The Zimbabwe to Zambia Adventure

June 18th

The whole ordeal nearly brought me to tears. Somehow I found myself in business class on my flight to Victoria Falls this morning... but that was the end of my good luck. The stewardess handed me an immigration form, only it was for the Government of Zimbabwe. I didn't think I was going to Zimbabwe. Turns out I was wrong, and that I needed a serious lesson in the geography of the area I was traveling.

Victoria Falls Airport is, so it turns out, in Zimbabwe. I bought my visa and meandered out to the small room that housed the basics of an airport. A row of chairs and a 'check in' booth. It was pretty clear that I wasn't going to find a formal taxi service, so when a guy approached me with a sign saying "taxi/airport transfer," I figured that was my best bet. He took my bag and off we went to his "taxi," or for the sake of this story, "decrepit car No.1."

I clarified my whereabouts with my friendly driver, who spoke very good english and was rather reassuring. We made it safely through two police stops, and had some polite chit chat about the upcoming elections. There were a million things I would have liked to ask him, but I didn't want to pry... it's a touchy subject.

Once on the road to the Zambian border, it became clear that I was in a different kind of Africa. It was culture shock from South Africa, big time.

We pulled up to a standard, sketchy looking african hut thing, with a rickety sign indicating that I was at the border. My driver sent me in and said his farewells- he wouldn't be crossing the border. I caught the attention of an 'official' sitting behind the glass wall and, after some confusion, had a post-it type piece of paper in my hand with a stamp and scribble. I didn't know what that was for.

I walked towards the gate that separates the countries (or so I think), where locals were milling about in the afternoon heat. I walk through to hear someone yelling and pointing. I've learned to ignore things like that... thinking they are attempts at distracting me. Turns out I had walked right past another "official" who was supposed to collect my little slip of paper. This official was in sweatpants and wearing a dirty red t-shirt. I was convinced this was a ploy and was prepared to give him nothing. Words were exchanged. The message was clear, he was actually an official, and I wasn't going anywhere until I gave him the damn slip. So I passed it over and went hunting for my next taxi.

I bartered with a few guys (this time they were 'official taxi drivers'), and got into decrepit car No.2. I didn't think this car would make it 50ft, but it did, and I was dropped at another office. The driver pulled me through the crowd of locals looking to cross into Zambia and where he directed me to the front of a 60 person line. At this point I was out of cash. Between the two cabs, and the visa, I was clean out. I was told I would need to pay $75US for a Zambian visa. Did they take credit card, debit card, traveller's cheques? ha. No way. The "official" directed me to a nearby hotel where I spent 20minutes sorting out which currency I needed... how many millions of Zambia or Zimbabwean... who knows.

Since the cabbie waited while I got the cash, I was told I would have to pay an additional $20US to get back to the border (a distance of maybe 300m). I was in no place to argue. I had to get back, since the 'border official' had clearly stated that if I did not get the stamp from him, I would be arrested, which he acted out for me in case I didn't understand the term "arrested." So fun!

Upon my return to the border, I stood in front of a different 'border official.' According to this guy, my visa would only cost $50US. My first taste of the corruption. But hey, it worked in my favour. Too bad I didn't get the $30 guy. This official had a particular interest in my Canadian heritage, so much, in fact, that he asked for my email address. Making up a fake email address when you're standing in a third world border office as the only white person in sight was not easy. As he processed my 'visa' I managed to come up with something and passed it over. Just my luck he begins to inquire about my "4bgjalberta@yahoo.com" address. I tell him alberta is the company I work for, and that the '4bgj' before it ensure that the emails come to me, as opposed to a co-worker. He was concerned it might go to the wrong person at the office.

I started to second guess that move, seeing as he had my passport, with all of my actual information directly in front of him. Hopefully he doesn't try to send an email while I'm still in Zambia.... he may have buddies at the other end who won't let me out when the email doesn't send. Oh the paranoia.

After another 2 police stops along the road, I finally made it to the oasis that is the "Zambezi Waterfront." Beautiful grounds overlooking the Zambezi river with multiple pools, bars and even internet! Lots of tourists around, so I'm finally at ease again.

I've booked myself in for abseiling tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to choosing an adventure for my birthday on Friday- bungee jumping the falls, whitewater rafting.... what will it be??