CSI Malawi
We set off early, cycle to the top of the road, lock our bikes and pile into a typically crammed and uncomfortable taxi. Even by Malawian standards it seems to take twice as long as necessary, but almost two hours later, we arrive at Ngala Trading Center and set off down the dusty road to the lodge to meet our guide, John, who will take us hiking to Dwambazi Falls. A few minutes into our walk, Kirti realizes he is missing his cell phone. Aside from the inconvenience and near impossibility of getting around here without a cell phone, my heart sinks when I think of the months of photos on the device that aren’t backed up. If the taxi has already left, it must be a lost cause, right?
I carry on down the road to the lodge while Ruaridh and Kirti rush back to the where the taxi dropped us. As Kirti is searching on the ground for his phone, hoping it had simply fallen from his pocket while exiting the taxi, a young man approaches asking if he is looking for something. After explaining his predicament, the young man, whose name is Bright, tells Kirti he knows the taxi driver with whom we had been travelling, and offers to take him to where he is certain the taxi will be stopped. Kirti sets off – phoneless – and Ruaridh comes down the road to meet me.
Meanwhile, I explain at the lodge what has happened. Maizer, the driver who is waiting to take us and the guide to the starting point of the hike, springs into action. Several animated phone calls later, he rushes me to his car, we pick up Ruaridh, and off we speed, our destination unclear since we have no idea where Kirti has gone. We zoom along, keeping our eyes peeled for anyone familiar along the way. At the police roadblock, we ask if they’ve seen a black taxi, which is the singular detail I can remember about the car aside from it being crammed packed and beat up, which is not a helpful distinguishing feature around here. They tell us they saw it pass, so we continue.
In the next biggest town, some 17 km away, we happen to find Kirti standing next to our original taxi. Dwangwa is buzzing with pedestrians, cars and bicycles. It’s pure luck we manage to find him. There are loud speakers blaring music, people shouting, groups of men playing bao and the hustle of the market stalls. They search the taxi with no luck. We try calling and realize the phone has been turned off. “Find my iPhone” gets us nowhere. We presume it has been stolen. Again, surely a lost cause, right?
In the following two hours there is so much commotion, it’s difficult to know exactly what is happening. We end up in the parking lot of a hardware store. Then a bank. Here we sit, listening to a series of animated phone calls none of us can understand, and somehow this group of men we have just met manages to narrow the list of suspects to a single kid and everyone is certain he has the phone. Bright sits with us in the car, telling us how frustrated he is that someone stole. “It’s the worst thing you can do. He made a big mistake. You don’t take from other people.”
I like him. He’s sincere; unassuming in a way but full of conviction about right and wrong. He’s a brave kid, sitting here with this group of strangers offering his help.
They do their best to keep us updated as things evolve, but clearly the dynamics of the situation are complex and nuanced in ways we don’t fully comprehend. We offer to pay for its return, but the men are insistent this is not the right way to go about it. At some point and for reasons we don’t understand, this changes.
A very angry kid in a yellow sweatshirt appears. There is a vehement argument outside the car between him, Maizer and our original taxi driver. Bright intervenes, trying to calm the newcomer down. Apparently, they know where the thief is and there is now discussion about an exchange of money. We agree on a price, hand over cash, and away they go, promising they will return with the phone. The odds seem lottery-winning-low at best, but we figure it’s our best shot.
We wait. And wait. And wait some more. Everyone has gone. It’s just the three of us sitting here in the car, in the parking lot of a bank, attracting all kinds of attention from the local kids. We figure Maizer will return for his car at some point, right?
And then out of seemingly nowhere, here comes our friend Bright sprinting across the parking lot to the car, shouting victoriously, smiling and holding the phone in his hand.
And now Maizer is back. Angry yellow sweatshirt kid reappears, shouting at the car as we pull quickly out of the parking lot with Maizer at the helm, Bright, the rescued phone, and only a vague understanding of what happened. Bright tells us on the return trip that the thief threatened him with a knife, but he quickly handed over the money, snatched the phone, and ran.
I feel relieved no one was hurt; grateful we got the phone back. I’m also full of a strange combination of confusion and extreme admiration for the impressive search and rescue operation that happened. It’s an episode of CSI Malawi where three characters sit in the parking lot of a bank for 45 minutes, the Malawian civilian task force of taxi drivers and one concerned citizen work behind the scenes, and suddenly a stolen iPhone reappears, 17 km from its last known location.
We drop Bright off with our sincerest thanks for his courage and compassion, pick up John, who is of course, Bright’s uncle, and head to the trail.
The hike is hard and hot and beautiful, which feels like just the right thing after such a bizarre morning. We spend a lovely 40 minutes at Dwambazi falls and treat ourselves to a leisurely few hours at the lodge post-hike, enjoying the view and some dinner before returning happily to Mwaya.
Sometimes trust is the only course of action. And it’s nice to be reminded that for every one person who makes a bad choice, there is an army of others who will have your back, no matter where you are in the world.
