17th Dec. BEITBRIDGE: South African Immigration Office.
Back at the lodge in Johannesburg we finally climbed into bed in the early hours of the morning, desperately looking forward to our first day of pure 'vegging out'. My brother LG had driven for 12hrs plus the 6hr battle with
some very cheeky South African customs officers and Zimbabwean crowds thronging
into the hundreds all following a dodgy queuing system that kept
breaking down into chaos. We had been misdirected several times by various
staff who when asked where we should go for processing motorists, just swung
their hands in some random direction as if swatting flies and walked away from
us without so much as eye contact. I initially put this callous disregard for
other human life forms to pure disdain for Zimbabwean shoppers in particular,
since thousands, once across the boarder, ‘disappear’ to become South Africa's
nightmare illegal immigrants. However my more knowledgeable older brother
assured me it was nothing more than the usual civil service
incompetence...taken to a level we are yet to see here. The favouritism shown
to South African passport holders was less than subtle as they were immediately
shunted through. (But then again this could just be down to the same lack of
joined-up thinking you get in the public services here...just slightly
accentuated by heat induced
sluggishness.)
With temperatures souring to 35
degrees C you would definitely not have
wanted to be here, however cold and damp you’d been feeling in the dark, dull
dourness of our long British winter. Except for one redeeming feature: A family of Baboons playing nearby scavenging
for food, scaling fences, jumping onto vehicle roof tops and swinging from one
tree branch to another. Their comical mannerisms kept the kids amused for
some time.
We drew the line when the change of shift came on, half asleep, dragging
their heels and wiping the sweat off their brow in irritation. They were taking
Africa time to a whole new level spending a full 20 minutes (no exaggeration)
just logging on! Then of course there's catching up with colleagues on the
week-end’s exploits over the statuary bottle of cocoa cola and that’s before
figuring out how the new
walking-round-in-a-3-row–circle-round-the-block queuing system works,
given that it was regularly broken up by crowded bottle necks where the elderly
had just plonked themselves down, ostensibly to rest in the shade. A fresh- faced official took one look at the
mess of restless people who by now were seething at the increasing number of
queue- jumpers, and walked back in,
presumably to find someone who’d done the training or degree course in queuing
systems, but instead came out with the guy with a sjambok i.e beating stick to restore order .
Despite intermittent tirades of shouting and beating by South
African officials, the queue had amalgamated into one single blob
with everyone inching and huddling towards the only line of people ( nearest
the entrance of the immigration office), inside which there was yet another queuing
system. The young kids played with other children, oblivious to all as long as
we kept them watered, fed and toilets were momentarily fine because the
cleaning shift came just come on duty.
L- junior the English teenager and first-time visitor we brought with us
was lost for words especially when he
saw a man right in front of him getting whacked on his balding head for
allegedly jumping the queue (water after death really). So as soon as G
returned from her futile attempts to curry favor with officials, LG came up with an alternative plan.
Enter: L-junior looking red, flushed, weedy and tired with his
antibiotics for tonsillitis to hand. With all the acting skills he could muster
he carried off a remarkably convincing near
-fainting act, then LG laid it on thick with nerves apparently shot to
pieces and a very concerned senior immigration manager, who either to cover his arse
or out of sympathy, spontaneously played along! The rest is easy to figure. I was amongst the
extras who provided a sick-bag, water and words of comfort to L-junior to strengthen
our case. The verdict was that we would have to walk to the first counter as
quickly as possible, squeezing our way passed hot, bothered and soul destroyed
queuers. We were strictly to avoid any eye-contact
with anyone. 5 minutes later, which is all it takes to stamp 6 passports,
we were in the car and on our way back to Jo’burg.
The moral of this tale is that crossing Beitbridge boarder by car is not
a viable option so regardless of airfares, L and G plan to fly next time and
will ignore numerous pieces of advice about timing. Of course it didn’t help
that it was the week before Christmas hence the mad rush for Christmas
shopping!
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