“It takes a village.”

A saying usually saved for moments of grand accomplishments or Herculean efforts.

But in Nkhata Bay, Malawi, I wasn’t seeking something extraordinary. All I wanted to do was exchange USD$300.

Yet, it was clear that it was going to take a village.

Currency Issues

Malawi has many problems, but one that plays to my advantage. Their currency is so devalued that you can get more bang for your buck by exchanging cash than withdrawing from an ATM.

To do this, you need to exchange USD with the “black market” guys on the street who will give you a better deal than a bank.

So, armed with my dollars, I set off into town to find some Malawian Kwacha.

At the Malawian border, I exchanged at a rate of $1usd = 2500mwk–way better than the online rate of $1usd = 1734mwk.

Thus, I was searching for someone in Nkhata Bay who would give me as close to the 1:2500 as possible. But after asking around, it was clear that the best rate in this tiny town was 1:2300.

Not great.

Happiness to the Rescue

I started walking back to my hostel to formulate a plan. Surely someone in the town wanted USD badly enough to give me the 1:2500 rate.

At the very least, 1:2400.

Then out of nowhere came a familiar solicitation.

“Hello, brother! You want to buy something?”

A guy from one of the souvenir shops was calling my name. Mzungus (white people) in Africa experience this constantly. You get spotted by a local who tries to become your new best friend, hoping that you’ll buy something.

I didn’t want to buy anything. But this time, I could use some help.

“Do you know someone who will exchange for USD?” I asked the guy. He looked like a Malawian Bob Marley with the dreads, beanie, and beard to boot.

His name? Happiness.

“Of course,” he said, “Let’s go. I will take you to him.”

The “Guys”

Normally when one guy offers to take you to another guy to do a black market financial transaction, you should walk away as soon as possible.

But this is Africa. The only rule is that there are no rules. And as I’d come to learn, this is how things happen.

In small towns like Nkhata Bay, businesses aren’t advertised online.

There’s just a “money guy,” the same way there’s a “boat guy,” a “private taxi guy,” and a “gym guy.” I’ve met all these “guys” by asking the nearest local who points me straight to the guy, or at least gets me in the right direction.

So Happiness took me back into town. His first guy wasn’t at the shop and wouldn’t respond to a call. The next guy called the guys exchanging at the border, learned they were exchanging for 2300 at the border, and refused to go higher.

Happiness even called his friend, the “banking guy,” who asked around the bank. No one at the bank thought I’d have much luck exchanging for higher than 2300.

Wow. Maybe I got the deal of a lifetime when I exchanged at the border?

The Girl

Happiness and I walked back to his shop. I was dead-set on not exchanging for 2300 so I refused everyone offering that rate.

But now I didn’t know what to do.

I needed Malawian Kwacha.

Then, Happiness got a call. It was the banking guy. Someone at his bank needed USD and was on their way. They would happily exchange with me at a 1:2400 rate.

Hell yes!

Ten “Africa minutes” later, a car pulled up to Happiness’s shop. A woman got out and introduced herself as Milca.

Amidst all the “guys” in town I hadn’t interacted with a single woman. Most of the guys were no help anyway.

After confirming I legitimately had USD$300, she told Happiness and me to get in her car.

Another sketchy demand, but I was along for the ride.

Drug Deal

Milca drove all around Nkhata Bay…which was about four blocks. Lest I mention they were the same four blocks Happiness and I walked up and down.

She stopped at 3 different ATMs to withdraw cash due to Malawian withdrawal limits.

Finally, she got back in the car, cash in hand. In a manner I could only describe as drug dealer-esque, she handed over a thick wad of cash. Seven hundred twenty thousand Malawian Kwacha. After counting it in a very un-drug deal-esque manner, I handed over my three flimsy $100 bills.

Bye-bye Benjamins.

In another display of non-drug-dealerness, Milca gave me a ride back to my hostel and told me to reach out if I wanted to do more shady deals in cars currency exchanges.

I tipped Happiness 5,000mwk and we all went our separate ways.

The Village

Between Happiness, Milca, and everyone in between, I felt like I’d interacted with the entire town of Nkhata Bay. It’s another reason why the beauty of backpacking Africa lies firmly in mundane tasks like exchanging money.

In the US, that entire ordeal would’ve taken place online. It’s great for efficiency–I would’ve appreciated if I could’ve gotten my Kwacha faster than 2 hours.

But there’s something so thrilling about needing to galvanize an entire town to accomplish such a simple problem. I got to meet friendly locals and experience the kindness of Nkhata Bay.

Perhaps exchanging money on the black market with strangers requires us to forget what we think we know about the world. But only because the Western world makes you apprehensive of such situations.

Instead, Malawi is a fresh reminder of life before the internet.

A world where we need to talk to each other to solve problems.

And where exchanging $300 can turn into a memorable adventure.

:)