Mozambican Border Hassles: Trapped in No-Man’s Land!

Elezeu drove us to the Machipanda border post where we stamped ourselves out of Mozambique. With confidence, we crossed the river into Zimbabwe, planning to get stamped while walking around the boom. If that failed, we could always head into Mutare and stay with Frikkie and Juanita’s friends.

Our strategy seemed foolproof, but we quickly realized we had made a major rookie mistake.

As we began filling out the forms at the entry desk, it dawned on us that we were in trouble. We had no address for someone to contact in Zimbabwe, and we had no idea how long we planned to stay in the country. You can’t just waltz in without a clue. Just when we were about to wing it, the lady at the desk spoke up.

“You don’t have a contact,” she said.

“You’re using us to stay in Mozambique,” she accused.

“I won’t let you through to Zimbabwe,” she snapped at us, her eyes fixed sternly above her glasses.

We pleaded our case, explaining that we only planned to stay in Mutare for two nights and that we would call our contacts there and wait for them. It didn’t matter. She was determined to keep us out of Zimbabwe. The only thing that might have swayed her was money; she kept asking how much we had.

We didn’t give in to bribery, not only because it’s illegal but also because we couldn’t afford it. Defeated, we turned around and walked back to the Mozambique side.

Stranded in no-man’s land, we called the de Jagers and sought their advice. They suggested we try our luck on the Mozambique side, where people might show more compassion.

When Elezeu met us and explained our case to the officers, we were hopeful for a smooth process. But then they started talking money, and we realized we needed to take this to the next level.

So we took a deep breath and went to the top brass for advice. Elezeu came out, checked us out, and canceled our exit stamps. He warned us that no money goes in without a receipt and advised us to go straight to the Immigration offices in Chimoio.

We took his advice to heart, knowing that we couldn’t afford to make any mistakes with our expired visa. As we drove back to Villa Maninga, Marc and I had a conversation about how we had been unprepared for that border. We admitted that winging an international border, even in Zimbabwe, was just not feasible.

The following day, when we went to Immigration, we quickly realized that it wasn’t going to be as easy as we had thought.

At first, they told us that we had to go back to the Machipanda border and exit in order to get another visa. But we knew that going back wasn’t an option for us.

Then we remembered someone in Vilanculos who could help us. The lady at the airport mentioned Mr Chumbe, and said that if we didn’t reach Chimoio before our visas expired, we should see him.

We asked for Mr Chumbe and were directed upstairs when people realized who we were referring to.

Mr Chumbe was occupied at the time, so we arranged to meet him later.

We had lunch at two o’clock, which turned out to be delicious. It was a nice break.

Our meeting with Mr Chumbe, an important immigration official in the Manica Province, was short. He had been anticipating our arrival and asked about our cycling journey. He hadn’t expected to see us until after the 20th of May.

It was interesting how smoothly everything went once he spoke up.

Mr Chumbe bid us farewell and blessed our journey, leaving us with some last words of advice: “Make sure to ask for your receipt.” It might have been a bit more expensive to go through the official immigration process, but at least it was legal and transparent.

After paying the required fee of 450Mts and receiving our receipt, along with a beautiful extension stamp granting us an extra 30 days, we were back on track. Well, almost. We still needed to make some adjustments to our bikes. After cycling for 3,000 kilometers, it’s inevitable to encounter a few problems along the way.