Low Life | 31 October 2009

Mvuu Lodge, Liwonde, Malawi

I arrived at the jetty in pitch darkness. A boat was waiting to ferry me across the river. On the other side I was handed a refreshing drink and asked to sign a waiver form exempting the management from legal action by my next of kin if I was attacked by wild animals during my stay. Then I was shown to my tent.

The ranger led me along a sandy path across open bush. It was a bit of a hike. My tent was ten yards from a lagoon, explained the ranger, when we got there. That peculiar slapping and splashing noise was the sound of crocodiles snatching at fish, he said.

Beside my bed was an aerosol can of insecticide. This was to be fired at any nasty insects encroaching on my tent. Next to that was a red plastic trumpet attached to an aerosol can. That was the air horn and strictly for emergencies. And beside that was a drum made from animal skin. In half an hour I must beat this to summon a guard to escort me back to the open-air restaurant for supper.

So when had a guest last had recourse to the air horn? A fortnight ago, said the ranger. A succession of blasts had sent him sprinting over with an armed guard. Two young Englishwomen were staying in the tent. One was lying on the porch in a dead faint. The other was hiding in the toilet, paralysed with terror. And on the floor beside the bed was a small spider, deafened by the blast from the air horn, which the women had in their panic mistaken for the insecticide.

Half an hour later I dutifully beat a tattoo on the drum and a guard arrived to take me to dinner.