[N.B. I wrote this entry as a series of brief notes to myself, which I almost never do. I'm expanding it now into something a little bit more ... literary. Also, I have changed names of people and places as Zim's government is a little sensitive about people reporting anything on local conditions.]
So, on Wednesday at 2pm we found ourselves BACK in Chokwe as the chapa had to turn around. No water crossing for us. So we all went to the train station, to catch the train that was supposed to leave at 6pm. I asked at 5pm, and they said 7pm. I asked at 6pm and they said 10pm. Yada yada. So me and the Zims huddled together and we dozed for most of the evening, until about 12am (Thursday) when we bought tickets for the train. It arrived at 1am, and then began the chaos.
We had been waiting with approximately 200-300 other people, most with a TON of cargo loaded into waiting train cars. Many market woman returning to their homes in the north of Gaza, some Zimbabweans headed back home after buying and selling goods that are much more affordable than in their own country. And so the train arrived FULL from Maputo (it took 12 hours to get from Maputo, a trip that takes 3 hours in a car or chapa). That meant we had to all squeeze on. This required a mad dash as soon as the train arrived, in the dark, through puddles of who knows what, just to find a car that you could hang off of until people made enough space inside just to stand in wall-to-wall humanity. I laughed out of necessity the entire time. I was smiling because it was one of those moments where I knew I was having a wonderful experience and could afford to recognize it.
12 hours later, we arrived in Chicualacuala. We departed Chokwe at 2am, as it took an hour to load everything. I spent the night very close to my locked bag, with nothing in my pockets, luggage key in my sock, money in my other shoe, random change and train ticket in my hat. I was bundled up as there were no doors or windows to protect from the wind. I tried sleeping standing up unsuccessfully, then managed to push enough people inches away from me to squat down and try and get some sleep, but to no avail as an ankle or leg was always turned the wrong way. After a while, I stood back up as it was more comfortable and essentially kept this pattern until the late morning, when I just stood up from sheer exhaustion! At a few stops, me and the Zim husband would jump out of the train and take a breather, talking about the differences between Mozambique and Zimbabwe. And complaining about the conditions. But it was all funny. Well, now, but maybe not at the time.
So we arrived at the border at 1pm Thursday and after navigating to the actual crossing, waiting for the immigration official (who I knew and helped me out), I crossed into Zimbabwe at 3pm. I got on a bus, hoping to be in Bulawayo by nightfall so that I could find somewhere to sleep there. Believing it was a three hour ride, I knew I was cutting it close.
Well, there are no surprises. It ended up leaving at 6pm, just to be stopped by border police. I fell asleep on the crowded bus next to a woman who was twice my size and eating food that smelled SO good. I had thrown away food just an hour into the train ride because it was crowding me and everyone else. Now I was regretting that. I vowed to be more opportunistic with food from now on. I woke up at 12:30am Friday as we were taking a long break to let the driver rest. We had already stopped to fix the engine and a flat. We weren't yet in Bulawayo. I bought some much needed food, made friends with a young Zim Humphrey who helped me out. On his advice, I realized there was no point in stopping in Bulawayo and bought a ticket to get me into Harare. We passed Bulawayo at 2am.
At 10am on Friday we arrived in Harare. Humphrey took me to his neighborhood, introduced me to a few friends, then at my urging got me to a bus to take me to Beitbridge. I was very thankful, but impatient as I desperately needed a full sit-down meal, shower, and bathroom. I hadn't pooped since Wednesday morning. I had successfully constipated myself.
I got on the Beitbridge bus at 11:30am, and it left almost right away. It was quite a nice bus, like American buses, but no bathroom. I knew I was close, even though I had gone way out of may going to Harare. Though it was the only relatively safe way to get there. I don't suggest travelling at night, however. That was quite the hair-raising experience. It was better than trying to find a place to stay in the middle of the night in a strange town in a strange country all alone with a big bag.
I got into Beitbridge about 4pm and a man who I met on the bus showed me to the right combi (Zim chapa) to get me to Valley 10, Oscar's village. At 4:30pm Friday, after consulting with another friendly man, I got to Oscar's house and finally sat down. I went into town with Oscar and a friend, we got fast food pizza and walked around town for a bit (seeing all the Christmas lights) before heading back home for a wonderful night's sleep in chilly Beitbridge in a queen bed in a room in my own!
Today, Saturday, I watched movies at Oscar's house, went into town, got sadza (xima in Moz, or polenta in US) for lunch, saw the flea market, did some internet, came back to the house to watch more movies, met with an older artist who bought us some traditional beer that looks like puke and tastes marginally better. And he gave us more movies to watch. You can say I went on a binge!
Peace,
John
