The queue on the South African side was going so fast and smooth. Everyone who reached the front quickly had their passport scanned, got their stamp and they were done and gone. I was hoping I would not hold the queue, but as soon as I handed the lady my refugee passport she was not impressed by the fact that it could not be scanned and she requested for my refugee status which... I did not have with me.
My best friend Shingi, just a few minutes before I boarded the bus in Cape Town, told me to leave the original document behind, because it might just get lost and it would be safer this way. At the time I believed him... but when the angry looking lady insisted I provide it I felt like my nightmare was coming true.
After convincing her that my passport should be enough and showing her a photocopy of my refugee status, I was allowed to go through, after spending longer on the queue than anyone else.
I was not even surprised when I came outside and saw my bag among the ones that were to be searched. My previous experience when I travelled to Mozambique came to mind, when I had to unpack my entire bag. As I was starting out to do the same thing this time, the customs guy only asked where I had bought my backpack. and went on to say that he had no intentions of going through my underwear.
Now I got back on the bus to drive to the Namibian side of border feeling even more insecure. As soon as it was my turn and I handed over my passport, the guy went to the back to ask his superior whether they allowed people with my kind of passport.
At this point I was saying my silent prayer and I overheard the superior telling him that I had a prearranged visa, meaning it should be fine for me to enter. The only bad surprise was that I they gave me only three days to stay in the country and with no questions asked I quickly left the office.
While I waited outside for Jorrit to finish, two immigration officials started harassing me some more. I had already overheard them discussing my looks, and whether or not they were Rwandan, then when I came closer they started questioning me about things like my marital status. I could not help but think me and borders just don't mix, but I was already happy enough I got into the country.
Having just three days meant all our plans had to quickly change. We had booked a few nights at a backpackers in Windhoek and had originally planned to take our time travelling through Namibia to Zambia, getting to see some places along the way. But now we only had three days to leave the country and due to the fact that we were travelling by road that meant that we actually only had few hours to spend in Windhoek.
We dropped our big backpacks at the backpackers and as soon and went to see if the immigration office could make a plan for us, but to no avail. We just had to leave, there was nothing that could be done they told us. So with no time left we quickly went to the Intercape bus depot to organise for us to board the 6pm bus that same day.
We realised this bus would be the only way for us to get out of the country on the Zambian side in time. So we quickly called their office and we were told that there were still three seats available, but... we couldn't book on the phone so we quickly had to dash to the depot. We rushed through the heat, and when we arrived their, still panting, we were told there was just one more seat left. We pleaded with the consultant to please make a plan for us, but she said it was really not possible. What would we do now? Go back the same way as we came, to the South African border?
During that moment of dismay and total silence I just sat down on their chairs saying my silent prayers and just saying Lord I leave it up to you. And then, just seconds before we left their offices, the consultant lady called us back and said: oh wait... I think I have two seats for you. “I think I love you so much right now", were the only words I could say at that moment. She smiled and you could just see that being able to do such things was what gave her job satisfaction.
After such a dramatic morning we booked ourselves two seats on a city tour bus, just so that we would not leave Windhoek without even seeing it. As soon as we got to the bus I felt very silly for doing this, because as was to be expected I was the only black person on board. Passing through townships and seeing all the kids just stop to wave was so awkward for me, but yeah, I guess that's what you get for doing such touristy thing. I really do not see myself ever doing such again.
Before we left for Livingstone we went to have a nice lunch i took a shower, and I was somehow glad to be leaving the backpackers that just made me feel like I was in Europe with all the wazungus. At 6 pm we got on a bus waved goodbye to Namibia and left for Zambia.
The trip from Windhoek to Livingstone was not as pleasant as the trip from Cape Town. The seats were less comfy and but the worst part was the heat. Me and Jorrit were sitting in different seats but close to each other and just very close to our dream spot: the front row sits on top of the double decker bus. After we overheard that the two volunteer students who were occupying them were going to get off on the next stop, we got very eager and we spent the rest of the night just waiting and eyeing them, making sure we would not fall asleep and by the time we wake up they would be gone.
And yes, finally we did get the sits and we managed to have some nice naps after that, but the heat just got unbearable after we woke up. For the rest of the trip the heat got worse and we were just counting kilometers and hours to Rundu and then Katima Mulilo, the border town, which seemed to take forever, but at the border coming into Zambia thank God it was a totally great experience. No hassles at all and for the first time I felt quite normal, and I just knew that Zambia was going to be great :).
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