Conversations in Africa - The Truck Driver who took me to Lilongwe
It was a typical day of land travel in Malawi. I had arrived from Cape Maclear on a motorbike, shared taxi, and minibus. The distances are not particularly long - around 90km in total - but add on the long waiting times it became a 2-3 hour journey. This was typical of local transport.
Those are stories for another time.
At the Mua junction, I had taken a 30 min hike into a hill in Mua Mission - a cluster of cultural centers and churches built out of red brick. It was started by a Canadian missionary and taught generations of wood carvers who could make a living out of their work.
On my way back out from Mua Mission down to the main road, a man had appeared from the series of wooden food market stalls. It was church day and humans were scarce; empty food stalls were a site in itself. The man was in tshirt and shorts, middle aged, bearded, with a couple of teeth gone. He greeted me with a smile, exchanged a few lines and asked where I was going.
“Salima,” I said. It was the town further up north where I had to transit to another minibus Lilongwe-bound.
On the road here, generally there are times when people take a genuine interest in the traveler and want to engage in conversation, there are other times when they want to do a bit of business with the traveler. I had a sense this was more leaning toward the latter.
A truck was coming by northbound. It belonged to a foreign food brand (snack brand if I remember correctly) and it was probably doing some hub transfers. The truck was a 4 ton truck from memory, so it was slightly sizable.
Bearded man jumped out of the road, waved and stopped it. He exchanged a few words in Chewa with the driver, and gestured to me to get on. “The truck is going to Salima.”
As I was about to climb up the truck, the bearded man whispered with a smile, “Could I get a little something for this?”
“Sure,” I smiled back and said. I handed him 1000 Malawi Kwacha, the smallest change I had on me. 500-1000 was usually good for situations like this.
As was custom for rucks of this type, the passenger compartment had two separate spaces. The front was the driving compartment that could fit 3 people - driver on the right and two passengers on the left. The space behind was slightly elevated, due to its position above the wheels, and was typically a cushion bed kind of setup. A curtain separated the front and back spaces. The space behind was for drivers to rest during long-haul overnight journeys.
Once I climbed up, I discovered that there were two other passengers on the truck, whom I thought at the beginning were colleagues of the driver. They were holding certain items in plastic bags, looking like they had just done some shopping.
“You’re going to Salima? 3000 Kwacha?” The driver said.
I negotiated a bit, and ended up around 2500 - a typical price for that distance on a minibus.
At a junction 20 minutes later, the driver stopped. The passengers paid and got off. It turned out they were also hitching a ride.
I don’t know if the concept of hitchhiking - pick up a passenger and drive him/her to a destination free of charge and as a good samaritan - existed here. It might have, but more often drivers picking up passengers here probably demanded a bit of pay. I would gain more insights into this later.
The driver was of slightly strong build. He was probably 5 feet 9 inches, body width was wide and had a tummy. He wore a black sleeveless top, shorts and kicked on sandals. He was not obese, but certainly belonged to the category where he had a bit of decent food to eat.
“Where are you going after Salima?”
“I’m picking a minibus to Lilongwe. You can drop me at the bus stop there.”
“Actually, I’m going to Lilongwe too. Why don’t you just go together all the way?”
“Ah. nice! Sure!” It was a good revelation for me. It would have been after 4pm by the time we reached Salima, and given the waiting time for minibus and the journey, I would have reached Lilongwe after dark.
“So… How much would you give me?”
This was when a bit of smiles and laughs kicked in, and then a bit of back and forth. Obviously it was a transaction, but he, perhaps due to his personality or local customs, was not upfront about the amount he wanted. After a few pleasantries, making it simple, I proposed 5.5k Kwacha, again roughly the same as a minibus fare of similar distance.
The driver’s name was Tony. His wife and kids were living in Lilongwe. He was doing a company transport between cities.
At Salima he made a stop on the roadside. His brother, who lived in Salima with his family and owned a small groceries shop, came to greet Tony with his son.
Tony and his brother both had a tummy and were of similar build. They were the “haves” - not a lot, but enough to live a decent living and have savings. An unproven theory from my observations stated that usually men of a certain build told you that they had a certain income to depend on, and it was usually easy to spot and validate with a conversation.
