ZIMBAWBE BORDER – 18 JUNE
About 70 kms to the border and most obvious are the queues at the petrol pumps – obviously you’d best fill up prior to crossing over so we do. The border itself proves simple, in and out of the Moz side in minutes and then into the Zim side after only a few minutes of jostling about with tankers trying to force their way ahead in the bottleneck of the entrance. I enter with docs in hand and leave Clare to guard the truck as we’d done in Moz – though here there is nobody loitering about and police a’plenty so am confident vehicle security will not be a concern. Having filled out Visa applications for us both I arrive at the desk of the most stern-looking woman I have ever been confronted with. I smile, she scowls dismissively; I greet, she ignores. I hand over both applications and passports and she studies each carefully; on Clare’s she looks at the passport, then at the application, and demands “Who is this woman?” My wife. “Where is she?” In the truck I say, indicating, as it is parked in plain view of the door. “Did you sign this for her?” Yes. “Can she not write?” Uh, no, she can write. I am met with silence. Shall I bring her in? Silence, but she does scratch out my signature on her form (this is allowable on the Moz docs). I’ll go and get her then, shall I, going all schoolboy in the face of her unrelenting scorn. Silence. So go and get Clare, only to return and find the agent’s chair empty; she has obviously had quite enough of ridiculous tourists for today and has gone into the tea room adjacent, leaving passports and docs scattered on her desk. In her place though is the world’s friendliest guy, who cares not who signs what and Clare is shortly back out at the truck and I am lightened by 110 USD for both single entrance visas.
Next desk over for third party insurance and Temporary Import Permit; sorted quickly, as is the paying of all applicable fees totalling a further 55 USD. The issue is, however, nobody has any change and so we go round in circles for some time trying to put together the 15 USD I am owed (plus additional 50 Rand I am asked to throw in to try and make things easier by raising the amount of return required to a large bill not several small) – it takes two versions of a detailed funds-transfer diagram produced by all parties cooperatively to finally clarify what has been paid to whom and for what – and what has been returned as required - before I can leave assured all has come out on top (they insist I must not leave until I am clear so have no cloud of doubt about them in any way ...). All is laughs and smiles through it all though, no hassle at all just a bit of embarrassment on their part for not being able to cover the funds easily enough – especially with the lights going out repeatedly throughout the process, adding to the sense of folly and degraded states ...
In need of air for one of the tires we begin the fruitless search for a service station either a) still operating; or, b) with electricity to operate the pump. We pass a few very rudimentary stations: some with unleaded only, some with diesel only and many others, although open, having neither on offer ... At writing we’re now in Bulawayo and have still not found an air pump operating – it’ll have to be the compressor instead (with some degree of trepidation given first workings with it, and I will definitely be heaving it if it melts out the fuse again ...); diesel though is fairly prevalent now.
300+ k on and we arrive at the Great Zimbabwe Ruins campsite outside of Masvingo, having first driven through some of the most beautiful scenery along Lake Mutirikwi and across the Dam (where we come across a column of over a dozen vintage Mercedes Benz’s parked on the wayside and at the tail end of a 3 week circumnavigation of Zimbabwe). The campsite is operated by the national parks board the site and is fine, though with some fairly aggressive baboons and very cheeky Vervets who succeed in stealing my breakfast sandwich just prior to our departure after Clare turned her back for one second ... After setting up we are shocked at how quickly it becomes exceedingly cold, given how nice the day has been, and even though we have plenty of firewood provided by our guard – who will be sitting under a tree 100 yards away from us for the night – we are frozen by 1800 (I in thermal undershirt, light thermal second layer, quilted puffa jacket under windstopper fleece and hat and am shivering uncontrollably until I can stoke the flames up high enough to ward off the freeze ...). But it is World Cup and we must find it, so we trudge off to find the lodge, where we have been told at reception they will be showing England versus Algeria at 2000. We find not a lodge but a frozen night watchman under a tree, who on several takes of explanation finally gathers what we are asking about and ushers us into an empty guest cottage, where another watchman is set up on the couch with the game ready to go. Huge greetings, much laughing about why we would be out and about in such cold weather but we’re all soon set in and well into the spirit of it all together (though we do not find the local commercials near as funny as our new friend does, who gales, snorts and slaps his thigh through each one while we exchange quizzical glances ...).
