Kariba Dam...a walk into Zimbabwe

Last weekend I finally got out of the city and into some more remote areas in Zambia. It was great to just be on the open road with endless open space on both sides, with no traffic or crowds, road tripping down to the Zimbabwe border with Courtney, Helen, and Ingo (our Namibian banker friend who drove from Luxembourg to his home town of Windhoek, Namibia in a fire truck he rebuilt for just this purpose). We decided to head to Kariba Dam on Sunday just to get out of the city and see what we could see. With nothing but our female (plus Ingo) directional intuition (don’t laugh Jeff) and a 30 year old map of Zambia, we actually successfully navigated our way south to what was once the largest, most impressive dam of it’s day (in 1959).

Notably, on the way to Kariba we stopped at the Kafuwe River to take our first picture of the day. Probably on account of our incredibly white legs, we managed to attract the attention of a crooked cop who wanted us to pay him for taking a picture of the river. Ummm, no. I don’t think taking a picture of nature costs a fee. The guy definitely tried to pull a gun on us as we drove away the first time, so Ingo stopped the car to have a chat with him. Lucky for us Ingo is a native African who does not give in to the shadiness of cops who want bribes. Helen managed to snap this incrementing shot from the backseat of the car. Lucky there is no “Inside Addition” here in Zambia to report this story of greasy palms to.

Aside from the fact that we were again stopped for not having the proper police clearance for the car, which warranted us receiving the “Admission of Guilt” citation, the rest of the drive was quite pleasant. We stopped on the road and bought some nice tourist hats just to make sure everyone we met knew we didn’t belong.

We had a nice long lunch and swim at a guest house on Lake Kariba where we ate carrot cake and convinced the owners that it was Courtney’s birthday until she blew our cover. No harm done though. No one had to sing except Helen and me. After we were all pooled out, we got ourselves together and headed to the dam.

Here’s the best part. The dam wall connects Zambia to Zimbabwe across the lake. In order to go on the road through no man’s land that leads to the dam and into Zim, you have to check in with immigration on the Zambia side and get clearance. I had my passport, no problem. The rest of the gang, though, had nothing of the sort. Ingo had his Namibian drivers’ license, Courtney had a credit card with her picture on it, and Helen had nothing but an old business card and a glamor shot of her BF Fraser. The guy at the immigration window thought about it and said that she couldn’t go with us unless she could leave him with some document that had her picture on it. So, Helen gave him an envelope with her 10 passport sized photos in it. They didn’t have her name or any identifying information on them, but they were pictures. So clearly, he let her pass through immigration! Are you kidding?? I felt like I was taking crazy pills!

So all four of us pulled up to the gate that led into no man’s land and were denied access again because we didn’t have proper police clearance. Apparently they didn’t care that we had already admitted our guilt and had been forgiven. Definitely not a grace atmosphere. We decided that just to spite the border guard we would walk the 2.2 km down the hill in the hot sun of that thousand degree afternoon. That would show him! When we got to the dam, I thought it was impressive but not that impressive in light of the 2.2 km we still had to walk back up to get to the car. But regardless, we were there and might as well take it all in. Courtney was already toast and her flip flops were wear through, so she decided to hang out on the Zambian side and have a midday date with the border guard.

Helen, Ingo, and I took the opportunity to stare into the deep water over the dam and race each other to Zimbabwe. I didn’t really think that they would actually let us go across the border, so Helen and I went ahead of Ingo to wow the guard with our feminine powers. It worked. We walked across the border and had a friendly chat with the guard and his friends who were sitting in the heat with nothing to do. We introduced ourselves as being American and British volunteers and the first thing out of this guy’s mouth was, “Oh, you have come to arrest our President?” to which Helen replied, “Not yet.” I laughed inwardly. The nice Zimbabwean guard clearly had sense of humor and didn’t even blink when we asked to walk through across to take our obligatory “Welcome to Zimbabwe” picture. After playing a game of checkers (Helen and I actually did manage to outwit the border guard on this front) we headed back across the dam only to be picked up by a heaven-sent pickup who was also going back up the hill. We jumped in the back, pried Courtney away from guard on the other side, and headed back to retrieve our “identification” before beginning our return journey to Lusaka.

All in all, I think it was a successful first venture out. Full of mystery and intrigue…or at least shady cop with a gun, good cake, and a game of checkers on the border of Zimbabwe. Excellent!

Admission of Guilt citation