We are family

It took three-year-old Bill Potani – a city boy - three times before he dared stick his big toe in Lake Malawi.
Clutching his father’s hand tightly he took a shaky step towards the surf, then another, and then finally stood with both feet planted firmly in the sand as the waves swirled over him.
“That’s it, that’s it,” he cried in triumph as he beckoned the waves towards him.
All fear now gone in the excitement of the water, he took some persuasion to leave the lake an hour later as the sun began to go down and the wind grow stronger.
It is wintertime in Malawi, which is not quite the same as Scotland. The temperature during the day is around 25 degrees, though it does get colder at night. It can rain, and often without warning a wind will whip up, blowing the leaves off the trees and tiles off roofs.
But as this is an African winter a day at the beach is a very pleasant way to spend a Saturday.
Senga Bay, where we spent the weekend, is an hour and half drive from Malawi’s capital, Lilongwe. We went with our good friends, Peter and Debra and their two children Lindy and Bill, and passed the time walking on the beach, sharing photographs and memories and drinking Kuche Kuche and Cherry Plum.
The only low point came when little Bill threw up his Fanta orange all over the dinner table, but a quick wipe down and he was tucking into his egg and chips as if nothing had happened.
On the way home we debated the root of Senga Bay. Peter insists it is not a Chichewa word, or even Angoni - his tribe, so the most likely explanation we could come up with it was that this most beautiful of bays was named after some long dead missionary’s wife from Scotland.
I hope it is true, because if it is, then that Scottish woman unknowingly helped cement a friendship between our two countries which still flourishes today, thanks in particular to the efforts of Scotland’s longest serving First Minister Jack McConnell.
Once we had tired of speculating about Senga and her bay, we turned to beer. Peter, whose favourite tipple is a Special – a considerably weaker version of the Carlsberg Special sold in Scotland, as he discovered to his cost two years ago when he spent a fortnight with us in Edinburgh.
He pointed out an advert for Chibuku – “The People’s Choice”.
“It is brewed from maize,” he explained. “And you can’t buy it in shops, only in taverns.”
“The name comes from the world buku – book. When men have no cash, they would go to the bottlestore and ask for a beer, and it would be entered into the buku. Chibuku means big book.”
“A slate,” I cried, “It is the same in Scotland”.
And we settled back to listen to the Black Missionaries and Robbie Williams as we sped home to Lilongwe, content in each other’s silent company.
Two countries, separated by five thousand miles and a global economy that favours the north, but in the things that matter, we are family.