An African Road Trip:
What a road trip. The premise was simple. The price of renting a car in Malawi had shot through the roof, US$30
per day. Buying a car in Malawi was expensive; but if a car was bought in Durban, South Africa it could be had for a
much cheaper price. So, take a bus to Durban, buy a car and drive it back. Sounded simple. I did it. Well, taking a
bus to Denver from New York to buy a car and drive it back through Canada and Mexico would have been a much
simpler task. Something about having to go through customs and immigration six times at three international
borders never really kicked in until I was there. Oy.
So basically it all began when I left the mission hospital at 7 a.m. and took the 9 a.m. City to City bus from Blantyre to
Johannesburg, South Africa. I took the express bus because I didn’t realize that there was a luxury bus. Mine, of
course, didn’t have air conditioning, movies, food, or a bathroom. Had I known that there was a luxury bus, of
course I would have splurge on the US$10 difference. Anyway, the trip was relatively uneventful except for the fact
of having to exit Malawi, enter Mozambique, exit Mozambique, enter Zimbabwe, exit Zimbabwe, and enter South
Africa. The entire trip took a bit over 24 hours but for US$65, not too bad a deal.
Upon reaching Pretoria I caught a second bus for the 8 hour trip to Durban. We arrived at about 9:30 in the evening
after a brief half hour breakdown because of a blown fuse.
The Durban bus station didn’t really have that wholesome welcoming feeling and I quickly took a taxi to the Holiday
Inn South Beach. Yes, a real Holiday Inn, but unfortunately not like the South Beach in Miami. South Beach in
Durban is a bit more run down, even though there is a fairly nice sand beach with a few piers and a place to stroll
along with restaurants and some surf shops. I was also told that the surfing here is awesome, although I didn’t
experience it first-hand.
However, this was not a sightseeing trip. I was in Durban to buy a car, remember. It’s easy, go to Durban, buy a car,
and drive it back to Malawi. Simple. Before I left I had spoken to Danny, the guy who runs City Motors, a car
dealership in Lilongwe. He said, “Go to the Beach Hotel. Go up to the reception desk and ask for ‘The taxi driver
who knows the car places.” “Um, do you know the name of the receptionist?” “No, they change.” “Um, OK. Do you
know the name of the taxi driver?” “No, but this is the way our guys do it when we need to get a car from Durban.”
“Uh, OK.”
So I did that. The receptionist at the Beach Hotel was initially confused but then phoned Raj, a nice older diabetic
(as I subsequently found out during the ride in which he related his whole life story) Indian guy who took me to a
large warehouse with the bonded cars. I had to show my passport to enter the facility as these cars are strictly for
export from South Africa and locals are not allowed to even look at them.
The cars in my price range were a pretty mangy lot but I was told that a new shipment was arriving the following day
and that I should come back in two days, on Saturday, to check out the new selection. Raj was really pushing these
guys, “They are great. You can trust them.” Yeah, like you can trust any used car salesman (in Africa).
So I went back to the hotel, paid Raj the US$50 for the taxi ride and had lunch at a nice little place overlooking the
beach and then tried to decide what to do next. Fortunately, when checking into the Holiday Inn, the receptionist,
Sharon, after I mentioned that I was in town to buy a car, suggested a place called KDG. She said that a lot of
people who stay at the hotel buy cars from them and that they seemed pretty reliable; for used car salesmen (in
Africa).
So, Friday morning I took a taxi to KDG, right near the port. They had a large fenced in area with a few hundred
cars, minibuses, and trucks. The salesman, Chris, took me around and mentioned that they were expecting a new
shipment of over 100 cars that were just clearing customs. If I wanted I could wait. The cars he had in stock were
OK, but if I waited I might be able to get an automatic Corolla for about US$2500 which would fit nicely into my
budget. So I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. At 3 p.m. I was informed that the cars would arrive the
following day. I was able to get a ride back to the hotel at 5 p.m.
The next day I arrived at 9:30 a.m.; and I waited. I waited and waited until 10:30, by 11:30 the cars began arriving,
but no automatic Corollas. The cars kept coming in and by 3 p.m., 60 or so had been delivered. Unfortunately there
was no indication on the packing list as to which if any cars were automatic so we just had to examine each car as it
arrived. One of the last cars to arrive was an automatic Toyota Caldina. It was a really nice looking car, yes, a
station wagon, but not the kind with faux wooden panels on the sides. This was black and sporty, fully loaded with
air conditioning, nice radio, and even a 10 disc CD changer. One of the managers, who at this point felt sorry for
me, asked one of the owners if he could make me a deal on the Caldina. I was quoted a price of US$2,800. A bit
more than I wanted to spend for a car which was a bit more than I needed. As customs was closed on Sunday I
decided to return Monday morning and wait to see if an automatic Corolla arrived. Of course I waited, and waited,
and waited, and waited, and there were no automatic Corollas. So I ended up getting the wagon. I was told that
usually these cars sell for US$3,300 to 3,500. So I was getting a good deal. “Trust me I’m a used car salesman in
Africa.” Right?
Now by this time I had already spent six nights in Durban and was itching to get back to Malawi. I asked them to try
and rush the paperwork, get the necessary certificate of roadworthiness, and help me to get on the road by
Tuesday evening. They said they would do what they could, and they succeeded.
When I arrived the next afternoon most of the employees were very glad to greet me and ask if I had a car. By this
time I was well known throughout the place, “The doctor from Malawi.” They had the documents. I paid the balance
of my bill; and I hit the road at 4 p.m.
Now the deal with buying one of these Japanese imports is that you need to leave Durban immediately. The town is
relatively safe, but if you are driving an unregistered car, I was informed that you will almost certainly be carjacked
and the car will immediately be cut up for parts. So I took the N2, a major highway, and headed north. I took that
route to the N11 and spent the night in a nice lodge just outside of the town of Newcastle. The car was running
great. Lots of leg and head room. I was very happy.
