Tuesday, April 08, 2008
In Trouble With the Police (Again): Thursday, January 4, 2007
(A male Steenbok, Kruger National Park)
We broke camp and drove toward the Giriyondo Border Post on our way to the Covane Community Lodge (our neighbors got away at 5:30 AM). Part of the immigration formalities required a check of our vehicle and its papers. The rest of the family was inside going through immigration (visa applications) and entry into Mozambique. In the car and truck port outside, I was informed by the sergeant on duty that he must fine me for "having a dirty engine". Inside, the customs authority is asking for my papers including the truck title and insurance documents which the sergeant has taken from me. I shuttle back and forth -- the officials inside increasingly uneasy about the delay. I argued a bit with the sergeant, asking how I was expected to arrive at Giriyondo with "a clean engine" after having been deep in the mud in Zambia and so forth. I am told that "just as a man should bathe each day" -- I should have bathed my truck and that the rest camps have car washing facilities.
This was news to me (later I spotted such a facility) and was convinced that this was just a pretext to shake some Rand out of me. The truck engine was not really that dirty. When my family learned about the demand, they staged a mutiny and basically refused to cross into Mozambique (we had quite a few steps left in the immigration process anyway -- but by now their passports were on a desk in the office). I had held onto mine having learned that my International Drivers License would substitute as the ID often demanded by the police at road checks and -- I had become very leery of handing my passport over to anyone except immigration officers.
So there I was. My philosophy has been to just push past all obstacles in life -- but they are concerned that if the South African police are going to be this difficult then the authorities in Mozambique will be much worse and that we will lose the truck. I argued with the family but to no avail (three against one). Feeling bad about the reservation I made previously with the community run lodge, I managed to reach the manager (I had called him previously from the States) on my cell phone and explained why I was compelled to cancel our stay in Mozambique.
We went back into immigration and announced that we wanted the passports back and why. A group of workers passing in the opposite direction into the RSA from Mozambique looked distressed for us as we explained the sergeant's position about our truck. The immigration officials were embarrassed too but said little. The visas were turned in and canceled.
Outside I demanded my truck papers back from the sergeant who was so surprised he handed them back with almost no protest. I said we had canceled our trip into Mozambique -- saying that we had no desire to deal with the police in Mozambique if he was going to be such a big problem. He protested "that this was not necessary and that something could be worked out" but I said we had made a final decision and that was that (I was happy not to be arrested again after confronting him directly this way). We went through all of our documents, determined that they were all there, and made our way to the part of the building housing the National Park employees. They were aware of the contretemps and were very helpful in redoing our itinerary and securing us a camp site in the Satara Rest Camp and on subsequent nights a chalet there and later at Skukuza Rest Camp.
We drove back to Satara and moved into our camp site. The grounds were crisscrossed with electrical cables as camping here is almost a competitive sport (it is probably more so in the U. S. now although I had abandoned it as soon as I could afford hotels). I camped in the U. S. as a poor migrant (literally). Here in South Africa -- compared to the other campers -- we are again poor Okies or Arkies. People here have every sort of electrical and recreational convenience and once again we are befriended by our neighbors and made to feel very welcome in South Africa. At the end of the day our only complaint is that the ablution block left something to be desired -- but the heavy traffic from the full camp site was sufficient explanation. And after all, being in Kruger National Park is sufficient in and of itself.
(Sunset, Kruger National Park)
(A male Steenbok, Kruger National Park)
We broke camp and drove toward the Giriyondo Border Post on our way to the Covane Community Lodge (our neighbors got away at 5:30 AM). Part of the immigration formalities required a check of our vehicle and its papers. The rest of the family was inside going through immigration (visa applications) and entry into Mozambique. In the car and truck port outside, I was informed by the sergeant on duty that he must fine me for "having a dirty engine". Inside, the customs authority is asking for my papers including the truck title and insurance documents which the sergeant has taken from me. I shuttle back and forth -- the officials inside increasingly uneasy about the delay. I argued a bit with the sergeant, asking how I was expected to arrive at Giriyondo with "a clean engine" after having been deep in the mud in Zambia and so forth. I am told that "just as a man should bathe each day" -- I should have bathed my truck and that the rest camps have car washing facilities.
This was news to me (later I spotted such a facility) and was convinced that this was just a pretext to shake some Rand out of me. The truck engine was not really that dirty. When my family learned about the demand, they staged a mutiny and basically refused to cross into Mozambique (we had quite a few steps left in the immigration process anyway -- but by now their passports were on a desk in the office). I had held onto mine having learned that my International Drivers License would substitute as the ID often demanded by the police at road checks and -- I had become very leery of handing my passport over to anyone except immigration officers.
So there I was. My philosophy has been to just push past all obstacles in life -- but they are concerned that if the South African police are going to be this difficult then the authorities in Mozambique will be much worse and that we will lose the truck. I argued with the family but to no avail (three against one). Feeling bad about the reservation I made previously with the community run lodge, I managed to reach the manager (I had called him previously from the States) on my cell phone and explained why I was compelled to cancel our stay in Mozambique.
We went back into immigration and announced that we wanted the passports back and why. A group of workers passing in the opposite direction into the RSA from Mozambique looked distressed for us as we explained the sergeant's position about our truck. The immigration officials were embarrassed too but said little. The visas were turned in and canceled.
Outside I demanded my truck papers back from the sergeant who was so surprised he handed them back with almost no protest. I said we had canceled our trip into Mozambique -- saying that we had no desire to deal with the police in Mozambique if he was going to be such a big problem. He protested "that this was not necessary and that something could be worked out" but I said we had made a final decision and that was that (I was happy not to be arrested again after confronting him directly this way). We went through all of our documents, determined that they were all there, and made our way to the part of the building housing the National Park employees. They were aware of the contretemps and were very helpful in redoing our itinerary and securing us a camp site in the Satara Rest Camp and on subsequent nights a chalet there and later at Skukuza Rest Camp.
We drove back to Satara and moved into our camp site. The grounds were crisscrossed with electrical cables as camping here is almost a competitive sport (it is probably more so in the U. S. now although I had abandoned it as soon as I could afford hotels). I camped in the U. S. as a poor migrant (literally). Here in South Africa -- compared to the other campers -- we are again poor Okies or Arkies. People here have every sort of electrical and recreational convenience and once again we are befriended by our neighbors and made to feel very welcome in South Africa. At the end of the day our only complaint is that the ablution block left something to be desired -- but the heavy traffic from the full camp site was sufficient explanation. And after all, being in Kruger National Park is sufficient in and of itself.
(Sunset, Kruger National Park)
Labels: Giriyondo Border Post, Satara Rest Camp
¶ 11:42 AM
