Malawi - Part 3

There was a knock at the door, opening it, I found a nervous looking Liam. Though he’d just walked out of the house, I pretended to be surprised.

He cleared his throat, “Um, I, um, am here to pick you up for our date...if that’s ok.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m ready now, so ok, so we can go.” I told him while looking bashfully at the ground. I stepped outside and he grabbed me and dipped me low for a silly, overacted kiss. Laughing, we walked to a French restaurant that happened to be right across the street from where we were staying. At 7pm, we were seated by a waiter who told us outright that we ought to order as quickly as possible so he could go home sooner. Ah, African customer service. Much to our waiter's dismay, the restaurant soon filled up, and he would be obliged to actually do work.

(this pic is from the website because we were too busy eating to bother with a camera)

The meal was indeed the long awaited feast we were after. Fresh bread, a delicious salad, goose liver pate, tasty soup, stuffed chicken a la Blou, and Malawi’s famous ‘pommes frites’ (French fries). It is always amazing while travelling how quickly a person can recover from being a total mess. Though I pined for a slinky, black cocktail dress and a pair of sexy red stilettos, a simple hot shower, shaved legs, a new coat of polish on the toes, a dusting of makeup, and luscious French food fixed me up as good as I ever am while on the road.

Since the meal was officially a date, Liam wanted to pay, and since I am notoriously frugal and stress out easily about prices, Liam didn’t want me to even look at the menu and ordered in secret. As our romantic night drew to a close, the check was brought out and Liam placed a wad of kwacha beneath it. Despite explaining to the waiter several times earlier in the evening as to why he was being so secretive, the waiter loudly and meticulously counted the payment from his hands onto the table. One bill at a time. Initially, Liam tried to shush him and get him to go away to do the counting, but this distraction only increased the volume of his voice and his determination to get the job done. Nothing this Muzungu was blabbing about was going to get him to break his concentration! Besides, for heaven’s sake, he was trying to do this right so he could get home!

Defeated, the man across from me placed his elbows on the table and rested a bearded chin on his fists. Our eyes locked and I stifled giggles. A century after the counting began, it ended. Liam gave me his jacket as we walked across the street, tipped invisible hats to the guard, and slowly meandered up the drive. I thanked my handsome suitor for the date, jokingly repeating the cost of the meal several times as I praised the food and the service. With affected ostentation, he boasted of the vast wealth he must obviously possess in order to pay for a dinner of that caliber until we both dissolved into laughs and kisses beneath a cloudy night sky.

At home (as always, I use that term loosely), Liam and I stood in the bathroom as he gently washed and re-bandaged my wounded eyebrow. Since the skin had already closed, I deemed it too late for stitches and decided that Liam’s expert care had been, and was, good enough.

That night, we squeezed onto a soft, twin bed in a warm, cozy room down the hallway of an upper-class home that lay in the well guarded suburbs of Malawi’s southern, and second largest, city. Beyond the borders of the city, a crazy, colorful, immense continent stretched out, teaming with countless peoples, languages, cultures, religions, landscapes and wild animals. Of course there were more dangers to be escaped, thrills to be found, and adventures to be survived, but a soft rain began pitter-pattering onto the roof, and I fell asleep with my face nestled into Liam’s side and nothing but the strange feeling of complete comfort and safety.