22 Oct - African Border Stories

Barb, are you sure we have enough stuff???

Barb and I have been touring Southern Africa for about a month now.  Hotels, tents, tree houses, and lodges have been our shelters.  We have had episodes of the traveler's disease, lost the use of two credit cards, been in a howling sandstorm, and a raging thunderstorm, and much more.  Along the way we have had the great good fortune to see the things that we have tried to relate to you in our blog postings.  But, "This is not Kansas, Toto!"  We are not seasoned or experienced Africa travelers.  Fortunately, our guides provided that element for us.  I am a world traveler, and have now been to about 60 countries.  Even so, there are two things that stand out for me as I look back at our time here.  No, it's not the roads that I tried to describe for you.  Near the few cities there are good roads.  But quite often, what is marked as a major highway here would be shown on our maps as dashed lines.  And it's not the heat as we moved into the tropics.  I grew up in Louisiana, and have spent many years working in the high deserts of the western USA.  The people have been great, but I have already mentioned the people we have met and am still favorably impressed.

Due to the nature of the business I was in, most of the time that I dealt with immigration and customs was in major airports.  As frustrating as they were, they are amazon.com efficient compared to these African crossings by bus or car.  Touring in Southern Africa, we have crossed the borders of countries four times now. 

Changing vans before crossing SA / Namibia border

Our first crossing on the tour was South Africa into Namibia.  Namibia was once administered by the Germans; later by the South Africans. There was a war for Independence in the mid part of the 20th century.  But one can’t simply drive to the border.  Life in Africa is complex.  Our company truck is not registered in South Africa, but in another country.  Therefore, it cannot carry passengers across the border.  One hour from the border, we meet a van, unload all of our gear, re-load it into this van.  This van is properly registered and can carry us all through the border.  Once in Namibia, we can again join our overland truck.

Leaving South Africa

To leave South Africa, we stopped at the crossing office, exited the bus with our passports, filled out the forms, and then walked to the next office for more approvals and paperwork.  All in all, we needed to see three officials in three different offices to LEAVE South Africa.  Then we got into our bus/truck and drove about 200 yards to the Namibian Immigration offices.  Here all of the paperwork could be completed in one office.  Although we needed to fill out forms, show our passports, and await for documentation approval.  Fortunately there were not too many others there at the time, and the process entering Namibia could have been completed in about half an hour.  However, there was one of our travelers who required an entry visa.  That needed three days to obtain, and she could not continue on with us until then.  And now, even re-entering South Africa would take some time since we had all already officially exited.  All of this was later resolved (it did take three days as stated).

When we left Namibia, heading into Botswana for the Okavango Delta and Chobe Game Park, it was much different.  The border crossing from the Caprivi Strip of Namibia into Botswana, was a very sleepy place.  The buildings may have been only a few years old, but in the tropics things age quickly.  It was hot, and dusty with almost no one else present.  People in semi-official looking uniforms were standing around outside the Namibian border building.  Inside was a small area with three windows to pass documents and forms to the two clerks with about 4 assistants and/or supervisors.  There is some air conditioning, and there are computers that help speed the process.  This crossing is surprisingly quick.  And it seems just as quick to negotiate the bureaucratic two-step on the Botswana side of the border.  The border itself has only a single guard operating a lift-up pole that is the gate barring your way.  Except for the usual speed bumps and tire shredders embedded into the narrow road just beyond that gate, it is a step back in time to a simpler age.

Leaving Namibia for Botswana

One of our habits to help deal with these delays is to throw the frisbee.  Chuck has brought one with him, and with his normal enthusiasm for these things manages to get others playing with him.  I am one of the participants and am slowly remembering how this is done.  The wind varies greatly causing the frisbee to suddenly rise and fall as it flies through the different currents of air.  And of course, in several cases, we have been using the spaces between parked trucks to find a playing field.  It's not Ultimate Frisbee, but it does have its challenges.

Trucks waiting at the Botswana / Zambia border.

Botswana / Zambia Borde

These two crossings with their delays and bureaucratic dances were merely the prelude to the next crossing from Botswana into Zambia.  When we leave Kasane, Botswana on the Chobe River, we head North and East to cross into Zambia.  The road to Chobe had been awful with much construction causing the use of alternative dirt roads paralleling what will someday be a two lane paved road.  The road to the border crossing isn't much better, even without the construction issues.  Beginning some miles from the river crossing, we begin to see a line of tractor-trailer rigs with two and sometimes three, trailers attached.  There is horn honking and some sort of priority system that is unintelligible to us.  Although some trucks go by us, we mange to get to the river ahead of many others.  The border crossing is done by ferry over the Zambezi River.  That was expected.  But we did not expect the ferries that we saw.  There are only two of them, one belonging to Botswana and one to Zambia.  They are similar, but the Zambian one is even more decrepit than the Botswanan one. 

