The Bar behind Bars

─Hey sister, give me two bottles of green.

The gap between the metal bars are just wide enough for bottles to pass through. 500 kwatcha ($1,5) is exchanged for two bottles of Carlsberg.

─Do you like the Gunners? I like the Gunners, the guy with the Arsenal t-shirt and the two bottles asks as he wanders off with a slight sway, not waiting for any answer.

We are having a drink in Woody woodpecker. The name sounds innocent enough, but the address is slightly nastier. This legendary bottle store is situated in Devil Street. This tiny strip of broken tarmac and dirt isn’t really called Devil Street, but as the three main sources of income here are booze, sex and illegal gambling the name serves it’s purpose: It attracts some people, and scare off others. Most, no to say all, mzungus stay well clear. To us it’s like a magnet. Not because of what they sell here, but because of who it attracts. When white people, or mzungus, are in Africa they spend more time with white people than they do at home. They work, play, eat and drink in an environment that would have made the inventors of apartheid proud.
We came to Malawi to talk to Malawians. Therefore it makes more sense to have drink where the locals meet – despite the warnings given by guidebooks and expats.

It’s only five in the afternoon, but the bottle store has plenty of customers, and so much noise that we bring our brew outside.

─Have a seat, boys. Rodwell Ziyaya (42) and his friends nods towards the two empty chairs lined up outside.

Rodwell is a businessman dealing in Chinese suitcases and lady’s clothes. Business is slow at the moment. Still our new friend is optimistic. In a month the tobacco auctions will start trading again, and as the crop is very good this year things are about to improve. In the meantime drinking seems like a good way to pass time.

─Malawi, Rodwell says with a smile, is a very friendly place, and Devil Street isn’t as bad as they tell you. Just look for yourself.

Some of the pedestrians are definitely not fit for anything but walking right now, still no one is threatening or aggressive. It is afternoon and people are having a drink on their way home from work, just like in any other corner of the world. The bar with bars is neither nice nor cozy. But it has plenty of rugged charm, and a happy crowd.

After all, what more could you possibly ask for than a room with a brew?

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