Border From Hell

The Zambian border would prove to be the most challenging so far in Africa. At the Kazungula border, we drove PJ onto a large wooden barge that brought us across the river. Several men were there to “greet” us, looking to change money and provide information about insurance for the vehicle. They said the madam needed to get out of the car while Coons drove onto the boat, so they walked Kourtney to the boat where another man approached asking for a “tax fee.” Kourtney told him she didn’t have any money and continued on to find Coons who was in the cabin paying the correct person. Once across, we would spend the next two hours going from one building to the next (at least half a dozen of them in total) to get us and PJ legally into Zambia.

In Zambia, Interpol requires people bringing in cars to have a police clearance letter. Of course, Coons had read about this, and we’d been stopped by only one policeman asking if we knew about it, informing us we needed it to prove that the car isn’t stolen. Since we had already left South Africa without one, we decided to play dumb.

“A police clearance letter? What’s that?”

So the people at Interpol grumbled and made us get up and read the “rules” from the poster on the wall. They sternly informed us that the next time we come, we need to make sure we have one and ultimately let us through. Sure thing. See you never! This would continue to happen as we crossed between Zimbabwe and Zambia, different departments, different officers, same result.

There were also a lot of fees to pay: KAZA visa (for both Zim & Zam), carbon tax, road toll, and council levy. Of course, each of these needs to be paid in a different building, none of which have signs. Not to worry, the tout from the ferry was still following us and sure to point us in the correct (usually) direction, following behind us still. At one point, a pleasant female officer with a small soul patch under her chin even walked out with us to inspect PJ, making sure the license plate and VIN number matched our paperwork. She pointed out the various buildings where we needed to go to pay each fee and told us not to deal with the touts, but of course, as happens at every border, the officers ignore the actual touts. Touts, or runners, are locals who hang around at the border to prey on foreigners. They typically offer money changing and third-party insurance and are adorned with fake credentials on a lanyard hanging from their neck. They swarm any incoming car driven by a foreigner and follow along, trying to be helpful, never taking “no” or “we’re fine, we don’t need any help” for an answer, then demand money when you’re about to leave. It would be so easy to ban them, yet frustratingly, no border ever seems to do anything about it.

Our final task was to get insurance for the car for a day until we could get to Livingstone and purchase insurance from a legit agency that we could extend to cover us in Zimbabwe, Malawi, Tanzania, Uganda, and Rwanda without having any more people hassle us about insurance. The tout following us around for two hours seemed a good enough insurance “agent” so Coons went to his shack to strike a deal. Thankfully, the agent accepted a little less than the actual price as the border fees had completely drained us of the local currency (Kwacha) that we had changed at the border. We were supposed to return to one of the first buildings once we got change where we still owed five kwacha — sorry about that buddy! As seems to be the case everywhere that only accepts cash, no one EVER has any change. We figured that’s the cost of doing business. Hopefully, they figure out one day that having a change bank is absolutely necessary.

On the way back from a quick Mana Pools trip, we would hit another Zambian border equally as terrible and stressful only this time with car problems, some tears, and more money needed to pay people off in exchange for their demanding to “help” with the car. Anything to make a buck!

Livingstone

We happily arrived in Livingstone and to the Jolly Boys Backpacker’s Lodge. This place was very cozy and quiet, so much so, the staff suggested that we go to the one closer to town for a more vibrant feel. We decided that we needed some peace and quiet and this was the perfect place. With its nice pool and lounge area, we were able to relax and blog. There was one TV that played the same commercials all day on repeat and spotty WiFi, but we made due. We met some fellow travelers (two Aussi women and one American guy) who were planning on going to the Devil’s Pool in a few days and asked if we wanted to join. Kourtney immediately perked up. It’s dry season! That means the water is low enough to visit the pools!

“Coons! It’s our spot! We have to go!”

So Kourtney immediately set out to make plans with the receptionist. We signed up for the same day at 2pm and booked one more night at Jolly Boys.

Devil’s Pool

We entered Victoria Falls National Park from the Zambia side and met up with our guide and three other tourists who were actually staying at the other Jolly Boys in town. One was extremely nervous about waterfalls after having fallen 15 feet from a waterfall in Yosemite, another eager to experience to the fullest the last bit of his holiday before heading home, and a young girl happily beginning her three-month-rapid-fire journey through 20 countries. The walk brought us quickly over the top of the falls, scrambling over rocks, which three months ago (during our wedding) had been underwater. We saw some elephants munching on trees in the distance. Dropping our valuables into a lock-box near a fancy patio, we set out into the water.

Our guide led us to the edge of the waterfall and into the Devil’s Pool. We told us to stay to the left-hand side, otherwise, we might be swept away, and warned us that little fish would likely nibble at our toes. But then he let us hang over the edge of the falls on our stomachs, peering 355 feet down. What an unreal experience! Not only were we back in the place where we married, but we were in the falls and looking straight down to the bottom.