Zambian ferry fully loaded.

Let me try to describe them.  They are small, open, barges with crude but sturdy, ramps attached at each end.  These ferries are a little longer than a triple tractor-trailer rig.  They are narrow in width, able to hold only two cars side by side, and really only one large truck or bus.  In length, they can hold one tractor-trailer and a few cars, or as in our case, one bus.  Fully loaded, these barges have only about a foot of freeboard.  What propels these river ferries is quite amazing, even ingenious.  Welded to each side, in about the middle of each barge, is an "island" that juts out over the water.  Mounted on each island is a large diesel engine of the type that you might see being used for electrical or hydraulic power at a construction site.  The Botswanan ones are firmly attached to the island, and the Zambian ones are actually on skids, sitting askew, and not attached at all.  These units provide hydraulic power to retractable and steerable propellor drives.  These drivearms are about 12 inches in thickness and 8 feet in length.  It looks crude, but seems efficient and easily repairable.  If your portable diesel breaks, just bring another one on board and the send the broken one for repairs.

Ferry motor

Trucks carrying beer and liquor to 'run' across the border.

But, even more amazing is the scene we get to observe as we wait on the Botswanan side.  There is apparent chaos to us who do not understand the system.  But our bus moves forward with some priority.  There is of course, a petty official with even more petty underlings, directing who gets to load their vehicle on the ferry.  There is yelling and horn honking.  Does money change hands?  I don't know, but it might have.  Sitting off to the side are semi uniformed people, probably customs officials.  We have already done the official exit paperwork about half a mile back.  As we are playing frisbee among the trucks, we notice the lines of trucks and vans parked far off to the side near the officials.  There are runners from those trucks carrying cases of beer and alcohol to one of the ferries.  These runners are amazing, some carrying up to five cases of beer at a time, and moving very fast as they do it.  They seem to have to wait until the ferry is almost loaded and the ramp is about to raise; then they begin throwing cases on board to others already on board.  As the ferry leaves our shore, we see a line of Mokoro canoes paddling from the up-river shore on the Zambian side.  In our minds, these are two un-connected events.  But then we notice that the Mokoros meet the ferry about mid-river and all of the cases are unloaded into the canoes, then taken somewhere for off-loading.  It is the most blatant and systematized example of smuggling that I have ever seen!  Someday, in the next few years, this ferry will be replaced by a modern bridge.  But for now, it is an unforgettable African scene.

Vans carrying alcohol waiting for the ferry to arrive to start the transfer.

Mokoros arriving at ferry to start offloading alcohol.

Alcohol being offloaded onto the mokoro canoes.

Leon and Stan discussing the booze runner process... they went that away.

Zambian ferry arriving in Botswana.

Whistling Willie driving onto the ferry for the Botswana / Zambia crossing on a Botswana ferry (nicer).

Our group filling out immigration paperwork - again (Ausie Jeff in foreground)

The trip across the river takes 10 minutes at most.  Here, on the Zambian side of the river, the scene is even more chaotic than before.  There are rows upon rows of big rigs parked trying to get their entry paperwork authorized.  Dutifully, our crew of Overlanders troops into this office to fill out our forms.  This scene, which is again some combination of mid twentieth century and modern 21st century bureaucratic process, has become almost normal for us.

Sign at Zambian immigration office.

 What is immediately noticeable on the Zambian side are the loud and energetic merchants selling their wares to anyone they can approach.  They call out to you in numerous European languages, offering to sell wooden artifacts of great value for just pennies - or kwachas - or pulas - or any currency you might have.  Only one word does not seem to be in their vocabulary - NO.  They never take no for an answer.  If you say you don't have money, they offer to trade for your shoes; or your wife (I glanced at Barb but she said no). Now imagine this energy on a hot, dusty, windless 100+ degree day.  This vibrant market, filled with trucks and people, is on the parking area of an obscure border crossing on a river you may have never heard of.  It has no charm.  It is annoying, and yet exciting.  It, too, is Africa.

Zambia to Zimbabwe......

