Living with contradictions in Zimbabwe
Tony and I are setting off for 10 days in a log cabin in a dune forest in northern Natal. Ttime to stop and breathe and watch the sea.
A preliminary to this trip is to get police clearance for your car to cross the border (all Zimbabweans who drive across borders have to meet this challenge).
I park in a queue (surely illegal) outside the station
on a dusty foot path
in the face of oncoming traffic
Banana vendor outside my car window
sharing the footpath
sharing the greeting
‘did you sleep well?
I slept well if you slept well’
slowly edging through the gate
policeman points across the dusty pitted space where I join the next queue
alongside the car, a man dressed in rags merrily burns the piles of rubbish he has gathered
odorous black fumes of burning plastic fill the air
he chats happily to an unseen audience
waving a stick and smiling
slowly edging towards a open shelter
the man who has to check the engine number complains of being sick
‘sick enough for a woman to help?’
‘yes’
I open the bonnet
A newly painted red sign tells you to proceed with the signed corner of torn- off paper to room 19
‘Do I go to room 19?’ (just checking)
‘no, 18’
I wander across the dusty gravel to the line of prefab. rooms with asbestos roofing
man in room 18 looks up
‘I’ve come for clearance’
‘Room 15’
ok – it is, after all, next door (?)
man in room 15 looks up enquiringly
‘I’ve come for clearance’
He hands me a sheet of grey photocopied paper with the printing barely showing
I look around
no other stick of furniture apart from his huge ancient desk
‘do you mind if I lean on the corner of the desk?’
‘you have to go to your car’
I cross the pitted ground and lean on the car to fill in the form
the fire maker has replenished his fire with more plastic and unnamable detritus
smoke
Back to room 15
signature
across yard to room 20 (in open shelter of the first stop)
boxes ticked
re-cross yard to room 21 back in line of prefab.
The man queuing in front of me smiles a greeting
yes, we both slept well
‘bit chaotic, this procedure’ I offer
‘Ah – this is easy – you should see what happens when you lose the papers – that’s chaotic’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Zambia – I am doing some work in Lusaka now’
‘Where do you cross the Zambezi?’
‘Both at Kariba and Chirundu’
‘I hear the river is full now’
‘Aaaahhh you should see it, the gates are open at Kariba
shaking the wall
it is steaming down
magnificent’
we share dreams of the Zambezi in a dusty, smoky yard
Man in room 21 has slept well
signs and fills in form
‘go to room 18’
(I know where that is!)
In passing, I notice that room 19 is closed – no sign on the door
man in room 18 stamps
tears up my first scrap of paper
and I am free to go
Back through the traffic of Southerton
fumes, vendors, commuter busses, hooting, speeding
with the memory of all these people
who through different shifts in their lives, different families, different threads, different chances
have ended up on this or that side of the fence
the banana vendor, the policeman at the gate, the fire maker, the man in a suit who stamps the forms
and me
in my own car
driving back to my trees and butterflies
planning to drive to the sea.
living with the contradictions in our lives