Five Borders in Seven Days - Sam

Matt and I recently crossed 5 borders in 7 days; South Africa to Botswana, then into Zambia, down through Zimbabwe by train, and through Mozambique to get into Malawi. It isn't our intention to blow through countries without spending much time, but that's the way it went. We had six days to get to Monkey Bay on the southern shore of Lake Malawi to catch the ferry up the lake and were coming from Livingstone, Zambia which lies on the border of Zimbabwe on the Zambian side of Victoria Falls, quite the distance. If we didn't make it there on time it would mean we either wait another week for the next ferry or we travel north by bus to get to the Tanzanian border, two options neither of us we interested in.

We crossed the Zimbabwe/Zambia border by foot and caught the train from Victoria Falls to Bulawayo. The train was built in the colonial days by the British sometime in the 1950's and it looked it. It was old, dirty, known for breaking down and certainly not fast to begin with. The trip was scheduled to take around 15 hours to go only 450 km, a distance that should take around 5 hours to drive. The train offered 3 classes of accommodation, economy, 2nd class, and a 1st class sleeper ranging from 8-12 USD. Matt and I bought a ticket for the sleeper car thinking how amazing it is that 1st class is only $4 more. After we took off we walked through the train end to end exploring the different cars. There didn't seem to be much difference between economy and 2nd class cars other than the 2nd class cars being nearly empty and the economy being full of people. There are also no white people in the economy class. For two American travelers, $4 seems like nothing, but to local Zimbabweans it clearly meant more.

The train had little to no regulations to what we could tell. We dangled our feet off the sides of the train and out of doors that stayed swinging open most of the time anyway. We could hang out the doors holding on to the handles used to assist people up the steep stairs, smoke cigarettes and drink beer and no one said a word. It was an amazing feeling. Riding the old train through the African bush smoking and drinking really felt like we were in the old west, besides of course passing a couple wild elephants on the way out of town.

In Bulawayo we were forced to spend the night as the train to Harare only ran 3 days a week contrary to what is posted online (a reoccurring theme we are learning to accept in Africa). The following day, we got our tickets and were walking through the station when I saw an empty room with locked doors. It had a sign labeled "lounge" swinging above the door. As I peered in a woman and a man came out of the office next door and approached us. The woman said hello and I asked her if we could sit in the lounge. She turned to the man and asked, "Can these two passengers have somewhere to put their things and relax?" The man nodded and she unlocked the door for us. As we entered the room, we noticed a sign that read, "1st and 2nd class passengers only." The lounge had a tall ceiling that stretched nearly 20 feet high and reminded us of Victorian era style architecture. The room had pictures of different landscapes in Zimbabwe and like everywhere else we have been in Zim a large portrait of President Robert Mugabe, or as we affectionately refer to him, Bobby Mugabe. As we walked around the room we realized many of the landscapes were the same picture. There may have only been 3 out of 6 pictures that were actually unique. There were 6 small 2 person chairs in the room that were surprisingly clean. The room looked as though it hadn't been used for decades. It made us wonder why they allowed us in and why they didn't check our tickets to see if they were 1st or 2nd class.

Our suspicion is that because we didn't see any whites in the economy or 2nd classes, they must have assumed we were riding 1st class and their assumption would be right. That assumption was consistent with all other white passengers we met as well. It felt strange to be treated differently, like I had more privilege than anyone else, but I certainly did. It seemed very apparent at the time that because we were white we were being treated differently, something that occurs in the United States, but to a lesser degree and is far less apparent, at least for those with more privilege. For those with less privilege it is likely far more obvious and gives reason to why some people in America don't feel that racism still exists. If someone is not outwardly prejudice and does not experience prejudices firsthand, it is easy to assume it does not exist.

The train from Bulawayo to Harare was the same dirty old rickety train putting down the tracks at the same slow pace. To our surprise there was a working sink in our sleeper car, also to our surprise it smelled as if people used it to piss in. Fortunately, Matt had already claimed the bottom bunk, which was closer to the pissed in sink so I didn't have to sleep anywhere near the thing. The train has windows that roll down and ventilation ducts near the ceiling so there is an abundance of air whipping through the car which helped.