After the guide helped us snap some photos, we let the other three take their turn and stayed off to the side where another rainbow appeared. Here Coons had a confession to make. “Don’t be mad at me,” he said, “but…” as he held up his left hand to reveal that his wedding ring was missing! After secretly carrying those things around for months and then going through the trouble of resizing while we were home for a week, it was gone. However, Kourtney couldn’t be too mad. If he was to lose it, this place makes for one hell of a story.

We decided after the trip to stay in the park and watch the sunset. We toured all of the viewpoints, waved to people on the Zimbabwe side, and watched people swinging off the bridge before we set up our camera to do a time-lapse. The sky wasn’t doing anything super impressive, so we stopped it early and decided we’d better get home before it was pitch black out.

On the way back to the lodge, the sky turned from a pale pink to bright orange and blue, reflecting off the water, and Kourtney wanted to stop and snap more photos, but Coons had read bad things about people being robbed who stopped on this particular stretch of road. So we continued on, the sky turned black, and people swarmed the streets, making the trip back difficult and tiresome. Not driving at night is Rule #1 for a reason!

The next morning we headed back to Zimbabwe for a three-day trip to Mana Pools National Park (you can read all about that adventure here) and then returned back to Zambia. After another aggravating border crossing, we decided to stay in the capital to refuel and recharge. Here we stayed at another backpacker lodge where a group of drunk 18 year-olds were getting ready to go out for the evening. One that looked like Justin Beiber was chain-smoking cigarettes and explaining that they were teaching in a small village nearby in a high school nonetheless. Hopefully, they made a little more sense when sober. We made an “ok” version of Mexican tacos with what ingredients we could scrounge for at the supermarket and hoped they wouldn’t be insanely noisy when they came back.

Southern Luangwa National Park

The next morning we left the city and drove all day to make it to Southern Luangwa National Park. Eventually, we came to a “police” blockade. An officer stopped us and asked where we were headed. Then another man with a receipt book came and told us there is a 100 Kwacha tourism fee to use the road.

Kourtney: “ So let me get this straight. Only tourists have to pay this fee?”
Officer: “Yes.”
Kourtney: “So you only stop white people and make them pay money?”
Officer: “Yes.”
Kourtney: “This sounds like a trap.”
Coons: “Is there another road we can take?”
Officer: “No.”

So Kourtney asked again how much the fee was, suggesting 50 Kwacha and the men agreed. She demanded to know what our money would be used for, and the men answered that they were trying to bring electricity to the village. We were annoyed about paying another potential bribe to the police, but they had guns and we were in the middle of nowhere. So we paid.

We passed tons of villages where little children would run to the side of the road, waving hello and shouting “sweets.” Bad habits brought on by other travelers stopping to hand out candy — the last thing these kids need. Next time we’re bringing books! The roads were starting to get bad near the outskirts of the park, but we wanted to make it to a secluded spot near the river where we were sure to hear hippos. So we kept on until it was so dark that we couldn’t find the path leading to the river and opted to camp in between the river and road, so we hopefully weren’t spotted by park security. We had cheese and crackers for dinner in the car that evening because we didn’t want to risk cooking in the darkness with wild animals around.

The next morning we were up, out, and at the gate for its opening. We planned to stay along the river for most of our game drive, so we took a dirt road following some safari vehicles leading to the water. However, before we reached the Luangwa River, we saw a huge hippo in the trees.

Kourtney was elated as this was the first time we have seen a hippo far away from the water; usually, it is difficult to get pictures of them with more than their heads exposed. He was alternating between mean-mugging us and chewing, knowing he had missed his curfew and needed to get back to the river. Just when we think we are safari-ed-out, we see another fascinating part of the animal kingdom that tells us this was all worth it! So we continued along the river, spotting a herd of elephant and an obstinacy of buffalo. We caught two giraffes necking by a tree and a small family sitting down underneath some trees during the heat of the day.

On our way back to the gate, we spotted a hyena taking a mud bath! We thought they slept during the day.

Once we left the gate, we decided to stay at Croc Valley Backpackers for a night. This place had the loudest hippos we’ve heard yet and tons of crocs lying around. We snagged the last spot they had which was right on the water. They had a huge pool which was so refreshing in the heat. We met a brother and sister from California; the sister is in the Peace Corps working in a Zambian village, and the brother was visiting her for a couple of weeks. We met more people from the US in Zambia than any other country on our trip—how strange, right?

Kawaza Village

For our final evening in Zambia, we decided to visit the Kawaza village where visitors can arrange a home-stay, attempting to live like a local. After driving around a few small villages while everyone stared at us, we finally found Sam, who runs the organization and his partner Grief (that’s not a typo). They walked us to the church where we stayed for a few minutes, listening to the priest and a couple of lively scripture songs.

