Borders, cows and such

Border Hopping

Today was the day our visitors visas for South Africa expired. They were the usual 3 month visas we have normally been issued with on border crossings over the past 25 years. If we returned shortly before the visa expiry, they’d usually issue a new one. No questions asked.  

But this time was different. We were mistakenly suspected of “border hopping”. That’s where people cross borders while they are (or are not) trying to process proper residence or work visas in one of the countries they hopping between. Border hopping is a common thing here, especially of late since the legal processes for organizations and visa processing have become incredibly complex and much more expensive. 

But that wasn’t our case. We have Mozambican residence permits so clearly didnt need to “hop” anywhere. But the immigration official who stamped our passports made a mistake. Long story short and a trip to his supervisor later, we were no further ahead. We were told we had to exit and re-enter South Africa through a border somewhere half way through our current business trip (annual aircraft maintenance). 

Today was our visa expiry date, so we headed to the  nearest border to us: Bulembu, Swaziland. Note the zigzagging road on the map? It didn’t lie...

What we drove through was rocky, steep hillside after rocky, steep hillside nestled so closely together one would think whoever placed them there hadn’t planned ahead very well! 

The hillsides were so steep and yet there were tree plantations. We wondered how you’d harvest on such steep slopes. Apparently getting stuff rolling down was no issue, but stopping it at some point must have been. The road was littered with pine branches and rocks that rolled off cliffs at whim. We also wondered if animals could possibly be farmed there. Turns out, yes, cows. Don’t ask me how an animal as stiff and awkward as a cow can walk those steep slopes without rolling down like the branches and rocks do, but they do. 

At the border, we engaged the gate officer in idle conversation for a few minutes before going inside to deal with the more stressful issue at hand. We talked about the steep rocky hills and the cows. He said sheep lived there too. That wasn’t as surprising to me as the awkward cow scenario. I asked him if there were wild animals up there too? “No. None. Just cows and sheep.” 

Inside, the immigration officer scrutinized our passports and noted our visa expiry date was today. “So I see you are crossing the border the day your visa expires. You will be returning today again I take it?” His look said “border hoppers!” We explained our predicament and what the airport immigration officer had said (as Moz residents we can enter for 30 days for sure and should have been granted that last week. Except for the mistake.). He responded with a drawn out “Hmmmmm, I don’t....know....how many days I can give you on your return here later....Maybe 7 days...” There was no justification for only 7 days but hey, he’s the boss here. 

On the Swazi side of the border, the officials were friendly. An official portrait of the king of Swaziland, dressed in his tribal attire, hung on the wall.  It looked to me like he just hung there smiling on everything that transpired there. 

We carried on into the little old settlement of Bulembu. It was nestled in those steep, rocky hills and clearly had been established during the colonial era. We found the Bulembu Lodge restaurant. I think it’s the only one in town, and the dining hall was empty. The waiter welcomed us and ushered us to the table of our choosing. I selected the one with the best view of those steep, rocky hills. We ordered our lunch and ate it while the waiter, in formal style, stood nearby watching us, hands folded behind his back, ever at the ready. The door to the kitchen was to his immediate left. There was a ton of chatter and laughter behind those doors and periodically he would duck inside for a few moments reprieve from watching us eat. Then he would reappear and resume his watch. Dwight read the hot sauce bottle label which declared that there was “chilli’s and no other nonsense inside”. The waiter chuckled along with us. It was heartwarming but also a bit awkward. And that made me think of the cows on the hills. 

When lunch was over, we left the aged little town with its nostalgic and aging structures behind. We now had to face the formidable South African immigration official again. First, though, came the Swazi border with its friendly staff. They love guests from Canada, they said. The portrait of the king smiled down on us as we said goodbye. 

When we arrived at the South African side we took a deep breath and went inside. Like, “Whatever. We will take what comes.” What else, right? To our surprise, the same official who had given us the gears granted us a full 30 day visa back into South Africa. We were relieved and anxious to get back to where we are staying. 

On our way back through those steep, rocky hills, we came across baboons. Huge troops of them scampering away from our curious eyes. So there was wildlife in them there hills after-all! Seeing them reminded us of the orphaned “bad-boon” (as used to call him because there seemed no limit to the mischief he could get up to) that we raised from infant hood until 7 months of age. He was actually a welcome gift to our daughter in law who was visiting Africa for the first time. When she and Russ left, I became his mommy. It was uncanny how human like and adorable he could be, but he could also a real character and could be downright bad! At the right time, we were able to release him into a wildlife reserve just north of the mission. For that trip, there were no border crossings, no suspicions of border hopping, and no portraits of kings smiling on us. It’s actually illegal to transport a wild animal so we had to hide him under a blanket to get him past highway police undetected. It was quite the ordeal but it was the right thing to do. 

There’s a whole lot more to it than that but that’s a story for another day.