My first trip to South Africa as a boarder jumper

Before I came to SA I worked as an HIV/AIDS workshop facilitator for three N.G.O's Medecins Sans Frontiers (MSF), CWGH and Zimbabwe National Family Planning council.

The Zim government always threatened to shut all NGO's down so I decided to save some money and come to SA. That was in 2006. I had the worst trip ever and I thought it wise to share with you.

I had an unpleasant relationship with some people back then. So no one was happy with the idea of me coming this side.

Somehow my documents got burnt on the very week that I was supposed to come this side. I lost my passport, my birth certificate, my school certificates etc....but I was determined to leave Zimbabwe whether or not I had valid papers.

I spoke to a "Malayitsha" and he charged me R1500 since I didn't have a passport and he said if I added another R300 to make it R1800 he would make sure I get through with no problems at the border gate. Upon hearing that I gave him the money and we left for SA on his Navara on a Friday.

There were 6 of us, including the driver; that is 3 ladies and 3 men. We didn't have any problems throughout the way and when we go to the border at around 7pm the driver asked us to get out of his car so we could "get some fresh air".

As we were standing outside his car he came to me and whispered that his friend was from checking the border gates and the security was tight that night.

He went on to say there was no way he would risk crossing with me so he had no choice but to make me join the rest of his passengers who were to cross through the bush.

I wasn't happy and I made it clear that I wanted my refund and there was no way I'd cross the Limpopo river especially after all the stories I had heard about crocodiles, robberies, rape etc.

However, he would hear nothing of it and kept insisting we were going to be safe. At 10pm we were taken to the bush and we were made to queue. There were now about 40 other passengers who had come with other "Malayitshas".

We were made to queue with ladies with babies 1st, followed by women without babies (I was in that category) then men were right behind us. There were 8 very scary looking guys who were to lead us called "Impisi."

We started on our journey and that was the worst night of my life. We walked for about an hour and a half in the dark till we got to Limpopo river. I was tired and hungry and my feet were swollen.

When we got to the banks of the river we were told to sit and rest for a while. As we were sitting I looked around at the people we were with and I felt sorry for the women who had babies. I realised that all this time none of the babies had cried or made noises.

There was a frail looking old man amongst us and I felt sorry for him. I asked myself what could have forced him to take this route. As I was busy "analysing" people, we were ordered to stand up, take off our shoes and start crossing.

As we were queuing to get into the river a man started to give us orders that it was each man for himself in the water and no one was supposed to hold anybody else's hand.

He went on to say the river was full of crocodiles and he so wished that one of us would be attacked so that the crocodiles would concentrate on the victim and therefore make it easy for the rest of to cross peacefully.

He kept going on and on about how he wished one of us would be attacked by crocodiles and those words sent shivers down my spine, I was so scared.

By the time we started into the river I was crying and regretted my decision of coming.

As we were walking in he insisted that we try and avoid stepping on rocks as they were all slippery. Unfortunately, I did not hear him properly and I thought he said we should step on rocks and avoid walking on sand.

We slowly got into the river; it was so dark and scary and the water was cold. The rocks in the river were so slippery it was so difficult to walk, I kept slipping and sometimes even falling.

The river was getting deeper as we crossed, which made it so difficult for me to even lift my legs. It dawned on me that all the swimming lessons I did during my high school days at Townsend surely didn't apply here.

At one point I lost my balance, slipped and almost drowned. I grabbed the man in front of me by his jeans and even though he swore at me, I never let go. When we got to the other side of the river, I quickly let him go before he could see me.

Babies were crying, I guess it was because they were cold and hungry. It was a sad sight, mothers and their kids completely wet and there was no time to breastfeed. It was like iMpisi didn't have a conscience because they insisted we continue walking regardless.

We walked for another 2 hours or so. I was so tired I started having breathing difficulties. I desperately needed my asthmatic inhaler but unfortunately I didn't have it with me that time.

I tried hard to contain myself until we reached the so called "station" (hiding place) where we were to sit and wait for our "Malayitshas."

From where we were I could see the "lights of Musina" and I smiled and thought to myself "Nobuhle welcome to Jozi."

We were being called one by one depending on who's Malayitsha came first. We watched from the bush as people were called and ran to the main road to jump into their cars. Everyone's car came except for ours. About an hour later our Malayitsha was still nowhere to be found.

Because we were cold, tired and hungry we fell asleep and when we woke up we looked around and Impisi had all gone.

It was only me and my fellow passengers from our Malaitsha. We had all left our phones in Nkosi (Malayitsha's) car the previous night and we all knew we were doomed.

One of the guys we were with suggested we start walking back so we could find a safer place to hide as he thought of a plan.

We started back, I was hungry, weak and extremely tired. We walked for about 45 minutes and I could tell from the faces of the people I was with that we were getting lost.

