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Dying for a life across the border
Patrick Mcdowall, Business Day (SA)
August 26, 2006

http://www.businessday.co.za/articles/weekender.aspx?ID=BD4A256022

ZIMBABWEAN soldiers guard the entrance to a bridge that leads across the border to SA. Beneath them, the waters of the Limpopo River are calm, a watery no-man’s land. With AK-47s slung over their shoulders, the four men watch languidly as people carrying bags, boxes of soap and jugs of cooking oil move across the bridge.

One of the soldiers walks slowly over to the rails and points down at the river below. "There are hippos out there and crocodiles on the banks," he says. He is short, with a tightly clipped moustache, and is wearing a green beret that sits snugly on his head.

George Makuyana serves with the Zimbabwean army’s 1st Engineers’ Squadron. He says he is watching the river and its banks for any sign of people trying to cross the border illegally. "They cross over there," says Makuyana, pointing beyond a small dam wall to where the Limpopo curves eastward into the bush. "It is shallower on that side."

A few people walk past the soldiers, heading towards Beitbridge, Zimbabwe’s border town. They don’t look at the men with guns; instead they stare straight ahead towards the customs and immigration buildings, where long lines of buses wait for inspection. Beneath the bridge and its coiled razor wire, the head of a hippo suddenly rises clear of the water, its mouth agape and yawning.

"Many people are crossing," Makuyana continues. "But the army is trying to stop them." While a high and menacing fence is visible on the South African river bank, he admits that there is no such structure on the Zimbabwean side. "But I have still caught some myself," he says proudly. Does he shoot them? "No, no," Makuyana responds, shaking his head. "This isn’t a war."

Perhaps Makuyana is right. Maybe the daily stream of undocumented Zimbabweans crossing into SA does not constitute a war. But there are similarities. People are dying while attempting to cross the Limpopo. Bodies are found in the bush without clothes or identification. And like a war, there are prisoners. Every day, hundreds of illegal immigrants are being shuttled from SA, back to a country they are desperate to escape.

Across the river and beyond the Zimbabwean border post is the town of Beitbridge, a thoroughfare of travellers, vehicles and merchandise. Massive trucks, empty of their goods, line up on the oil-smattered edges of the main road waiting to re-enter SA. Heading in the other direction, minibuses weighed down by basic commodities hurtle north to Harare, Bulawayo and Mutare.

In the parking lot of one of Beitbridge’s petrol stations, several men and women stand around the open doors of two cars. "See them," says Sampson, who has lived in the town for three years. He did not want his surname published. "They are the forex (foreign currency) traders." From inside the petrol station’s fast-food restaurant, he turns and points across the road to where eight cars are parked under the sparse shade of bare trees. "And them, they are the malaicha."

The malaicha are drivers. Gathering at around 5pm every day outside the petrol stations, they wait for people who need to cross the border illegally — and when their vehicles are full, they set off for the deserted and unprotected areas of the border.

Travelling in the dark, along the spider web of dirt roads that run beside the Limpopo River, the malaicha drive to a designated spot where another vehicle is usually waiting on the South African side to drive the Zimbabweans to Johannesburg.

After talking to one of the drivers for a few minutes, Sampson returns with details of how much the malaicha cost. "They are charging between R800 and R1000," he says. "Some are even going 150km east, almost to the Kruger Park." Sampson explains that the closer people are to Beitbridge when they cross, the more likely they are to be caught.

Back in the far corner of the restaurant and in a hushed voice, Sampson begins to describe the dangers involved in crossing illegally. "Sometimes, when there haven’t been many customers, malaichas become guma guma," he says. Guma guma is a well-known phrase around Beitbridge. Armed with rough knives and sometimes guns, they are thieves who prey on the border jumpers trying to cross by foot.

"They are dangerous. If they find you they’ll take your money and clothes, leave you naked," says Sampson. He estimates that there are more than 6000 guma guma operating in and around Beitbridge.

Of course, not everyone trying to cross into SA has the money to pay for the services of the malaichas. Many of those walking across the Limpopo come from Zimbabwe’s small rural villages where poverty is endemic. Though they have no money, they all believe SA will offer them a better life, and so they brave the dangers of the border unaided.