After, we met up with the principal of the primary school, asking questions about operations and curriculum. He took us on a tour of the school where we peeped at some classrooms, the teacher’s quarters, the football pitch, and the kitchen where they make sure every child has at least one meal per day. We found out that this one school alone serves ~46 villages, and in order to preserve their local language, Kunda, they don’t begin teaching English until 5th grade. We quickly learned “Bwange” (Hello, how are you?) and “Bweno” (I’m fine.) so we could communicate with the pack of children following us around.

We returned to the village where we would spend the night; the traditional grass huts are built of clay, bamboo, and grass. They had small mattresses and pillows covered in a bug net for us. Coons took a nap while Kourtney chatted with Grief about gender roles and customs. Fascinated, Kourtney munched on mango while Grief explained: women are responsible for fetching water which they carry in large buckets on their heads, taking care of the children, cleaning the house, preparing all meals, washing dishes, preparing water for bathing, farming, gathering, etc. They must kneel before greeting, before serving warm water for washing, and before all meals. If a woman does not kneel, provide warm water, or chicken for the first meal, she is considered disrespectful, and her husband (if she has one) is within his rights to divorce her. Men are responsible for farming, making huts, and working, although the women also help with all of this. Men must also pay a dowry in order to marry. This dowry differs from the type and/or number of cattle based on the woman’s education and virginity. Abstinence is expected, and the newlyweds shave each other before they copulate for the first time which the woman is obligated to thank the man for every time. Newlyweds are given a large log for their fire in the hut where they sleep, and it is expected that by the time the log is completely burned up, the man must impregnate the woman. Until recently, families were as large as 13 (not including mom and dad), and in fact, the woman who runs the village is living proof. Now, with the help of education and rising costs of raising children (e.g. school fees), family size is typically four to six children which is helping women live much longer. If one of the children has special needs, it is within the man’s right to divorce his wife for cursing the family unit. Adultery is frowned upon and either spouse may ask the village leader for a divorce in such cases.

Once Coons woke up from his nap, Grief brought us to the football field where there was a match between the local team (he was their keeper) and another local village. Children lined the length of the field, frequently stepping over the line drawn in the dirt until a coach would come along with a stick and redraw the lines. Most of the players were in ratty sneakers or barefoot and were running back and forth constantly. There was no grass anywhere on the field, which meant the ball, and players, were moving constantly at rapid speed. Surrounded at all times by crowds of children, we must have shaken hundreds of little hands at the game, making it difficult to pay attention to the score of the match.

When we returned to the village, we showered and ate dinner which was posho (maize flour porridge), small silverfish, and pumpkin leaves — we had already eaten chicken for lunch, ensuring we were respected. Once supper was finished, we gathered around a small bonfire where a group of women showed us some traditional dances while a group of men played the drums. In small villages with no electricity and not much to do at night, dancing around the fire is used as a form of birth control; when the sun sets, each night there is dancing in a different village in the area. Little children and older adults feeling the music would join in on the sides. Because Kourtney was a female visitor, we were lucky enough to witness one of the dances only women perform in the home with a female who is coming of age. The dance is used to teach her what is happening/will happen to her body and how she must take care of and please a man.

Around 11pm, the dancing ended and we retired to our hut. Two men were hired to watch over PJ and us, directing us to the bathrooms so we wouldn’t become confused about its location. Kourtney didn’t sleep well because in the huts under the bug net was a heavy wool blanket covered in small insects the size of a spec of dirt. She could feel them crawling all over the mattress and her until the morning. She quickly rose and prepared to visit the school since it was Monday. After breakfast and before class, Sam brought us to the healer. She is a slight, older woman dressed in a purple outfit adorned with small red crosses. She helps the local villagers with herbal treatments for malaria, constipation, evil spirits, and consummation among other things. When visiting the healer, as opposed to a doctor, you don’t tell her what’s wrong. She reads your aura and spirits and tells you what is ailing you and then prescribes medicine to treat it.

While Kourtney observed a 9th grade English class preparing for government-mandated exams, Coons visited the local gin distillery. He tried the strongest of the batch, straight from the bottle, and reported back that it was pretty good and the villagers were impressed he didn’t make a face.

Then it was time to leave. This experience was certainly eye-opening and unique and we were happy for the opportunity to immerse ourselves into a different culture. It is a different way of life in the Kawaza village, but everyone has a lot of love and respect for one another, always extending a hand and a smile in greeting, and that never goes out of style!

Even though our time through these countries has been shorter than we expected, we really have been able to make the most of our time in Africa. Our volunteering was set to start in less than one month, and we still had two more countries to pass through! Next up, Malawi.