Drink Diaries Vol. 1:

Mmm, chunky. Note the disgusted look on Connie's face.

“Wow,” I thought. “Malawians sure like their dairy products.”

 Everywhere, groups of young men sat around drinking from white and blue milk cartons, looking to be in calcified, strong-boned good spirits.

Upon closer inspection, I realized they were drinking the southern African beer of the people: Chibuku (shake shake). Though referred to locally as a beer, you will be in for an unhappy surprise is you sip it expecting golden, hoppy refreshment.

Chibuku is a thick, gritty, sour amalgam of fermented maize, sorghum and yeast the color of dirty milk. At 3.5 percent alcohol, it makes up for strength in quantity, being sold in flimsy one liter milk cartons for about 50 cents a pop. It’s an acquired taste and one quite a few locals have acquired a bit too much.

Southern Africa is no haven for fine booze (with the glaring exception of South Africa’s wine region), but I’ve managed to sample an array of local drink, ranging from awful firewater to delicious craft beer.

Having a national beer is like having a national airline, and like the latter, no country lets lack of quality  or safety get in the way of this point of pride.

In Tanzania there are several local lager but the king, both in strength and taste, is Safari, a malty, slightly sweet and extremely drinkable lager. Cheaper, and much better for cauterizing wounds, is Konyagi, the local sugar cane fire water.

Malawians are very proud of their 3.5 percent alcohol Kuche Kuche - I was told by several Malawians that it translates roughly to “drink until the morning,” and you would have to in order to loosen up. Their motto is “Mowa Watu Watu,” which means “A beer of our own” and it’s brewed, of course, by Carlsberg of Denmark. The watered down malt liquorish beverage’s main attraction is its cheapness, followed closely by the fact that it is, indeed, beer.

The real gem in Malawi was the generic Malawi brand liquors, though. At less than a dollar for a 200 ml bottle, the brandy, gin, and vodka line is dangerously cheap, and surprisingly okay. The sweet brandy improved a few rough days at sea.

Botswana’s St. Louis Export – the strangest name for a local beer – is your typical national lager: inoffensive and Budweiserish.

In formerly German Namibia, the beer scene improves, and you can even find thoroughly decent craft beer brewed by Camelthorn Brewing in the capital, Windhoek. They make a great German-style hefeweizen and my favorite, an American-style red ale, balanced and slightly bitter. Even the old stand-by, Windhoek Lager is a cut above its neighboring national beer rivals, though the cheaper Tafel is not worth the 30 cents savings. The main commercial brewer, Namibian Brewing, even has a tasty seasonal bock beer, made only in winter for those frosty 70-degree days.

If you really want to drink southern Africa, though, it’s all about the Chibuku. Even the smallest one-road outpost has a Chibuku shack that never closes, where locals sit on rough-hewn wooden benches and dance the afternoon away to ear-splitting reggae. ‘Shake shake’ is the drink’s motto and nickname, referring both to drinking instructions and the effect it has on the consumer.

 The ‘international beer’ is gulped, not sipped, perhaps because it tastes a bit like milk that’s gone a couple weeks past it’s sell-by date or maybe because no one drinks it to stay sober. One thing’s for sure: the only thing that makes Chibuku taste better is more Chibuku.

 I met a Zimbabwean in Botswana whose father used to work for Chibuku. He was very proud of his father’s work and he himself helped pay for college by working for Chibuku. He drinks Windhoek.