Just another day in Zomba town.

I went to town on Saturday for some much need essentials, including the usual couple of 5litre water jugs. When I left Metro, the Costco equivalent in that you have to buy bulk, I was stopped by a medical team. They were the clinic staff from the prison. Zomba Maximum Prison that is, which is located right next to army barracks. Passing the prison, and the inmates running on the street , don’t worry they’re with heavily armed guards , is how I know when I have arrived to town.

The staff were fundraising for their clinic by taking blood pressure and weight of Metro shoppers.

Hitchhiking(last Wednesday)

In need of working from Zomba, I walked to the Kalino market to grab a bicycle taxi. The market is just up my lane and consists of 4 stands, two of which only have fish-questionable as there is no lake nearby, just the man made irrigation pond for the estate.  It’s easy enough to find a taxi there within an hour. I found one pretty quickly, but he was struggling to fix his pedals so he had called a friend to try and send another taxi my way.

But luck was heading down the road in the form of an ambulance. You don’t see many cars where I am, and although I have seen several bike ambulances in the area, I hadn’t seen a motorized one. They pulled over, and the driver, leaning across two nuns to the passenger window was a familiar face. Square is quite the character, and is one of the few people here that my sarcasm is not lost on. I met him my first week in the hills and hadn’t seen him since. I’m not sure if ambulance driver is his job or if he was just borrowing it to take his cousin to the hospital. Anyway, he told me to hop in the back and they could take me in. Curiosity clearly said it was a great idea. (Note: I have just been reading Blood, Sweat & Tea, and catching up on CBC’s White Coat, Black Art via podcast)

The back of the truck had a mattress, like the kind you would find on a camp bunk and that’s it medical wise besides the patient. It wasn’t even fastened down...the mattress, not the patient who was just curled up at the top of end of the truck bed.   In I got, on top of a massive maize bag, and speeding out of the hills we went.

The patient’s mom, Square’s Aunt, was also in the back with me, and she just kept on asking, “But why is it you were so blessed to be born in Canada and not us?” That plus being semi kidnapped (well detoured) on the way home made, for quite the commute.