 14 of us stood on the side of the highway in the dark, eating more sesame seed rolls, shivering, and marveling at the stars. We could have been stressed or frustrated, but at that point, each absurd setback only made us laugh harder.
Forty minutes passed. Someone said, “We’re ready to go.” We got back in the car and waited for a long time, all the same body parts getting numb again. We realized that we weren’t ready and the driver wasn’t back yet.
We got out of the car. We waited longer. The driver returned. The car was started. We were driven into town, about 2 kilometers. We were driven… right up to the AXA/AMPEX offices.
I wouldn’t call the building onion colored. I would have called it white. Though it was dark, so who am I to question Elijah’s description?
My team’s saga pretty much ends there. The other team had to go 40 minutes more but the drivers charged so much they just went with us for the night. We ended the day like we’d started it: Heidi, Kori, and I rode in the bed of a pickup with our luggage, watching Mzuzu introduce itself in reverse, shaking our heads and laughing.
We are now safe in Mzuzu and getting around by foot and pickup truck with minimal delays. I’m writing this at Mzuzu Coffee Den, a coffee shop about a mile from Mzuzu Pentecostal Church, where we are living and serving for the month. It’s been a fun few days so far. I’ll keep you posted on what we’re doing here!
One more exciting thing: this month, C Squad gets to host World Race Exposure participants! This means that each team, including ours, is being joined by four people aged 18-22 who are considering the World Race. I’m thrilled to see some people fresh from the States, but more than that, it’s an honor to serve alongside our four new team members, Lane, Lorin, Lauren, and Ellie, and get to live life with them!
