Weekend Argus (Saturday Edition)
Why ubuntu stops at Beit Bridge
South African officials at the border post ‘behave with staggering arrogance and rudeness’
NORMALLY, I wouldn’t do this. I’m not one for writing negative pieces, but this story, I think, really needs to be told. Africans pride themselves on their attachment to the concept of ubuntu, an Nguni term which simply translates as humanity towards others.
In December my wife and I were invited to a friend’s wedding in Harare, Zimbabwe. We weren’t initially sure whether to drive or fly, but after some research decided that while flying would work out cheaper and be less of a hassle, a road trip would be an adventure. And an adventure it was. This was the first time we’d visited Zimbabwe and, yes, after listening to all the negative news reports and friends’ stories of border post intimidation, we were a little nervous.
All along I thought they were talking about the Beit Bridge border on the Zimbabwean side. But preconceived notions can be a dangerous thing. Little did we know that the mess was on the South African side.
Since we were taking our 19-month-old daughter with us, we decided to do the trip over two days.
Many of our Zimbabwean friends warned us that Beit Bridge was a nightmare during December, and advised us to take the longer, though less stressful, route through Botswana to Bulawayo, and then Harare.
But Khulumani, a friend from Zimbabwe, had a different view. He had just travelled home via Beit Bridge a few days before we left and told us it was not so bad. With his advice in mind, we decided to risk it.
Arriving at the border was like being on a Durban beach in December, with lots and lots of people milling around.
As soon as we got there, we realised that Beit Bridge’s weather is a bit like Cape Town’s – just because the sky’s blue and the sun’s shining when you arrive is no guarantee that you’ll experience the same weather a few hours later.
The snaking queue of about 1 000 people (there could have been more) made us realise the wait was going to take more than the “just two hours longer” Khulumani had anticipated. Like everyone else, we quietly joined the queue, full of hope.
At first it moved – albeit at a snail’s pace. Like the others, we hoped for the best. My wife and I agreed we would not bribe anyone for doing their job; we were going to do this bordercrossing “clean”.
We’d heard bad stories about this, the busiest border post in Africa, especially in December – stories mainly about the long queues and the demand for bribes.
What we didn’t know was that the post serves not only millions of Zimbabweans, but also South Africans, Zambians, Malawians, Tanzanians, and many more.
One would expect, with such enormous pressure, that more resources would be channelled there to make the process smoother. But no, it is the opposite. Three hours into the wait we had made some progress. Suddenly, however, the queue came to a halt.
I made some inquiries and found the doors were closed and officials were sitting in the shade. I went to the officials and asked why the doors were closed.
The answer took me by sur- prise: “You Zimbabweans are unruly. Until you make one straight, orderly line, we’re not opening those doors.”
“But I’m a South African,” I told them, adding: “Why do you generalise? Why don’t you ask police to control the queue to ensure order?”
But the official was adamant: “Until you people get yourselves in order, those doors will never open.”
At this point I realised that I had lost the argument, and left.
I was troubled by this behaviour
I think officials at the border post are given more power than they deserve. They take advantage of the fact that most people using the border are not aware of their legal rights. It also doesn’t help that most are desperate to cross and don’t want to make trouble with the Home Affairs officials.
For example, two hours later when the officials decided to reopen the doors, an official slapped people – some in the face – and shouted at them to stand in a straight line.
Like lambs, they did not object to the bullying behaviour. But I refused to be treated like that. I decided to speak up and stand up against this abuse of power.
I approached one police officer and said I would assist in bringing some order, and in getting the queue moving again. “I’m going to show you what to do, and from there you must take over,” he said to me.
Before I could even say yes or no, he shouted “One line, one line!” and handed the job to me.
It wasn’t long before people in the queue started calling me “Officer”.
“Officer! Officer! These five guys are jumping the queue.”
“Officer! This lady was not here before.”
People started taking ownership and made sure there was order.
All the border people needed was a queue marshal and a voice of authority to bring order.
The South African officials’ behaviour left me troubled.
The abuse and arrogance I witnessed left me ashamed to be a South African – and I suspect that their actions were motivated by xenophobia.
These officials probably think they are superior to Zimbabweans – and this is wrong.
The concept of ubuntu does not exist at Beit Bridge.
Our economy and infrastructure might be better, but we can actually learn a lot from each other.
For example, when we returned from Zimbabwe, their side of the border was orderly.
Everyone who joined the queue was issued with a number without which you could not enter the building.
Once inside there was an official controlling and directing people.
Unlike our lazy and arrogant officials who think they are doing people a favour by serving them, Zimbabwean officials, although not perfect, at least do their jobs.
The queue on the Zimbabwean side was the same length as it had been on our side but, instead of being detained for nine hours, we were on our way within an hour.
It was indeed a sad day for me. Not only because we had wasted nine hours in a queue, but because some South Africans have not realised that we are all Africans and all human, and until we all come to terms with that we will never move forward in unity as a continent.