I flew out of Lilongwe on a Tuesday. Like the flight in, the plane was about 3/4ths Americans, which was a little odd. In fact, someone I knew was on the plane The azungu magnet is really strong, no doubt.
I got into Jo'burg around 4:00, picked up my bags, got some cash, and went to find the information booth to find a bus that apparently goes from the airport to the bus station. I find a police officer instead, who tells me there is no such bus, but to take a taxi instead. I needed to get to the bus station ultimately for an overnight bus to Maputo, but since I couldn't hang out at the bus station (or get there for cheap on this bus to pick up my ticket before heading back out), I take him up on the suggestion.
He directs me to a driver, and I pay what seems like an exorbitant amount of money to get into Jo'burg (it was like $35, which is cheaper than to get into Manhattan from JFK, but seems like an arm and a leg compared to Malawi prices). There was traffic on the freeway, so we cut through town, which they're not actually supposed to do because of crime, particularly car-jacking, but it actually made for a nice tour of the city. At Simon's suggestion, I went to Melville, which is this cute neighborhood on the west side of the city, sort of like the South End in Boston or Dupont in DC. I got out of the cab, making up some story that I was meeting friends for dinner, and the driver was insistent on seeing me inside. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way the whole drive in--he was a nice enough guy, I didn't feel unsafe, but he wouldn't stop complaining about everything that was wrong with South Africa. Apparently, it was the Nigerians, Congolese, and Zimbabweans who were ruining everything and making it unsafe. Right. In any event, I tried to ditch him as best I could, knowing full well that he would want to take me to the bus station later. I told him I'd call him if I couldn't get a ride from my friends, and hoped he'd bugger off.
Simon had suggested a particular intersection of Melville, so to avoid looking like I didn't know where I was going, I just went in the first place I could find. I had a nice meal, essentially mediterranean/greek food, then walked down the block to a bakery and hung out there for a while, hit a bookstore next door to pick up books in English while I had the chance, and then got in a cab (the girls at the bakery called it for me) and went to the bus station.
I was catching a 10:00pm bus and got to the station around 9:00. It was *so* sketchy. The station itself is quite large and enclosed, but getting into the drop off area was dark and not well lit. The driver chided me for putting my wallet in my back pocket. "This is Joburg, man. Keep that where they can't get it," he said. I was a little weirded out, but I wasn't really feeling unsafe until he suggested that I should be. I quickly went from the car inside to find the ticket office, and sit and wait. I saw three other Americans waiting for the same bus, which made me feel slightly better, but there were a bunch of drunk guys around inside asking for money which made me stay a bit tense. In retrospect, it was not entirely unlike being at Port Authority at night, which is sketchy in its own right. But by virtue of it being notoriously unsafe Joburg, I just felt tense the whole time.
Fortunately we got on the bus and took off no problem. I had strategically placed myself with a bag next to me and ended up getting two seats to myself, which was a gift on a crowded bus and actually afforded me a few hours of sleep. Including the two hours that we were essentially parked on the road at the border waiting for it to open.
Once the border opened (at 6:00), we were told to get off the bus, and not really much more than that. I grabbed my stuff and followed people into this building, waited in line, handed over my passport to be stamped, and then dismissed. I thought, "wow, that was really easy. I didn't even have to pay for my visa afterall." Oh naive me. It was only after being dismissed did I realize that I had only just left South Africa.
We leave that building and have to walk up this hill, across the border. It wasn't far, but it did seem pretty weird to be crossing the border by foot.
The Mozambique side was not nearly as calm and efficient as the South African. There was just a crowd of people standing outside the building in a couple of different lines, with an armed guard blocking one door. We realize that one of the lines is for mine workers only (Mozambicans coming back from the South African mines), so we went to the other one. And while there was plenty of space inside, the guy wasn't letting anyone in. After a little while of waiting patiently, I looked back at the other Americans, one of whom suggested that she use her US Embassy badge (they were peace corps volunteers and so she had something from when she was at one of the embassies). I said that I would go and see what an American passport would get me before that. I walked up, looked the guy in the eye, showed my American passport and walked in no problem. It's very good to be an American sometimes.
Then the problem arose that I didn't have a visa and needed to get one. There was absolutely no direction or help as to how to do that, so I just got in line. It wasn't until I got to the front of the line that the bus driver saw me and pulled me aside. "Yes, I need a visa," I told him. He grabbed a form, scribbled it complete for me, and told me to say that I was with these three other passengers he was helping get visas. I did that and proceeded to wait with them.
And wait. And wait.
In total, we were there for 2 hours. He finally emerged again, behind the actual immigration desk where he must have been pushing these through. One of the women was waiting on like 14 different passports for her whole group, but it still seemed like we were there for four times as long as it "should have" taken. I'd heard that it was easy (and about half the cost) to get a visa at the border than from one of the Mozambique embassies. I was quickly disabused of that idea.
We finally get back to the bus, with the driver announcing as we ran to the bus that the other passengers were getting annoyed. Oh well. We hopped on and quickly took off. Only to stop about 3 kms later, pulling off to the side of the road for no apparent reason. After about another half-hour, some guy comes on the bus yelling at the woman who was waiting for the 14 passports, and it became clear that we'd left him behind. Oops.
Within another hour and a half and we're in Maputo after all.
