O.R. Tambo Airport – otherwise known as Johannesburg International Airport – is an exercise in sleek, understated, African efficiency. It is here that I find myself in the early hours of a rapidly warming South African day, the sun’s rays burning away the scent of recent rainfall.

December means summer here in the Southern Hemisphere and the thought crosses my mind just how damn lucky I am to be getting two of them this year.

Quietly grazing on dried mango strips – a supremely satisfying South African snack – for my breakfast, I wait in the departure lounge for the rest of the UK team who are inbound on a BA flight.  All being well, they’ll arrive on time and we’ll make our connection on South African Airways to Malawi, our final destination. All being well.

After a spectacular non-sighting of them in the departure lounge, I assume that something must have gone wrong and that I will have to get to the bottom of it when I touch down in Malawi. But just as hope fades, two pale-faced, wild-eyed Brits with crazy hair manage to leap onto the transit bus moments before the hydraulic doors shut and we spring forward toward the plane. They are the perma-smiling Vicki Leverett, Senior UK Communications Officer for World Vision, and Jason Moore, stills photographer for the trip.

A rapid exchange later and it transpires that the BA flight from the UK was late, that they only just made their connection, and that, naturally, they have serious doubts that the carousel at Kamuzu Airport in Malawi will benevolently offer up their luggage at the ordained time. I try and lighten the mood a little by saying that that’s the least of their worries. What they should be concerned about now is the massive thunderhead gathering above the plane and the turbulence that we’re bound to encounter whilst ascending through one of Johannesburg’s famously dramatic thunderstorms; that Joburg is built on rich veins of metallic ore, and that lightning celebrates this fact. Vicki stops smiling.

The ascent into the storm is surprisingly smooth. Rain lashes at the windows for a bit and then we are above the clouds and into the harsh blue of 32 thousand feet. I begin my video diary for GMTV in my window seat. I’m sitting in a row with two strangers who feign disinterest. I try to make it seem as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. It doesn’t work.

Surprisingly, the descent into Malawi deals the turbulence hand. The plane shudders and micro-falls enough to elicit a few primal shrieks, but the comedy program playing on the overhead entertainment system provides distraction and we land without incident. I’d like to say here that I firmly endorse comedy in aircraft during turbulence. It is the opiate of mass-transit and it should be made mandatory.

Kamuzu International Airport in Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe is wet. Very wet. The rainy season has begun and Deluge is the name of the game. Powerful drops come slanting down, smashing themselves relentlessly into the fuselage of the plane. The Captain orders all of us back to our seats when the door is opened saying that there is no covered set of stairs with which to disembark and so he has contacted the airport and requested they bring to the plane “Some large umbrellas.”

Three Malawian airport staff members in dripping Macs and with plastic bags tied to their heads stand at odd intervals down the exposed stairs, creating a sort of ‘umbrella undulation’ by which passengers are afforded a kind of semi-dry peristaltic movement down the slick stairs to the waiting transit bus below. I feel very moved. They are drenched yet smiling warmly at each of us. Truly, ‘Welcome to the warm heart of Africa’.

The humid maw of the baggage carousel seems to yawn louchely at us before beginning its inevitable vomit. The crowd stands four deep, sweating quietly and jostling for position. A man with unbelievably bad breath standing next to me leans in close and excuses himself before hauling a large piece of luggage off the line and disappearing into the crowd. A second later he excuses himself breathily again only to replace said piece onto the carousel – a case of mistaken identity (pardon the pun) – and then goes on to repeat the entire exercise another two times.

I find my bag and bring it back to the trolley. Vicki and Jason try not to look too concerned about theirs. I dive back into the crowd and emerge a few minutes later with Vicki’s backpack. Palpable relief. There’s hope. I disappear again, briefed that Jason’s bag has on it a gingham ribbon tied there by his wife only yesterday. Gingham - the great equalizer. Time passes, people flow past and I return to them empty-handed. Jason smiles with a resigned look on his face. His bag hasn’t made it. After some enquiries at the missing baggage counter, he is informed that his baggage should be with him by next Tuesday. Today is Monday. We leave on Friday. I tell him he can borrow some of my clothes. Thank God he brought his camera equipment as hand luggage.