Two days later, our Overland tour is over.  Barb and I are excitedly heading off to Zimbabwe for a three day stay in a luxury resort (THANK YOU, Cousin Cate).  This time, we must cross from Zambia to Zimbabwe.  In Zambia, we are in the major city of Livingstone.  Once in Zimbabwe, we will be in the scenic town of Victoria Falls.  The currency in Zambia is Kwachas (5000 ZbK to 1 USD).  In Zimbabwe, they use only the USD.  Unable to control their inflation, they cancelled their currency, and everyone now operates on USD. 

Zimbabwe immigration sign - USD is official currency.

 At our camp lodge, we try  to arrange for a taxi to the historic Victoria Falls Hotel in Vic Falls, Zimbabwe.  Livingstone and Vic Falls should be sister cities, but it seems impossible to get a taxi from Livingstone to Vic Falls.  Okay!  We are told that the taxi will drop us off at the border, then after a short walk, we can get another one in Victoria Falls.  No one tells us about "No Man's Land". 

No Man's Land - Victoria Falls Bridge Zambia / Zimbabwe

At the camp lodge, I stuff our luggage into the small taxi.  Somewhere along the way, I am certain that we have acquired the kitchen sink I left at home.  Somehow our two duffels and our EXPEDITION sized suitcase are stuffed into the impossibly small trunk.  The hotel rate for this trip is 40,000 ZbK, but our nice driver offers to do it for 10 USD.  Even at the bank, 10 USD is worth 50,000 ZbK.  Everybody tries to make money off the exchange rate differences.  They need to make money off even the most marginal differences.  It will get  even worse on the Zimbabwe side.

No Man's Land - Zam / Zim border - Victoria Falls bridge

 Our driver takes us to the Zambia border crossing office.  I begin to question the "short walk" description.  There is no sign of the bridge to the Zimbabwe side, nor can I see the Falls!  Our driver helps me with the three bags.  I give him the 50,000 ZbK and then some.  He tells us to take only the Blue taxi to the next offices.

Zim / Zam border - entering No Man's Land

Inside are the usual bureaucratic forms, processes, and people.  And the usual wait to get through it.  But everyone is polite about it.  It's just another fact of life, for the workers and for us.

Outside, there is a blue taxi and another unofficial van, each offering us a ride to the next station.  I choose the Blue one as recommended.  He wants 5 USD or 20,000 ZbK.  I opt for ZbK, but give him 25,000 (which is the 5 USD he asked for, but now I'm tipping.)  Let me say that it is not a SHORT walk.  On an early morning stroll in 75 deg weather, it might be considered short.  In 102 deg heat, with all of our luggage, it would have been a 1 mile trek down a hill and across a bridge to the Immigration offices.  This is one of the best $5 that Mr Frugal here has ever spent. 

On the Zimbabwe side, it is even more impossibly bureaucratic.  Here, they have all of the computer technology that you may have seen on your travels in other places.  But they also still have the forms and stickers from the older time.  When was the last time, you saw someone using carbon paper to make copies?  Here they still have ink pads, and rubber stamps!  When the forms are manually filled out, the rubber stamp flies repeatedly between the ink pad and the paper (bam-bam, bam-bam).  The carbon is removed from the paper, and I am given a copy of the form.  The other copy is then put on the large pile between my official and the next one (did I mention the busload of Japanese tourists ahead of us?).  That official is handwriting all of the entry stamps that will then be placed into our passports.

Barb is standing watch on our luggage.  There is hardly space for her in this room.  Besides the ordinary travelers, there are the people with bags of shoes trying to get them into the country (for resale?), and others.  A nice young man, who just happens to have a car available, has struck up a conversation with Barbara.  At the same time as she is obtaining his life story, she negotiates a 10 USD rate to the hotel for us and our luggage (only a 200 yard walk we had been told).  She has seen the look in my face.  I am maxed out.  Pooped out. Wasted.

We are finally out of the building and I can see the taxi.  I go straight for it.  NOT SO FAST!  We must go to the left, to what looks like a group of old cronies sitting in the shade chatting.  In the middle of the group is an African "big man", three times the size of his friends, and incongruously wearing an UC Berkeley t-shirt.  To exit, we must show a small white paper that looks like a receipt.  Which darned pocket is it in?  Why, of course, the last one I think it will be.  I hand it to a lady in an official shirt, and she shows it to the "big man" who does not smile, but grunts his approval.

Zambia / Zimbabwe border

I am ready to drop the 135++ pounds of luggage and run to the car.  This $10 taxi ride will prove to be the second best buy of the day.  The hotel is NOT 200 yards away, even by the very direct dirt trail that we could have used. 

Those are our African Border tales.

Leon and Barb in Zimbabwe