I got into Jo'burg around 4:00, picked up my bags, got some cash, and went to find the information booth to find a bus that apparently goes from the airport to the bus station. I find a police officer instead, who tells me there is no such bus, but to take a taxi instead. I needed to get to the bus station ultimately for an overnight bus to Maputo, but since I couldn't hang out at the bus station (or get there for cheap on this bus to pick up my ticket before heading back out), I take him up on the suggestion.
He directs me to a driver, and I pay what seems like an exorbitant amount of money to get into Jo'burg (it was like $35, which is cheaper than to get into Manhattan from JFK, but seems like an arm and a leg compared to Malawi prices). There was traffic on the freeway, so we cut through town, which they're not actually supposed to do because of crime, particularly car-jacking, but it actually made for a nice tour of the city. At Simon's suggestion, I went to Melville, which is this cute neighborhood on the west side of the city, sort of like the South End in Boston or Dupont in DC. I got out of the cab, making up some story that I was meeting friends for dinner, and the driver was insistent on seeing me inside. He sort of rubbed me the wrong way the whole drive in--he was a nice enough guy, I didn't feel unsafe, but he wouldn't stop complaining about everything that was wrong with South Africa. Apparently, it was the Nigerians, Congolese, and Zimbabweans who were ruining everything and making it unsafe. Right. In any event, I tried to ditch him as best I could, knowing full well that he would want to take me to the bus station later. I told him I'd call him if I couldn't get a ride from my friends, and hoped he'd bugger off.
Simon had suggested a particular intersection of Melville, so to avoid looking like I didn't know where I was going, I just went in the first place I could find. I had a nice meal, essentially mediterranean/greek food, then walked down the block to a bakery and hung out there for a while, hit a bookstore next door to pick up books in English while I had the chance, and then got in a cab (the girls at the bakery called it for me) and went to the bus station.
I was catching a 10:00pm bus and got to the station around 9:00. It was *so* sketchy. The station itself is quite large and enclosed, but getting into the drop off area was dark and not well lit. The driver chided me for putting my wallet in my back pocket. "This is Joburg, man. Keep that where they can't get it," he said. I was a little weirded out, but I wasn't really feeling unsafe until he suggested that I should be. I quickly went from the car inside to find the ticket office, and sit and wait. I saw three other Americans waiting for the same bus, which made me feel slightly better, but there were a bunch of drunk guys around inside asking for money which made me stay a bit tense. In retrospect, it was not entirely unlike being at Port Authority at night, which is sketchy in its own right. But by virtue of it being notoriously unsafe Joburg, I just felt tense the whole time.
Fortunately we got on the bus and took off no problem. I had strategically placed myself with a bag next to me and ended up getting two seats to myself, which was a gift on a crowded bus and actually afforded me a few hours of sleep. Including the two hours that we were essentially parked on the road at the border waiting for it to open.
Once the border opened (at 6:00), we were told to get off the bus, and not really much more than that. I grabbed my stuff and followed people into this building, waited in line, handed over my passport to be stamped, and then dismissed. I thought, "wow, that was really easy. I didn't even have to pay for my visa afterall." Oh naive me. It was only after being dismissed did I realize that I had only just left South Africa.
We leave that building and have to walk up this hill, across the border. It wasn't far, but it did seem pretty weird to be crossing the border by foot.
The Mozambique side was not nearly as calm and efficient as the South African. There was just a crowd of people standing outside the building in a couple of different lines, with an armed guard blocking one door. We realize that one of the lines is for mine workers only (Mozambicans coming back from the South African mines), so we went to the other one. And while there was plenty of space inside, the guy wasn't letting anyone in. After a little while of waiting patiently, I looked back at the other Americans, one of whom suggested that she use her US Embassy badge (they were peace corps volunteers and so she had something from when she was at one of the embassies). I said that I would go and see what an American passport would get me before that. I walked up, looked the guy in the eye, showed my American passport and walked in no problem. It's very good to be an American sometimes.
Then the problem arose that I didn't have a visa and needed to get one. There was absolutely no direction or help as to how to do that, so I just got in line. It wasn't until I got to the front of the line that the bus driver saw me and pulled me aside. "Yes, I need a visa," I told him. He grabbed a form, scribbled it complete for me, and told me to say that I was with these three other passengers he was helping get visas. I did that and proceeded to wait with them.
And wait. And wait.
In total, we were there for 2 hours. He finally emerged again, behind the actual immigration desk where he must have been pushing these through. One of the women was waiting on like 14 different passports for her whole group, but it still seemed like we were there for four times as long as it "should have" taken. I'd heard that it was easy (and about half the cost) to get a visa at the border than from one of the Mozambique embassies. I was quickly disabused of that idea.
We finally get back to the bus, with the driver announcing as we ran to the bus that the other passengers were getting annoyed. Oh well. We hopped on and quickly took off. Only to stop about 3 kms later, pulling off to the side of the road for no apparent reason. After about another half-hour, some guy comes on the bus yelling at the woman who was waiting for the 14 passports, and it became clear that we'd left him behind. Oops.
Within another hour and a half and we're in Maputo after all.
Labels: malawi, maputo, south africa, transitions, transportation, travel
Just wanted you to know that I've really been enjoying this blog. I feel as though I've had an exciting, educational experience through reading about your work and travels. I hope you're doing well and beginning to get readjusted to home!
-Molly