On the main street of Musina, the last major South African town before the border, 15 young Zimbabwean men mix and pour cement in the parking lot of a small shopping centre. They are dressed in ragged clothes and squint as gusts of wind blow cement dust through the air.

Among them is 16-year-old Given Zishiri. Zishiri explains that he had no money and so crossed alone, with only moonlight to guide him. However, Zishiri’s journey began long before his crossing of the Limpopo.

Along with his friend Joseph Sibanda, Zishiri travelled by foot from his home in the small village of Jumo in Mberengwa District, all the way south to the border. He says it took them three days, walking without food in the bush, to cover the 60km to Beitbridge. "At the border, many people were there, but they were afraid and ran away," Zishiri says in a quiet voice. "(The malaicha) wanted Z$3,5m (about R58 on the black market) to help us cross, but we had no money."

After waiting until the sun had set, the boys walked 16km along the river and then crossed where it was shallow. "It took five hours to get to Musina," Zishiri says. On arrival, they were lucky enough to find a job and finally some food. But life in SA has proved harder than they imagined.

"I’m not happy because the work is too hard," says Zishiri. "They pay R25 for one day’s work. There is also too little food." While their boss gives the boys mielie meal and cabbage, the cost of this food is deducted from their wages. Along with other illegal immigrants, Zishiri and Sibanda sleep in an old abandoned building with no roof and only walls to protect them from the elements.

Musina is worlds away from the boys’ village of Jumo. "I am missing school," says Zishiri. "But my parents are happy I am making money."

Not all border jumpers have it this easy. In the police station at the South African border post, two men squat on the linoleum floor. One is wearing a worn leather jacket and the other has what appears to be a shampoo bottle in his hands. Their eyes are bloodshot and both look exhausted. Behind the counter, two policewomen are watching them carefully.

"Why were you crossing?" asks one of them. The Zimbabwean with the bottle responds: "We were not crossing. We were washing in the river."

The police keep up their impromptu interrogation. "Where are your passports?" the other policewoman inquires. This time they remain silent, their eyes on the ground.

South African police and army patrols are netting dozens of border jumpers daily. Those caught usually have no identification and are held until a police van can be filled, and then they are driven back to the border and handed over to Zimbabwean authorities. Many of these deportees simply try again.

"It’s very difficult to control," says Insp Jacques du Buisson, sitting in his office at the Musina police station. "These operations focusing on foreigners are done on a daily and weekly basis."

Outside the window of du Buisson’s office, a line of Zimbabwean men and women are being led out of a fenced compound towards a police van. This will be the day’s first shipment of border jumpers being transported home.

"This daily deporting is a headache," Du Buisson admits. "It’s using up time and resources that could be used for more serious crimes."

But while the police are spending much of their time trying to keep the border secure, the inspector says he is not permitted to provide details about how many people are being caught and deported.

Nonetheless, figures are now available, courtesy of a new repatriation centre at Beitbridge run by the International Office of Migration (IOM), which has been documenting the number of deportees they have assisted.

"We deal with about 8000 a month," says Nicola Simmonds, an information officer at IOM’s Harare office. "But nobody knows the number of those crossing into SA without passports."

After being dropped off by the South African police and then screened by Zimbabwean officials, deportees are able to access the IOM facilities. "A lot of them are pretty weak when they arrive," says Simmonds. "We give them a medical assessment, a meal and transportation home if they want."

She says that while the majority of deportees using the IOM facilities are adults, there are also children. "We are finding women and children (among the deportees), even though minors are not supposed to be deported."

And children are dying during illegal border crossings.

Lesley Warren lives on a farm west of Beitbridge, close enough to the Limpopo River to have undocumented Zimbabweans coming across her property. "We found a dead woman and baby on our land," she says. The woman had no documentation and someone had stolen all her clothes, leaving her with only underwear and a bra.

Few people have a solution to the problem. The Musina police are merely going through the motions, arresting, deporting and re-arresting Zimbabweans, while residents seem to have simply become resigned to the situation.

It is obvious that until the economic situation in Zimbabwe improves, people like Zishiri will continue to go without food, dodge the guma guma and risk deportation, just to get to the promised land. And all for R25 a day.

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