Nyika Camp

This past week I had the opportunity to participate in what has unquestionably been the most moving and satisfying project I have ever done in my service. Since April, my sitemate Scott and I have been planning an environment camp for children in the north. The camp was started by my predecessors at Lura, Pace and Laura, and was continued last year by Dan, another Rumphi volunteer. Both times the camp was held at the Ntchenachena Smallholder Association, an environmental conference center in the village next to mine.
This year though, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to have the camp up at Nyika, the local national park (if you need a reminder of what/where Nyika is I suggest reading through the parent’s guest blog again). This was one of those ideas that was amazing in theory, but a bit more difficult in practice. Originally, I thought I would just do what I normally do, which is to write up a blog summarizing the whole experience, but then I thought that everyone would more fully comprehend the many ups and downs of the situation if I stitched the blog together out of excerpts from my journal (slightly expanded and revised).


Wednesday, November 3, 10 pm: Came to Mzuzu after finishing classes. Booked a dorm in CCAP (Church of Central Africa; Presbyterian) Resthouse. Didn’t feel like dealing with the crazy drunken (though always interesting) vibe of the Mzoozoozoo. Miraculously had a whole dorm room to myself. Spread my stuff out over four beds to celebrate. Plugged in computer, turned on lights, and spent night celebrating existence of electricity - that is; reading, writing, listening to music, watching T.V., and charging up every electronic I own.

Thursday, November 4, 10am: Slept in until six. Yes! Went for a morning run in pants that barely covered my knees. Was wonderful. Met up with Scott and Matt (another environment volunteer from Scott’s group, big part of organizing the camp). Room was wall to wall materials for the camp. Mostly food. Bags of ufa (corn flour for nsima), rice, greens, soya pieces, onions, and beans. Mostly beans. Matt and Scott planning to head up to Nyika with Andrew (head of the Nyika-Vwaza trust) around lunch. Talked over logistics, divvied up tasks, parted ways.
Noon: Having lunch at Big Bite, local restaurant popular with PCVs because it serves Pizza and Burgers when Scott called. No diesel fuel in Mzuzu. Of course. Diesel expected Saturday, but I should keep my eyes peeled for fuel before then. Worse comes to worst we’ll go to the black market.
1 pm: A man who identifies himself as Albert calls. He is calling on behalf of Amama Nyin, the woman from whom we are renting a vehicle. (The parks vehicle, promised to us in April, rolled over a hill and is awaiting a part from Tanzania to be fixed... it’s been waiting since August.) Albert says that the truck is broken and will not be able to take us to Nyika. Promptly call Scott. He is remarkably calm, begins listing out the people we should call to get transport.
2pm: The one softserve place in Mzuzu is serving Blueberry ice cream. Is first good thing all day. I cover mine with sprinkles. Liberally.
4:30 pm: Go from place to place looking for transportation with Scott. Person from our village can only go up Monday, Wildlife offices recommends writing a letter of request to the prison service and to the agriculture office, local MP is not answering his phone. Am about to fall to pieces.
5:30 pm: We get a name of a man with a truck in a friend of a friend of a friend type deal. Before meeting with him Scott and I have a powwow and decide we don’t care how much we have to pay, we only care that the man understands he can’t cancel. We talk with the man, who owns the Kaka motel (not even kidding just a little bit). He refuses to let us pay rent, Malawians should see their national park, he explains. He is part of the Nyika-Vwaza trust, his driver and truck have been to Nyika so many times. “Even this man,” he points to the Group Village Headman sitting next to him, an elderly gentleman. “Even he’s been to the park.”
The man seems wonderful, the only problem is the truck is scheduled to go down to Lilongwe Friday, return Saturday. If there were any delays, a crash... there are too many variables, too many possibilities. “I’ll tell you tomorrow by noon if the man goes to Lilongwe,” George says. “It’s possible he’ll fail.”
11 pm: Since there’s nothing to do but wait, the rest of the day is actually fairly stress free. I go about enjoying the electricity, and play Bananagrams with Sarah and Mike, two other PCVs who are also in town. It’s actually fairly relaxing, and nice.

