Sunday, 5 October 1986: Cutting My Loses and Getting Back to “Gabs”

Gaborone, Botswana.  October 11, 1986 

On Sunday morning, I woke up to face reality.  I was staying with a farm family in a remote area of northern South Africa.  I had to travel nearly 400 kilometers to Gaborone (a five-hour trip) in time for classes tomorrow morning.  However, the engine in my VW Passat was toast.  I needed to make some decisions fast and get on my way.  I decided that the best course of action was to swallow my pride, cut my losses, rid myself of future headaches, and head back to Gabs ASAP. 

I phoned Johan and told him I’d decided to sell the Passat.  Would he take it for 300?  He wasn’t overly enthusiastic but scraped together 280 South African rand and 20 Botswana pula in cash.  He came over to Billy’s farm and I signed the car over to him and collected the cash.  Then three of the guys drove me 25 km to the Globlersbrug border post.  They figured I could get a ride on the Botswana side.  I thanked them, we said our goodbyes, and I told Johan I hoped he would be able to get the Passat fixed and make some money on the deal.  

Grobler’s Bridge spanning the Limpopo River.  Photo source:  saportsofentry.blogspot.com.

 

Once through the South African exit formalities, I carried my pack and duffle bag across Grobler’s Bridge which spans the Limpopo River and marks the boundary between the two countries.  After getting my passport stamped at the Botswana entry post, I explained my situation to the border agent.  I learned there were no buses here on Sundays.  He told me to stand just outside the border post and ask drivers about a lift.  There was very little Sunday morning traffic.  But fortunately, the first fellow I approached told me he was on his way to Palapye, 100 kilometers west.  Sure, he could drop me off at the bus stop just south of Palapye on Highway A1 which led south to Gaborone.  There would be buses even on a Sunday.

There were several Batswana at the bus stop when he dropped me off so I figured I was in luck.  Within ½ hour a south-bound bus pulled up to the stop.  It was nearly full and a bit rickety but I was in no position to be fussy.  The fare was only a few pula and I got the front seat with a nice view of the highway ahead.  It was my first ride on a multi-racial bus in southern Africa.  Actually, I was the only white person on the bus which didn’t bother me in the least.  This wasn’t Chicago’s South Side.  During the nine months I have lived in Botswana, I have never felt threatened by the local people.  The Batswana tend to be more reserved than the Africans I encountered in Zimbabwe and Zambia but if a white person treats them with respect, they get respect back.    

Mahalapye is a town of 40,000 located on the main highway between Gaborone, Botswana’s capital, and Francistown, Botswana’s second largest city.  Photo source: sundaystrand.info

 

The bus made a number of stops along the way including in Mahalapye, the largest town in the area.  By now, I was half-starved and managed to buy some fast food at the Mahalapye bus station. 

An hour and a half south of Mahalapye, OH DAMN, NOT AGAIN!  That horrid metallic clicking sound that had sent me into a panic the day before was coming from the old bus’s diesel engine.  The bus coasted to a stop and we all got out.  We were two kilometers north of Artesia with another 85 km to Gaborone.  The bus passengers started flagging down vehicles.  I managed to get a ride all the way to Gabs before dark in the back of a bakkie (pick-up truck) with seven African adults and three kids.  The driver even dropped me off near the university.  I dragged my shit into flat 419 and collapsed into my bed.  I couldn’t believe I was actually back home.  It had been one heckuva long and stressful trip.