There Are Worse Places to be Stranded
on Me Talk Pretty One Day (Malawi), 13/Nov/2009 08:43, 34 days ago
I have only been to Blantyre on two previous occasions, yet there is something very different about the city this evening. The great metropolis of the south does not hum with the same rhythm as before, does not throb to the same beat. The sidewalks are quiet and there is little moving on the roads. As dusk falls, the greatest action is in the air. Hordes of bats can be seen taking to the skies on their nightly hunting excursion; the action above contrasting dramatically with the lack of it below. There is a national fuel shortage in Malawi and the city of Blantyre is slowly grinding to a halt.While making the 320-kilometre journey from the administrative to the commercial capital, I stopped at every filling station I could find in search of diesel. The conversation was always the same.“Do you have diesel?” I would ask. The attendant simply shakes their head. “Do you know when you will get the next delivery?” I continue, more in hope than expectation. The attendant would shake their head again, though this time with the added accompaniment of a forlorn, sympathetic smile.The fuel stations are all still open, yet it seems the attendants are now employed in a head shaking capacity only.And so I coasted down the long hill into Blantyre with an empty tank, nothing but fumes and positive thoughts keeping the engine going. I was thankful to make it to the lodge, to get a comfortable bed for the night and to finally dispel the fear of having to sleep in the van that had plagued me for the last hour or more. Having driven with the air-conditioning turned off—to save fuel—I was thankful also for the chance to take a cool shower. And between a cool shower and comfortable bed there is only one thing I need. Walking to my favourite greasy spoon café, accompanied by a few stragglers and the bats above, I dream of piri-piri chicken and masala chips andthink to myself, there are worse places to be stranded.