Traveling through South Africa’s neighboring countries was often dangerous. We soon discovered this – both from our own experience and from the travel advisories and route information we kept receiving along the way. There were two reasons for this. First, the bush war in Rhodesia – we crossed the “front line” twice. And, of course, the lack of a properly functioning legal system, especially in Zambia.
Our first experience was the drive from Salisbury (now Harare) to the border with Mozambique. This was a war zone. Traveling alone was too dangerous, so we were “slotted in” with a Rhodesian Army convoy. We drove for hours in pitch darkness, sandwiched between Bedford trucks and Land Rovers. Inside were heavily armed Selous Scouts. The vehicles were equipped with roll bars to prevent the occupants from being crushed if the truck overturned after hitting a mine. In the middle of the night, we arrived at an army camp, where we spent the night.
The next day, the soldiers woke us up. They told us that, according to their latest information, the road (photo above) to the border with Mozambique now seemed safe, but that we also had to leave immediately. “And check to see if there are any trenches in the road, because that could be a landmine,” was their urgent advice.
With three pairs of eyes fixed intently on the road, we drove the last 7 kilometers to the border. And we already had our Dutch passports in hand. We didn’t expect a friendly reception for a car with South African license plates. But things turned out differently. “The Dutch are our friends,” they exclaimed right away. And that was thanks to the Dutch Minister for Development Cooperation, Jan Pronk. The story of his generous financial support for countries like Mozambique had even reached deep into the African bush.
Another threatening situation arose in Zambia. The Great East Road crosses the Luangwa River via the Luangwa Bridge (photo). Remo and I had photographed the bridge from a lookout point. But when we tried to drive onto the bridge, we were stopped by soldiers who were either drunk or high on drugs. Slurring their words, they shoved Kalashnikovs in our faces and told us to get out of the car. Our “crime” was photographing the bridge. One of the soldiers grabbed my camera and was about to throw it over the bridge railing. But I quickly snatched it back, pulled the film out in full view of everyone, and handed it to the soldier on duty. That turned out to be enough. The film was lost, but the camera wasn’t. After some de-escalating conversations and a warning, we were allowed to continue. What they hadn’t seen, however, was that Remo had also taken photos. He had quickly hidden his camera in the car in the meantime. And so we still have photos of the bridge and from the previous few days.
In Zambia, robberies targeting cars still on the road at night were also notorious. We had already been warned about this back in Rhodesia. It was not uncommon for victims to be not only robbed but also murdered with machetes. That afternoon, we were on our way from Lusaka to Kafue (photo). We had eaten at a small parking lot and were just packing up when a pickup truck with three men inside pulled into the lot. They stared at us intently, but then drove away again. When we left a quarter of an hour later, it was already pitch dark – in the tropics, it always gets dark quickly. We had already been driving for a while when suddenly that pickup truck was standing right in the middle of the road, with the three men waving at us from the front. It looked as if the vehicle had miraculously broken down right in the middle of the road. I was behind the wheel at that moment; without a moment’s hesitation, I floored the gas pedal. A heavily loaded Land Rover doesn’t accelerate very quickly, but you could tell from the whine of the transmission that we certainly weren’t slowing down. At the very last moment, the men jumped out of the way. It really came down to who would blink first. We certainly didn’t. That night, we were able to sleep on the grounds of a police station, which felt as safe as a guarded luxury campground….
But the “Zambia party” wasn’t over yet. At the end of the next day, we arrived at the border crossing between Zambia and Botswana. There’s a pontoon ferry there that runs between the towns of Kazungula and Kasane. That was the only way to cross the Zambezi River (photo) – and thus the border as well. It took about an hour to complete the customs formalities. Next, we wanted to drive onto the ferry. But it was exactly 6:00 p.m., so the ferry wasn’t running anymore that day. That was very frustrating. A customs official came over to us and said we could sleep here in the bush, but that we should make sure to stay out of sight from the road. So that’s what we did. We cooked that evening and decided not to turn on any lights and to go to bed early. That way, we could drive off immediately if we had to. In the middle of the night, we were awakened by the sound of rattling machine guns. And it went on for a very long time. We were back in the bush war zone. That’s why, of course, we had to stay out of sight. Fortunately, they didn’t shoot at us. But we were glad we could take the first ferry to Kasane the next day.