Jason Miller

One of my favorite things about travel is finding a quiet corner table in a local gathering place and simply watching the world go by. Whether it is a waterfront café in Zanzibar, a dusty roadside restaurant in Malindi, a riverside bar along the Nile in Juba, a beach shack in Sierra Leone, or a tiny floating store drifting down an Amazon tributary, I can spend hours doing absolutely nothing. A book sits open in front of me, a journal nearby, but more often than not I find myself absorbed by the rhythms of everyday life unfolding around me.

Sometimes I pause and realize that I am probably the only person in my family—or perhaps among all my friends—to have sat in that exact spot and witnessed that particular moment. It is one of the quiet joys of travel.

One place that always comes to mind is the small lakeside town of Nkhotakota on the shores of Lake Malawi. Sleepy and unhurried, the town rests along a stretch of sandy beach where life seems to move at its own pace. The lake dominates everything. It stretches to the horizon like an inland sea, its waters changing color throughout the day from silver to deep blue.

A good friend from California established a nonprofit organization in Malawi years ago. What began as a simple idea grew into the construction of schools and medical clinics throughout the region. Whenever I visit him, we inevitably find our way back to Nkhotakota. It has become a place where I disconnect from the outside world and settle into the slower rhythm of the lake.

I spend my days wandering the shoreline, watching fishermen paddle dugout canoes through the shallows. Women stroll along the beach with impossible-looking loads balanced effortlessly on their heads. Children laugh, splash, and chase one another through the warm water at the lake’s edge. The scene has likely changed little over generations.

Yet beneath this peaceful setting lies a complicated history.

In the mid-1800s, the East African slave trade was flourishing. Enslaved people and trade goods were brought from deep within the African interior to a small trading settlement known as Kota Kota on the shores of what was then called Lake Nyasa. The village was controlled by the influential Chief Jumbe, who oversaw both the trade and transportation routes across the lake and onward to the Indian Ocean coast.

At roughly the same time, the explorer and missionary David Livingstone was making his way north through southern Africa. As he traveled, he documented villages, landscapes, and cultures, while becoming increasingly outspoken against the horrors of the slave trade he witnessed firsthand.

Eventually, Livingstone arrived at Kota Kota and sought an audience with Chief Jumbe. The two men spent considerable time together over the following months. Despite coming from vastly different worlds, they found common ground and ultimately agreed to work toward ending the slave trade operating through the region.

Their agreement was formalized beneath a magnificent baobab tree near the lakeshore. Remarkably, that tree still stands today.

Whenever I am in Nkhotakota, I occasionally hire a motorcycle and ride out to visit it. Standing beneath its enormous branches, it is impossible not to reflect on the significance of what happened there. Of all the places associated with Livingstone’s travels, I have now visited two baobab trees specifically mentioned in his journals. There is something profoundly moving about standing in the shadow of a living witness to history.

Getting to Nkhotakota remains an adventure of its own.

The drive east from Lilongwe is pleasant enough, winding through the beautiful Malawian countryside. Rolling hills, small villages, and endless stretches of farmland make for a scenic journey. But once the route joins the M5 northbound, the road quickly deteriorates into something that can only generously be described as “under construction since the nineteenth century.”

Potholes become craters. Sections disappear altogether. Bridges seem perpetually one storm away from collapse. Whether traveling during the dry season or the rains, during daylight or darkness, the journey somehow always feels equally challenging.

After hours of bouncing and weaving through the landscape, a small roadside sign finally points toward Nkhotakota. A sandy road branches east, winding through clusters of homes and small shops before suddenly revealing the vast expanse of Lake Malawi.

The view never disappoints.

The lake stretches endlessly before you, so wide it feels more like an ocean than a lake. On exceptionally clear days, the distant shoreline of Mozambique appears faintly across the water.

Along the beach sits a modest bar and restaurant that has become my unofficial headquarters whenever I visit. From my favorite table, I watch the daily life of the lake unfold. Fishermen launch their canoes at dawn and return at dusk. Children play soccer on the sand. Local conversations drift through the breeze.

Occasionally, a dark plume of smoke appears on the horizon. Soon afterward, the historic Ilala II ferry comes into view, steadily making its journey across the lake. Operating since 1951, the vessel remains a lifeline for many communities scattered along Malawi’s lakeshore. Watching her slowly pass by feels like witnessing a piece of living history.

Another reminder of the lake’s past is the old steamer Chauncy Maples. Launched on Lake Nyasa in 1901, the vessel served over the decades as a passenger ship, mission boat, and even a floating hospital. Various restoration efforts have come and gone over the years, but each time I see her, I wonder whether she will ever return to service or simply fade into history as another forgotten relic of the lake.

As evening approaches, the lake undergoes a transformation. The wind dies down, the surface smooths into glass, and the setting sun paints the horizon in shades of gold and crimson. Darkness arrives quickly in Africa, and soon small points of light begin to appear offshore as fishermen head out for the night shift.

It is one of my favorite sights anywhere in the world.

The lake can be tranquil beyond description, but it can also be terrifying.

I have witnessed thunderstorms here that rival anything I have seen at sea. Lightning crashes across the horizon in blinding sheets while thunder shakes the ground beneath your feet. In a matter of minutes, calm water can transform into a churning expanse of whitecaps and towering waves.

One of the lake’s greatest tragedies occurred on the night of July 30, 1946. The steamer MV Vipya departed Mbamba Bay carrying 315 passengers on a northbound voyage. As the ship pushed onward, weather conditions steadily worsened. Confident in both his vessel and his experience, the captain chose to continue.

As the storm intensified, a massive wave struck the ship, causing it to capsize. Many passengers trapped below deck never escaped. Others managed to cling to debris and struggle through the darkness toward shore.

By morning, 145 passengers and crew had lost their lives.

Today, the wreck still rests at the bottom of Lake Malawi, a silent reminder of the lake’s power and unpredictability.

In recent years, my visits to Nkhotakota have often included bringing volunteer medical teams to work in the clinics my friend helped establish. Together we have treated everything from tropical illnesses to traumatic injuries. Nutrition remains a challenge in many areas, with diets often consisting primarily of fish from the lake and limited variety beyond that. Efforts to introduce additional vegetables and alternative food sources have met with varying degrees of success.

One surprising observation made by our dental teams involved the condition of many local residents’ teeth. We found unusually severe wear patterns, often affecting people as young as thirty years old. After asking questions, we learned that many individuals clean their teeth using sand rubbed directly against them with a finger. While effective at removing debris, the abrasive sand quickly wears away enamel and creates significant dental problems over time.

Despite everything—the rough roads, the challenges, the history, and the hardships—I always find myself returning to the same small table at the beachside restaurant.

There, with a cold bottle of Coca-Cola and a plate of fried chicken, rice, or perhaps the day’s catch from the lake, I sit and watch the world pass by. Children laugh in the shallows. Fishermen drag weathered dugout canoes onto the sand after a long day on the water. A warm breeze carries the scent of the lake across the beach.

And for a little while, time slows down.

It is a simple place. Yet somehow, every visit leaves me feeling richer than when I arrived.

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[Discovering Nkhotakota: A Quiet Escape by Lake Malawi]
Copyright © 2026 by [D. Jason Miller]

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