After a surprisingly decent and warm in the tent night’s sleep huddled in thermals under a sleeping bag and poncho liner each we set off to explore the ruins (circa 1200-1500 AD) – the largest stone buildings south of the great pyramids of Egypt. Stunning; really, absolutely incredible, and a very well run site as well with informative guides available for 3 USD and an excellent, though small, supporting museum displaying just how extensive the trade routes through the area were at the time, with pan-African beads, European coins, Chinese pottery and Arab copperworks found in abundance.
Not willing to face another night’s freeze in the park we struck out at 1300 for Bulawayo, 280 km southwest, arriving at 1800 – in the dark, of course - after a great run through stunning scenery of baobab trees and bougainvillea bushes huge as the trees they stand beside and along perfect tarmac roads – marred only by the direct west route for the final 30 minutes into Bulawayo that places the setting sun directly into driver’s eyes and makes the road ahead disappear like some mean-prick-of-a-conjurer’s trick ...
There are two campsite options within town lines, and we chose Packers, a private house that allows both B&B as well as camping options (on the grass out front and in the gravel lot in back). At 10 USD pppn it’s a decent deal, with lovely lounge, kitchen and toilets/showers shared between all guests (how nice to be able to eat at a table!). Bulawayo itself proves very quiet on the Sunday when we head out, the streets pretty much roll up for the day with the exception of the numerous churches competing to send their sermonizing out into the masses, but it is lovely with many old colonial buildings still retaining some of their original charms despite looking a bit sad around the edges now, and the people all prove very pleasant and friendly ...
Showing posts with label border crossing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label border crossing. Show all posts
Monday, June 21, 2010
Mozambique Border - Into Moz
MOZAMBIQUE BORDER (R. GARCIA)
Not so much just en
tering another country as dropping into another world within 50 feet of crossing over; an immediate, in-your-face, get-on-guard and plow on through, hand-clutching passport in vice grip to deter swell of eager-to-be-helpful-really-you-have-no-choice-it’s-all-in-Portugeuese-give-me-your-passport-and-I-will-get-it-stamped-for-you jump into the deep end of Real Africa after the easiness and ‘sortidness’ of South Africa. But friendly.
Leaving Clare to guard the car I immediately saw the value in having Henry’s fixer on site – if he’d still been there, mind – as there are dozens of his clones swarming about the crossing, insisting on assisting. Picking one of the lot by instinct alone – but keeping all docs firmly in hand – he got me over to the right counter for visa processing (which, admittedly, I would have struggled to have found solo as there are no signs indicating what desk does what and this one was tucked into the close right hand corner to the entrance and very easy to overlook – plus the agent there spoke zero English and my Portuguese is ... uh, fairly rusty) and so issued the correct docs to complete. I had to repeatedly turn over the docs and stand up straight and firmly shoo multiple helpers away from the left and right as what they need are your passport details in order to fill out the vehicle registration forms concurrently. Seemingly a helpful – to be at a cost, of course – gesture but 1) I don’t provide passport details to anyone other than someone in uniform; and, 2) it just smelled of scam. Which I then quickly identified on subsequently being led over to the vehicle registration counter, still under great chatter from both sides. One of two accompanying me tried to distract with ‘where you from/going’ convo while the other passed the docs across the counter to the very bored-looking agent there. A quick stamp and that was done without issue but then the claim the one had paid 150 Rand “out of my own pocket” for the stamp to go through without issue and I would need to cover that processing fee “when we’re all done.” Easy, easy scam to fall for if you’re not watching closely, as no, no funds were involved at all, his or anyone else’s. Back across the floor for visa’s (174 Rand pp) and out in 20 minutes total.
Then, Scam Part II: on arriving back at the truck I am met by both initial fixer and “his friend” (note all wear official-looking id badges on chains from their necks and act the part of being part of the process very well) who wants to see my entry pass (as issued by the security staff as you drive in). No. But he has a friend who will stamp it with the Customs stamp here at my car; otherwise, if I try and leave, Customs will stop me and go through every inch of my car and if I have not listed something they find that is not on my registration docs they will confiscate or fine. No. I will be sorry I am not cooperating. No. Ok, how about a fee for helping? No. No? No I say, you’ve not been helpful you’re being a pain. You will not give us anything? No. Start engine, have guys realize this really hasn’t worked out well in their favour at all. They then start to laugh, deflated: “You are clever man, very clever. Ok, maybe just something for us?” I hand 10 Rand out the top inch of open window of the truck and we’re off into the inky black of a no-power Mozambique night (and without a Customs agent in sight ...).