The drive was quite pleasant; the road fairly good, although some areas had potholes, but signs were posted when
that occurred. The scenery was varied and in some ways reminded me of driving along US routes in the US West
and Southwest with a few notable differences. Most notably were pickup trucks with large signs on the front and
back that said “ABNORMAL.” At first I was at a loss as to what that meant, however, I ultimately realized that that
was the South African equivalent to “WIDE LOAD”. Also traffic lights are called ‘robots,’ so when approaching an
intersection with a traffic light there is ‘ROBOT AHEAD’ written on the road. Otherwise the roads are in pretty good
shape, especially the toll roads: the N1 and N2.
Twice I was stopped by police who inspected my COR (certificate of roadworthiness), asked to see if I had two
triangle reflectors (which I did) and then asked me for my driver’s license. I had been told that a valid US license is
acceptable in South Africa but got some pressure from the cops that I needed to have an international driver’s
license. Luckily I started going into the song and dance about being a surgeon and working in Malawi and not
getting paid and the whole thing. They both let me go without having to pay a “fine.”
I was making good time and covered the 1000 km (600 miles) from Durban to the border fairly quickly; however, I
arrived at Beitbridge (the South Africa/Zimbabwe border crossing) at 5:30 in the evening and the customs clearing
agents had gone for the day. These guys supposedly had all my original documents and were going to help me get
through customs. At this point things got a bit uncomfortable; two guys approached and said they were there to help
and wanted to see if I had my original documents and were trying to get me to call the clearing agents. I hurriedly got
back in the car and tried to think. Once I began driving away from the border I was able to relax a little and the hairs
on the back of my neck began to settle down. It turns out that these guys who try to “help” are actually legitimate
and if they don’t take your documents over to the Zimbabwe side and start the customs clearing process it almost
certainly won’t be done. But that I didn’t find out until later. In the mean time I had to decide where to spend the
night. The town at the border, Messina didn’t look very appealing or particularly safe, but I did remember seeing the
sign for a place called Inn on the Louis Trichardt on my way up. The inn was situated the top of a mountain range
about 100 kilometers south of the border.
Inn on the Louis Trichardt is a nice little place, pleasant comfortable rooms, a swimming pool, manicured gardens
and roses throughout, a lovely dining room, and a combination of dinner, bed and breakfast. The service in the
dining room was almost too good; too many thank yous, but a nice place to relax. Dinner included a cold appetizer,
soup, sorbet, entrée, desert, cheese tray, and coffee.
The following morning I had breakfast, called to make sure that the clearing agents were open and started the car.
Or rather, attempted to start the car. No luck. I got the manager to help me start the car (it was the battery); and
then went into the town to a service station. I got a new battery, air filter, oil change, and full inspection. The car
checked out and I was ready to roll; however, as it was almost 2 p.m. by this time and I decided it was best not to
attempt the border and decided instead to head for Kruger National Park, one of the premier parks in all of Africa. I
checked into one of the park lodges and drove around looking for game. I saw zebras, elephants, impala, nyala,
and baboons. I had a basic dinner and went to sleep.
In the morning I left when the gate opened at 5:30 a.m. and made for the northern park exit and the Zimbabwe
border. The park was lovely and deserted at this time and I was able to see a giraffe, a few herds of impala, a kudu,
and some buffalo. I took a bunch of digital pictures and while I was doing so kept thinking about an old joke. A
grandmother is out pushing her grandson in a baby carriage and a stranger stops by to admire the child. “What a
cute baby” the stranger says. The Grandmother replies, “Yes, but you should see the pictures.” Well, here I was
seeing live animals but I couldn’t help trying to get “good pictures.”
I arrived at the border at about 10:30 a.m. after filling the gas tank. Gas can sometimes be in short supply in Zim
(that’s Zimbabwe) and I was advised to fill up and to carry a supply of petrol in the boot (the trunk).
On arriving at the border I was informed that since I had called the clearing agent the day before and my papers had
been submitted I was going to be charged a fine of 100 Rand in addition to the normal 300 Rand fee. I tried to
argue, but ended up giving the woman the 400 Rand. Later I was told that in order to expedite things it was
necessary to pay an additional 50 rand. She also wanted something so she could buy a cold drink. I have
subsequently learned that this is the way people ask for bribes. In some places you’re supposed to ask if you can
buy the person “a Fanta.” The bottom line, it’s pointless to try and argue.
I made it through South African customs after the obligatory inspection and verification of the car engine and
chassis number. Boy things were going well. At this rate I would be back in Malawi in no time. At the South African
border I had also met a Malawian named James in the clearing agent’s office and he asked me if I had someone who
was helping me clear customs on the Zim side. I said no and he seemed pretty concerned. Turns out in order to
clear Zim customs you really do need those guys who come up to you and ask for all of your papers. James
introduced me to Andrew the clearing agent who was helping him. Andrew said he would help me as well and that I
should look for him when I got to the Zim side.
Well, I drove to the Zim side and didn’t see Andrew, so I just figured that I should be able to handle things and I
would wing it and see what happened. Well, picture the worst DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) you have ever
been in while trying to get a new drivers license. Add to that the fact that although almost everyone speaks English,
when you go and talk to them they don’t understand you. I tried going from window to window and line to line; to get
my visa, pay my gate fee, pay my carbon tax, and to clear customs, plus get insurance. Oh boy, like banging my
head against a wall of spikes. A combination of frustration, anger, despair, disbelief, and sadness, all rolled into
one. Do I laugh, cry, shout, or what? Finally I asked one of the guards to recommend a clearing agent from among
the guys running around and asking for my documents and where I had parked my car. None of them seemed
particularly trustworthy.
One of the young security guards pointed out an agent, but only after asking me, “You want to get your car cleared
today?” I said yes, and he points out a tall guy in a blue shirt. I spoke with the agent; gave him my documents, and
the money he needed to pay for the clearance and the insurance. He went away. And then came back saying he
needed more money, so I gave him another US$10; and then he went away again. And then I waited and he didn’t
come back. At this point I began to think that I was an idiot for giving a complete stranger at the Zimbabwe border
roughly US$80. But on the other hand I really didn’t have much of a choice.
