ABOVE: The old part of town in Lilongwe

Cards, codes and curtains

Well, we finally got the house phone on but it took a rummage through the rubbish to  get there.

 Actually it took Limited rummaging through the rubbish because he was the one who threw out the newly purchased phone card before the code could be inserted in the phone.

It took a couple of weeks ... that’s a steady pace around here... to reach the point where it was established that the phone did not work because the account had expired.  Cynthia, from the office then queued to purchase some more ‘phone-time’ and delivered the card. I was told to ring 210 to insert the code and pin. That didn’t work. I just got a message saying the account was invalid. I think I knew it would not be that easy.

It took a few more days to sort that out with the telephone company and then I was told to re-insert the code and pin and this time it would work. But where was the card I had left by the phone?

Limited would not have thrown it away, I told myself. Wrong again. Usually nothing gets thrown out unless it is in the bin, but not this time. Limited, who is thorough at the best of times but had really excelled himself on this occasion, had thrown it out.

He looked traumatised when I asked him if he knew where it was.  It wasn’t so desperate for us but it horrified him.  It was 6,000 Kwacha ($A40); not a huge amount for us but a massive amount for him (not that we would have asked him to pay it) – about a quarter of his monthly salary.

He was keen to find the card, he said. He was sure he could find the card; he just needed to ask the night guard where they dropped the rubbish. I thought about saying don’t bother but figured it was important that he tried since he was desperate to do so and perhaps important as a lesson in checking first before throwing out things ‘found’ beyond rubbish bin borders.

I didn’t hold out much hope that he would succeed, but I hoped for his sake he would find the card. And he did. First thing next morning there he was with a somewhat stained and warped card but one where code and pin were still readable. He had done the search after leaving work and I can only hope it was not too ghastly an exercise. From the state of the card it might have been.

Voila! The house phone works. And it is useful because beyond the internet, which is limited anyway in terms of contacting people locally, my only form of local communication is my cell-phone, which, going via Australia, costs a fortune.

We were on a roll. The phone meant I could start to chase up people like Mr Das the electrician; Lawrence the guy who sorts out DSTV and the curtain makers who had pinned their details to the notice board at Foodworths.

People arrive quickly in Lilongwe; no doubt because they are keen to make money. Mr Das would come immediately and my curtain maker would follow shortly after. Mr Das got lost trying to find us. The housing complex is on the corner of Blantyre and an unnamed street. Even Limited, who I often want to call Livingstone and I don’t know why.... did not know what it was called.

He told me I should say: ‘ First left after fourways.’ This made sense because fourways is the crossing just up the road. Needless to say, when we drove that way Saturday I saw that we were the ‘second left after fourways,’ so I still would have been losing people.

I now know we are known as ‘the flats’ which is the simplest way of telling people how to find us. 

Lilongwe is divided into Areas as opposed to suburbs. Supposedly this was the work of the South Africans who poured a heap of money into the place decades ago because the Malawians were the only ones in Africa who were prepared to recognise the apartheid state. Pragmatic, canny or both but the end result was a ‘planned’ capital separated into Areas. 

We are in Area 43; that’s a seven which is a very positive number numerically. The symbolic meaning of seven is to be complete or perfect so once again I would say we are where we are meant to be. Or at least somewhere with good ju-ju!

Mr Das finally arrived with what I think was his daughter but he did not introduce her and I did not like to ask. She looked to be in her thirties and as I discovered later, her English was excellent. She was a great help when, Mr Das drew maps of where we could find shops which sold  overhead fans and air conditioners.

Mr Das seemed a jolly sort and while he was clearly of Indian extraction I’d be prepared to bet there was at least one African ancestor in the genetic mix somewhere. That in itself is unusual because the Indians in Africa have tended to be averse to mixing with the locals let alone marrying them. It is no doubt one reason why the two groups have, shall we say, a somewhat strained relationship.

ABOVE: Typical shops in Lilongwe. Many are Indian-owned.

