Christmas in Mzuzu

Prior to reading Hemingway’s Green Hills of Africa, my vision of Africa featured parched deserts, dense jungles, grassy savannahs, and muddy watering holes. Absent were hills, at least not green ones. That perception changed with my recent travels to and through the verdant hills and sprawling mountains of Zambia, Malawi, and Tanzania.

Unlike Hemingway’s dull book, the green hills of Africa bowl you over, shimmering emerald that stands in bold relief to russet-hued clay. Now I at least appreciate his choice of title.

The green hills and mountains of Mzuzu, Malawi – that’s where I spent Christmas. Mzuzu is situated in northern Malawi, thirty miles from the western shores of Lake Malawi. My friends Paul and Darlene Heller hosted me. They oversee the Ministry of Hope's crisis nursery for babies orphaned by the HIV/AIDS epidemic (www.ministryofhope.org; http://suffer-the-little-children.blogspot.com/). They care for about a dozen and a half infants. On a visit to the nursery, before I knew it, Darlene had hoisted a chunky little tike named Frank, into my arms. At Mzuzu’s hospital, babies and children share large open rooms, occupying hospital beds with no rails. Anxious mothers curl up next to their little ones. We had come to see baby Hilda, who on Christmas Eve had been struggling mightily to elude the icy grip of death.  Thankfully,  Hilda prevailed in her first bout with malaria.

We walked Mzuzu’s hills, farms, and footpaths, and hiked one of its mile-high green mountains. Mzuzu’s crisp, clean air is discernibly thin. Our treks around Mzuzu left me winded, but piqued my curiosity. Never before have I seen insects that resemble origami made from pieces of straw, or waist-high heavy-laden banana trees.


My respect for African women mounts; they may well be the backbone of Malawian (and Zambian, and perhaps even African) society. We pass several of them carrying twelve-foot-long bundles of firewood – on their heads of course! Will this ever cease to amaze me? It saddens me when they seemingly instinctively step aside for us muzungus to squeeze by the narrow path we’re following. As they ascend one of Mzuzu’s lush mountains, three women pilgrims stop, kneel, and pray, aloud.

Atop the mountain, groups of other pilgrims unabashedly raise their voices to sing God’s praises. Children at the local church Christmas pageant recite their lines flawlessly, and confidently belt out “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” How had I never realized how fitting those lyrics are for Christmas? For the dramatic rendering of the Christmas story that is to be his Christmas morning sermon – from the vantage point of Mary’s husband-to-be Joseph – (Rev.) Paul Heller dons a long, curly white wig (Paul's sermon was the first of two in that service!). Back at the Hellers, we have devotions around the Christmas wreath, then dive into Darlene’s homemade Christmas cookies. Delish! We sip some South African red wine, watch movies, and indulge in other treats Darlene has hoarded for Christmas. Christmas with the Hellers in the green hills of Africa, sans Western commercialism, is the next best thing to being home.