We are often taught, with good reason, to be wary of strangers. Usually when I travel I try to have a heightened
sense of my surroundings and am extremely wary of people who walk up to me and offer to sell things or provide
assistance. This is usually true in most countries but especially in Africa. On this trip, however, time and again I was
confronted by groups of young men wishing to provide assistance, help me to clear customs, get insurance, get my
car to a bonded warehouse, it didn’t matter. Each time I was a bit uneasy about the situation, but the reality is, that
is the system; that is the only way to do things. Deal with complete strangers; give them money and your car
documents; wait and see what happens. Luckily nothing bad happened; maybe I was lucky. Anyway, very unsettling.
At this point my new Malawian best friends arrive from the SA side with Andrew. We greeted each other and Andrew
asked me for my papers; I said that I have given it to another agent but was not sure where he went. Andrew asked
me for the guy’s name; I didn’t know it. We went to the security guard who recommended the agent and he said that
he didn’t know the guy’s name either. Another security guard chimed in and said that he didn’t even know who the
first guy was - so much for my idea of asking for a reliable agent. At this point I’m getting more despondent but
Andrew says, “Don’t worry, I will find out.” So I wait, and wait, and wait some more. I hope that Andrew will return and
that all will work out, but I am beginning to think that the money is gone. I did after all give some unknown guy on the
Zimbabwe border the papers to my vehicle and the equivalent of US$80 and I have no idea where he is or what is
going on. Oy.
Finally Andrew reappears and tells me that he found the other guy and that he now has my documents and money
and that all is well. I am greatly relieved. So then we wait. By the way, I arrived on the Zim side at about 11:30 a.m.
It’s incredibly hot and dusty. There is no restaurant only a small kiosk that is selling sugary drinks at greatly inflated
prices for only Zim dollars which one can change only at the official rate of about 6000 to 1 US$. The story is the
place is supposedly controlled by the Minister of Home Affairs.
I wait along with my Malawian friends who had also bought vehicles in Durban. We wait, and we wait, and we wait.
We talk about driving as a convoy so we don’t have to travel alone in Zim at night (not recommended by anyone).
And we wait. And we wait. It gets dark, and we wait. And wait. Finally someone comes out and tells us that the
computers are down. There is nothing we can do. I go to sleep in the car.
In the morning we again look for Andrew. He finally arrives and assures us that the computers are up and that our
document will be processed shortly. At 8 a.m. my car is inspected, the engine and chassis numbers verified, and I
am free to go. Finally.
I head up the main road, the A4 from the border to Masivingo. There are few sights along the way, but I do see
donkeys just standing in the middle of the road. A South African guy who is working in Zimbabwe had warmed me
about them. I was also advised not to stop along the road as there were two cases in the previous week where
people stopped their car briefly and were attacked. Stopping at the gas stations to top up the tank confirmed that
there is a petrol shortage. At Masivingo I went east and took the A9 toward Mutare and the Mozambique border.
This is a shorter route than the one most people usually take which goes through Harare. I didn’t really like Harare
when I was there in November for the surgery conference and was not really anxious to return. I am able to get gas
in Masivingo and then again when I get to Mutare. I decide that it is better to stay at the lovely Inn on the Vumba
rather than deal with more border problems. This hotel is a sister facility to the Inn on the Louis Trichardt; again with
the dinner, bed and breakfast combo. I change, swim a bit in the pool, and then go for a drive in the Bvumba
Mountains and national park. There is a wonderful resort at the top of the mountain with a great golf course. I drive
up and enjoy the view. I get back in time for a nice dinner and turn in fairly early. I am ready to head into
Mozambique and back to Malawi.
I get to the border the next morning at 8:30, it raining and fairly miserable. I get my passport stamped and then show
my documents to the customs guy. He says, “Sorry, but today is Sunday, we can do nothing until tomorrow.” “What,
you serious?” “Yes.” He replies. I ask to speak to a manager and am directed to another guy. I tell him a bit of my
saga and he says that there is nothing he can do. I show him my documents and he looks and sees some that I had
taken out of an envelope. He then informs me that as it is Sunday there is no chance of crossing and besides that I
am actually at the wrong border post and then he asks me who tampered with the documents that had been in the
sealed envelop. What, who, where? He calls someone. They chat. I tell him that I am a volunteer surgeon working
in Malawi, that I don’t get paid, that renting a car is very expensive, that I went to Durban to get a car, that now by
delaying me I will not be able to help the poor unfortunate people of Malawi . He says, “Well, let’s see what we can
do,” and he calls someone else. Finally they agree that I can cross but I will first have to pay a fine. I agree.
Anything. He tells me, Z$10,000 for tamping with the documents; Z$10,000 for using the wrong exit point; and
Z$500 for going on Sunday. I say sure, whatever. I need to write the numbers down to figure out what that all
comes to in US$ and when I calculate it using a figure of Z$6,000 to the US dollar, I realize my entire fine is US$4. I
ask excitedly if I can pay in dollars and he says no. “What!!!” I scream to myself. “All anyone else in this crazy, god-
forsaken, and totally corrupt country wants is hard currency and this guy only wants Zim dollars? Unbelievable.” As I
leave I shake my head and mumble something about wondering why I keep doing what I do and why I keep coming
to Africa. The guy responds and says, “But you must. You must continue to help.” “Like hell.” I think as I walk away
annoyed and disgusted.
Luckily I had seen a hotel a few miles back from the border. I quickly drive there and changed four US singles for
Zim dollars. I drive back to the border and take care of the fine and the paperwork. I tell the senior customs guy that
I have decided that I am like Job in the Bible. He doesn’t understand me. I continue that “I keep coming back to
Africa and bad things keep happening to me but I keep continuing with my work.” He smiles and says, “Yes, you
must continue.” He then gives me my change and an official receipt. Afterwards, he examines my car and my bags.
As I am showing him my things a book falls out of my pack. It is a thick hardcover. He points to the book and
remarks, “Your Bible.” I hesitate and say “Uh, yes.” It is actually a compilation of Evelyn Waugh’s travel writings. And
yes, in some ways it is like my Bible.
