For some reason, the African border-post gods have not smiled upon me. Over Easter weekend I set out on a 400 kilometer, 5-hour trip to Swaziland, looking to spend some time in the bush and cover the pro-democracy movement. (On a side note, the pro-democracy movement in Swaziland is looking to dethrone King Mswati III, the last absolute monarch in sub-Saharan Africa. Well, actually, they just want him to give up his complete control of the legislature, judiciary, and executive.) After taking in a good stretch of Mpumalanga province, I pulled into the Oshoek border post around 2:30pm, with plenty of daylight in front of me.
Northeast Mpumalanga is open country, with open skies, rivaling anything in the American West. To be specific, it reminds me of somewhere on I-90 between Sioux Falls, South Dakota and Buffalo, Wyoming. Perhaps it’s more towards the plains side, I’m not sure yet. In either case, the baked rust-red dirt of Mpumalanga country leaves any traveler with newfound eyes.
The minor roads angling towards Swaziland run through small towns and farm towns – the lonesome veld. Almost out of nowhere, maybe 80 kilometers from the Swaziland border, chipped rock-earth and sturdy pine tress start to fill the landscape, bringing me back to Flagstaff, Arizona. By the time I arrived at the border, cold and fog descended, and I could tell night would come early.
My car was maybe 10th in the queue approaching the South African side. Not bad, I thought. However, after 25 minutes and not a single car had moved an inch, I had reason for concern. In all, it took me 2 ½ hours to get through the South African side and all they did was stamp my passport. They did not check my car or try to extort money from me (though for expediency’s sake, I wish I could have bribed someone). Of course I still had the Swazis to go, who didn’t prove to be in any more of a rush than their South African neighbors. That side took about 1 ¼ hours to get through, but I spent that time standing outside with the cold, dark winds of April (that just doesn’t feel right to say).
After I got my entry stamp and paid the road tax, I set off down the MR3, Swaziland’s main thoroughfare, dodging cows and the occasional pedestrian hugging the road a little too tight. The turnoff for the Mlilwane Wildlife Sanctuary, where I spent my 5 nights, is a dirt road stretching past farms and empty storehouses. The road splits about 2kms from the turnoff. In the dark, I could not tell which way to go, so I chose the wrong direction. Taking the left instead of the right, I ended up driving into the reeds – and the night – loosing my way completely. It was one of those moments when things look more mysterious than they actually are.
Eventually I would find my camp and have a great 5 days in the landlocked kingdom. Before I left I debated about which border post I would exit through. Wednesday, the day I left, was a public holiday in South Africa, so there was still a chance the Easter crowd was in county and that the border post would be a mess.
On the morning I left the sun broke broadly across the western horizon. Barely a cow or pedestrian on the highway. The parking lot at the Oshoek border post looked abandoned, just a few customs and immigration agents in big coats, talking the day away. I made it through both sides in less than 10 minutes. It was really as if I visited two different border posts in Swaziland.
*I will post a link to my article on Swaziland, which will hopefully be published in the June/July edition of the African.org.
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