We met a few local guys on the train heading home to Harare after the holiday to go back to work. They were nice enough, still drunk from the night before. We talked about traveling, politics and about life in America. I asked them if they like President Mugabe. They laughed and replied, "No one likes Mugabe." Apparently things are getting better in Zimbabwe though. After adopting a new constitution in 2013, people seem to enjoy more freedoms than they previously had. For example, they said that people are able to talk about politics openly. Before they were afraid of talking openly as they were not sure who was listening. Apparently there were harsh consequences for saying anything against ol' Bobby Mugabe, who is still maintaining control in his nineties.

When talking of going to America, the guys were unsure of whether it is safe or not. "Don't people get shot all the time?" they would ask. I replied, "Well...yeah, but it's not like that everywhere." "And can't people carry guns on them anywhere they go?" "Well...yeah, but most people don't actually carry them everywhere." I'm finding it harder and harder to explain why America is safe and a great country to come visit, because it is. It's funny to have this kind of reaction from Africans about America. It's a similar reaction that Americans have when they think of coming to Africa. America is a wild place where no one is safe from the gun wielding citizens who shoot up churches and schools just as Africa is a dark war torn continent where soldiers from the latest military coup might move in to massacre the people. Both scenarios have truth to them, but are a tiny fraction of the actual story which is far more complex than headlines let on, in Africa as well as America.

We arrived in Harare and our new friends helped us find the bus station that was a few blocks from the train station, which was quite nice considering they were starting to feel the effects of drinking the night before. We bought out tickets, but not after having to convince the guy in the ticket office to sell them without having our Malawian visa. I asked how easy it was to get a visa at the border, realizing quickly that I should have kept my mouth shut. He attempted to turn us away, but after seeing that Matt and I were not going to back down, he sold us the tickets. We get back to our hostel and I decide to double check whether or not we need a visa prior to arriving at the border. I discover that as of Oct. 1, 2015 (contrary to what I remember researching likely before Oct. 1) you need to obtain your visa prior to arriving in the country. In a panic I look up the address for the Malawian embassy in Harare. It states that it is open until 4:30PM. We rush out of the hostel and into the street and grab a mini bus downtown. We walked swiftly down the street from where we were dropped to where the embassy was. When we arrive at 42 Harare St, all that we find is an old hardware store in an area of the city that did not seem very diplomatic. We rush back to an internet cafe that we had passed and look up the correct address (don't ever trust embassyfinder.com, it's a terrible website only created to infuriate travelers and create mayhem). It's on the other side of town of course. We grab a taxi and zoom off once again back to the side of town we just rushed away from. We arrive at the embassy thinking we have minutes to spare until they close just to discover they closed at noon. I asked the guard about visa requirements. He walks up to the building and taps on the door. I follow him up the porch that leads to the door. He gets some visa applications and gives them to us just as an official looking man walks out of the door. I smile and introduce myself and ask if I can talk to him briefly about visa requirements. He was a friendly man and told us that we should have no problem crossing the border the following day. A man in a suit at the Malawian embassy said go for it. That was good enough for me.

We board the bus the next day and a woman in the front of the bus asks if we have our passports. We tell her yes and go to our seats. The whole bus ride we are anxious as to what was to come. Would they let us in no problem or were they going to deny us entry into Malawi leaving us stranded in no man’s land that is the border between Mozambique and Malawi? Better yet, was it going to take so long the bus driver, tiring of waiting on two tourists who just lied about having visas, would just leave us there at the border? We were on our way to find out.

We get through the Mozambique border as we did have that visa already. When we arrive at the Malawi border we rush to get to the front of the line. We get to the window and they take our money and passports without hesitation and tell us to go sit down while they process everything. We sit and talk to the people working in the office who seem very excited that we are visiting their country. Every minute the line dwindles down until eventually everyone else on the bus was through and we were left sitting in the office thumbing through tourist brochures. We are shuffling around nervously and I keep standing up to make sure the bus is still there. A man at the desk tells me to go tell the bus driver we are still waiting. I run out and try to talk to him, but he brushes me off and seems too busy to care. They seemed to be shuffling around luggage for some reason. I go and sit back down. Eventually the man says he will go tell the driver for us. The man and the driver return just as they hand us our stamped visas. We felt a powerful sense of relief and rush out to the bus to join everyone standing outside waiting to be let on. The timing was impeccable. We board the bus and head off towards Blantyre, Malawi.