Finally, however, I was ready to go. I had paid my fine; the customs guys had examined my luggage; we shook
hands and said goodbye. I started the car, drove to the gate and was already thinking of Mozambique. Then with
almost perfect dramatic timing another man, who had been sitting and listening to the entire encounter, asked me
where I was going, and said that he needed to inspect the car. So, I had to reverse and park, and open the bonnet
(hood) while he verified the engine and the chassis numbers. Finally, he too was satisfied and I drove into
Mozambique.
So, I get across the border to Mozambique; get my passport stamped and show my documents to the customs guy.
Of course at this point I am waiting for him to say something about it being Sunday and of course he does; and then
he proceeds to tell me that I need a memorandum from the next town and that the office is now closed but will
reopen on Monday. I try pleading with him and he gets another customs agent. This new guy proceeds to tell me
that I need to go to Manica, the border town, in the morning and they will process the papers either Monday or
Tuesday. I again go into the saga about being a volunteer surgeon, the poor people of Malawi, etcetera etcetera,
and luckily they decided to make an exception and give me a different form. I am extremely relieved and feel as if I
have escaped.
From Manica it is about 500 km to Malawi and I decided that since it is Sunday and I have already had so much
trouble with borders that it would be best to spend the night in Tete and not chance a border crossing that evening.
As I continue I am amazed by how bad the road is. It is the worst I have driven on; not really pot holes, more like
craters. Often I could go only 5 or 10 km/hr. There were few passenger cars, although I did pass a substantial
number of trucks. This is the most direct route to Malawi from the Indian Ocean through the Mozambique port of
Beira.
I got into Tete at around 4 p.m. and stayed at the Tete Motel, “The nicest place in town,” according to the Lonely
Planet guidebook. It was clean, had air conditioning, and a restaurant. I left early the next morning.
When I got to the border it was relatively painless to leave Mozambique. I gave them my wrong forms and got my
passport stamped. I was heading back home to Malawi and all was well. I was prepared to pay the duty or maybe
try to get the car duty free and then head back down to Blantyre; get my gear and possibly attend the Oncology
group meeting. But first I had to get a clearing agent and have the car bonded and then clear it through customs.
At the border I was beset upon by a horde of young guys all asking me where I was going and if they could get me
insurance and if they could help me clear customs. I tried to ignore them and instead went to the woman in charge
of customs at the Mwanza border post. She listened to my story, but decided that the issue of my paying or not
paying duty was a matter for the higher-ups in Lilongwe. So I paid one of the kids about US$80 and gave him all of
my documents and about an hour and a half later I was on the road. The deal was I needed to report to the Malawi
Revenue Authority (MRA) facility on the Mchinji road in Lilongwe within 12 hours.
I drove to Lilongwe; met up with Dr. Muyco, and got the car to the MRA office well before the 10 p.m. deadline. I told
my story and was instructed to return in the morning. At this point I was still under the delusional notion that the
hard part was over and I would soon be able to pay the duty and get my car. Ha.
I brought the car the next morning to the bonded warehouse and tried to get a handle on how much the duty would
be and how quickly I could get the car out. The customs clearing agents were vague in their answers. Basically, it
took me 10 days to get the car cleared through customs. There is a new inspection service, ITS, that had just
started a few days before I arrived and the folks in Lilongwe were no longer able to determine the value of vehicles
nor were they able to calculate the duty. This all was now being done in Blantyre. The folks in Lilongwe merely
examine the car and send a report by courier to the ITS office. Once ITS gets the form they then calculate the duty.
Well, the car was inspected on Wednesday, supposedly the form went by courier on Thursday and was received on
Friday, but nothing happened over the weekend and the duty was calculated on Monday, but it was not official until
the original documents arrived by courier which didn’t happen until Tuesday. So I finally was able to pay on
Wednesday. The duty by the way was almost US$2,000, which is incredible considering the car was valued at
US$1,900 even though it is really worth more. I got lucky.
Oh and about the duty free status, well, I was told that in order to get duty free status I would need a letter from the
Ministry of Health that I would then have to show to Treasury who would issue another letter. When we went to the
Ministry of Health I was told that certainly I could have a letter. When I returned the following day to inquire about
the letter I was told that I needed a letter from the hospital director before the Ministry would write me a letter. I was
also told that it shouldn’t be too much of a problem in light of the fact that I was donating the car to the department
of surgery. WHAT? Wait, wait just one second. I never said that. Basically, the more I thought about it the more I
realized that I would just have to pay the duty, no matter what it was. Besides, I just wanted the car. I really, really,
really wanted the car. You can’t survive in Lilongwe without a vehicle and I had actually resorted to renting a car,
the exact thing I wanted to avoid and the whole reason why I had gone to Durban to get a car in the first place. Oh
well.
So I dealt with the MRA folks, in some ways they reminded me of mentally retarded IRS people. You couldn’t argue
with them, it’s of course not their fault but there is nothing to do but wait. As I continued to wait for my car, my friends
in Lilongwe were also all exceedingly bored with the saga of my car, but all I wanted to do was pay the duty and take
it. But it just was not going to happen fast. Ugh, the frustration. It was unbearable.
Eventually with the duty paid and a clearance certificate from the police stating that the car wasn’t stolen, I was able
to drive it around.
I drove for about a week without having the car registered (which is quite legal) but decided that is was best to get
the car registered before I left the country. The most amazing part of this whole process is the utter bureaucratic
mess, the forms, the little scraps of paper that require two stamps and must be written in triplicate using carbon
paper. Seems to remind me of what the States might have been like in the 1920s or 30s. Africa certainly has a long
way to go.
Ultimately all the paperwork was done, everything registered and paid for. One guy told me that I could probably sell
the car for 1 million kwacha (~US$ 8,300) so all in all not too bad a deal. To me the most astounding thing was the
fact that everything finished a mere 72 hours before I was to leave the country. Perfect timing.
Luckily I was able to leave the car with Dr. Muyco. The plan is for him to keep it. If he can get 1 million kwacha, he
will sell it; otherwise I will have a vehicle waiting for me whenever I decide to return to Malawi. In August there is a
surgical conference in Durban which I may attend. If the car is sold, I may, just may consider buying another car and
doing it all over again. Sure I’m crazy, but at least now I know what to expect.
