Open Writing

After two nights in Nyapanda the time came for us to depart. Enoch gave us a carved model of a zebra and two straw bowls were given to us by Rose. Before getting into the taxi which would take us back to Doogles photographs were taken all round.

This was after all, likely to be our last moments in each other's company. It was a truly wonderful experience to meet so many welcoming and friendly people living in very difficult circumstances. Their enthusiasm for life was inspirational. I would not have wanted to miss it for the world.

Back at the backpackers hostel I set about acquiring visas to get into Mozambique. Jumping into one of the available minibuses we went to the Mozambique Consulate office in Limbe, about seven kilometres up the road. We were faced with a locked door. The Consulate closed at noon; we had arrived at 12.15. We decided to retrace our steps both in the present and into the past.

We wanted to meander through the area we had known so well. My, how it had changed. Where we had only known wasteland was now occupied by a range of different types of businesses. Where I had regularly ridden on a cycle track transversing a vast open space was now completely covered by a shopping complex.

As if to underline the divide within contemporary Malawi there was controlled access through gates manned by security guards. There was no traditional African market. Here the rich minority of Malawians and mainly white expatriates enjoyed their shopping in Western style outlets without the distraction of beggars or shoeless children. Across the road was the National Stadium for so many years known as Kamuzu Stadium until the demise of the late President, Dr Kamuzu Banda. A debate was raging within the country. Although there was fairly unanimous consensus that Banda had been a somewhat tyrannical dictator there was a strong countervailing view that much of his long presidency had been beneficial. A view had begun to emerge that some of the buildings which carried his name during his life but had subsequently been renamed should be changed back again. It was thought that part of his legacy should remain for posterity.

It was only a stone's throw to our old home. A short walk along 'Poly Alley' as it was affectionately called by the Polytechnic staff who lived there. Our son Paul, had visited the location a few years previously and had warned us what to expect. It was nevertheless, somewhat sad to observe the deterioration during the three decades since our last encounter. The tarmacadam road had disappeared and we were sad to observe the security bars on all the downstairs windows; a sign of the times.

Another short walk brought us to the Polytechnic. The exterior of the main building had hardly changed. There had been considerable expansion of courses since 1973. There were now additional buildings each accommodating a single faculty; School of Accountancy; Health Education School; School of Journalism. The latter being somewhat ironic given the absence of free reporting in the early 1970s. It was nevertheless, heartening to witness. I made a nostalgic entry to the original building in which I had spent so much of my early teaching career. The interior had been completely redesigned and I had to be escorted to the staffroom. Upon entering I was approached by a member of staff. He told me that all the lecturers were now Malawians. My general observation was that the still fairly large expatriate community now worked in the private sector, a marked contrast with the early 1970s when they were employed mainly in the public sector; education; health and the civil service.

Today, they were more likely to be employees of South African or Zimbabwean companies.