I stepped off the aeroplane at 5h45 at Heathrow yesterday morning, smack into a bracing cold breeze, unexpectedly refreshing and pleasant after months of sweaty heat. Later though, after walking outside in London for a few minutes, covered in layers of shirts and fleece and jacket, I soon longed for some warmth again and the freedom of a simple T-shirt. I got caught in the early commuter traffic on the Tube, everybody wrapped up similarly in coats and books and iPods and individual purpose. At the same time in Zomba, in another world which seems quite unreal now, people were sauntering and cycling along unhurriedly under the trees, stopping, greeting, smiling and shaking hands, yelling across streets and markets at each other, wheeling and dealing, with the sun was shining warmly on their backs. After a mere six months in Malawi, I want to wave or nod or raise eyebrows at most people who I pass, acknowledging their existence and communicating that everything’s just fine, “chabwino”. That doesn’t really work in London, nor I expect in most of the UK. 
Over the man next to me’s shoulder I read a headline in the Metro which momentarily held his attention, “Rare African meningitis kills mother in six hours”. Africa gets such bad press! It’s not that the reporting is untrue – there are many nasty bugs and problems in Africa – but it is so one-sided and sensational. This headline serves only to confirm the exotic fantasy of a savage and unforgiving continent. I fancied the man gave a knowing sigh and cynical shake of the head as he turned the page to read about the latest M&S Meal Deal. Read the rest of this entry »