What a road trip. The premise was simple. The price of renting a car in Malawi had shot through the roof, US$30
per day. Buying a car in Malawi was expensive; but if a car was bought in Durban, South Africa it could be had for a
much cheaper price. So, take a bus to Durban, buy a car and drive it back. Sounded simple. I did it. Well, taking a
bus to Denver from New York to buy a car and drive it back through Canada and Mexico would have been a much
simpler task. Something about having to go through customs and immigration six times at three international
borders never really kicked in until I was there. Oy.
So basically it all began when I left the mission hospital at 7 a.m. and took the 9 a.m. City to City bus from Blantyre to
Johannesburg, South Africa. I took the express bus because I didn’t realize that there was a luxury bus. Mine, of
course, didn’t have air conditioning, movies, food, or a bathroom. Had I known that there was a luxury bus, of
course I would have splurge on the US$10 difference. Anyway, the trip was relatively uneventful except for the fact
of having to exit Malawi, enter Mozambique, exit Mozambique, enter Zimbabwe, exit Zimbabwe, and enter South
Africa. The entire trip took a bit over 24 hours but for US$65, not too bad a deal.
Upon reaching Pretoria I caught a second bus for the 8 hour trip to Durban. We arrived at about 9:30 in the evening
after a brief half hour breakdown because of a blown fuse.
The Durban bus station didn’t really have that wholesome welcoming feeling and I quickly took a taxi to the Holiday
Inn South Beach. Yes, a real Holiday Inn, but unfortunately not like the South Beach in Miami. South Beach in
Durban is a bit more run down, even though there is a fairly nice sand beach with a few piers and a place to stroll
along with restaurants and some surf shops. I was also told that the surfing here is awesome, although I didn’t
experience it first-hand.
However, this was not a sightseeing trip. I was in Durban to buy a car, remember. It’s easy, go to Durban, buy a car,
and drive it back to Malawi. Simple. Before I left I had spoken to Danny, the guy who runs City Motors, a car
dealership in Lilongwe. He said, “Go to the Beach Hotel. Go up to the reception desk and ask for ‘The taxi driver
who knows the car places.” “Um, do you know the name of the receptionist?” “No, they change.” “Um, OK. Do you
know the name of the taxi driver?” “No, but this is the way our guys do it when we need to get a car from Durban.”
“Uh, OK.”
So I did that. The receptionist at the Beach Hotel was initially confused but then phoned Raj, a nice older diabetic
(as I subsequently found out during the ride in which he related his whole life story) Indian guy who took me to a
large warehouse with the bonded cars. I had to show my passport to enter the facility as these cars are strictly for
export from South Africa and locals are not allowed to even look at them.
The cars in my price range were a pretty mangy lot but I was told that a new shipment was arriving the following day
and that I should come back in two days, on Saturday, to check out the new selection. Raj was really pushing these
guys, “They are great. You can trust them.” Yeah, like you can trust any used car salesman (in Africa).
So I went back to the hotel, paid Raj the US$50 for the taxi ride and had lunch at a nice little place overlooking the
beach and then tried to decide what to do next. Fortunately, when checking into the Holiday Inn, the receptionist,
Sharon, after I mentioned that I was in town to buy a car, suggested a place called KDG. She said that a lot of
people who stay at the hotel buy cars from them and that they seemed pretty reliable; for used car salesmen (in
Africa).
So, Friday morning I took a taxi to KDG, right near the port. They had a large fenced in area with a few hundred
cars, minibuses, and trucks. The salesman, Chris, took me around and mentioned that they were expecting a new
shipment of over 100 cars that were just clearing customs. If I wanted I could wait. The cars he had in stock were
OK, but if I waited I might be able to get an automatic Corolla for about US$2500 which would fit nicely into my
budget. So I waited, and waited, and waited, and waited. At 3 p.m. I was informed that the cars would arrive the
following day. I was able to get a ride back to the hotel at 5 p.m.
The next day I arrived at 9:30 a.m.; and I waited. I waited and waited until 10:30, by 11:30 the cars began arriving,
but no automatic Corollas. The cars kept coming in and by 3 p.m., 60 or so had been delivered. Unfortunately there
was no indication on the packing list as to which if any cars were automatic so we just had to examine each car as it
arrived. One of the last cars to arrive was an automatic Toyota Caldina. It was a really nice looking car, yes, a
station wagon, but not the kind with faux wooden panels on the sides. This was black and sporty, fully loaded with
air conditioning, nice radio, and even a 10 disc CD changer. One of the managers, who at this point felt sorry for
me, asked one of the owners if he could make me a deal on the Caldina. I was quoted a price of US$2,800. A bit
more than I wanted to spend for a car which was a bit more than I needed. As customs was closed on Sunday I
decided to return Monday morning and wait to see if an automatic Corolla arrived. Of course I waited, and waited,
and waited, and waited, and there were no automatic Corollas. So I ended up getting the wagon. I was told that
usually these cars sell for US$3,300 to 3,500. So I was getting a good deal. “Trust me I’m a used car salesman in
Africa.” Right?
Now by this time I had already spent six nights in Durban and was itching to get back to Malawi. I asked them to try
and rush the paperwork, get the necessary certificate of roadworthiness, and help me to get on the road by
Tuesday evening. They said they would do what they could, and they succeeded.
When I arrived the next afternoon most of the employees were very glad to greet me and ask if I had a car. By this
time I was well known throughout the place, “The doctor from Malawi.” They had the documents. I paid the balance
of my bill; and I hit the road at 4 p.m.
Now the deal with buying one of these Japanese imports is that you need to leave Durban immediately. The town is
relatively safe, but if you are driving an unregistered car, I was informed that you will almost certainly be carjacked
and the car will immediately be cut up for parts. So I took the N2, a major highway, and headed north. I took that
route to the N11 and spent the night in a nice lodge just outside of the town of Newcastle. The car was running
great. Lots of leg and head room. I was very happy.
