Africa for Africans A trip to next door neighbours

BEFORE this holiday, I believed myself to be an experienced traveller, having seen a lot of Europe and a bit of Africa. So, when my partner suggested we travel to Zimbabwe via Zambia so we can view Mosi-oa-Tunya (the Smoke that Thunders), the original name for Victoria Falls, I was excited but somewhat hesitant.

You see, I am a news junkie and watching and reading news reports on Zimbabwe, I was terrified of what we might find. I went to great lengths reading up on all the safety measures and the precautions we should take. Forewarned is forearmed, isn’t it?The journey from Windhoek to Katima Mulilo was pretty smooth. But arriving at our border post at Katima Mulilo was a shocking revelation. Next to the entrance of the immigration office was a pile of rubbish, flies swarming and an overwhelming stench that followed us inside. The queue was not very long but it was slow because only one officer was on duty, darting between the arrivals and departures desks. I thought to myself: ‘Here we go. If this is what Namibian border control is like, what about the rest?’After a short drive to the Sesheke border in Zambia, a police officer carrying an AK47 rifle waved us to stop and to get out of our vehicle. He instructed that we wash our hands in bowl filled with a pinkish liquid and step on a wet and sandy rug. He explained that it was all meant to prevent people from carrying the foot-and-mouth disease from Namibia into Zambia.I looked down at that water: the thought of dipping my hands into the pinkish liquid made my stomach heave. All I could think of is how many people had washed their hands in that water by that time of the afternoon.On we went to the immigration office some 100 metres further. The first thing I noticed is that there were more officers on duty, but clearly I stepped into a whole new world with goats roaming in front of the immigration offices, dilapidated caravans being used as offices, and men carrying wads of banknotes that seem to have changed way too many hands. Write details in a book, have passport stamped and we turned to journey on.And, just like a typical African movie, the woman who was at the customs queue called us aside, leading us into a ‘private office’. This ‘officer’ told us about various taxes that we had to pay and she kindly offered to make our lives easier by not having to visit all four caravan offices. We asked her to get all the paperwork done first and then we would pay her later. Perhaps that’s why we ended up paying more than N$1 000 in an assortment of taxes, as we chose to go from ‘office’ to ‘office’. But it later turned out she was not even a government official. The drive through Zambia showed me the life of Africans the way I had not seen it before. Livestock were grazing comfortably among human settlements and towns. Roads in most parts were in a poor and potholed state. But one thing that surprised me was the peaceful atmosphere among the people.Everyone seemed to go about their lives happy with their lot. This stood out even more distinctly when my partner and I walked through the streets of Livingstone at 22h30. None had street lights but not a single person tried to attack us or even looked in our direction for that matter.Windhoek, we are told, is one of the safest places yet I have been mugged three times, including in what should have been the safety of my own bedroom. My home has been broken into twice. Here I was a tourist in Zambia and I had never felt safer. We were later told, especially in Zimbabwe, that there is crime, but armed robberies still shock people there when they happen.On we journeyed to Zimbabwe through Victoria Falls (my heart racing at the thought of entering Mugabe land). There was an influx of people yet it was orderly, the procedures were clear, and surprise, surprise – they charged us less tax than at the Zambian border.As we travelled on, the greenery and the scenery made me forget I was in Mugabe land. I was expecting burned or bombed houses, army and military police all over the place. Yet all I got were long stretches of nature at it best.Yes, the cattle are speed cops and the roads are bad but that’s the way it has been since we left Namibia a couple of days earlier. One thing that stands out in Zimbabwe is the police presence on the road. From the border in and out of each town there are roadblocks and the police could not be more stringent, or is it thorough.’Where are you from? Where to? Can I see your driver’s licence? Where is your TIP (temporary import permit)? Where are your white reflectors on the front of the vehicles? Here in Zimbabwe you must have reflectors back and front?’As we drive through the towns, it’s hard to miss the desolation on people’s faces. I see people who love their country and yet have no option but to make the most of their conditions.In Bulawayo we asked for directions from a man named Abel. Without prompting he made his sentiments clear – people live in fear of President Robert Mugabe and Zanu-PF; times are hard and people often go without food. A teacher earns a meagre salary of US$250 a month and has to clothe and feed an entire family on the pittance, said Abel. He could not stop thanking us after we gave him US$2, which he said would buy meat for a few days. Abel would leave Zimbabwe to work in Namibia or South Africa if he got the chance.About 520 km later, Harare’s natural beauty welcomed me. This is the heart of the country, the financial capital, but still you see the despair and the poverty. During several days of my stay there, I met Jacky, a 16-year-old, who has been unable to get decent medical care for a serious health problem. Apparently the facilities are poor and health staff indifferent. She was already suffering from heart failure at that age.I met a man who can’t feed his family because his pay is too little. He said his village in central Zimbabwe was experiencing food shortages, which the government was failing to provide. I met a professional at the high end of the food chain who believes Zimbabwe is where it should be and on the right path. He was clearly out of touch with the majority’s living conditions as he is among Zimbabwe’s few filthy rich who make our Ludwigsdorf suburb seem like it’s made of toy houses. One of Mugabe’s nouveau riche cronies is said to own a 36-bedroom mansion. There are several others in a similar state on different sides of Zimbabwe’s political divide.It saddens me that as an African, I have lived in this bubble and believed that travelling to Europe and overseas is so much better when I have this kind of beauty right at my doorstep. This trip made me wonder why we as Africans can bleed our economies by travelling to and investing in other parts of the world instead of our neighbouring countries and this continent. Why is it that I have been so ignorant that I am prepared to pay a flight ticket to France or Germany but cannot find it in myself to hop on a bus and experience my Africa?I say ‘Made in Africa’ and ‘Proudly African’ but do I really mean it? Why did I never take the time to find out for myself what is happening in Zambia and Zimbabwe firsthand but instead bought into the media hype and went elsewhere? Could it be our leaders have contributed to this thinking because they too seem to love travelling and shopping outside Africa?This journey made me realise that it is not about President Robert Mugabe or Namibian President Hifikepunye Pohamba. As Africans we need to cherish our homeland and protect its natural beauty, resources and people for years to come. We need to develop and enrich each other and we will not need to depend on the rest of the world for validation or resources.Africa is for us Africans, only we will truly understand what that means.

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