Mr Das said yes to pretty much everything, which is the Indian way.... although he didn’t nod his head from side to side so perhaps there was more than one African ancestor. Anyway, yes, he could do the extra power points in the next week so I can set up my computer on the landing at the new house when finally we move in; yes he could install an air conditioner in the lounge room and a couple of fans when we purchased them and yes he could get a generator set up for us.

It’s pretty much a perfect world when I have my office properly set up; have overhead fans at least in a couple of rooms to keep cool  peacefully (as opposed to the air-con roar )and bat away mozzies and can cook on a whim! Well, it will be when it all happens.

The word today on where our goods are at is the same as the word last Friday: 'last week they went through customs in Beira and they are on the way to Lilongwe.'  Hmmm. He said he would ring back Friday with more information and he didn't and he told me the same thing today.

It's a reminder to trust the process even if one has no knowledge or even understanding of what that process might be. There will be a process and the goods will arrive! Of that I am sure.

ABOVE: A shopping complex on Kamuzu Procession Road.
Peggy, who was not Indian, arrived a few hours later to measure up for curtains. She works at Foodworths, she said, and does curtains on the side. I had seen her work at Powee’s, my neighbour and was impressed. She sent me off to Akbanie’s, which with a name like that had to be Indian owned and was, to find fabric. I wasn’t expecting to find much worth buying but I was pleasantly surprised. The range was not great but there were some tasteful and good quality fabrics on show.

Akbanies didn’t look much like the photographs I had seen on the website but I should have expected that. The mere fact they have a website is impressive. We had driven around the old part of town looking for the shop after ringing to ask for more specific directions than I had found on the website.  We had found Kamuzu Procession Road but not the right part of it. It didn’t take too long – Lilongwe is not that big – and we were pulled up at the front of a row of shops, around the corner from our old haunt, Shoprite’s.

I could have been walking into a shop in Bombay, circa: 1950’s, with concrete floor, security grilles on the windows, smeary glass and a somewhat cavalier assortment of goods. There were rolls of fabric to the left; more rolls on shelves on the wall and yet more rolls at the back which I later discovered were for upholstery. A couple of men were cutting fabric on a counter in the middle; a few shop assistants seemed to be wandering around in a daze and a young man who looked like the owner, and indeed was,  stood behind the service counter.

But overall it was actually quite orderly. They also sold carpet tiles and rugs; the latter we were told, included a couple of Pierre Cardin’s. This was probably more impressive than it seemed and anyway I didn’t like them much but if we need rugs we know where to find them.

It didn’t take long to find some really nice fabric; ridiculously inexpensive for us at around $A8 a metre but no doubt shockingly expensive for the locals. One of the things which interested me most was blockout fabric for the backing. Greg maintains I was a bat in a past life but all I know is that the darker the bedroom the better I like it. If that makes me a ‘bat’ so be it! Needless to say he was the one grizzling the other morning at being awake at 5.30a.m.

As it is we have pretty much been awake at dawn, and up soon after,  since we arrived. That may not be remarkable for most people but it is for me. I have also managed to convince myself that seven hours sleep is more than enough and I have to say, even I am surprised at how convincingly I have swallowed my argument. However, even though I may be used to less sleep and getting up at dawn, I still want some serious blockout on the curtains.

Driving around the old town took up most of Saturday morning. Mr Das had given us the names of some electrical shops – Indian owned of course. We did find overhead fans; only one variety and not with lights so they will have to be brought up from South Africa and an LG air conditioner which should do the trick. Mr Das warned us away from anything made in China. We nodded in agreement. Even in Oz there are problems getting spare parts or repairs done, to things made in China.

 ABOVE: There are more modern shopping centres in Lilongwe and this is one of them. Two others are under construction.
We found the air conditioner in a furniture shop which could have doubled as a bat cave given how poorly lit it was and full of the darkest, fattest furniture I have ever seen. There must be a contest between lounge furniture makers in Asia and Africa along the lines of: ‘I can make bigger and fatter furniture than you can.’

These sofas and chairs are HUGE. They would swallow a room with one cushioned bite. Who on earth has homes big enough to take them? The rich I suppose and fortunate expats like us with unfortunate taste.