Friday, November 5, Noon: Scott manages to radio down from Nyika. The reception is surprisingly good. An Eland has eaten half our food. He gives a revised list of things to buy. How’s the situation in Mzuzu? We have a car, but there’s still no diesel. “It is what it is,” says Scott. “At least we have a car.”

Saturday, November 6, Noon: All gas stations have been told that filled tankers left Daar (Daar es Salaam, capital of Tanzania) on Thursday. They should be arriving in the afternoon, unloading Sunday morning.
6 pm: Fuel has not come in. No one knows why. They are only radioed when tankers leave, not when they are en route. Everyone says they are pretty sure gas will come in Sunday night, unload Monday. All stations have lines at least ten trucks deep. I don’t know how we’ll ever get out Sunday. I start searching for the black market. It occurs to me pretty early on that I’m the last person in the world you want searching for any kind of slightly shady venture, and that’s not including my directionally challenged nature. Heck, half the time I still have trouble finding the fruit market.

Sunday, November 7, 8 am: A man named Gift shows up on the porch of the Mzoozoozoo. “I hear you’re looking for some black market fuel.” He says. What, seriously? Things actually happen like this? “Yes,” I say cautiously. “But it has to be clean. None of this stuff cut with transformer oil.” He nods. “I’m a mechanic.” He says. “I know people who hoard some diesel in drums. Since it’s coming in today they’d probably be willing to release some... for a price.”
“Fine.” I reply. At this point I’d be willing to trade my first born/adopted/stolen for fuel.
11 am: George calls. There is fuel at the Petroda down by Luwinga. He got a tip it would be in the night before. He didn’t want to tell me because he didn’t want to get my hopes up. He is third in line. Bless him, bless him, bless him.
Noon: I go down to the station with two 25 liter containers to get fuel for game drives. The place is a war zone. Army men with M16s marshalling people. Policemen serving out the diesel. People and cars lined up three blocks deep. I get in line. It doesn’t seem to be moving. I don’t have a permit to buy fuel. My basic plan is to smile, speak Chitumbuka, and hope the nice men with the semi-automatics are feeling benevolent.
12:30 pm: George has another tip. He picks me up and takes me to the Total down the street. It’s much the same situation as the Petroda. We walk to the front of the line and George introduces me to the gas station's owner. “Maybe he can help you.” George says.
“Hi.” The owner says to me. “You are very pretty.”
“Thank you.” I respond, and immediately switch to my Chitumbuka, which is halting but intelligible. I explain the situation to him. He halts the line, takes my Jerry cans, and fills them up. No one in the line is mad. On the contrary, most are smiling and three are actually on the ground laughing.
“Did you hear her?” one man is repeating as he laughs hysterically. “She was speaking Chitumbuka.”
6:00 pm: We arrive at Nyika, escorted by a 4’6” woman wielding an AK47 (there have been elephant sightings). I don’t think I’ve ever been so tempted to kiss the ground in my life.
9:00 pm: I put the girls to bed. I explain to them that they shouldn’t wander out of the dorms because there is a leopard around. They ask about going to the bathroom, I say that the leopard doesn’t hang out around there, because he doesn’t like the smell. Mostly I’ve heard he hangs around the boys' dorm. Just around the boys' dorm. Should be okay as long as you avoid the boys' dorm.