The drive was quite pleasant; the road fairly good, although some areas had potholes, but signs were posted when
that occurred. The scenery was varied and in some ways reminded me of driving along US routes in the US West
and Southwest with a few notable differences. Most notably were pickup trucks with large signs on the front and
back that said “ABNORMAL.” At first I was at a loss as to what that meant, however, I ultimately realized that that
was the South African equivalent to “WIDE LOAD”. Also traffic lights are called ‘robots,’ so when approaching an
intersection with a traffic light there is ‘ROBOT AHEAD’ written on the road. Otherwise the roads are in pretty good
shape, especially the toll roads: the N1 and N2.
Twice I was stopped by police who inspected my COR (certificate of roadworthiness), asked to see if I had two
triangle reflectors (which I did) and then asked me for my driver’s license. I had been told that a valid US license is
acceptable in South Africa but got some pressure from the cops that I needed to have an international driver’s
license. Luckily I started going into the song and dance about being a surgeon and working in Malawi and not
getting paid and the whole thing. They both let me go without having to pay a “fine.”
I was making good time and covered the 1000 km (600 miles) from Durban to the border fairly quickly; however, I
arrived at Beitbridge (the South Africa/Zimbabwe border crossing) at 5:30 in the evening and the customs clearing
agents had gone for the day. These guys supposedly had all my original documents and were going to help me get
through customs. At this point things got a bit uncomfortable; two guys approached and said they were there to help
and wanted to see if I had my original documents and were trying to get me to call the clearing agents. I hurriedly got
back in the car and tried to think. Once I began driving away from the border I was able to relax a little and the hairs
on the back of my neck began to settle down. It turns out that these guys who try to “help” are actually legitimate
and if they don’t take your documents over to the Zimbabwe side and start the customs clearing process it almost
certainly won’t be done. But that I didn’t find out until later. In the mean time I had to decide where to spend the
night. The town at the border, Messina didn’t look very appealing or particularly safe, but I did remember seeing the
sign for a place called Inn on the Louis Trichardt on my way up. The inn was situated the top of a mountain range
about 100 kilometers south of the border.
Inn on the Louis Trichardt is a nice little place, pleasant comfortable rooms, a swimming pool, manicured gardens
and roses throughout, a lovely dining room, and a combination of dinner, bed and breakfast. The service in the
dining room was almost too good; too many thank yous, but a nice place to relax. Dinner included a cold appetizer,
soup, sorbet, entrée, desert, cheese tray, and coffee.
The following morning I had breakfast, called to make sure that the clearing agents were open and started the car.
Or rather, attempted to start the car. No luck. I got the manager to help me start the car (it was the battery); and
then went into the town to a service station. I got a new battery, air filter, oil change, and full inspection. The car
checked out and I was ready to roll; however, as it was almost 2 p.m. by this time and I decided it was best not to
attempt the border and decided instead to head for Kruger National Park, one of the premier parks in all of Africa. I
checked into one of the park lodges and drove around looking for game. I saw zebras, elephants, impala, nyala,
and baboons. I had a basic dinner and went to sleep.
In the morning I left when the gate opened at 5:30 a.m. and made for the northern park exit and the Zimbabwe
border. The park was lovely and deserted at this time and I was able to see a giraffe, a few herds of impala, a kudu,
and some buffalo. I took a bunch of digital pictures and while I was doing so kept thinking about an old joke. A
grandmother is out pushing her grandson in a baby carriage and a stranger stops by to admire the child. “What a
cute baby” the stranger says. The Grandmother replies, “Yes, but you should see the pictures.” Well, here I was
seeing live animals but I couldn’t help trying to get “good pictures.”
I arrived at the border at about 10:30 a.m. after filling the gas tank. Gas can sometimes be in short supply in Zim
(that’s Zimbabwe) and I was advised to fill up and to carry a supply of petrol in the boot (the trunk).
On arriving at the border I was informed that since I had called the clearing agent the day before and my papers had
been submitted I was going to be charged a fine of 100 Rand in addition to the normal 300 Rand fee. I tried to
argue, but ended up giving the woman the 400 Rand. Later I was told that in order to expedite things it was
necessary to pay an additional 50 rand. She also wanted something so she could buy a cold drink. I have
subsequently learned that this is the way people ask for bribes. In some places you’re supposed to ask if you can
buy the person “a Fanta.” The bottom line, it’s pointless to try and argue.
I made it through South African customs after the obligatory inspection and verification of the car engine and
chassis number. Boy things were going well. At this rate I would be back in Malawi in no time. At the South African
border I had also met a Malawian named James in the clearing agent’s office and he asked me if I had someone who
was helping me clear customs on the Zim side. I said no and he seemed pretty concerned. Turns out in order to
clear Zim customs you really do need those guys who come up to you and ask for all of your papers. James
introduced me to Andrew the clearing agent who was helping him. Andrew said he would help me as well and that I
should look for him when I got to the Zim side.
Well, I drove to the Zim side and didn’t see Andrew, so I just figured that I should be able to handle things and I
would wing it and see what happened. Well, picture the worst DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) you have ever
been in while trying to get a new drivers license. Add to that the fact that although almost everyone speaks English,
when you go and talk to them they don’t understand you. I tried going from window to window and line to line; to get
my visa, pay my gate fee, pay my carbon tax, and to clear customs, plus get insurance. Oh boy, like banging my
head against a wall of spikes. A combination of frustration, anger, despair, disbelief, and sadness, all rolled into
one. Do I laugh, cry, shout, or what? Finally I asked one of the guards to recommend a clearing agent from among
the guys running around and asking for my documents and where I had parked my car. None of them seemed
particularly trustworthy.
One of the young security guards pointed out an agent, but only after asking me, “You want to get your car cleared
today?” I said yes, and he points out a tall guy in a blue shirt. I spoke with the agent; gave him my documents, and
the money he needed to pay for the clearance and the insurance. He went away. And then came back saying he
needed more money, so I gave him another US$10; and then he went away again. And then I waited and he didn’t
come back. At this point I began to think that I was an idiot for giving a complete stranger at the Zimbabwe border
roughly US$80. But on the other hand I really didn’t have much of a choice.
