The many faces of the Ilala Ferry

Friday 30th October-Sunday 1st November 2009
Days 124-126

As the sun set on the first day on board the Ilala all was well and peaceful as we toasted the red ball in the sky with a Carlsberg sundowner. This was, however, quite literally the calm before the storm. No sooner had the final rays of light disappeared the wind picked up an almighty force knocking a German chap's cap clean off his head and forcing us all into the shelter of the bar area on the top deck of the boat.

The wind continued to grow stronger and didn't let up as we descended below deck to the restaurant. Here over some gristle and fries the storm outside was symbolized by a map of Malawi swaying frantically in tune to the colossal waves outside.

Sleeping on a matress on deck would certainly be interesting tonight as rain kicked in to add insult to injury.

The Ilala Ferry is a 60 year old beast of a boat originally built to transport cargo up and down Lake Malawi. These days it takes passengers up the majority of the 300 km long 50 km wide 600 metre deep lake stopping at 12 ports over the course of its three day journey which it takes once a week northbound and southbound.

The boat is considered by the sentimental to be an engineering marvel, a talisman of Malawi, an African icon, a gift from the Gods. By others it's considered an illfated, unsafe, unreliable dinasaur roaming the lake if stars and guzzling a ridiculous amount of fuel in the process.

What is safe to say is it's a great way to experience the lake and is, rightly so, becoming an integral part of the well trodden traveller's trail up or down southern Africa. But word has it you better be quick as younger, fitter, economic ferries are being lined up to take the place of this Lake Malawi legend.

On board the first day was Layla and I, a group of three Germans, an eccentric 62 year old French lady called Jocelyn and Till, a Swiss freelance journalist on board to cover the Ilala in a pre-commissioned newspaper article whose proceeds would help fund a friend's aid project to build schools in Malawi. We certainly were an unlikely bunch thrown together.

As the Ilala pulled into each port the excitment was tangible for those locals who had come out especially to see the boat. As though the boat were here once a year rather than twice a week. As soon as the boat stopped absolute chaos commenced with people scrambling to get off the boat, people scrambling to get on, tradesman selling goods on port, visitors coming to tour the ferry while it was docked, those on board hanging over the edge to observe what was going on, those off the boat peering from the dock, off the edge of dugout canoes or by simply swimming out towards the boat to see what was going on. Utter chaos but somewhat organised chaos with the boat sounding its piercing horn before pulling off with everything seemingly sorted.

A pleasant day followed by the storm meant waking up on day two with not too many winks and a bit of a sore head from a Danish friend called Carlsberg. The waves were still choppy which caused a quizziness Id never experienced before. However, nothing a tea and a shower couldn't fix.

Things started to quiten down and all sorts of goods started being loaded onto the boat at its first stop of the day. A choir boarded the ferry along with some other interesting people , mostly locals, who we had s good chat to before the choir started belting out tunes.

The majority of passengers got off at the popular Limkome Island where a new contingent got on board pacing the boat to the rafters. Travellers, locals and drunk army guys filled the top deck drinking, chatting whilst we tried to find a spot to sleep.

We awoke the next day to the sounds of everybody leaving and hustlers on board trying to entice travellers to their lodge through their means of transport. When we finally awoke the deck was back to normal with Layla, me and Till the only originals left. We set off with a set of new passengers including some US students who were on a University excursion. They were all on the African Studies course.

It was a beautiful day and the students were hitting the beer pretty hard. What a course! They ended up departing at a tiny bay which had apparently been voted in the top 10 most remote places to get a beer. Tempted as we were we stayed on board and made do with a cheeky Carlsberg before the night drew in and the waves became not too unlike the first nights.

We managed to get a small bit of shut eye before being awoken to the lights of the final port Chilumba.

It was 1am on Sunday when we got off the Ilala ferry where we were greeted by Harold, the port security warden who amused us no end in our delirious state whilst also showing us a lump of concrete where we could lie until the first minibuses arrived at 4.30am.

We said our goodbyes to Ilala as Harold claimed to be my long lost son. 'My father was named Matthew. Maybe you are my father. I have met my father off the Ilala today. I have found my father. Hello Matthew I am your son Harold.' Harold was 60 years old. Harold was completely bonkers.

We'll never forget our time on the Ilala and we certainly will never forget Harold.