Corruption stinks

We have family coming to visit this Christmas, travelling from South Africa. They’ll be bringing with them gifts for the Christmas feast, as well as a few other much needed essentials like packets of powdered milk, soap, candles, light bulbs, and a good sense of humour.
My cousin arrived a few days ago and commented on how the difference between the two countries is exemplified by the border post experiences on either side of the Limpopo river.

South Africa was reasonably efficient, air conditioned, with smartly clothed officials and it was fairly quick to get through. But it had a dark side: my cousin witnessed a large police vehicle packed to the hilt with people he assumed were Zimbabwean refugees struggling to reach South Africa, rounded up and likely to spend Christmas in a South African detention centre.

My cousin joked that he knew he was in Zim the moment his nose crossed the border; the Zimbabwean border control stinks. He said it smelt like an overflowing sewer, which is probably exactly what it was. The building looked shabby and litter was strewn about the parking lot.
His car was greeted with a group of hustlers all claiming they could get him through very quickly and wanting to help. He declined, but almost changed his mind when he saw the queues snaking outside the builiding.

Inside the stinking building chaos reigned. The ordering system was little more than a few painted lines drawn on the floor to guide the queues. He saw the same hustlers moving among the crowds, whipping papers from weary travellors and boldly jumping the queue to give them to officials for stamps. My cousin hung on to his because we’d warned him to be careful. The hustlers are extremely helpful and effective, but at the end of it all it comes with a hefty price (in forex). If you refuse to pay the figure they quote, they get nasty and aggressive.

After hours of standing in lineless queues, tolerating people being constantly squeezed in ahead of him by the hustlers, my weary cousin finally managed to get his papers stamped and he left without any further hassles from the border. He said there must be some extremely wealthy officials working there, if they earn a bit of forex for each queue-jumping stamp going to a hustler and his ‘client’.

My cousin said there were at least three police road blockswith the first 15 minutes drive from the border post. He was stopped at each one and asked endless questions. He noticed many Zimbabwean cars driving through, and realised his SA number plates were being targeted. This pattern continued through the many other road blocks en route to his destination. At two of the road blocks he was forced to unpack his car on the side of the road and re-pack before he could proceed.

An exhausted cousin arrived and one of his first comments to us was “You guys have got to get out of here”. His story is fairly typical; in fact, we’ve heard far far worse. But there is something about seeing the same old story through someone else’s eyes to realise how far things are slipping in our country.
For now, I’m looking forward to Christmas with family we haven’t seen for a long time, and who have made an effort to see us in our home despite Mugabe’s best efforts to destroy everything precious to us.

Technorati Tags: Zimbabwe, border post, customs, Limpopo, South Africa, Christmas

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