Outside we are greeted by Lawrence Mtiunenenji, Communications Officer for World Vision, Malawi; Eldson Chagara, Malawian videographer for the trip; and Alex Mkakandawire, our driver, who leads us over to the Toyota 4X4 that will be our best friend for the next 5-6 hours on our journey up to Mzuzu in North Malawi – the town that will put us within striking distance of Jacob’s village, Mpherembe, tomorrow.

After an initial wrong turn about 2 minutes from the airport, Alex rights our course and we emerge almost instantly into the Malawian countryside. Its myriad green tones compliment the full red of the soil. I sit up front with Alex and he tells me with quiet satisfaction that the rains came yesterday and that now the people can plant.

As we head north, we pass into Kasungu District, birthplace of now-deceased President Hastings Kamuzu Banda who ruled Malawi for 30 years and for whom Kamuzu International Airport in Lilongwe is named. Alex quietly tells me that Banda had brought much to Malawi; it’s independence from Britain; many aspects of its infrastructure including the airport and the wonderful Kamuzu Academy – “Still a great school after all of these years”; and Chikangawa Forest. More about that later. Alex then went on to point out a beautiful mountain rising up ahead of us which had at it’s foot a very impressive building; Nguluyanawambe Palace, in its day, the main residence of His Excellency President Hastings Kamuzu Banda. I look out the window and see a group of  bicycle-taxis carrying two, sometimes three, people on each. 

The conversation in the vehicle is enlightening and punctuated regularly with bursts of thunderous laughter; the new President is Bingu wa Mutharika from the South and the vice president is a woman (very unusual in Africa), named Joyce Banda; Uranium is being mined in the North by an Australian company called Paladin; Our vehicle’s petrol tank shows empty, but not to worry – we have a second tank; The piles of bricks seen left in little villages are leftovers from previous jobs. It is quite acceptable for anyone else to take them and use them.

We crest a small mountain range and we’re into Northern Malawi. This is Mzimba District, the largest in Malawi. This is where Mpherembe and Jacob are. Almost without warning, we are in Chikangawa Forest. Chikangawa Forest, to my mind is perhaps the most wonderful of Banda’s legacies to his people, bar their Independence. Banda had it planted and it is the largest artificial and sustainable forest in Central and Southern Africa. Chikangawa Forest is 100 square kilometres of artificial forest paired with the indigenous forest of the region. The sustainable part is composed of pine and blue gum and people need licenses to fell trees here. Recent legislation cites ‘One tree felled, ten trees planted’. Not only do Pine Trees and Blue Gums grow straight and tall with the right pruning, but Blue Gums regenerate themselves from the stumps and mature in 8-10 years. In Africa, where firewood is an indispensable part of rural life, Banda’s far-sightedness is very impressive.

We go through Jenda, a town that sits on both Malawian and Zambian soil – the inhabitants of both countries seem not to mind at all; We pass a lady on the side of the road in Chikangawa Forest who’s holding a mushroom that has a diameter larger than a football for sale; We talk about Zimbabwean refugees in Malawi and the fact that the Malawians accept them gladly because of an historical connection; The Malawians tell us about their fears of the escalating Chinese behaviour of entering small Malawian villages and setting up shop to sell cut-price products.

We are stopped at a roadblock. A soldier comes out of the night and speaks to Alex quietly at the window. He inquires who we are and where we’re going. Alex tells him and he greets me. We exchange pleasantries and then he steps back. We are free to proceed into Mzuzu. I salute him as we go and he returns it with a small smile. Lawrence pipes up from behind, “They know we are from World Vision. They respect us here. They respect us.”

I’m now in my room at the Mzuzu Hotel, writing. It’s 1.36a.m. I have to be up in four and a half hours. Just a few more hours until I meet Jacob.

Words - Adam Croasdell