Day's Diary

April 5 , 2007 ~ Silas' Chauffeur

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Silas got a summons from the President of Malawi to come to Lilongwe for a meeting on Wednesday at 10:00 AM. at the Presidential Palace, so of course he needed to go. He still has no car at this point (although there is hope for a truck by the end of the week), so I offered him a ride. This did a number of things. It let him get there; it let Sipo, his grandson who lives with them, visit his mother in Lilongwe; it let Margaret go shopping; and it let me see Lilongwe and visit Dedza Pottery on the way back, to buy some dishes I have been wanting. This seemed like a wonderful plan for everyone.

We set off at 5:00 AM to be certain we had enough time, since it is about a 3 hour drive with ideal conditions, and conditions in Malawi are never ideal. Silas took the first length of the drive, since it was dark and I don’t do well in the dark. There was heavy fog in a number of places, so going was a bit slower than Silas had hoped. Once we reached Ncheu, I took over the driving. The fog had lifted and things were relatively smooth, allowing for the large, slow trucks that one has to negotiate around and the potholes to watch for.

We arrived in good time and Silas directed me through the city to the new section where the embassies and the Presidential Palace are located. That is also near where Sipo’s mother works, so we arranged to drop him off at her work and then we went on the Palace. As we were driving through town, I was looking carefully for landmarks, since I would have to come back into town with Margaret for shopping and because she does not drive, she does not always have the best sense of direction. This was all a bit overwhelming. Driving in a Malawian city is a different challenge from driving dirt roads. I was a bit nervous, but felt certain I could manage. That was until we started for the Presidential Palace, and then I got nervous for different reasons and had a lot of doubts.

The entrance to the palace is designed to intimidate the visitor as well as to protect the president. The palace was built by the first president, President for Life Banda, but he was ousted from office before he had the opportunity to live in it. His successor, President Muluzi, refused to live in it because he thought it was too extravagant. (He delighted in other extravagances, like 7 different residences and more than 15 cars.) The current president, President WaMuthalika, is using it as his primary residence and the point for holding official meetings. The Presidential Way extends for about 3 miles of open land, away from the buildings of the new section of town, to a guarded gate. We stopped there to be questioned by the armed guards before gaining entrance. Silas, sitting in the back seat of the truck cab, rolled down his window and spoke to the guard who approached the truck. He gave his name and explained that he had been summoned by the president for a meeting. The guard checked his list and nodded. Then he wanted to know who we (Margaret and I) were. Silas explained that I was his driver and Margaret his wife and that we would be dropping him off and coming back to pick him up. The guard nodded and motioned for us to proceed. Another guard opened the gates and we drove onto the Palace grounds. We drove about ½ mile up a small hill and turned right to drive more than a mile of open ground before coming to a second guarded gate. At that gate, we went through he same procedure. We were admitted. In front of us stood the palace. It was imposing, in marble and granite, looking more Middle Eastern than Malawian, no doubt from the Muslim influence on the first president. We followed the road to the entrance indicated. Actually, we drove around the palace, from the back to the front, to find the door where Silas was to enter. I drove right up to the door and stopped to let him out. An official came to escort him in. He said he would call us when we were to come and get him. He didn’t know when that would be.

I turned the truck around and Margaret and I retraced our path, stopping for the first gate to be opened, and saluting as the guards saluted us. Once through the first gate we both laughed at the absurd scene we must have presented. In the midst of the pomp of the Presidential Palace, here came these two simple Malawians and an azungu in a dirty Isuzu truck and the Rev. Dr. Ncozana climbed out of the back seat and sent off the women to come back when he called. Our laughter accompanied us back to the city, carefully retracing those tracks as well, and rather pleased with ourselves for being able to do so successfully – one of us new to the city and the other directionally challenged.

We shopped for material to make curtains for my study and Margaret’s sitting room, then went and had lunch and found a lovely garden spot to sit and wait for Silas to call. About 1:45 PM, I suggested that we go gather Sipo, so we would be ready when Silas called to leave for Dedza, since time would be tight to make it there before the pottery shop closed. We were on the way to get him when Silas called, so we went to gather him first. We drove up Presidential Way to the first gate with confidence. We knew where we were going this time. Our confidence melted at the gate when we realized that the guards had changed and these men had no idea who we were. A guard approached the truck and addressed me. “State your business.” Thankfully, he asked in English. The white face must have been a clue this was the best way to communicate with this azungu in the dirty truck. I carefully explained that we were there to pick up Dr. Ncozana, who had been in a meeting with the president. He left the truck to check my story with the other gate guard. They phoned someone and then he returned to the truck to inform us that the driver could proceed, but the passenger had to remain at the gatehouse. At this point Margaret spoke up, in Chichewa. She identified herself as Mrs. Ncozana and said she was there to pick up her husband. I was just the chauffeur. He went to confer again with the other guard and then returned to inform us that we could both proceed. Once through the gate Margaret began to laugh at what she had told him, but she had no intention of sitting at the gatehouse and waiting for us to return. Her “bluff” worked and we were both through. At the second gate, we repeated the same procedure, complete with the question of who the passenger was. The guard went to check the story. He made a number of calls before returning to the truck. The whole time, my heart was pounding loudly, because this was all out of my range of experience. This is not the pattern in American, from any perspective. I worked in Washington, D.C. a block from the White House for two years. I know the differences and this was unnerving. Finally the guard returned and told us we could proceed. He motioned for the gate to be opened and I eagerly drove through. We followed the path to the reception entrance where I pulled up, stopped, and got out of the truck to open the back door for Silas. He got in then asked what that was all about. We told him we had been admitted as his chauffeur and his wife, so I needed to offer the services of a good chauffeur. Then we told him the story. He almost missed saluting the guard at the first gate because he was laughing so hard at us. I was relieved to be out of the palace and on our way to Dedza. We were through the second gate before we even asked Silas what his meeting with the president was about. (He didn’t know before it began, only that he had been requested to come.) He explained it was about a new program the president wants to begin that will address the needs of the elderly in the villages who have no one to care for them and who, in many cases, though feeble and frail, are caring for the orphans of their children and grandchildren. Silas was one of 10 at the meeting and luncheon. It was an honor for him to have been invited, and for me to be his chauffeur.

The rest of the trip was uneventful. We gathered Sipo, stopped in Dedza and I got my pottery dishes and we stopped in Liwonde at Hippo View Lodge for dinner and a view of the hippos in the Shire River. These would have been major events on an ordinary day, but this was no ordinary day. I had been a chauffeur at the Presidential Palace. That may never happen again in my lifetime.

(There are no pictures with this diary entry because I would not risk being shot just to take a picture of the palace!)