We are often taught, with good reason, to be wary of strangers. Usually when I travel I try to have a heightened
sense of my surroundings and am extremely wary of people who walk up to me and offer to sell things or provide
assistance. This is usually true in most countries but especially in Africa. On this trip, however, time and again I was
confronted by groups of young men wishing to provide assistance, help me to clear customs, get insurance, get my
car to a bonded warehouse, it didn’t matter. Each time I was a bit uneasy about the situation, but the reality is, that
is the system; that is the only way to do things. Deal with complete strangers; give them money and your car
documents; wait and see what happens. Luckily nothing bad happened; maybe I was lucky. Anyway, very unsettling.
At this point my new Malawian best friends arrive from the SA side with Andrew. We greeted each other and Andrew
asked me for my papers; I said that I have given it to another agent but was not sure where he went. Andrew asked
me for the guy’s name; I didn’t know it. We went to the security guard who recommended the agent and he said that
he didn’t know the guy’s name either. Another security guard chimed in and said that he didn’t even know who the
first guy was - so much for my idea of asking for a reliable agent. At this point I’m getting more despondent but
Andrew says, “Don’t worry, I will find out.” So I wait, and wait, and wait some more. I hope that Andrew will return and
that all will work out, but I am beginning to think that the money is gone. I did after all give some unknown guy on the
Zimbabwe border the papers to my vehicle and the equivalent of US$80 and I have no idea where he is or what is
going on. Oy.
Finally Andrew reappears and tells me that he found the other guy and that he now has my documents and money
and that all is well. I am greatly relieved. So then we wait. By the way, I arrived on the Zim side at about 11:30 a.m.
It’s incredibly hot and dusty. There is no restaurant only a small kiosk that is selling sugary drinks at greatly inflated
prices for only Zim dollars which one can change only at the official rate of about 6000 to 1 US$. The story is the
place is supposedly controlled by the Minister of Home Affairs.
I wait along with my Malawian friends who had also bought vehicles in Durban. We wait, and we wait, and we wait.
We talk about driving as a convoy so we don’t have to travel alone in Zim at night (not recommended by anyone).
And we wait. And we wait. It gets dark, and we wait. And wait. Finally someone comes out and tells us that the
computers are down. There is nothing we can do. I go to sleep in the car.
In the morning we again look for Andrew. He finally arrives and assures us that the computers are up and that our
document will be processed shortly. At 8 a.m. my car is inspected, the engine and chassis numbers verified, and I
am free to go. Finally.
I head up the main road, the A4 from the border to Masivingo. There are few sights along the way, but I do see
donkeys just standing in the middle of the road. A South African guy who is working in Zimbabwe had warmed me
about them. I was also advised not to stop along the road as there were two cases in the previous week where
people stopped their car briefly and were attacked. Stopping at the gas stations to top up the tank confirmed that
there is a petrol shortage. At Masivingo I went east and took the A9 toward Mutare and the Mozambique border.
This is a shorter route than the one most people usually take which goes through Harare. I didn’t really like Harare
when I was there in November for the surgery conference and was not really anxious to return. I am able to get gas
in Masivingo and then again when I get to Mutare. I decide that it is better to stay at the lovely Inn on the Vumba
rather than deal with more border problems. This hotel is a sister facility to the Inn on the Louis Trichardt; again with
the dinner, bed and breakfast combo. I change, swim a bit in the pool, and then go for a drive in the Bvumba
Mountains and national park. There is a wonderful resort at the top of the mountain with a great golf course. I drive
up and enjoy the view. I get back in time for a nice dinner and turn in fairly early. I am ready to head into
Mozambique and back to Malawi.
I get to the border the next morning at 8:30, it raining and fairly miserable. I get my passport stamped and then show
my documents to the customs guy. He says, “Sorry, but today is Sunday, we can do nothing until tomorrow.” “What,
you serious?” “Yes.” He replies. I ask to speak to a manager and am directed to another guy. I tell him a bit of my
saga and he says that there is nothing he can do. I show him my documents and he looks and sees some that I had
taken out of an envelope. He then informs me that as it is Sunday there is no chance of crossing and besides that I
am actually at the wrong border post and then he asks me who tampered with the documents that had been in the
sealed envelop. What, who, where? He calls someone. They chat. I tell him that I am a volunteer surgeon working
in Malawi, that I don’t get paid, that renting a car is very expensive, that I went to Durban to get a car, that now by
delaying me I will not be able to help the poor unfortunate people of Malawi . He says, “Well, let’s see what we can
do,” and he calls someone else. Finally they agree that I can cross but I will first have to pay a fine. I agree.
Anything. He tells me, Z$10,000 for tamping with the documents; Z$10,000 for using the wrong exit point; and
Z$500 for going on Sunday. I say sure, whatever. I need to write the numbers down to figure out what that all
comes to in US$ and when I calculate it using a figure of Z$6,000 to the US dollar, I realize my entire fine is US$4. I
ask excitedly if I can pay in dollars and he says no. “What!!!” I scream to myself. “All anyone else in this crazy, god-
forsaken, and totally corrupt country wants is hard currency and this guy only wants Zim dollars? Unbelievable.” As I
leave I shake my head and mumble something about wondering why I keep doing what I do and why I keep coming
to Africa. The guy responds and says, “But you must. You must continue to help.” “Like hell.” I think as I walk away
annoyed and disgusted.
Luckily I had seen a hotel a few miles back from the border. I quickly drive there and changed four US singles for
Zim dollars. I drive back to the border and take care of the fine and the paperwork. I tell the senior customs guy that
I have decided that I am like Job in the Bible. He doesn’t understand me. I continue that “I keep coming back to
Africa and bad things keep happening to me but I keep continuing with my work.” He smiles and says, “Yes, you
must continue.” He then gives me my change and an official receipt. Afterwards, he examines my car and my bags.
As I am showing him my things a book falls out of my pack. It is a thick hardcover. He points to the book and
remarks, “Your Bible.” I hesitate and say “Uh, yes.” It is actually a compilation of Evelyn Waugh’s travel writings. And
yes, in some ways it is like my Bible.
