I haven’t walked much in Malawi. There hasn’t been time. But as I’ve bumped along unpaved roads and zoomed along paved ones (in one memorable trip catching up with the Malawian president’s motorcade and pretending we were part of it), I’ve seen many people walking.

Walking in Malawi isn’t done for one’s health. It is done simply to get from one place to another. It’s riding shank’s mare, using one’s legs for transport.

Not to in any way glamorize the poverty here, nor go back to a time when most travel was foot travel, it still does my heart good to see these peopled roads. They aren’t just ribbons of vacant asphalt as far as the eye can see; they are alive and vibrant.

Today we drove through some of the most dramatic scenery I’ve ever seen, the southern end of the Riff Valley, with majestic views that went on forever. But the best moments were when we strolled down the road from a cookstove demonstration to see a woman’s poultry business.  It was just a few steps, but it made me feel, for a moment, like a walker in Malawi.