The Nkwichi Connection

It’s my sister’s birthday but very little phone network where I am to be able to contact her. Such is life in northern Mozambique. The main activity today was a boat trip on Lake Niassa to the exclusive Nkwichi Lodge, a remote getaway on a deserted lakeside beach. Pre-Covid it was well known as a place to stay for the minted, and today is sadly looking quite cobwebbed. We visited to have some food and muck about on kayaks.

The boat trip from Cobue was enjoyable and complete with a crocodile basking on a rock. I thought we’d be having some meetings with community stakeholders or the lodge’s staff about projects in the area, but it transpired the agenda was mainly to lounge and loll, which felt fitting for a Saturday. I browsed the random book selection at the Nkwichi bar and Robert Ludlum caught my eye. Not because of the content, but because of the ludicrous titles, which reminded me of days gone by, rolling on the floor with volunteer groups, laughing at how many we could remember. The Chancellor Manuscript. The Holcroft Covenant. The Matlock Paper. Ludlum is stunningly popular and successful for such uninspiring titles.

Being across Lake Niassa from Malawi reminded me of escapades with volunteer groups when I was in my mid-20s. I led a trip there in 2007 despite having never visited before. Ludlum would title it The Harris Over-Confidence.

After a boat ride back to the remote outpost of Cobue, the evening was spent on the beach with meat cooked over a fire. Although we all had been asked to pitch in with 200 meticais, I hadn’t been aware of what was brewing. I wasn’t really prepared for roasted pigs’ testicles being thrust in my direction.