Monkey Bay

By Zach.

Mufasa Eco Lodge is pretty close to perfect. Easily the best place we've been in Africa, possibly the world. The lodge is located on a secluded little bay, protected by hills rising straight out of the lake, with baobab trees silhouetting the skyline. The walk from the fairy is lined with gum trees. Pre-historic boulders half in, half out of the beautiful clear blue green water. Various water birds are diving in and out, catching the hundreds of little fish (or cichlids) swimming around the edge of the rocks. Large fig trees shade the beautiful yellow sand. Three old boats break up the beach, creating smaller private beaches in between. The bar, as well as the worlds comfiest day-bed, overlook the whole scene, and our tent is pitched about ten metres from the water.

Lines on the boulders indicate the changing levels of the lake, showing how it used to be at least two metres higher than it is today. Apparently it rose four metres in ten days during the 1980s and fell back two metres in 2012 because of tectonic shifts. The remains of an old jetty or dock (the story was a little vague when we asked, something about someone trying to build a bar out on the water when it was higher) sit a few metres off shore. In the afternoon local fisherman paddle their dugout canoes into the bay and cast handlines back and forth, catching chambo (tilapia) and kampango (catfish). The first day we were at Mufasa a man walked in with six catfish, each about a metre long, hung over his shoulders. We ate them later that day and almost every other day we were at the lodge.

Days are beautifully calm and quaint. We spend our time swimming then drying off in the sun on the beach or the rocks, then swimming again. We break it up with visits to the bar for a gin and tonic, or restaurant for fresh fish and rice, or just laze on the day-bed and play Bao (a local board game). It is twenty-eight degrees, clear and sunny every day so far. It is also the middle of winter. Each afternoon a family of vervets come down from the hills to drink from the lake and eat fruit from the various trees scattered throughout the lodge. There are baboons as well but they don't seem to visit this particular little cove (thank God) and one of the locals tells us they are not a problem here.

The owner of the lodge operates a school program in the dinning hall, to help supplement education for the local children. It seems that one of the recent presidents managed to cripple the education system by declaring that primary education would henceforth be free for everyone (regardless of age) and would now be delivered in the local language rather than English (despite the lack of any existing curriculum). The resultant flood of students, many of whom were in their thirties or forties, combined with no input of additional resources and a retirement age of forty-five (Malawian life expectancy was fifty-two at that point) saw the majority of trained teachers retire within a few years of this policy. This crisis was solved by taking school leavers, giving them two weeks training and declaring them teachers. The average class size is about 70 students.

We calculate how long we could afford to stay here for. About fifteen months. For $50 a day we both lived quite comfortably, eating fresh fish, and drinking cocktails by the beach. However, after five days in heaven we decide to move on before we began to take the incredible beauty of the bay for granted. We figure we need to keep moving and travelling or we might actually never leave.

Our last day there I decide to climb the mountain on the far side of the bay. I ask some locals about the way up and they tell me there are "lots" of paths. This is the sort of vague information we are used to in Africa so I set off to see for myself. There are lots of paths, it turns out, at least initially. About a third of the way up the paths give way to sandy slopes, covered with trees and boulders. This is still reasonably easy climbing so I follow a ridgeline upwards. At one point I hear a rustling noise and turn to see the back end of a very large python disappearing down the hill, the way I've just come. I keep a wary eye out after that point. About two-thirds of the way up I realise I have made a mistake. The slope has continued to increase in angle and I have reached a 50 metre section of boulders running almost straight up. The way down is covered with steep, slippery gravel and the way up is climbing the crags in the boulders. Stubborn pride sends me up the boulders.

 The climb is not too difficult but once I'm up there is absolutely no chance of going back the way I came. The views are good and I make the top not too long after that. Scouting around for the best lookout points around the summit as well as hoping to find a better route down than the one I took up. Over the far side I find a path and head off quickly. The climb up took longer than expected and I do not want to be up here when the sun goes down. Figuring I have about 4 hours that should be plenty of time. The path, however, is seldom used and either disappears or turns aside somehow and my descent quickly turns into a bush bash. Fortunately this side of the mountain is less steep. It has it's share of climbing though, and I have to back-track a few times to avoid sheer drop offs. At one point I nearly turn my ankle, which was probably the only moment of actual fear. Half way down, not on any sort of path, that would have been a problem. Eventually I emerge from the thick scrub onto a goat track and the path is quickly level enough to jog down to the village. I walk back into the hostel with an hour of light to spare, completely covered in dust and scratches to Elise's great entertainment. A strange experience, which I both loved and hated at times.

Next morning we say goodbye to Monkey Bay, certain we will return here at some point, even if it's only in retirement.