So what promised to be quite a good day (the day we get to see Lesley and Joe again after several weeks) didn't start on a very good note. We woke up this morning and packed our things intending to depart from Kasane at about 10:00. In the midst of packing we realised that we still didn't know what happened to the iPhone from yesterday. We remembered having it just before we got to the car to run errands but didn't have it IN the car. I had figured that we left the phone in the house and so we didn't worry about it too much until we couldn't find it this morning. After we had showered we spent quite a long time searching the Riekert's house from top to bottom and couldn't find any trace of the phone. Karen and Tiennie helped us in our frantic search but we ended up empty-handed. Eventually we had to cut our losses and leave without the phone because we had to pick up Lesley and Joe in Zambia before proceeding onto Zimbabwe.
We thanked the Riekerts for their wonderful hospitality and departed around 11:00. We stopped at the local police station to find out if by chance someone had turned in our phone to no avail. From there we drove to the local Spar to pick up all the food supplies we would need for our week in Zimbabwe. This included buying all the meat for braais, which Jenny convinced me we needed to hide to get across the border. I had recently found that there are two compartments in the back of the car where you can gain access to the rear lights; we thought this would be a perfect hiding spot. We didn't have to pick up Jenny's parents until 16:30 but we had been warned that the border post into Zambia tends to take a long time. The drive to the border only took us a few minutes and we were clear of the Botswana side in about 15 minutes. This is where things took a turn.
After you clear the Botswana side of the border you have to cross a river (by ferry) to get to the side where you enter Zambia. We drove our car onto the ferry and were informed that the would be a charge for the ferry service. The only problem was that they only accepted Zambian Kwatcha, 134,000 of them, and we didn't have any. This tends to be a popular ploy, the authorities only accept one currency and if you don't have any there always seems to be a local (known in this case as a 'runner') who will kindly help you by paying in the correct currency and then charging you a ridiculous exchange rate for whatever money you do have. These runners will also try and charge a fee for helping you clear customs and immigration quickly and efficiently, only for you to be stopped 5km down the road and fined £100's because you didn't actually complete any of the correct forms.
Jenny and I knew about these tactics before we encountered this border so we were prepared not to put up with any shit. We had no choice however but to use the runner to pay the ferry charge. This man clearly thought he could make some money off of us so he didn't require payment for the ferry money right away. The border post was crazy even by Jenny's standards. There were trucks parked everywhere, about 15 random small dirty buildings, and runners by the dozen harassing anyone who was white trying to cross the border. Our runner showed us to the immigration office where even though we told him we could handle the work ourselves, he still waited outside. It was in this office that we realised we were in trouble, I needed a visa and we didn't have enough money on us for a double entry visa. This meant we would have to pay again for a single entry when we returned in a week!
We were escorted to the next building by the irritating runner to fill out the Customs Import Permit or CIP, where we found a very nice customs officer who explained all of the charges we would be required to pay to cross the border and where we needed to go to pay them.
According to the officer we needed to pay (and only in the listed currencies);
Single entry visa: 400 Pula
Carbon tax: 150,000 Kwatcha
Insurance cover: 116,000 Kwatcha
Police clearance: 20,000 Kwatcha
Road toll: 48 US Dollars
It was at this point that we realised we were in trouble, we didn't have anywhere near enough money to cover the huge amount of individual charges, all of which were a surprise to us. Even if we did have enough money we didn't have the correct currencies for all the charges. Jenny remembered at this time that we had some rands left over from the time in South Africa, and managed to get the kind customs official to endorse the insurance cover and the carbon tax so that we could pay them when we left Zambia with her parents in a few hours. Because of the huge amount of shady looking runners circling our car, I armed myself with a tire iron from the back of the car before searching for the money. I did manage to find R780 in the car but we still had the trouble that it wasn't in the right currencies, and much to our dismay there is no currency exchange open at the border on a Sunday!
At this point a realised I was going to have to use our runner friend. Most fortunately, a few minutes prior, I had asked the customs official for several of the current exchange rates. I went off and spoke to the runners, corrected them when they used ridiculous exchange rates, and eventually got all of the correct currency for all the fees. From there we kindly told the runners to fuck off and made our way to the buildings where we needed to pay the police charge and the road tax. The queue for the latter payment was enourmous but we passed the near hour it took us waiting chatting to a very nice couple who run a transport buisness. while we were chatting to them every one of the locals in front of us kept moving out of the queue to go and do something else or fetch something they had forgotten, and we managed to slide our way up to right next to the couple. They had done this countless times and so told us what documents we needed to give to the official.
Just before it was our turn I was standing next to the man and I asked him to wait right next to us while we passed our documents over. The reaction from the locals was as we had expected it, if not worse, they were mutinous that we had "jumped" the queue. Thankfully the couple came to our defence, knowing we desperately needed to leave as soon as possible if we ever wanted to see my parents. They shouted right back to the locals that they had all left their spots to go do other things and as such had lost their place in the queue. We eventually left with the ridiculously expensive road toll document, hugged the extremely kind couple for helping us and staying with us, and we got in our car to drive the remaining 60kms to Livingstone.
When we arrived my directions on google maps did not take us to the Royal Livingstone Hotel which is where we were to meet mum and dad, but instead to a petrol station. We asked directions of them and headed down the next road and didn't find it there either. Dan asked for more directions from a man who clearly didn't understand English and directed us to a hotel called David Livinsgton. Thankfully there we managed to find a very well spoken receptionist there who gave us perfect directions to the hotel, and we pulled into the parking lot after seeing two zebras right next to the road. I checked the two toyota's and found piglet the teddy on the dashboard of one of them, my parents ingenious signal to show us they were there. We went inside to find them, ranted and raved about the horrific day we had had before packing our car to the brim with their stuff, leaving the Toyota and heading for the next border post.
Leaving Zambia was fine thankfully, they gave us a recipt for the carbon tax that we needed to pay so that we would not need to pay for it again when coming back to the country. We managed to not have to pay for the insurance :) The bridge over the Zambezi river is amazing, and the view from up there is magnificent. It's the same bridge people stupidly fling themselves off upon and hope that the rope they are attached to doesn't break! On the Zimbabwe side of the border we breezed through the immigration section but there wasn't anyone at the customs section. Dad, in his infinite wisdom and ingenuity reached behind the counter for her stamp and pad and stamped our own gate pass!!! Hahaha! We all felt very smug and clever about this until we got to the gate and the guard wanted to see the Temporary Import Permit, or TIP, and the carbon tax. Damn.
Dad and I went back in and paid for the documents we needed and we drove away from the border post laughing at dads antics, which almost worked :D I set the sat nav to take us to Lokathula and it ended up taking us there via the service entrance. I checked us in and got the low down on the lodge and surroundings that they insist on giving you even if you have been there before. We were finally released from the check in lady's clutches drove to our cabin, number 39. We unpacked the car and all of the various foodstuffs hidden away in compartments and packed everything away into the kitchens and bedrooms. I spent a while unpacking our bags just incase the iPhone happened to be in there, but alas it was not to be :(. Joe and Dan went off to get us some firewood from the bar and we had a nice braai and some drinks to cap off an eventful day before bed.
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