Finally, however, I was ready to go. I had paid my fine; the customs guys had examined my luggage; we shook
hands and said goodbye. I started the car, drove to the gate and was already thinking of Mozambique. Then with
almost perfect dramatic timing another man, who had been sitting and listening to the entire encounter, asked me
where I was going, and said that he needed to inspect the car. So, I had to reverse and park, and open the bonnet
(hood) while he verified the engine and the chassis numbers. Finally, he too was satisfied and I drove into
Mozambique.
So, I get across the border to Mozambique; get my passport stamped and show my documents to the customs guy.
Of course at this point I am waiting for him to say something about it being Sunday and of course he does; and then
he proceeds to tell me that I need a memorandum from the next town and that the office is now closed but will
reopen on Monday. I try pleading with him and he gets another customs agent. This new guy proceeds to tell me
that I need to go to Manica, the border town, in the morning and they will process the papers either Monday or
Tuesday. I again go into the saga about being a volunteer surgeon, the poor people of Malawi, etcetera etcetera,
and luckily they decided to make an exception and give me a different form. I am extremely relieved and feel as if I
have escaped.
From Manica it is about 500 km to Malawi and I decided that since it is Sunday and I have already had so much
trouble with borders that it would be best to spend the night in Tete and not chance a border crossing that evening.
As I continue I am amazed by how bad the road is. It is the worst I have driven on; not really pot holes, more like
craters. Often I could go only 5 or 10 km/hr. There were few passenger cars, although I did pass a substantial
number of trucks. This is the most direct route to Malawi from the Indian Ocean through the Mozambique port of
Beira.
I got into Tete at around 4 p.m. and stayed at the Tete Motel, “The nicest place in town,” according to the Lonely
Planet guidebook. It was clean, had air conditioning, and a restaurant. I left early the next morning.
When I got to the border it was relatively painless to leave Mozambique. I gave them my wrong forms and got my
passport stamped. I was heading back home to Malawi and all was well. I was prepared to pay the duty or maybe
try to get the car duty free and then head back down to Blantyre; get my gear and possibly attend the Oncology
group meeting. But first I had to get a clearing agent and have the car bonded and then clear it through customs.
At the border I was beset upon by a horde of young guys all asking me where I was going and if they could get me
insurance and if they could help me clear customs. I tried to ignore them and instead went to the woman in charge
of customs at the Mwanza border post. She listened to my story, but decided that the issue of my paying or not
paying duty was a matter for the higher-ups in Lilongwe. So I paid one of the kids about US$80 and gave him all of
my documents and about an hour and a half later I was on the road. The deal was I needed to report to the Malawi
Revenue Authority (MRA) facility on the Mchinji road in Lilongwe within 12 hours.
I drove to Lilongwe; met up with Dr. Muyco, and got the car to the MRA office well before the 10 p.m. deadline. I told
my story and was instructed to return in the morning. At this point I was still under the delusional notion that the
hard part was over and I would soon be able to pay the duty and get my car. Ha.
I brought the car the next morning to the bonded warehouse and tried to get a handle on how much the duty would
be and how quickly I could get the car out. The customs clearing agents were vague in their answers. Basically, it
took me 10 days to get the car cleared through customs. There is a new inspection service, ITS, that had just
started a few days before I arrived and the folks in Lilongwe were no longer able to determine the value of vehicles
nor were they able to calculate the duty. This all was now being done in Blantyre. The folks in Lilongwe merely
examine the car and send a report by courier to the ITS office. Once ITS gets the form they then calculate the duty.
Well, the car was inspected on Wednesday, supposedly the form went by courier on Thursday and was received on
Friday, but nothing happened over the weekend and the duty was calculated on Monday, but it was not official until
the original documents arrived by courier which didn’t happen until Tuesday. So I finally was able to pay on
Wednesday. The duty by the way was almost US$2,000, which is incredible considering the car was valued at
US$1,900 even though it is really worth more. I got lucky.
Oh and about the duty free status, well, I was told that in order to get duty free status I would need a letter from the
Ministry of Health that I would then have to show to Treasury who would issue another letter. When we went to the
Ministry of Health I was told that certainly I could have a letter. When I returned the following day to inquire about
the letter I was told that I needed a letter from the hospital director before the Ministry would write me a letter. I was
also told that it shouldn’t be too much of a problem in light of the fact that I was donating the car to the department
of surgery. WHAT? Wait, wait just one second. I never said that. Basically, the more I thought about it the more I
realized that I would just have to pay the duty, no matter what it was. Besides, I just wanted the car. I really, really,
really wanted the car. You can’t survive in Lilongwe without a vehicle and I had actually resorted to renting a car,
the exact thing I wanted to avoid and the whole reason why I had gone to Durban to get a car in the first place. Oh
well.
So I dealt with the MRA folks, in some ways they reminded me of mentally retarded IRS people. You couldn’t argue
with them, it’s of course not their fault but there is nothing to do but wait. As I continued to wait for my car, my friends
in Lilongwe were also all exceedingly bored with the saga of my car, but all I wanted to do was pay the duty and take
it. But it just was not going to happen fast. Ugh, the frustration. It was unbearable.
Eventually with the duty paid and a clearance certificate from the police stating that the car wasn’t stolen, I was able
to drive it around.
I drove for about a week without having the car registered (which is quite legal) but decided that is was best to get
the car registered before I left the country. The most amazing part of this whole process is the utter bureaucratic
mess, the forms, the little scraps of paper that require two stamps and must be written in triplicate using carbon
paper. Seems to remind me of what the States might have been like in the 1920s or 30s. Africa certainly has a long
way to go.
Ultimately all the paperwork was done, everything registered and paid for. One guy told me that I could probably sell
the car for 1 million kwacha (~US$ 8,300) so all in all not too bad a deal. To me the most astounding thing was the
fact that everything finished a mere 72 hours before I was to leave the country. Perfect timing.
Luckily I was able to leave the car with Dr. Muyco. The plan is for him to keep it. If he can get 1 million kwacha, he
will sell it; otherwise I will have a vehicle waiting for me whenever I decide to return to Malawi. In August there is a
surgical conference in Durban which I may attend. If the car is sold, I may, just may consider buying another car and
doing it all over again. Sure I’m crazy, but at least now I know what to expect.