We finally sat under a big tree and no one seemed to be in the mood to talk. After a few minutes I broke the silence by asking if anyone had Nkosi's phone number.

Luckily one girl said she had wrote it down because she didn't have a phone. She wasn't sure if the numbers were still clear as her jacket had been soaked in water the night before.

Fortunately the numbers were still clear but the question now was how were we going to contact him.

We had no choice but to wait till the break of the night when other people would start crossing so we would join them and probably use their phones to contact Nkosi our Malayitsha.

We all sat there quietly and I started looking around and I was shocked to see I hadn't noticed that there were people's clothes all over, blood stains and sjamboks... a clear sign that people were mugged on that very same spot we were.

Upon seeing that I stood up and grabbed the lady with Nkosi's phone number by the hand and I asked her to come with me. The rest of the guys we were with pleaded that I stay with them claiming it wasn't safe for us to leave, but my mind was made up, I wanted to go back to Zim.

I started back to where we were the previous night. It really wasn't difficult for us to find the place as I followed the sound of cars in the main road. The lady I was with was shocked to see me walking straight to the main road in Messina. I tried to stop all Police cars I could see but they all didn't take notice.

Eventually one police van stopped, the driver got off, came to me and asked if I was in some sort of trouble and I simply said to him "Baba singamaborder jumper besicela lisibophe" (we're border jumpers please arrest us).

The policeman burst out laughing and called his colleague who was still in the car. He asked me to repeat to his partner what I had jut said and I innocently repeated because I didn't see anything wrong with what I said.

They both laughed and one of them opened the car and told us to jump in. The lady I was with didn't seem impressed and I could tell she was shocked about what I had just done.

We all sat there quietly till we got to a Deportation Center in Messina which looked more like a prison. Our names were taken down and the police officer kept making fun of me telling everyone that I pleaded with them to arrest me, which made everyone laugh and hence the prison guards took notice of me during my stay there.

We were thrown into a prison cell and the place was very crowded, hot and stuffy. 90% of women in that cell were Zimbabweans. Most of them had babies who wouldn't stop crying.

There were men on the other side and the male and female cell was only divided by drums. The place was noisy and I thought to myself "I won't survive this"

Later the prison cell was opened and we were told it was time for lunch. I was amongst the first in the queue. I overheard a woman behind me saying she won't eat anything because she once heard that the food they serve there has slow acting poison because the South African government is tired of fending for Zim refugees and wants to get rid of them.

When I heard that lady saying that I wanted to step out of the queue but because I hadn't eaten in two days but I was so hungry I could even eat rat poison if it was the only food they had.

I got my plate of pap and cabbage. The food was terrible, cabbage sinking in water, you could tell it was only steamed. But the truth of the matter is I enjoyed it and when a guard saw me licking my fingers laughed saying it must have been the hunger that had driven me to beg the policeman to arrest me.

We went back to the cell and this time (after eating) I was a bit focused. I took Nkosi's number and I looked around for someone with a phone. I sent Nkosi a message and he quickly called back.

I told him where we where and how disappointed I was, I started shouting at him and him being a calm person that he is, simply responded he'll make a plan. Even though we were crowded in that cell, the number of deportees kept increasing by the day which made it even more difficult to breathe.

The men on the other side made it worse by climbing on top of drums and proposing to women in our cell.

We went to queue for supper again later that evening and the same prison guard was there busy making fun of me again but I didn't mind him.

When we got back to the cell all I wanted was to sleep. I slept for about an hour and then we were woken up and counted. There were so many of us and the prison guard kept losing count and starting all over again. It was so terrible.

In the morning we were woken up very early and our names were taken down and we were taken back to Zimbabwe.

We were taken to place in Beitbridge where there were people from home affairs who forced us to sit and started to lecture us about getting passports and the dangers of border jumping etc.

On the other side I could see caterers busy cooking for us and the food smelled nice I just couldn't wait. Next to them were some men preparing food hampers for us including barley, cooking oil and beans, which we were supposed to take home with us.

The lecturers were taking too long but all I wanted was to eat and be shown the bus to Bulawayo. As I was sitting there listening to their lectures, the lady whose phone I had used previously told me Nkosi had called and was waiting for me and the lady I come with at the gate.

We went there and to my amazement he was in a meter-taxi and he took us to a house in Beitbridge. I told Nkosi I wasn't interested in going to South Africa anymore, all I wanted was to go back home. But he'd hear nothing of it and told us we'd be crossing to SA again later that night

Apparently the house they took us to belonged to a friend of Nkosi. It was only one bedroom.There were about 4 more "border jumpers" already crowded in that small room who were meant to join us that night. I asked Nkosi about the rest of the guys we had initially come with and he said they had not contacted him. He just didn't seem to care.