Monday, November 8, 9am: I still can’t believe how rapidly things can change here. Woke up in the morning and went for one of the most beautiful runs of my life. It’s strange, but when I came here in April with my parents I wasn’t as struck by the beauty of Nyika as I am now. It’s like every time I turn around, take a step, or cross a new hill my breath is taken away. There is a family of bushbuck (including a baby) who hang around the dorms. On my run I got within about 50 feet of a roan antelope. It was stunning. Such a beautiful, big animal. With horns. Very long horns. Very long and pointy horns. Sent it warm fuzzy feelings, which apparently worked because it trotted away. Continued to send warm fuzzy feelings as I ran over the pond of dam one, where an Augur buzzard is currently living. Warm fuzzy feelings switched to downright praying as I passed some fairly fresh leopard poop.
“You’re fine as long as you stick to the path.” Madam Kumwenda (she of the gun-wielding 4’ 6”) tells me. Easy for her to say, she walks around with an AK47.

1 pm: Cannot believe how amazing Jo, Matt, Scott, Yoel and Mel are (the councilors for the camp - all environment volunteers). They led activities all day, with Jo filling in with impromptu games (screaming contest! elbow tag!) when there was a lag. I collapsed inside the cabin and had a nap.
“No one else spent all yesterday traipsing around Mzuzu looking for gas,” Mel reassures me. Well no, but everyone did spend the day either a) prepping for students’ arrival b) meeting students in Rumphi c) running around Mzuzu buying last minute food stuffs.
5 pm: Went on a game walk to Dam Three. Was supposed to only be to Dam Two but even though it was getting late and cold students insisted on walking on. Only saw animals from a distance, but was good as it gave students a crash course in binoculars (no, don’t stare at the glasses, look through them. Bring them close to your face, closer, closer, they’re not going to hurt you!) Also made printouts of animal shadows, feces, and footprints, which students thoroughly enjoyed. To the point where they almost tripped over their own feet because they were staring at the papers so much. End of the day animal checklist: Eland, Roan Antelope, Bushbuck, Reedbuck.
9pm: Asked students what their favorite part of the day was. Answers: mudstove making, tree planting, game walking. So, essentially, everything. Asked students if they are happy, do they have any problems. Answers: Yes and no, respectively. “Only,” says one. “Madam I truly desire to see the zebra, the leopard, the lion and the tiger.” Tell her we’ll work on the first two, but since the last two don’t actually live in Malawi it’s going to be rather difficult.

Tuesday 8 am: Come back from run to the smell of fresh bread. Nellie, Andrew’s cook, has baked rolls, which are sitting, still steaming, on the counter. “They’re not going to eat themselves.” Andrew says. He’s laid out jam, honey, margarine, marmite, and something none of us can pronounce. “It’s duck livers.” He explains. “Try some.” Wonder if I have somehow fallen into alternate universe.
5 pm: Students have learned to make (and eat) jam, peanut butter, and soap (well, no eating this one). “It is very good to have learned these skills.” One students tells me. “But we must also have business training, so that we may earn some money.” In fact we had that scheduled for today, but we’ve run out of time. Moving it to tomorrow. Andrew serves Escargot for dinner. What?
7 pm: Curl up on rug in front of fire. Scott, Matt and Yoel are singing bluegrass in the corner. Last clear memory is a hazy feeling that this is all very, very pleasant.

Wednesday, 10am: Matt somehow manages to pack one year of economics into a two hour session. Students are rapt. “What’s the equation for profit?” Matt asks. ‘Equation?’ I think. ‘Equation?’ “Revenue minus material cost.” A student rattles off. Say what? Oh well, I started off my career choices by joining the Peace Corps. We already knew I was going to be poor.
5pm: Went on a game drive then hike through a tropical forest. Tropical forest? In Malawi? It’s crazy, but beautiful. Birds are annoying me. Can hear them all over. By their calls you can just tell they are insanely rare and beautiful. But also, apparently, very good at hiding. Spot an orchid, Diker, Eland, Roan, and Reedbuck all much closer than before. Though they don’t say anything, it’s clear students really want to see Zebra, and Leopard. Not holding out much hope for the Leopard. Even I’ve never seen one, and I’ve been to four different national parks. Zebra though. They’ve heard about zebra all their life.

