The Way of the Cross on Michiri Mountain

Bhavna and I had made arrangements to go to Zomba this weekend and I had really been looking forward to it. However it was not to be, firstly because of the bus breakdown that delayed my friend which made us decide not to go until Sunday morning. What with one thing and another, work on the house that Bhavna is overseeing, other work, (Bhavna spends even more of her evenings and weekends working than I do), we decided that we would go up the Way of the Cross on Sunday morning, work in the afternoon, and save Zomba for another weekend. When the morning came other things came up for Bhavna so that she had to go elsewhere, but I declined the offer to go with her and got her to drop me off at the bottom of the mountain. I have only 4 weeks left and so many places to see and old memories to update and I was determined not to miss out again on something I really wanted to do. I packed my rucksack with snacks and bottles of water. Picked up my binoculars, put on my walking shoes and got in the car, Bhavna sent me back for my hat - wise woman - and we were on our way. The bottom of the trail for the Way of the Cross felt very familiar. The entrance arch has a newly painted sign but the start was much as I remembered it. Vince had given me a pamphlet explaining each station so each time I reached one I stopped and read the explanations, meditations and prayers. There are 15 beautiful bronze (or are they copper??) plaques depicting the images of Christ on his journey from Golgotha to Resurrection. Or at least there should be, but no. 9 is missing. I wonder what happened to it? However I am leaping forward. The path from stations 1-3 is relatively flat. There are points on the path where the cross on the top is clearly visible, but tiny in the distance. The path was mainly packed earth with stones and a few embedded rocks, but relatively easy walking. The stations gave me goals for rest stops and at most of them I was able to find a comfortable rock in a patch of shade. This broke up the climb into manageable chunks for an overweight 69 year-old, which was most helpful. I set off at about 10.00am reflecting that I could have chosen a better time of day as I was likely to be up at the top at about noon. Mad dogs and Englishmen came to mind. For Malawi of course it was not hot, only about 24 degrees, but that is definitely quite hot enough for me! I remembered that when I first came up here in 2010 with Malcolm somewhere about half way up the path crossed a track big enough for cars. I remember this because we turned the wrong way along it and failed to find the rest of the Way, we had to turn and go back before we found it. As I passed station after station there was no sign of the track and eventually by station 12 I realised that I must have missed it altogether which you certainly could not have done 14 years ago. I resolved to look carefully for the place on the way down but again I failed to find it. I guess this shows how much can change in a few years. Thanking of change it was really striking how many fewer trees there were altogether. I remember there was much more shade on the way up when I was here before, especially for the last few stations which were in woodland including some quite big trees. Malcolm and I went up there one Good Friday and sat by the path bout 50 yards below the Cross and watched hundreds of worshippers emerging from the woods in family groups, choirs, elderly people, children clergy, mothers with tiny babies. Today one would be able to see them from much further away. Round about station 6, perched on my rock in the shade, I was passed by two men in black trousers and T-shirts with two dogs. I assumed that they were going up to pray but by the time I reached station 11, again concealed close to the plaque in the shade, they passed by on the way down. The first was carrying three 8 foot trees on his shoulder. The second had only one. ‘That’s not fair’ I thought, but he cut into the bushes, I heard a few swift strokes and a minor crash with much rustling of leaves, and he emerged with his second tree, strapped it to the first and heaving it on his back disappeared down the path at a rate of knots. The whole thing took only about 30 seconds. I wondered if they had marked their target trees on the way up. There is a huge dilemma here. Malcolm used to call such people ‘The tree-stealers” and certainly there has been a quite devastating removal of trees in the last few years. Most stumps are re-sprouting in the manner of trees that have been coppiced, but the new branches are only about eight feet high and I feel confident that they will be removed before they have a chance to replace the larger trees I remember from such a short time ago. Were the men I saw charcoal burners trying to make a living in the traditional way? Were they simply householders seeking to make their own charcoal for domestic use? The population is increasing at a terrific rate. There are not far short of half as many people again since I was last here. Around 50 percent of the population of Malawi is under 15 years old…… As I gradually climbed the path got steeper and rockier. I took my time and climbed steadily. There were very few people about. I probably passed fewer than 20 people in total both going up and coming down. There was a stillness about the atmosphere despite the fact that the sounds of Sunday in Chilomoni rose from the township in the blue haze below me; music from loudspeakers, singing from church services, shouts of traders. Closer to, there was rustling of leaves in the light breeze, birdsong, the scuttling of the odd lizard, murmured prayer from passing walkers. The sound of worshippers singing as they followed the Way of the Rosary on the next mountain drifted across the valley between. Finally I reached the top. For half an hour I was alone with my memories, the bird life, the views and the sunshine. I sat in a tiny patch of shade with my back against the plinth of the cross and took it all in. Grateful for the opportunity to be in this extraordinary place again, to have a role for which others are grateful and which makes me feel I have something to offer, for the chance to make relationships with people whose lives and backgrounds are so different from my own. Eight weeks is such a short time. On the way down I put the pamphlet in my bag and focussed on birds, lizards, butterflies and other insects, trees and keeping my feet on the steep rocky paths. The going was easier, it must have been because I didn’t stop more than once to sit in the shade, but it required concentration not to lose my balance. I took photos of flowers, saw unidentified butterflies, some white with orange patches but bigger than our orange tip, small yellow, larger pale yellow with black wing tips, brown, and one a strident orange with a speckled black pattern. There were loads of bees, some like our honey bees and some dark, almost an inch long, also a couple of dragon flies and a grasshopper of subdued brown which showed bright red when it flew, or was it jumped’ away from my approaching footsteps. Also lizards that mostly moved too fast to photograph. As for the birds, i have so much to learn. I saw a medium sized black bird with a magnificent, trailing orange tail, small finches with black heads, bulbils, something superficially like a large pied wagtail but with a curved beak and distinctive wavy white lines on its black wings, and I heard the squeaky wheelbarrow bird at the top of the mountain. I need a better bird book. And so to the bottom and a walk back through Chilomoni and so to Mitsidi and my temporary home, where I crashed out in my room for a couple of hours doing nothing more strenuous that WhatsApp calling family. Now, there is a difference from last time! So much easier and cheaper to keep in touch with home. It was my turn to cook again so I went to town, made bread rolls and scones, beetroot pasta and tomato and mozzarella salad, avocado with lemon dressing. I shall miss the avocados from the garden.