An African bus story...

Getting from Clarens to Harare is never going to be easy, but my journey turned into a nightmare 36 hours! I got a new shuttle bus from Clarens to Jo'burg which wasn't too bad, but as the destination was right in Jo'burg it took longer than the usual airport run would. Ben (the guy I was travelling with) and I arrived at the Citiliner desk at the bus station to be greeted with the news that our bus was delayed. Not really a suprise to us, as most things don't run to time in Africa. The bus finally arrived several hours later and this is when we discovered what turned out to be quite a major error in judgement when we booked our tickets. The lady had asked us if we wanted to buy a ticket on Citiliner or Greyhound. I had travelled on Greyhound before and it had been about as comfortable as a coach can be. The Citiliner however was significantly cheaper. The saleswoman told us that they used the same buses. So in a moment of madness we believed her and opted to save some money.

The Greyhound coach has two sets of 2 seats with an narrow aisle down the middle. It seats a mere 50 passengers. The Citiliner coach however is the same size but manages to seat 85 passengers - you do the maths. It also therefore has to tow a massive trailer to fit all the extra luggage in. And there's a LOT of luggage to fit in. Going from Jo'burg to Harare most of the passengers are Zimbabwean's who've gone down to Jo'burg to shop. So there were mountains of bags. Plus you can take almost anything on the bus, you just may have to pay an extra charge. So in our trailer was a fridge/freezer, shelving units for a shop, and a whole load of inverters which are big business in a country where electricity comes and goes constantly.

Ben and I got on the bus and found 2 seats together. Sadly the seats were so small that for the next 27 hours we were literally joined at the shoulder and hip. We watched as the people piled on, bringing more bags with them. The overhead shelves were quickly full, so then after putting bags under feet we filled the aisle up. We also assume that there is some kind of black market in eggs in Zim as every person had at least 4 dozen eggs with them. We estimated that there were over 1000 eggs on the bus with us. Still better than a few live chickens which isn't unheard of.

We finally set off, and because we were so late immediately hit rush hour in Jo'burg and then Pretoria. We quickly discovered that small seats and lack of leg room weren't the only differences with the Citiliner. There was also no airconditioning, no toilet and the only working speaker on the bus was directly above our heads. This meant that when the driver put music on it had to be so loud that the whole bus could hear it through our speaker.

We made it to the border by 3am. We all piled off the bus and queued up to get our passports stamped on the SA side. I now really needed the toilet so rushed off to find one. The bus driver however didn't want to wait for me and Ben struggled to stop the coach leaving. I just got on before he headed off through no-mans land to the Zim side. Others weren't so lucky and had to run through. Beitbridge is a pretty big border so it's quite a long stretch to run and catch up with the bus. On the Zim side we were pleased not to be bribed for our visas, but then began the long, long waiting game. After unloading the bags off the bus to be checked, then reloading them hours later after they weren't checked, we went and waited for the bus to get through the traffic jam to end of the border. It took the bus about an hour and a half to move about 500m so that we could leave the border.

So finally after about 6 hours of hanging around the border we were off again. Things seemed to be going pretty smoothly until we came to an unscheduled stop outside a petrol station and as the bus stopped, something at the front in the dashboard exploded and the bus filled with smoke. Naturally we all piled off the bus again. After yet more hanging around while various people looked at the engine we discovered that the radiator had exploded. But given that it was accessible from the inside of the bus, there was no need to actually fix it - we just needed one of the drivers to sit by it and keep topping it up with water as we drove. So every couple of miles we would stop and wait while the driver went and re-filled his 2 water bottles. After we'd done that a few times, some bright spark suggested that if we collected up all the empty bottles on the bus and filled them all with water we could keep going for much longer at a time. So that's what we did. We donated our empty bottles to the cause and miraculously made it safely into the bus station in Harare.

And there began the great unloading of the bus. So yet more hanging around - although that makes it sound relaxed and ordered, which it most definitely wasn't. The bus station in Harare is hectic - there are people everywhere, buses coming and going, hawkers hassling you and it's all generally very African. We all pushed and pulled our way to our bags while the heavens opened above us. Thankfully our hosts were there to pick us up and take us home.

So 36 hours after leaving Clarens I had made it to Harare - there's a true African bus story for you.