John the Border Jumper

One of the best decisions I’ve made in Africa came when I resolved to befriend at least one person on every minibus or coach bus on which I happened to be traveling. In the beginning I suppose I was a little intimidated by Zambian public transportation and was hesitant to strike up conversations with those surrounding me. Or maybe I was just worried about getting locked into a three hour conversation with some rambler or some lunatic. Either way, I usually kept to myself and zoned out until arriving at my destination.

I don’t remember the exact trip when I made my resolution, but I know it was a few months into my stay here. It’s been great. Yes, I have gotten stuck chatting with ramblers. It’s no big deal, nothing I couldn’t get out of by pretending to fall asleep. Yes, I’ve gotten stuck chatting with lunatics, which, coincidentally, almost always turns out to be a good thing as I arrive at my destination entertained and with a funny story to tell. Overall the policy has worked out very well for me. I’ve made some good friends.

Most recently this initiative led me to John (not his real name), a 40-something Zimbabwean man with a gap in between his front teeth, a black Michael Jackson-esque leather jacket and designer jeans. John had a seat right next to me in the back row of a minibus traveling from Lusaka to Siavonga. He was originally from Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital, but had been living in Zambia for a year or two. Oddly enough, I was the one explaining to him the details of our journey through Zambia’s Southern Province, how long the journey would take, where we’d stop along the way, etc. etc.

John immediately struck me as an intelligent man, and I soon learned that this initial perception was correct. He was a computer programmer who had worked for a number of large local corporations. I don’t think there are a great number of computer nerds running around Zambia. I know that John is the first one I’ve come into contact with. So that was interesting.

And he was cheerful, a clear sign that he had been living in Zambia recently, not Zimbabwe. For the most part, people coming across from Zimbabwe are not cheerful. They might smile or be friendly or joke around to some degree, but there’s always a sense of sadness and pain behind their eyes that you can always pick up on. It’s terrible. That place is in rough shape. John, however, was outgoing and jovial.

Anyway, around one hour into the journey I asked him what was bringing him to Siavonga. Oh, he wasn’t going to Siavonga, he replied. He was going back to Zimbabwe. That’s weird, I thought. Most people I know don’t travel by minibus to Harare. There are large coach buses that travel directly from Lusaka to Harare that are more comfortable really not much more expensive than the minibus we were on that would only get him to the border. I inquired as to why he hadn’t taken that option.

He chuckled and responded that his documentation was not exactly in order. No, he wasn’t planning to cross through a border post. He was going to sneak across the border, and he was incredibly nonchalant about the whole thing. This was in no way a big deal to him.

I attempted to voice my opinion, that this may not be the best idea. Zim Police are out of control. I can’t say I know a whole lot about them, but I do know how they handle things on Lake Kariba, where the Zambia/Zimbabwe border passes through the middle of the lake. If any Zambian fishing boat is found fishing on the Zim side or anywhere close to the Zim side they impound the boat and lock up the crew, no questions asked. A friend of mine’s crew was fishing on the Zim side not too long ago and when the police showed up the crew tried to speed away. The police opened fire, shooting and killing one of the crew members. Those guys don’t mess around.

So, I tried to persuade him against it, but he was pretty set. He was going to make the jump. He didn’t exactly seem prepared for the journey ahead of him. He didn’t even know where exactly to get off the bus, and his MJ jacket and jeans were probably not the best outfit for wandering through the woods and fording the Zambezi River, all while trying to avoid the police. But he was supremely confident that it would all work out and there was no convincing him otherwise.

He said he was going to do whatever he had to do to get back to his family, still living in Harare.

We exchanged emails and I told him to contact me whenever he got there so that I knew he had made it safely. This was last week. I’ve emailed him and I still haven’t heard back from him yet. Hopefully he just hasn’t been able to access his email.

John was a nice guy, so please go ahead and pray that he gets home safely to his family without running into trouble.