AfricanKelli

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There have been many, many days traveling when I wish my family was by my side to share in something spectacular. However, nothing to date has ever made me as family-sick as this weekend’s safari to the Majete and Nyala Parks in Malawi. My mom would have been over the moon for the cadre of babies on display. My dad and brother wouldn’t have been able to sit still with the countless animals in sight. Baboon, nyala, ellies, giraffe, hippo, zebra, buffalo, wildebeasts — the parks were teaming with spring bounty.

A sneak peek until I can get home, process these photos and post with a high speed connection.

Best safaris yet, by far. Nothing beats seeing baby elephant, zebra and giraffe in the wild. What a blessed trip!

~K

We are preparing to go on safari for the next couple of days, and I don’t have time to write much. But oh goodness, the stories I have to tell from this crazy week! A preview:

Golfing with the boys at the Limbe Country Club (including Lucky, the barefoot caddy) :: jackfruit + jungle walks :: mulberries + stocking a Malawian pantry :: snails + nannying :: tea fields :: africa! or gum tree bark. Your choice.

Not photographed: the incident of the rabid dog in the night (aka, the time Matt screamed for guns + ran into the darkness with a loaded shotgun), lightning bug drive, the incident of the wild animal sneaking in the kitchen window, the British tea girls visit, the gorgeous Indian doctor, and Isidingo!

~K

I’ve been swimming here, almost every day. We go for a long walk on the estate, up through the gum trees, through the hills of pine that will be felled to fill the burners to dry the tea, and over the river until we find a calm pool. Yesterday, we walked for more than an hour, eventually making our own path down to the river. One footstep at a time, we wiggled across a large tree — a natural bridge that reminded me of  that scene in Dirty Dancing — until we reached the center of the river where the tree arched upward and we were left to swing our legs below to find tips of rocks to make our way across. By the time we got to the other side, my heart was pounding and my arms were tired from hauling myself (and the weenie dog Chappie) up and over the logs and rocks.

But the water, oh — the water. It is crystal clear and ice cold. It rushes past peacefully in the pools and is such a relief after a long, hot sweaty hike. It is just such a peaceful new routine. This morning I hope to add yoga to the mix when we return. A bit of stretching on the lawn will keep the gardener entertained, and we’ll more than likely have an audience of vervet monkeys too.

When I’m not napping or swimming or day dreaming, I’ve been writing. I’m working on my second novel and slowly, it is plodding forward. There was so much to learn from publishing the first novel. My writing is stronger and my characters are more defined. I’m being more thoughtful of the plot and how I want the story to develop. Like “Under the Same Moon,” I have a beginning and an ending. The trick is not to let too many side characters take over the show in the middle. Focusing on developing three characters and making sure each page I’ve written somehow advances their stories is my mission.

After about three hours of this, I fall over dead tired. My body is on vacation. My brain is at boot camp.

I recognize how very fortunate I am to have the chance to take nearly a month off to write, much less doing so in such a lovely environment. This is a charmed life!

~K

I spent the morning hiking in the Mulanje Mountain Reserve – a UNESCO heritage site. The mountain range is stunning. Waterfalls pour off the peaks, plummeting into pools and running in gushing rivulets down the mountainside. Clouds crown the peaks, breaking only on occasion for a view of the verdant top.

From the trail, with a chorus of tree frogs singing, we spot samango monkeys above in the treetops. Actually, far before we spotted them, they’d seen the dogs we are hiking with. As they jump from tree to tree, they stay so high in the canopy you have to squint to see leaves moving to catch a glimpse of their tiny dark bodies.

It is their cries we can hear below, and the corresponding hungry howl of the dogs at our feet. In truth, the dogs cannot decide if they want to pounce into the jungle with bravado for the chase and a chance at an exotic snack, or head back to the car with their courage tucked with their tail between their legs.

As we hike, I listen to the Monkey Scout. In the US, he would have been an Eagle Scout, but as an African – this man is well versed in all things jungle.

“This plant has barbs. Be careful. This plant looks edible, but the flower will kill you. See that bird? That’s a hornbill. Big cry, small bird. See this tree? This tree is a hardwood. The poachers would have a hard time finding a saw strong enough to remove this beast. Bloody poachers… Wait! Listen? Hear those monkeys? Those monkeys have mustaches. If we stand here very still and can keep the dogs close, we’ll be able to see their long wiry mustaches.”

We climbed and climbed. At one point, I threw my hands above my head, stretched my spine and felt my heart thumping as my lungs sucked in as much of humid air as they could. With mushrooms and moss under my feet, I crunched down the path, wary of the dark trail ahead. The canopy – a twisting combination of vine, eucalyptus (gum) trees, African hardwoods and brush – is so dense in places, it closes out the tropical sun above. In my mind, I know there aren’t gorillas/lion/boogeymen in this part of the world. In my imagination, I’m on a remote, slippery lime green cloudy forest trail, in the middle of nowhere, listening to animals in the jungle. Anything is possible.

My heart races.

