Day 4 in Malawi: Stuck with an Overvalued Currency

I had arranged to leave for the airport at ten o’clock in the morning, which I figured would get me there with time to spare. The road was bumpier than I remembered it being on the way to Cape Maclear, possibly because on the way back we took a different route, but probably because this time I was trying to read a book. We made four stops altogether: two for the driver to pee behind the car, one for us to buy lunch, and one for the driver to buy two giant sacks of rice. He explained that since it was a Sunday, most stores were closed, and the price he had seen from the road was a real bargain.

As we passed through the villages, we saw that crowds of people were congregating in the public areas. In one, they were seated in a circle, apparently listening to a speaker in their midst. In another, several rows of chairs had been unfolded in front of a clearing. The driver explained that these gatherings were being held in connection with Malawi’s parliamentary elections, a month after which Malawi would elect a new president. I am not sure what the exact connection was. What I did understand, however, was that the driver felt confident the current president would be voted out of office, as people are fed up with high prices and stagnant living standards.

By the time we made our turn eastwards from Salima, dark clouds had begun to gather over the mountains, breaking into rain as we approached Lilongwe. Our time reserve had already shrunk considerably due to the state of Malawi’s roads, and now the driver decided to axe it completely by not taking the shortcut to the airport. He explained that the road might become too muddy and that we would run the risk of getting stuck if we followed it.

Still, we made it to the airport just a little short of two hours before my departure. This gave me time to visit the foreign exchange bureaux, where I intended to get rid of the eighty thousand Kwacha remaining in my wallet. However, two of the bureaux were closed and the two that were open denied they had any US Dollars or, indeed, any other currency. At the second bureau, the employee even showed me the receipt of his previous customer, telling me that he had been given the last US Dollar notes. I could not fathom why he insisted on showing it to me, did not bother reading it, and told him with some annoyance that I did not care. I returned to the man after two minutes as it had occurred to me that I could at least ask for Tanzanian Shillings. Now the man’s story was that he had given his last Tanzanian Shillings away to the last customer. I made some incredulous protestations, but they were of no use. 

When I returned to Nairobi, I was told that Malawi faces a serious trade deficit and that its currency is grossly overvalued: my colleagues say the black-market rate of Kwacha to USD is twice as high as the official rate. This is why ordinary Malawians always insist on being paid in dollars and why, apparently, even foreign exchange offices are loathe to part with their dollars. I spent many days trying to find anyone willing to take the money off my hands.