His friend asked us if we wanted to bathe, I'm sure it was his polite way of telling us we were stinking. I was shocked to hear him ask everyone to leave the room so they could give us space to bath.

He filled up a small bucket with water and gave us soap and towels. The thought of sharing such little water was quite devastating but I had no choice that day.

We bathed with that little water and the water splashed everywhere. Later on lunch was served, my first decent meal in 4 days, pap and beef stew.

As we were eating, Nkosi was busy lecturing us about the journey ahead of us. He made it clear that as long as we didn't have passports there was no way we'd cross right at the border.

Night came, we got into his car and started off. We got to Beitbrigde border post and already there were other "border jumpers" in a queue already waiting to set off. Just like last time, women with babies infront, followed by women without babies and then men at the back.

This time there were around 60 of us including iMpisi who were about 8. It was during winter and it was so dark. We walked quietly but a baby kept crying and it really didn't seem to go down well with the other guys.

Every time the baby started crying we were told to stand still and the mother of the baby warned if she failed to control her baby she would be forced to leave us. I thought to myself "how can one control such a small baby"?

We kept walking and when the baby cried again the mother was violently dragged out of the queue and told to remain behind and join us when her baby was quiet. The woman cried and pleaded that it wasn't safe for her and her baby to stay behind but she was accused of "talking back" and one of the guys slapped her really hard.

When she tried to run after us, the same guy kicked her, she lost control and fell losing grip of her baby who also fell hard on the ground. It was a terrible scene....

We kept walking leaving them behind, there was nothing we could do. The men had shown us they mean business and disobeying them wasn't a good idea. When we got to Limpopo river we were told to sit and rest for a while.

I looked back to see if there was any sign of that woman and her baby but there was no sign of her at all.

I realised the Mpisi were the same ones who had deserted us the last time. God why would Nkosi want to put us through such a situation again?

We took off our shoes, just as we were instructed last time not to hold each other, we started crossing Limpopo river. the other lady and I had little experience as we had crossed the same river before and this time it wasn't that difficult.

I was right behind a lady who was carrying a very small baby, I watched her closely as the water was getting deeper. She lifted her baby higher and the current waves made her slip and stagger but somehow managed to keep moving.

When we finally crossed the river this time around we were not given time to rest, we continued walking. It was so quiet in the bush all we could hear was our foot steps.

We got to the border fence; there were two fences. One fence had a very big hole and the other looked more like a burglar gate and had one or two bars sightly bent.

To make it fast, all "big bodied people" were instructed to go through the hole and the "slenderberries' were to slide over the openings on the burglar fence. Knowing I'm slender I quickly rushed to the burglar fence. When it was my turn, I tried to squeeze in but somehow my breasts were caught up and I was stuck.

There were so many "slender-berries" waiting to get in through the same fence and the Mpisi tried to push me to the other side but to no avail. I was stuck.

The pain in my breasts was unbearable. The guy had no mercy but he finally managed to pull me back in and I fell hard on the ground.

The angry Mpisi said I should go to the other fence but when I got there as I was eagerly waiting to cross, a guy grabs me by the hand and pulled me out of the queue saying I was too thin and I should go to the burglar fence.

I tried to explain my breasts were caught up but before I could even finish, the guy almost clapped me saying I'm stubborn. He instructed that I go to back to the burglar fence.

Crying, I went back there and but the other Mpisi was angry and he told me I was not special.
 
I quickly rushed back and this time I didn't talk to anyone, I jumped the queue and crawled into a hole in the fence and got to the other side of the border fence. When everyone had jumped to the other side, we walked a distance of about a 1km when all of a sudden people in front started screaming.

I then realised we were surrounded by these evil looking men with big torches. There were so many of them all dressed in black.

They forced us into a circle. And all 60 something of us were searched one by one. People who tried to resist were beaten into a pulp. Those guys had no mercy. In 10mins there was blood everywhere. I was so scared, I thought the worst.

As I was saying a silent prayer, a woman who was standing next to me was picked and was gang raped right in front of us. She just lay there and let them do as they pleased until they were done.

She couldn't stand and one of the border jumpers was forced to rape her again. He failed and he was stabbed several times and the attackers said; "You deserve to die, no man turns down a naked woman."

I was so traumatised seeing that man lying there. They went on to rape two more ladies and in a split of a second they were gone.

The Mpisi acted like nothing had happened, we were told there was no time and that we had to keep moving. I helped up the woman who had just been raped, she still had no clothes on and we didn't have time to look for them either.

One woman with a baby lent us her towel which she used to cover her body. She was so weak but I kept encouraging her until we got to the "hiding station."