The biggest real issue with crossing at R.Garcia is that between there and Maputo, about 90 kms from the border, there is just one option for camping (or overnight stay of any sort) so if you’ve crossed anytime from about 1630 forward you’re in for a dark drive for lodging in, or after, Maputo (which in and of itself is not the best place to be aiming to stay over in – like any major city it’s got its fair share of issues better to be avoided and certainly best not tackled in the dark of your first night in-country). But 6 km from the border is Casa do Campo Lodge, a farmhouse converted into private rooms with shared bath, a small camp area (but without ablutions, though you are free to use the ones in the house), and restaurant, run by a gregarious Afrikaaner married into a Portuguese-Mozambique family who have owned the property and surrounding farm for generations. Though a bit run-down and in need of a woman’s hand (the wife gave up on living there a bit ago after husband shot at for third time, this time successfully ... Though he laughs , as within a few weeks of her moving across into SA the house was invaded and she was tied up while it was ransacked and “not only that but they had the cheek to choose a very nice bottle of my wine for their dinner the buggers – made it up in my kitchen!” so “might as well be here as there” ...) it is a safe refuge and more than adequate for a night (and the chicken from his farm outstanding). The most amusing anecdote he told was that, when the war was on they had their farm nationalized and they were kicked out; on it finishing the army, who’d used the grounds as a base, blew up all the boreholes and had killed off all the livestock long before so left behind “complete and utter devastation”; however, the new Moz government invited anyone who had lost property, especially commercial enterprises, to return if they could produce substantiating documentation. So back across he and the wife moved, generations of papers in hand. They got the farm back – and then were presented with a bill for 25 years of back taxes on the property to cover the years when it was nationalized! He just shrugged it off with a huge laugh, saying it’s a “damned corrupt country but there’s nowhere else I’d rather live.” So, bit dirty, bit spartan, but an entertaining night’s stopover.
It’s probably worth throwing in a bit of background here for context: Mozambique has only recently come out of over 25 years of war, first for independence from Portugal followed immediately after by an east-supported versus west-supported civil war shocking in its savagery (east-supported - Cuba, Russia and China, with only China being the economically-important ally now - coming out on top, with the Marxist Frelimo party still maintaining the government since independence despite a strong - political now not military - opposition from the previously west-supported Renamo). Portugal has had a footprint here for over 500 years and during its colonization considered Moz, and it’s (white) citizenry, to be not a colony or a territory but as much a part of Portugal as the European homeland itself; the battle for independence was vicious and protracted and lead to the Portuguese government’s overthrow (national service of Europeans for wars in Africa do not a happy citizenry or Army make ...); however, for it all the country retains a strong European flavour, with Portuguese still the official national language, everyone you meet a Pedro and some stunning obviously mixed blood people on the streets ... But it is just a bit disconcerting to have a very black African start conversing with you in what sounds like Italian with a lisp ...
Not so much just en
tering another country as dropping into another world within 50 feet of crossing over; an immediate, in-your-face, get-on-guard and plow on through, hand-clutching passport in vice grip to deter swell of eager-to-be-helpful-really-you-have-no-choice-it’s-all-in-Portugeuese-give-me-your-passport-and-I-will-get-it-stamped-for-you jump into the deep end of Real Africa after the easiness and ‘sortidness’ of South Africa. But friendly.Leaving Clare to guard the car I immediately saw the value in having Henry’s fixer on site – if he’d still been there, mind – as there are dozens of his clones swarming about the crossing, insisting on assisting. Picking one of the lot by instinct alone – but keeping all docs firmly in hand – he got me over to the right counter for visa processing (which, admittedly, I would have struggled to have found solo as there are no signs indicating what desk does what and this one was tucked into the close right hand corner to the entrance and very easy to overlook – plus the agent there spoke zero English and my Portuguese is ... uh, fairly rusty) and so issued the correct docs to complete. I had to repeatedly turn over the docs and stand up straight and firmly shoo multiple helpers away from the left and right as what they need are your passport details in order to fill out the vehicle registration forms concurrently. Seemingly a helpful – to be at a cost, of course – gesture but 1) I don’t provide passport details to anyone other than someone in uniform; and, 2) it just smelled of scam. Which I then quickly identified on subsequently being led over to the vehicle registration counter, still under great chatter from both sides. One of two accompanying me tried to distract with ‘where you from/going’ convo while the other passed the docs across the counter to the very bored-looking agent there. A quick stamp and that was done without issue but then the claim the one had paid 150 Rand “out of my own pocket” for the stamp to go through without issue and I would need to cover that processing fee “when we’re all done.” Easy, easy scam to fall for if you’re not watching closely, as no, no funds were involved at all, his or anyone else’s. Back across the floor for visa’s (174 Rand pp) and out in 20 minutes total.