Tony caught up with his brother for 20 minutes or so, and we hit the road again.
The road to Lilongwe was west-bound. Malawi roads had a certain beauty that Mozambique roads couldn’t match - Malawian state roads were usually through green pastures with houses aligned. Mountain or lake backdrops were a common fixture. It was always a pleasant sight to be in. This experience was enhanced when one was at an elevated level in the truck, with the setting sun hanging not far into the scenery.
"Life is very hard, I make very little salary in Malawi," Tony said with a smile, as he was bouncing up and down from the springs under the seat over a bumpy road.
Right after those words, he made a right turn into a small rocky and muddy village path. Speed of the truck was reduced to 10km per hour, and we were swinging left and right.
He halted in front of a few mud huts. Two men came rushing out with two big plastic liquid containers - those you see with wide enough opening to fit a hose.
Tony kept the engine running and hopped off and started doing something with the two men. Naturally I climbed off the truck and checked out what was going on.
The diesel box of this truck was located on the bottom of the left side of the truck, hanging outside just behind the passenger compartment. One of the men opened the lid of the truck’s diesel box, placed one end of his hose into it. He sucked the other end of the hose with his mouth until diesel was about to rush out, and quickly released it and placed that end of the hose into the plastic container on the ground. Diesel flowed and filled the two containers.
“I make very little salary in Malawi,” I remembered Tony saying.
This was a diesel bootlegging operation in a village. I wondered how many company trucks were suppliers in this line of business - probably a decent amount. I also wondered how much this sold for. I was more in awe of how this was telling - in a land where job opportunities were not plentiful, people find a way to make a living by creating an informal economy.
Because of inherent structures of the society, not everyone could obtain such an opportunity. To get a truck driver job in a big company, it required certain connections within the company - like an uncle or some distant relative - who could put in a good word and make things happen.
By the end a few children had gathered. Like my curiosity toward the diesel operation, they were curious to see me. We exchanged a few smiles and said hi’s.
We resumed our journey soon, and reached Lilongwe an hour or so later. Tony and I parted ways at the intersection between M3 and M1 highway. It was a journey smoother than expected.
Those are stories for another time.
At the Mua junction, I had taken a 30 min hike into a hill in Mua Mission - a cluster of cultural centers and churches built out of red brick. It was started by a Canadian missionary and taught generations of wood carvers who could make a living out of their work.
On my way back out from Mua Mission down to the main road, a man had appeared from the series of wooden food market stalls. It was church day and humans were scarce; empty food stalls were a site in itself. The man was in tshirt and shorts, middle aged, bearded, with a couple of teeth gone. He greeted me with a smile, exchanged a few lines and asked where I was going.
“Salima,” I said. It was the town further up north where I had to transit to another minibus Lilongwe-bound.
On the road here, generally there are times when people take a genuine interest in the traveler and want to engage in conversation, there are other times when they want to do a bit of business with the traveler. I had a sense this was more leaning toward the latter.
A truck was coming by northbound. It belonged to a foreign food brand (snack brand if I remember correctly) and it was probably doing some hub transfers. The truck was a 4 ton truck from memory, so it was slightly sizable.
Bearded man jumped out of the road, waved and stopped it. He exchanged a few words in Chewa with the driver, and gestured to me to get on. “The truck is going to Salima.”
As I was about to climb up the truck, the bearded man whispered with a smile, “Could I get a little something for this?”
“Sure,” I smiled back and said. I handed him 1000 Malawi Kwacha, the smallest change I had on me. 500-1000 was usually good for situations like this.
As was custom for rucks of this type, the passenger compartment had two separate spaces. The front was the driving compartment that could fit 3 people - driver on the right and two passengers on the left. The space behind was slightly elevated, due to its position above the wheels, and was typically a cushion bed kind of setup. A curtain separated the front and back spaces. The space behind was for drivers to rest during long-haul overnight journeys.
Once I climbed up, I discovered that there were two other passengers on the truck, whom I thought at the beginning were colleagues of the driver. They were holding certain items in plastic bags, looking like they had just done some shopping.
“You’re going to Salima? 3000 Kwacha?” The driver said.