This time we were the 1st to be called, I saw Nkosi's car on the side of the mainroad, The lady I was with and I ran and jumped in and Nkosi drove as fast as he could.In about 20mins he started slowing down and I realised he was coming towards a police roadblock.

When we got to that road block one of the police officers quickly opened the passenger door and asked us to come out. He held his torch right on our faces and when he saw me he laughed and pulled me to the side and asked if I had "sorted my papers".

That is when I realised he was the same police officer I had pleaded with to arrest me when we got stuck in Musina the other day. He was so friendly to me and asked me how it was like in the Deportation Center and why I wasn't deported as expected.

Every time I tried to respond, Nkosi our driver would interrupt trying to confuse the police officer that it wasn't me but too bad that man knew me very well.

Finally Nkosi tried to give him a bribe, which he refused to take and let us go wishing me good luck.

This didn't go down well with Nkosi who started accusing me of flirting with the police.

All the way he was busy preaching to me that women with my "mentality" (of entertaining men) usually don't last in SouthAfrica.

About 5 hours into the journey the car came to a stop. Nkosi opened the passenger door and asked us to come out. It was still dark outside and he told us to go into the forest nearby, find a place to hide and wait for him there till the next morning.

He said he had run out of fuel and he could only access his money when the banks opened the next morning. He said he'd fetch us in the morning and that he'd hoot 5 times.

To hear him say that really tore me apart considering what we had been through on the very same night and now he was asking us to go through that again. Tears started flowing as we made our way to the dark forest once again.

I didn't know where I was, none of us knew our location that time. We heard the sound of Nkosi's car driving off as we tried to find a place to hide in the dark mist of the night.

The place looked more like a farm. Most of the ground was cultivated and the area was clear so we kept walking further down looking for a place to hide. We finally found a conducive place amongst the trees. The night was so cold we just couldn't sleep and no one said anything util it dawned.

Hours went by and Nkosi was nowhere to be found. It seemed to me like I was the only one who was worried, everyone else seemed calm.

I badly missed home and regretted ever coming here, I so wished I had allowed the South African government to deport me that time. Crossing the crocodile infested river had traumatised me. Seeing an innocent woman with a small baby being forcefully left behind in the dark mist of the night had made me realise how cruel some people can be.

The men who had gang raped a woman right in front of her husband and everyone else left me speechless, and now I was back in the bush again. God I wanted to go back home.

After several hours of waiting Nkosi came to fetch us and we started on our journey to Johannesburg.

It was at around 10am and I hadn't eaten anything since the previous day. Nkosi didn't seem to care.

I fell asleep until we finally got to Nkosi's place in Tembisa. It was an RDP house which was well furnished and his wife had already prepared water for us to bathe.

As we were bathing I could smell the aroma of the food she was cooking. I badly needed to eat.

After we had all bathed Nkosi called us to his dining room, personally I thought he was calling us to tell us the food was ready but Alas! He had a plate of pap and chicken right in front of him and a phone on his other hand which he was busy scrolling.

He told us one by one that he had tried to contact our relatives around Jozi and none of them had responded.

He said my aunt wasn't answering her phone and asked if I had any other contacts in South Africa of which I didn't. I only had my aunt's number.

Nkosi said none of his customers slept over at his place, we all had to go. He bragged that he needed time and space to be with his wife. So after his meal he'd take us all to our relatives, he said if he failed to locate my aunt he would take me to his elder brother who badly needed a wife.

I had heard of such stories before whereby the Malayitsha would "sell" women to whoever was willing to pay them if they failed to "recover" their money (Human trafficking)
I never thought I would be in such a situation.

Nkosi ate right in front of us knowing that we hadn't eaten in days and he was busy threatening to take me to his brother if he failed to locate my aunt.

As he was about to finish eating my aunt (now late) called and told him to drop me at her place in Soshanguve Pretoria.

I heard Nkosi lying that I had a balance of R500 and that if he was to take me to pretoria he'd charge her R300 more which would amount to R800.

My aunt (MHRIP) being a good person she was didn't dispute that.

The other lady couldn't locate her sister, the number was off and Nkosi threatened to take her to one of his friends who seriously needed a wife. Nkosi had turned to a monster.

We got into the car and Nkosi drove us to Pretoria. The other lady was crying all the way until we got to my aunt's place in Soshanguve.

All of a sudden Nkosi was all smiles. She gave him all the money he said I owed and he opened the door for me.

I ran to my aunt and cried so hard, flashbacks of all that had happened started playing on my mind as I cried in my aunt's arms.

Nkosi interrupted ethi "umntanakho lo uyadedesa angazi uzohlala naye njani."

He went back to his car and before he drove off I went to the car to bid the other lady farewell.

Seeing her crying like that broke my heart but there was nothing I could do. I watched as Nkosi started his car.

My trip was now over but it was now the beginning of my life Journey in South Africa