Thursday, 7am: In an effort to find the elusive zebra we go on a game drive at 5 am. This of course means that we are awake by 3:45 because some people feel its absolutely imperative to take some coals, start the fire in the stove (it’s woodburning) and boil some coffee. Really? Half an hour of sleep sacrificed for coffee? Students are all very groggy. 4:30 wakeup early even for them. All the counselors are holding our breath so hard. The students want zebra so bad, and because of this, we want it for them.
We spot the zebra about a half hour into the drive. They are over a ridge but Mr. Zgambo (our AK47 toting guard of the day, and counterpart extraordinaire from Scott’s and my village) takes everyone out through the ferns to try to get closer. We stop ever few feet so that the students can look through binoculars. Even from a great distance, they are over the moon. We walk in straight lines to try to avoid making noise. When we are about 100 feet away we can hear the zebra making danger brays, and we freeze. We’re able to get within about 50 feet after that. Five of them. Every student has a smile that stretches from ear to ear. “Madam,” one of the boys turns and whispers to me. “Now I am complete.”
9 pm: The rest of the day is dedicated to bee keeping activities. How to build a hive, how to hang a hive, how to harvest honey, how to process honey, how to make candles. I’m conspicuous in my distance away from the group. Mr. Zgambo laughs every time he spots me hanging out on the fringes. He’s seen this time and again, but it never ceases to amuse him. “Bees are very friendly,” says Yoel, who’s primary project is bee-keeping, and who gets stung approximately once a week. “Just don’t panic and they will leave you alone.” We’re standing a good distance away from a hive, but as time goes by more and more bees are coming over to investigate. I’m inching away step by step. “As long as you don’t panic.” Yoel says. “It will all be fine.” Whatever. I take another step back.

Friday, 7am: Yet another early wakeup (seriously guys, what is it with the coffee?) this time in search of elephants. If you’re lucky, you get out early, you can usually see some by the main gate. As we pull out of the park Matt takes out his guitar and begins a tune. Scott joins in on harmonica, and Yoel sings. It’s a pretty good tune, but the truly impressive part is the fact that they are carrying it off from the back of a very bouncy pickup.
9am: We have had to dig our way out of sand, push the truck out from between two trees, duck flat onto the truck bed to avoid a grove of thorn branches and have been sitting in a sun that’s been blazing for quite some time now. We better see some elephants. Fortunately Yoel, sitting next to me, happens to be an avid bird watcher as well. We sit, book on our laps, binoculars on our laps, picking birds out of the air and trees, occasionally pausing to look them up. “Fork tailed drongo.” “Turacoa!” “Red-winged francolin” “Augur buzzard” “Oooh, Stanley’s Bustard, check him out.” After a bird flits across the road Yoel flips furiously through the book. “Now do you think that was a buffy pippit or a black capped pippit?” He asks.
“Who cares we’re looking for Elephants!” Jo interjects.
(It was a Buffy pippit)
10 am: The call spreads out pretty fast once the first person speaks it. “Njovu.” Jo is so excited she doesn’t even switch to English. “Njovu?” She whispers. “Nkhu?” And she runs to the side of the truck. Sure enough, there in and amongst the trees is a herd of elephants. They aren’t close enough to be frightening, but they are close enough to inspire awe. There are about seven of them, with two babies, one that can’t be more than a week old. We watch them as they move around, even getting to see some reach their long trunks up, pull down a snack of leaves. It’s a big “worth it” moment.
5pm: All of the students have been safely returned to their villages. They have with them a bar of soap, some tea, and hopefully a few good memories. Despite a stomach ache that I pretty confidently chalk up to some accidental ingestion of dirty river water I feel better than I’ve felt for my entire Peace Corps service, and, quite frankly, for most of my life. I keep remembering the smiles on the kids faces, and, as I flip through my bird book, I discover I spotted almost nine new types. Score!