Then, Scam Part II: on arriving back at the truck I am met by both initial fixer and “his friend” (note all wear official-looking id badges on chains from their necks and act the part of being part of the process very well) who wants to see my entry pass (as issued by the security staff as you drive in). No. But he has a friend who will stamp it with the Customs stamp here at my car; otherwise, if I try and leave, Customs will stop me and go through every inch of my car and if I have not listed something they find that is not on my registration docs they will confiscate or fine. No. I will be sorry I am not cooperating. No. Ok, how about a fee for helping? No. No? No I say, you’ve not been helpful you’re being a pain. You will not give us anything? No. Start engine, have guys realize this really hasn’t worked out well in their favour at all. They then start to laugh, deflated: “You are clever man, very clever. Ok, maybe just something for us?” I hand 10 Rand out the top inch of open window of the truck and we’re off into the inky black of a no-power Mozambique night (and without a Customs agent in sight ...).
The biggest real issue with crossing at R.Garcia is that between there and Maputo, about 90 kms from the border, there is just one option for camping (or overnight stay of any sort) so if you’ve crossed anytime from about 1630 forward you’re in for a dark drive for lodging in, or after, Maputo (which in and of itself is not the best place to be aiming to stay over in – like any major city it’s got its fair share of issues better to be avoided and certainly best not tackled in the dark of your first night in-country). But 6 km from the border is Casa do Campo Lodge, a farmhouse converted into private rooms with shared bath, a small camp area (but without ablutions, though you are free to use the ones in the house), and restaurant, run by a gregarious Afrikaaner married into a Portuguese-Mozambique family who have owned the property and surrounding farm for generations. Though a bit run-down and in need of a woman’s hand (the wife gave up on living there a bit ago after husband shot at for third time, this time successfully ... Though he laughs , as within a few weeks of her moving across into SA the house was invaded and she was tied up while it was ransacked and “not only that but they had the cheek to choose a very nice bottle of my wine for their dinner the buggers – made it up in my kitchen!” so “might as well be here as there” ...) it is a safe refuge and more than adequate for a night (and the chicken from his farm outstanding). The most amusing anecdote he told was that, when the war was on they had their farm nationalized and they were kicked out; on it finishing the army, who’d used the grounds as a base, blew up all the boreholes and had killed off all the livestock long before so left behind “complete and utter devastation”; however, the new Moz government invited anyone who had lost property, especially commercial enterprises, to return if they could produce substantiating documentation. So back across he and the wife moved, generations of papers in hand. They got the farm back – and then were presented with a bill for 25 years of back taxes on the property to cover the years when it was nationalized! He just shrugged it off with a huge laugh, saying it’s a “damned corrupt country but there’s nowhere else I’d rather live.” So, bit dirty, bit spartan, but an entertaining night’s stopover.
It’s probably worth throwing in a bit of background here for context: Mozambique has only recently come out of over 25 years of war, first for independence from Portugal followed immediately after by an east-supported versus west-supported civil war shocking in its savagery (east-supported - Cuba, Russia and China, with only China being the economically-important ally now - coming out on top, with the Marxist Frelimo party still maintaining the government since independence despite a strong - political now not military - opposition from the previously west-supported Renamo). Portugal has had a footprint here for over 500 years and during its colonization considered Moz, and it’s (white) citizenry, to be not a colony or a territory but as much a part of Portugal as the European homeland itself; the battle for independence was vicious and protracted and lead to the Portuguese government’s overthrow (national service of Europeans for wars in Africa do not a happy citizenry or Army make ...); however, for it all the country retains a strong European flavour, with Portuguese still the official national language, everyone you meet a Pedro and some stunning obviously mixed blood people on the streets ... But it is just a bit disconcerting to have a very black African start conversing with you in what sounds like Italian with a lisp ...
