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 hand-basket 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 ...
Not so much just entering 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 visas (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 ...
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