We reached a small hydroelectric dam built to provide energy to the estate. The water is crystal clear runoff from the rainfall above. A pounding stream feeds the damn. We’ve been able to hear this water bubbling along for more than a mile. We slide into the water holding our breath. Matt, without any fear, swims up one side and down the other, climbing on the dam wall and diving into the darkest part of the pool. I join him after a lot of coaxing, name-calling, and promises that there is no way possible that a croc could be on the bottom waiting for just such an American treat. Soon enough, I’m also standing on the dam wall, shaking from the cold water and dripping wet, jumping blindly into the same dark pool screaming “cowabunga!”

Cowabunga, indeed.

Jungle badge — earned.

~K

A few other favorite photos from the last week:

Fishing on Lake Malawi :: Catching rays :: the tea estate and Mulanje Mountain Reserve :: tea leaves — you only take the top few :: tea in process, ready for auction :: tasting station.

~K

Whenever I travel, I love to browse — snoop, really — bookshelves. You can tell so much but what people have read, what’s bookmarked, underlined, well-worn and what has obviously been abandoned mid-chapter. At the lake cottage, I found a tiny bookshelf with books left behind by previous visitors.

I shouldn’t have been as shocked as I was to find the 1950s library rules glued to the inside cover of one novel, but I am. Worthy of sharing, but still very sad nonetheless. There are epic novels to be written about the “boys” and “natives” who were denied the pleasure of reading. Even more depressing, while the colonizers have long since been run out, there are few public libraries today in Malawi. The state of public education is so poor, most folk are illiterate.

The good news is, I’ve made several delightful new friends who are working in Malawi and Tanzania for international NGOs on a variety of projects, including literacy. So, let’s hope the label alone is a relic in this southern African nation. May the joy of libraries one day return to beautiful Malawi.

(Really, how can a country progress without access to quality education and books?)

~k

I opened my eyes to the New Year on African soil; never has a year of my life begun with such potential, hope and happiness. There is something wild, simple, beautiful  about this continent that I love unconditionally. The flights from Phoenix to Heathrow to Johannesburg to Blantyre were uneventful and easy; I slept, watched far too many movies, read 300 pages of a novel and dreamed of what the next three weeks of holiday could include.

I was greeted at the airport by Jimmy – a family friend. In one swoop, my handful of luggage and my exhausted frame were bundled into a truck, headed three hours north to Lake Malawi. My holiday coincided with their family holiday; I would join a gaggle at the cottage at Cape MacLear – one of the southern-most points on the lake.

Soon after arriving, I was hustled into a speed boat with Matty, his brother Shaun and a handful of their expat friends. We grazed across the lake with such speed, music blaring, green Carlsburg beer bottles tossed back with the sun setting. The tropical weather made my skin shine, my hair thick and my shoulders relax. It was the temperature and weather of perfect. Mary Poppins perfect. Not too warm. Not too cool. Simply right. Watching the first sun set of the new year, surrounded by old friend and new, on one of Africa’s largest lakes was true bliss. I said no fewer than a dozen times, “I cannot believe how lucky I am. This is my life!”

The cottage sleeps ten and sits a hundred feet from the beach. I was given a tour of the beach by Jimmy.

“Look at those stars, Kelli. Tell me you have stars like this in America.”

“They are hidden, but they are there.”

“They are?”
“I’ve never seen the Milky Way in Mesa, but I’m sure they are there.”

“I like your optimism.”

Long after he’d retreated to the dinner table, I remained with my neck craned, mouth wide open with awe, staring at the heavens. The planets, an off red. The sky, as black as the shade is made. The twinkle of millions of stars – spread out like diamonds thrown upon black velvet, shimmering on the opaque lake below. Truly glorious!

My room included a tidy bed with a white mosquito net, a large picture window with a view and a lake breeze that lulled me into a deep sleep after a festive African braai – steak, sausage, ribs, salad. I awoke 12 hours later miraculously with no jet lag; the same group of friends were on the patio where I’d left them after the braai, sitting in the shade of the giant cashew tree now enjoying a traditional English breakfast – eggs sunny side up, toast, sausage and grilled tomato. It hit the spot and certainly beats the lonely bagel with peanut butter I’m used to eating before hustling off to work.

Today, we spent hours on the lake snorkeling, fishing, reading, lounging and day-dreaming. Matty was the master of the fishing pole; his brother and friends were embarrassed by the mass of fish he caught. I summoned ever bit of courage I had to snorkel; there are crocodiles in this water, although more than likely not in our part of the lake. Still, my heart raced as I swam along in the deep water, bright blue and yellow fish swimming along with my bubbles. They call Lake Malawi the calendar lake; it is 365 miles long and 52 miles wide.

I am in love with Malawi and this holiday could not have come soon enough.

~K

So, I’ve been waiting a bit to post some fun photos of Shelley and her three young ones:  Vincenzo, Paola and Olivia. (My God, how gorgeous are those names? Perfectly matched, as you’ll see.)

Look at this mama go! Feeding the twins at the same time. She’s a great mama, and once again it is such a delight to watch my friends become parents. But then again, how easy is it to love these baby birds?

Right? Squishy little adorable Italian bambinas!

Their big brother is just as sweet, but far more mobile and therefore harder to get good photos of. I adore them all.

~K