South Africa - Mozambique Border Crossing
SA – MOZAMBIQUE BORDER CROSSING – 09 JUNE
Just prior to the border is a large BP station with forecourt full of various shops and roadside entry blocked with dozens of money sellers keen for currency exchange. Off to the left of the pumps is a small tin-roofed shed housing Global Alliance; in it, Henry will sort you out for 3rd party insurance prior to hitting the border and, being a bit of a fixer, is available for any other requirements you may have – he also has a colleague there from the Moz side who can accompany you through both sides of the border, translate documents and just generally smooth the way through for about 100 Rand (negotiated and paid on successful clearance of the Moz side). We agreed on all services, as well as Henry’s choice of money seller picked out from the crowd, a large matronly woman in a huge flowered ‘best for church’ hat who bustled into the already crowded shed and pulled out a six-inch wad of notes kept safely stashed within the vaults of her (ample) bosom, offered at an exchange rate 2 points better than the Bureau de Change (4.3 versus 4.1). That sorted we were off in convoy, us in the lead followed closely by the Church Lady driving the Moz fixer, as we’d no room for a passenger and he’d no car but was certainly not losing the business for it.
Then things got interesting.
The SA side was packed, heaving with a mix of aggro’d holidayers (in the minority) frustrated with the delays and traders who crossed the border daily to purchase cheaper SA goods for mark-up and sale on the other side trying any angle to dodge the queues and get moving through quickly (I “Oi, get back in here, we all wait in the same line”’d one young guy who made a dash under the barrier behind me to get to an open kiosk faster than the head of the queue could react ... To his credit he did reverse but I now had Mr Surly behind me for the next 30 minutes ...). The system (seems wherever you go and whatever the circumstances it’s always the fault of ‘the system’) was running slow “but scheduled to be upgraded soon” and it took about an hour total to get the entry pass stamped (first queue) then passport stamped for exit (queue two). Then we went to get our VAT refund outside and it all went to hell in a handbasket for the next six hours ...
The process: have agent lounging about outside the office (really a trailer) take receipts and go through each line by line to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected (our Macro receipt alone was about 4 feet long ...). Realize we are owed more than 3000 Rand and the border office cannot process such receipts. Do u-turn in border car queue (despite now being stamped out of country) and head for airport for commercial customs clearance centre some 30 minutes back down highway. Have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Get receipts stamped and return to border. Have same original agent still lounging about outside the office take now stamped and duly-authorized receipts and go through each line by line (again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Discuss in detail. Agree on total eligibility and join queue at office for payment processing. Wait. Finally get to one of only 2 out of 6 kiosks operating and have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Have them photocopy passport and applicable credit card used for any purchases (ensure to insist on crossing out all visible numbers of card save for final 4). Get cheque issued for very small amount purchased on Clare’s card, which we are informed can – now this is very helpful – be deposited and paid out at the local bank back in town (process seems to have lost focus that at this stage recipient is out of SA and heading into Moz, not having day’s outing for fun at border ...). Have agent say I must return in 2-3 weeks to pick up cheque as it exceeds amount they can issue (again, that above 3000 Rand rule appears, but in a new context ...). Inform agent you will probably be in Zambia in 2-3 weeks time and, as obvious from passports she is holding, you are not South African so would have no intention of returning there to pick up cheque that should be issued on the spot. Have agent leave desk to confer with all other agents in room – all work now ceasing – and stall queue behind for further 10 minutes making you Most Hated Man at South African Border for those who clutch one single, simple receipt behind you, not wad of two dozen obviously problematic ones as you have handed across an hour before. Have women in queue 15 places behind you – but directly behind due to snake of ropes – burst into tears on mobile phone, obviously explaining why it is taking her so long to a very unsympathetic authoritarian figure on other end of call. Agree to solution – and only solution - with agent that cheque will be posted to UK address once processed; provide address on small slip of paper and lay poor odds it actually gets somehow connected to stack of receipts. Lose possession of all receipts and therefore record of all purchases as they must be held by VAT office for cheque to be issued and are never returned, making re-sale, warranty’s, etc, a bit of an issue (issue for future confrontation). Depart deflated by process yet giddy with victory over bureaucracy. Approach Mozambique border six hours off initial timings and without fixer who has given up and left. And in the dark, of course ...