I negotiated a bit, and ended up around 2500 - a typical price for that distance on a minibus.
At a junction 20 minutes later, the driver stopped. The passengers paid and got off. It turned out they were also hitching a ride.
I don’t know if the concept of hitchhiking - pick up a passenger and drive him/her to a destination free of charge and as a good samaritan - existed here. It might have, but more often drivers picking up passengers here probably demanded a bit of pay. I would gain more insights into this later.
The driver was of slightly strong build. He was probably 5 feet 9 inches, body width was wide and had a tummy. He wore a black sleeveless top, shorts and kicked on sandals. He was not obese, but certainly belonged to the category where he had a bit of decent food to eat.
“Where are you going after Salima?”
“I’m picking a minibus to Lilongwe. You can drop me at the bus stop there.”
“Actually, I’m going to Lilongwe too. Why don’t you just go together all the way?”
“Ah. nice! Sure!” It was a good revelation for me. It would have been after 4pm by the time we reached Salima, and given the waiting time for minibus and the journey, I would have reached Lilongwe after dark.
“So… How much would you give me?”
This was when a bit of smiles and laughs kicked in, and then a bit of back and forth. Obviously it was a transaction, but he, perhaps due to his personality or local customs, was not upfront about the amount he wanted. After a few pleasantries, making it simple, I proposed 5.5k Kwacha, again roughly the same as a minibus fare of similar distance.
 |
| Passengers on the truck in front amused a the scene of a Chinese guy traveling on a big truck |
The driver’s name was Tony. His wife and kids were living in Lilongwe. He was doing a company transport between cities.
At Salima he made a stop on the roadside. His brother, who lived in Salima with his family and owned a small groceries shop, came to greet Tony with his son.
Tony and his brother both had a tummy and were of similar build. They were the “haves” - not a lot, but enough to live a decent living and have savings. An unproven theory from my observations stated that usually men of a certain build told you that they had a certain income to depend on, and it was usually easy to spot and validate with a conversation.
Tony caught up with his brother for 20 minutes or so, and we hit the road again.
The road to Lilongwe was west-bound. Malawi roads had a certain beauty that Mozambique roads couldn’t match - Malawian state roads were usually through green pastures with houses aligned. Mountain or lake backdrops were a common fixture. It was always a pleasant sight to be in. This experience was enhanced when one was at an elevated level in the truck, with the setting sun hanging not far into the scenery.
 |
| Sunset view on a truck toward Lilongwe. |
"Life is very hard, I make very little salary in Malawi," Tony said with a smile, as he was bouncing up and down from the springs under the seat over a bumpy road.
Right after those words, he made a right turn into a small rocky and muddy village path. Speed of the truck was reduced to 10km per hour, and we were swinging left and right.
He halted in front of a few mud huts. Two men came rushing out with two big plastic liquid containers - those you see with wide enough opening to fit a hose.
Tony kept the engine running and hopped off and started doing something with the two men. Naturally I climbed off the truck and checked out what was going on.
The diesel box of this truck was located on the bottom of the left side of the truck, hanging outside just behind the passenger compartment. One of the men opened the lid of the truck’s diesel box, placed one end of his hose into it. He sucked the other end of the hose with his mouth until diesel was about to rush out, and quickly released it and placed that end of the hose into the plastic container on the ground. Diesel flowed and filled the two containers.
“I make very little salary in Malawi,” I remembered Tony saying.
This was a diesel bootlegging operation in a village. I wondered how many company trucks were suppliers in this line of business - probably a decent amount. I also wondered how much this sold for. I was more in awe of how this was telling - in a land where job opportunities were not plentiful, people find a way to make a living by creating an informal economy.
Because of inherent structures of the society, not everyone could obtain such an opportunity. To get a truck driver job in a big company, it required certain connections within the company - like an uncle or some distant relative - who could put in a good word and make things happen.
By the end a few children had gathered. Like my curiosity toward the diesel operation, they were curious to see me. We exchanged a few smiles and said hi’s.
We resumed our journey soon, and reached Lilongwe an hour or so later. Tony and I parted ways at the intersection between M3 and M1 highway. It was a journey smoother than expected.
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