Beyond bloated sofas the place was crammed to the rafters, literally, with an assortment of the most elaborately carved and heavily lacquered furniture that one could imagine. Actually you could not imagine this stuff; you would have to see it to believe it or be immersed in some horrendous nightmare. Enormous in height, width and depth these display cabinets and buffets positively glowered at us.

ABOVE: In the 'fat sofa' stakes these would be considered trim little numbers.

No doubt the ‘big is better’ but ‘bigger is even better’ and ‘biggest is bestest of all’ in terms of furniture is something one finds more often in the Third World where egos are large and need to be demonstrated, along with the power possessed, in any way possible.

Then again, after watching far too many home renovation programs made in the UK it is clear that the English also have a penchant for over-sized sofas. Perhaps it is the result of falling from mighty empire to inconsequential island.

Thankfully the lamps were of a normal size although they looked ridiculous next to the giant-size furniture. I felt like a pygmy and was glad to escape; scurrying out from the land of monster furniture into the dusty brightness of the morning.

Our only failure on what was otherwise a productive morning was that we could not find anyone who could supply a generator. That is something else which will have to come up from South Africa, but which, Mr Das had said, smiling broadly, could be easily fitted. I actually think he swayed his head slightly when he said that. I hope not because the Indian head-rocking from side to side actually means: ‘yes-no.’

It’s the Indian version of ‘manana’ which means: tomorrow, maybe, we might, it could happen, who knows and you have to be kidding!

And I finally got behind the wheel of the ‘truck-like’ diesel four-wheel-drive, Toyota Hilux, we have here. It’s manual but when you have learned to drive in a manual car, as I did in my twenties, you never forget how to drive them. I have always preferred manuals because you actually feel like you are driving as opposed to steering. They are a bit useless in heavy traffic though, or anywhere you need to spend more time concentrating on not actually hitting other cars, people, cows or dogs.

Which reminds me, I haven’t seen many dogs around here. Well, I haven’t seen cows either but I would not expect to. Lusaka in Zambia seemed to be full of stray dogs. I did see a guy at the stoplights with a kitten for sale. I am not sure whether the kitten was destined for food or fun and don’t think I want to know.

ABOVE: A dusty morning in Lilongwe.

As it turned out, in that way of things in life where we spend too much time imagining before putting anything to the test, the Hilux was easier and lighter to handle than I expected.

The hardest part was reversing because the back window vision was obscured by the frame of sliding windows. It matters a little more around here because the roads tend to be lined with drains to cope with the wet season and these range in size and depth from substantial to destructive; should one happen to drive or reverse into them.

Given that I don’t know my way around yet, dividing concentration between driving, looking where I am going and where I need to be going and watching out for meandering pedestrians who appear out of nowhere and who never seem to watch where they are going - all responsibility being on the driver of the car which might maim or kill them - it was a bit of a test, albeit brief, but testing.

Still, at least they aren’t inclined to haul you out of the car and beat you to a pulp if you hit someone as they were in Angola. At least I think they aren’t. And they drive on the same side of the road and speak English which is a saving grace. If I have to beg for my life at least they might be able to understand me. I doubt my Portugese (always better written than spoken) would have saved me. I suppose I could have written a note!

I might have to learn some Chichewa, the local language. English is, very sensibly, the official language of the country which makes organising things like phones, water supplies and electricity soooooooooooooo much easier than it was in Angola but I am sure my Australian accent is harder to understand than say South African or even English or American. The latter are here in droves as part of the evangelical church missions and the aid agencies.

But, all went well and we made our way back to the Blue Ginger (Indian restaurant) shopping complex where the vendors had their tomatoes, papayas, bananas and green mangoes lined up along the side of the road. The tomatoes were much better than anything I had seen at Foodworths where we had shopped earlier and, where, of course, the Visa machine was not working.

It wasn’t working when we went on Wednesday either ...so much for my earlier excitement. Luckily I have a very large handbag for carrying Kwacha!