Just prior to the border is a large BP station with forecourt full of various shops and roadside entry blocked with dozens of money sellers keen for currency exchange. Off to the left of the pumps is a small tin-roofed shed housing Global Alliance; in it, Henry will sort you out for 3rd party insurance prior to hitting the border and, being a bit of a fixer, is available for any other requirements you may have – he also has a colleague there from the Moz side who can accompany you through both sides of the border, translate documents and just generally smooth the way through for about 100 Rand (negotiated and paid on successful clearance of the Moz side). We agreed on all services, as well as Henry’s choice of money seller picked out from the crowd, a large matronly woman in a huge flowered ‘best for church’ hat who bustled into the already crowded shed and pulled out a six-inch wad of notes kept safely stashed within the vaults of her (ample) bosom, offered at an exchange rate 2 points better than the Bureau de Change (4.3 versus 4.1). That sorted we were off in convoy, us in the lead followed closely by the Church Lady driving the Moz fixer, as we’d no room for a passenger and he’d no car but was certainly not losing the business for it.
Then things got interesting.
The SA side was packed, heaving with a mix of aggro’d holidayers (in the minority) frustrated with the delays and traders who crossed the border daily to purchase cheaper SA goods for mark-up and sale on the other side trying any angle to dodge the queues and get moving through quickly (I “Oi, get back in here, we all wait in the same line”’d one young guy who made a dash under the barrier behind me to get to an open kiosk faster than the head of the queue could react ... To his credit he did reverse but I now had Mr Surly behind me for the next 30 minutes ...). The system (seems wherever you go and whatever the circumstances it’s always the fault of ‘the system’) was running slow “but scheduled to be upgraded soon” and it took about an hour total to get the entry pass stamped (first queue) then passport stamped for exit (queue two). Then we went to get our VAT refund outside and it all went to hell in a handbasket for the next six hours ...
The process: have agent lounging about outside the office (really a trailer) take receipts and go through each line by line to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected (our Macro receipt alone was about 4 feet long ...). Realize we are owed more than 3000 Rand and the border office cannot process such receipts. Do u-turn in border car queue (despite now being stamped out of country) and head for airport for commercial customs clearance centre some 30 minutes back down highway. Have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Get receipts stamped and return to border. Have same original agent still lounging about outside the office take now stamped and duly-authorized receipts and go through each line by line (again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Discuss in detail. Agree on total eligibility and join queue at office for payment processing. Wait. Finally get to one of only 2 out of 6 kiosks operating and have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Have them photocopy passport and applicable credit card used for any purchases (ensure to insist on crossing out all visible numbers of card save for final 4). Get cheque issued for very small amount purchased on Clare’s card, which we are informed can – now this is very helpful – be deposited and paid out at the local bank back in town (process seems to have lost focus that at this stage recipient is out of SA and heading into Moz, not having day’s outing for fun at border ...). Have agent say I must return in 2-3 weeks to pick up cheque as it exceeds amount they can issue (again, that above 3000 Rand rule appears, but in a new context ...). Inform agent you will probably be in Zambia in 2-3 weeks time and, as obvious from passports she is holding, you are not South African so would have no intention of returning there to pick up cheque that should be issued on the spot. Have agent leave desk to confer with all other agents in room – all work now ceasing – and stall queue behind for further 10 minutes making you Most Hated Man at South African Border for those who clutch one single, simple receipt behind you, not wad of two dozen obviously problematic ones as you have handed across an hour before. Have women in queue 15 places behind you – but directly behind due to snake of ropes – burst into tears on mobile phone, obviously explaining why it is taking her so long to a very unsympathetic authoritarian figure on other end of call. Agree to solution – and only solution - with agent that cheque will be posted to UK address once processed; provide address on small slip of paper and lay poor odds it actually gets somehow connected to stack of receipts. Lose possession of all receipts and therefore record of all purchases as they must be held by VAT office for cheque to be issued and are never returned, making re-sale, warranty’s, etc, a bit of an issue (issue for future confrontation). Depart deflated by process yet giddy with victory over bureaucracy. Approach Mozambique border six hours off initial timings and without fixer who has given up and left. And in the dark, of course ...
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