ABOVE:  The Malawi bee-eater, another visitor to the garden.

Double-dinners, dust and jacarandas.

Lilongwe is a windy place. No doubt it blows down off the distant mountains. There always seems to be a breeze; often determined and sometimes a sudden, violent gust will slam doors and rattle windows.

I am sitting on the terrace drinking coffee and freshly-baked gingernuts; large yellow leaves lie on the green, shadowed lawn; weaving in and out of the wind is the chattering of the guard and cacophony of birds.

 To date I have seen only one bird, the shrike, but I hear the calls of at least half a dozen.  There is a nest on the porch and Limited has put down newspaper, held in place with a rock, to catch the droppings. It doesn’t work because the constant wind folds the paper over. There really is no choice but to wash the polished bricks each day.

But birdshit is the least of the challenges. We need some curtains for some of the windows in the new house and from trawling the Malawi blogs I have a sense that in the main, expats make their own. I probably could, having sewn in a past life, but have no sewing machine and at this point, no source of fabric.

ABOVE: The African pygmy king.                                       

The wind is gaining strength; it is almost irritable today. The fallen bougainvillea flowers swirl in pink confusion and scatter in through the door and across the polished bricks.  And with it no doubt comes dust. Our feet are black after walking without shoes.

In the 'burning time' the dust is mixed with ash and spreads its charcoal film with abandon. But Perth was a pretty dusty place so I am used to it.

This is a world of double dinners; the dinner you hope you are going to have and the dinner you get because there is no power. The magic moment seems to be 6p.m. although this morning the power went at ten and it is nearly midday and it is still not on. At this time of day it is less crucial although I would not have said that yesterday with biscuits in the oven.

Last night it mattered more but with a bit of strategic thinking we still got chicken for dinner – just warm, not hot – because I made sure it went in early on the basis that I could have it pretty much done and just re-heat if necessary. The cabbage with prosciutto and onion was ready; the creamed pumpkin; the brussells sprouts, gravy and the roast potatoes. But, despite waiting until eight there was no power to re-heat anything so I took out the potatoes I had boiled earlier and added chopped capsicum, chopped cucumber and a mix of sour cream and mayonnaise to make a potato salad. A quick slice of some fresh tomatoes... they do taste wonderful here... to dress with oil, balsamic and feta and dinner was ready.

I am thinking that the generator is a must. Although I found this morning, about three hours late, that the inverter allows me to boil a kettle. I had been hanging out for a coffee and thought I would make it early ... just before ten ... and just before the power went. I’m not sure why I thought to try the electric jug, or why I didn’t think to try it earlier, but eventually I gave it a flick and bugger me, it worked. I suppose there is no reason why it would not when the inverter keeps lights on but can’t muster enough gumption to run the stove.  

But, it now occurs to me that the sensible purchase might be an electric wok... at least until the generator is installed. I looked at single and double gas burners but I am not sure about the availability or reliability of gas bottles in Africa. One unit had the gas burner sitting on top of the bottle! There is apparently some green liquid which can be used to run a gas burner but I suspect it would be a smelly exercise. So I had decided not to bother about gas burners and make do until we had the generator. The Wok is however looming as an unexpected option.

We have a couple of guys here tomorrow from Perth so I shall have to sort out a double-dinner.  I am thinking chicken again because it is fine hot or cold - although having been at the mine in Karonga, where chicken is the backbone of the menu, they might be sick of the sight of it. Then again, beggars can’t be choosers. I will see what there is at the supermarket.

LEFT: Transporting chickens in Malawi.

The days are getting warmer, or perhaps it was unseasonably mild when we arrived. The jacarandas are in blossom; dropping listless purple skirts along the red dust edges of the road. Jacarandas are native to South America but they grow beautifully in most parts of Africa; as they do in Australia.

In some places they grow too well; both South Africa and Queensland consider them to be an ‘invasive species.’ But what a gorgeous invasion.  Sometimes I think the move to rid the bush of introduced plants is excessive. The Australian bush, while lovely in its own right is a messy kind of vegetation; caught forever in an irritable mingling of life and death.

More to the point eucalyptus trees are totally unsuited to urban environments, prone as they are to dropping massive branches without warning. They are in fact extremely dangerous and belong in open spaces where a crashing branch is unlikely to maim or kill anyone. There is a place for what our brief view of history allows us to call ‘native bush’ and there is a place for non-native plants and trees.

