Enter Zambia

Well this was an interesting border crossing! Just a few words to get your imagination ticking along and your heads spinning like ours.

Botswana side of the ferry waiting in line:

Driving into pure chaos, touts approaching all windows the moment we park the car in line, goods trucks queued up for kilometers down the road, people absolutely everywhere, lock the car, army men with very old looking guns. Ferry only takes 6 cars at a time, the race is on. This line takes no prisoners baby!

On the ferry:

Completely open. Infinite variations of very ripe body odor that instantly disintegrates my nostrils and force my facial expression to look like a kid who is trying to look directly at the sun… except I am trying to locate a portion of fresh air to inhale. Hot heat from the sun burning down on us, strong engine fumes stinging my lungs, machine noise creating a loud ambient hum, local chatter and laughter, ticket man surrounded by frantic ferry-goers all wanting to be processed first, no one has heard of lines, a loud South African woman demanding something but I don’t know what, quick get back in the car because we have already reached the Zambian side.

Total ferry ride time: approx 7 minutes. There was a lot to take in in 7 minutes.

Zambian side:

Foot traffic swarms off the ferry all at once, cars charge down the ramp like fierce bulls to a matador and his cape. Park the car, pick a spot, anywhere, just park it! Lock it. Man selling mantelpiece ornaments approaches, army man with gun sporting a great green knitted jersey with leather elbow patches shows us where to go, the heat is hot, we line up.

Carnet de Passage does not have Zambia on it, shit, wait a long time, visas get processed, this room smells riper than a ripe thing, just when I thought nothing could be worse than the ferry. Waiting some more… Fiver goes to change money and buy insurance for car. Another ferry unloads and the visa line grows longer. Where is a toilet? Down behind another office, someone has emptied a rubbish bin into the toilet entrance, nice. A large rough looking man sitting on a rusty broken chair demands money for the toilet, I’ll hold on instead. Carnet de Passage is stamped, get back to the car and meet Fiver on the other side. Drive 10 metres to border gate, returning back to car park spot 1 minute later - Need to pay road tax, carbon tax and police tax before we can leave (10,000 Zambian Kwatcha straight into the policeman’s pocket, no need for discretion here, no point). Nothing is in order, too many separate payments to too many different little officey shop things. No more secret payment surprises, now we can leave. Meet Fiver in the COMESA office on other side of the gate, a giant wasps nest hums with activity on the ceiling while she and the insurance lady chit-chat. Twenty grueling minutes later and a terrible map drawing of Livingstone in hand (a T-junction with some scribbles and dots surrounding it) we pass a “Hakuna Matata truck” and enter Zambia.

Half an hour of driving, heads still spinning we pull over for lunch. Eat lunch, yum yum crunch crunch, get back in the car, pull back onto the road, drive 10 metres, pull over again… Flat tyre.

Botswana border a breeze.

After a very pleasant drive through the Mahangu wildlife reserve (although, I was cooped up in the back seat with a ragingly sore stomach, I still enjoyed it) we got through the Botswana border with nothing but pure, sweet ease. No queues, no troubles, no fuss.  It was very quiet there, so not much to tell.

The scenery and roadside action changed drastically compared to Namibia though; people walking along the roadside everywhere, small township settlements scattered every few km, the houses were built with different materials, and donkeys and cattle walked aimlessly across the road almost every time we reached top speed!

Dare I say it, but I felt we were now officially entering ‘Africa’. I feel bad saying this, but why?

Actually, a better way of putting it is: I felt I had been officially introduced to the Africa which I was pre-programmed to envisage due to a lifetime of outside exposure; selected media coverage and constant learning of stereotyped images - Wow, I saw one of those real straw huts, and there goes a malnourished kid…tick, I must be in Africa.  As bad as this mentality is, deep down it was all I had been expecting from the day I stepped off the plane in Joburg. Why was I expecting this? And how dare I build up such a prejudice as this in my head when I have never even come close to any African experiences in my life?   

Obviously, there is a lot more to the countries that make up this continent than what we are able to experience from the comfort of our own homes.   I am extremely grateful to be given the opportunity to bridge my own gap between what I perceived as ‘Africa’ and what I am actually seeing! Thanks Five and Stuart, you two are unreal.

 

Border Crossing Nummer Eins

My first border crossing was kind of like eating a whole packet of M & M’s in the blink of an eye without even noticing. 

We got out of the car at the South African border, all raring to go with all of our documents at hand, Fiver’s big yellow folder at the ready and a very apprehensive me waiting to be asked some very difficult question.  I walked in after Fiver and Stuart, the man said ‘Passport’, I gave it to him, he stamped it, I walked out, and we drove off.  Crunch crunch, more M & M’s down the hatch….

 

‘Ok ok, so the Namibia end will be different’ I thought, and we were prepared to be there for hours especially because a giant bus of young tourists just nipped in line before us. 

After stressing that Stuart’s yellow fever certificate was not where it was supposed to be and there was no other place that it possibly could have been, but then finding it in the place that it was said to be, (after looking a little more thoroughly) and 7-10 minutes in line we were out of there.  We got in the car and drove off once again. 

…ooo  M & M’s are fantastic!

Fiver turned to me in the back seat and yelped “We are in Namibia now Merryl!”

Well shit, we were too!

 

But when did this all happen?  How did I manage to eat all of those M & M’s without any struggle or warning? I’m sure the next packet will be different.

 

..Maybe 11 minutes.