“Are there any white Girls?”

Cape Maclear seen from the mountain.

I spent a month in Cape Maclear, Malawi. It’s a beautiful village in the Mangochi District. It’s frequented by tourists from all over the world.

The village relies on tourism, but with Covid-19 a lot has changed. Not many international travellers are coming through and that means less jobs for the locals who are mostly employed in the hospitality industry.

The charming village with beautiful views of Lake Malawi is not really big. People know each other and that also means being in each other’s business.

In my month in the village, I quickly noticed that many local men were married to European women. It’s mostly middle-aged women, who were married or co-habiting with much younger men, and in some instances both partners were in the same age group. Some remained in Malawi with their new partners while others emigrated.

I volunteered at a pub/restaurant which was popular with tourists. A lot of them came for dinner or partying.

Locals preferred local bars as they’re cheaper. However, whenever there were new tourist group in the village, more locals came to the pub.

One evening, I was chilling outside and two local guys walked up to me and asked, “Are there white girls inside?”

There was a group of them inside and I assumed they were with them. Only to find out later that they were hunting for white girls as most men hope to get European girlfriends/brides as it’s their ticket to a better life.

These young guys exercise, wear dreadlocks and frequent the pubs with tourists with the aim of finding a European spouse.

Malawi is one of the poorest countries on the continent. It relies on foreign aid for development. So whether it’s schools, roads or community buildings, there’s always a foreign donor that made it possible. There are no jobs so people are desperate.

What I saw in the village looked like 90 Days Fiancé in real time. When I asked one guy why there were not a lot of marriages between local women and European men, he said: “They (local women) don’t know how to hustle.”

He made it clear his relationship with a Welsh woman was purely based on what he could get from her. She took care of him financially and he played the role of a loving boyfriend. I was quite impressed with his honesty.

The outsiders (some) were driven by fetishism of black men while the locals wanted to improve their overall quality of life.

In conclusion, it was fascinating watching black men calling their European girlfriends/wives asking for money or new gadgets. The same men, who shame black women, when they ask their partners for money. Ja neh.

Masanje: Playing house

One hot Thursday in March, I decided to check out Cape Maclear after hearing about it from the locals in Monkey Bay.

The bike ride took about 30 minutes. That’s after the first motorbike broke down and the driver called a friend to take over the trip.

The guy dropped me off at the beginning of the village as I wanted to explore on foot.

I was really blown away by the beauty of the place. But as I was walking next to the lake, I decided to get into the village as I wanted to see both sides of the area.

I came across these small tents, mostly made of plastic and kitenges.

The little community. There were about 10 tents.

I decided to check them out. A teenage boy, who was sitting under the tree, came over to introduce himself. I asked about the small community which was buzzing as some of the residents were cooking while others were chatting away.

Inside one of the tents. Everyone had maize.

The boy told me it’s masanje which is an annual event where girls put up tents and prepare food which have been provided by their parents. This happens during school holidays. It moves from village to village.

The teen was visiting his sister Irina, 13, who was taking part in masanje for the third time.

Irina offered to show me her house. She was proud of it. Soon other girls were also inviting me to their tents.

One girl offered me undercooked maize. I ate it without complaining because she was being nice.

The uninvited guest.

I asked if the girls, from 10 to 18, sleep there at night. I was told not anymore as there were issues of boys and men coming over at night.

After spending about twenty minutes on a walk about, I thanked the boy who had also served as an interpreter and continued with my journey.

I enjoyed experiencing what felt like another level of poppy huis but I was also bothered by the realization that society teaches young girls to take care of households from an early age…