LEFT: Jacarandas grow well in Malawi.

And we have short historical memories. The Australian ‘landscape’ was created by Aboriginal burning which, over thousands of years, destroyed the native rain-forest. Areas still exist in some parts of the country; surviving pockets of what is called ‘fire-stick farming.’ Now that has to be one of the most euphemistic terms human beings have ever invented for what amounts to whole-scale arson.

Fire has been used by nomadic and primitive peoples for millennia; as much as anything to scare out game and reduce vegetation. It hardly ever amounted to ‘farming’ and was not environmentally sound but, here is where we are at and there was where they were at and it created an environment which did not previously exist because acacia and eucalyptus ‘adore’ fire. They thrived, creating our quintessential Australian bush, while other vegetation died. It’s hard to see a difference, apart from all those flames, between that form of ‘gardening’ and the planting of ‘non-natives.’

And logic suggests that ‘native species’ are no more than the end result of birds shitting all over the planet and dropping seeds in the process. The ‘native species’ came from a seed dropping somewhere it liked as opposed to dropping somewhere it did not like. Or nomadic tribes carrying food and leaving scraps behind as they walked. 

Although, even as I write, I am struck by the fact that 'fire as an agricultural tool' is common in primitive cultures in both Australia and Africa.  No doubt there are reasons which, from our distant perspective we do not understand. Or perhaps, just like the 'cutting off the end of the lamb leg' story ... where family tradition had continued a habit down through generations without knowing why, only to ultimately discover that it had first started because the roasting pan was too small to take the leg of lamb ... the use of fire has its origins in long-forgotten circumstances.

But I have ranted and digressed long enough. On to the more demanding aspects of life like buying what I need for tomorrow night’s dinner.

Whether I am acclimatising or it was a ‘good smell day’, the meat being freshly delivered, the pong at the Shoprite meat counter was absent this afternoon. I still did not like the look of a lot of the beef but I found a piece of roasting beef which doesn’t look too bad; quite good in fact, as in not looking half black.

 So, dinner will be cold beef and chicken with salad, or hot roast beef and chicken with vegetables and gravy, depending upon our power supply.  I also stocked up on candles. The asparagus is in season so I will cook that as a starter and since we still have strawberries ‘for Africa’, that will be dessert; with some soft cheeses and apple.

The strawberry sellers stopped me at the gate to Mama Mia’s again but smiled broadly and wandered off when I said we had not had time to eat Saturday’s mighty ‘harvest.’

‘Next time,’ they said in unison. ‘Next time,’ I agreed. I wonder what they will be selling when the strawberry season is over!

                                                 

Hmmm. I might need to increase the insect-spray supplies. Limited sprays the bedroom before he leaves at night and I just went upstairs to get something and was nearly asphyxiated. When he sprays he means business. But, I am sure it is worth it.

He didn’t do it last night and I also forgot and sometime during the night we woke to the sound of hysterical mozzies. A quick scan with a small torch and we spotted them hovering and complaining – outside the net. Outside the net is good but even then they are noisy little buggers. I think they grizzle more when they are ‘locked out’ but I guess mosquitoes have their own frustration levels; so near and yet so far because of the bloody net. It was probably more a grrrrrrrr than a buzzzzzz!

And yes, I am aware that all this talk about food and mosquitoes is a worry. Is it because I don’t have enough to do?  No, there is no shortage of things to do between getting set up in Lilongwe and keeping up with my writing and editing ... and reading for that matter. It is just that some things, like food and mosquitoes, are more major factors in an expat’s life in Africa. No doubt, like many things, once the system is set up and working.... a big ask for Africa but I live in hope ... the topics will slip from consciousness.

Meanwhile, what is that buzzing behind me? Probably the mozzies taking refuge from the fumes upstairs. Sigh. Still, better here than in the bedroom. What was that I said about being the ‘chemical-free queen?’ The gods do play sport with us! Or do they give us what we need? Here is the perfect opportunity for me to ‘live what I preach.’ If what we believe creates the reality then that applies to everything, including chemicals!

As my father often said, from habit I suspect, more than perspective: ‘Mind over matter: If you don’t mind it doesn’t matter.’