The Zimbabwe/Botswana Relationship - A Unique Insight

"Three Department of Wildlife and National Parks (DNWP) game scouts based in Kasane have been detained in Zimbabwe for trespassing and having fire arms. Kazangula Police Station Commander, Assistant Superintendent Chakalisa Nkoni said that the three men were caught along the Kazangula/Lesoma road on Tuesday. Ass Sup. Nkoni explain that the men aged between 27 and 34 were on duty tracking down lions which had earlier killed two cows in Lesoma. He said the three were driving a government vehicle and had with them two government firearms. The men are reported to have got lost on their hunt and were caught by Zimbabwean police. He noted the men were to appear in court in Victoria Falls on Thursday. He explained that on their visit to Zimbabwe, the three seemed traumatised by the ordeal, adding that the Botswana Police could not do anything to help, but rather the DNWP and the Botswana Embassy in Zimbabwe have to see that the officers arrive back safe since the laws are different.

Ass. Sup. Nkoni noted that they understand the situation the men are in because it is difficult to differentiate the roads between the two countries as there is no tangible structure like a border line to separate them. He advised that people should make a habit of being accompanied by someone who is familiar with the place to guide them, adding that it was the first time this incident occurred along the Kazungula/Lesoma/Zimbabwe border line. The border line between Botswana and Zimbabwe is not visible as it is only marked by two parallel roads. The absence of a border line was meant to avoid restriction of the movement of wildlife in the region. This is not the first time government employees from Botswana are arrested in Zimbabwe as in 2006, a former Botswana Television reporter and cameraman Koketso Seofela were fined arrested and Z$5000 (about P128) for breaking Zimbabwean Immigration laws by crossing into that country without permission.”

I was struck just how relationships change. When I read this story I was reminded about the incident I relate in my book about finding myself lost in Botswana…

without honour cover 02 button OBcl7 16744

From my book, "Without Honour":

"One Sunday morning, I was the duty call Patrol Officer, and was in the Police Station on Visiting Officer - a 'surprise' unscheduled and unannounced visit to ensure that the station was running well whilst there was not a full staff in attendance - when the same light blue civilian-plated Landrover pulled in at the front of the Station. This was strange, as CIO had their own entrance, offices and car park.

Chembe somehow pried himself out of the vehicle and, bathed in his usual sheen of sweat, shouted his normal greeting. He waddled around to the back of the vehicle.

"Ewe! The very man I wanted to see!" Great, I thought. Now he wants to speak to me.

The back of the Landrover was opened and another CIO agent inside pushed a rather dishevelled individual out of the vehicle - a dirty, unkempt man who smelt like he had filled his trousers with the unthinkable. Not really surprising, in the circumstances.

"This one is yours! He’s the one that robbed that bus!" Which bus? Oh, hang on, the satellite thief? Mmmm…

"I’m handing him over to you - it’s your case!"

"Thank you," I mumbled. A uniformed constable came and escorted the handcuffed individual to the Charge Office.

"Let him have a shower in cells, and then I’ll see him," I instructed the constable at the counter.

"Nkosi," he acknowledged.

An hour later, I had discovered that the man concerned (let’s called him "Gundwane" - Ndebele or Shona for "rat" - for simplicity’s sake) was the individual being sought for the bus robbery. I had found my satellite thief - or rather, he had been delivered to me. Not only was he able to put his hands up for the bus robbery, but a number of others which had turned nasty. Bullets had flown when this man decided he wanted something that belonged to somebody else. At least two people were dead as a direct result.

The best of it was, he was able to tell us where his weapon was - by all accounts, a G3.

The G3 automatic rifle, standard bearer of the Deutshe Bundeswehr since Germany was again allowed to arm. It is truly the firearm that put the fledgling arms makers on the map. Just up the hill from famed gun maker, Mauser, the former Mauser engineers worked as a team to come up with a design that would supersede the G1, essentially an FN FAL rifle, since Fabrique Nationale in Belgium would not licence Germany to produce it.

I already knew that Gundwane had passed on other sensitive information, hence the name I have given him (although I didn’t blame him one bit - going up against the CIO is an experience I could do without), and hence the reason why Chembe was so keen to rid himself of the man. I telephoned the Superintendent and explained to him what had happened and volunteered to go with a constable and Gundwane and recover the weapon.

I must have been suffering from too much sun or had a rush of blood to the head that day, as everyone knows 'don’t volunteer' for anything - especially when in a police force, the army or a fire brigade!

Sibanda readily agreed.

Within a few minutes, with a trusty constable on board, armed, we were in 5405 leaving Plumtree, heading north-west towards the indeterminate border area.

We drove for well over an hour into the middle of nowhere, and I was getting more and more worried as the distance between us and the Station lengthened (considering that Gundwane was adamant that the weapon was "duzi panapo" - right here, very close…).

Finally, Gundwane indicated that we could stop the vehicle and walk the rest of the way.

"Suits me," I thought. "This needs to be done and we need to be back at the station soon, as the sun is going down."

But it wasn’t to be. The sun was very deep on the horizon before Gundwane stopped and indicated to the constable a thicket of half dead trees. True to his word, nestling inside one of the dead tree trunks, lay a field-stripped G3 rifle, wrapped in mutton cloth.

I jammed the working parts into my riot jacket pocket, and wrapped the two main pieces of the weapon over Gundwane’s shoulders, connected by the webbing strap attached to the weapon - if he was going to make a run for it, at least he would be weighed down by the weapon parts.

Quietly relieved, we struck out for the vehicle. By now the sun had all but set and we were running out of time.

It was dark once we reached the vehicle. Now I was starting to worry.

Kicking the Nissan into gear, we headed in what I thought was the direction of Plumtree. I have a keen sense of direction but had miscalculated on the circuitous route we had taken to get where we were.

Within thirty minutes we came across a main road - but not a main road that I recognised. Well built and with signs that read different from those in Zimbabwe!

Damn! We had somehow crossed the invisible line between Zimbabwe and Botswana and were actually travelling East towards Plumtree on the main Ramekabane Border road. And before we could gather our thoughts, we were at the border post.

Picture it. Me and a constable in a foreign country in Zimbabwe Republic Police uniforms, in a Zimbabwe Republic Police vehicle, with two Zimbabwe Republic Police issue weapons, with a prisoner and a field-stripped weapon…

A small list of offences… It is illegal to wear the ZR Police uniform outside of the country unless you have specific and written permission (I believe the same rule applied to the BSAP, which is why I get so angry when I see reunion video tape footage where people are wearing the uniform here in the UK, and also only wearing pieces of it! If wearing the uniform was sacrosanct then, and we want to live up to the memory of the regiment, then the same rules should be applied…), we had crossed an international boundary at an unrecognised point - with two service weapons - and a wanted criminal, in a marked ZR Police vehicle - all without permission (albeit I had Sibanda’s verbal permission, but not to cross an international border) or the correct paperwork…

International. Diplomatic. Incident.

Four letter word: Oops!

Frantic telephone calls by the border post staff.

Then being summoned to the telephone to explain myself to the Zimbabwe Republic Police Commissioner of Police, the man with the name that translates to "Pig". Fitting.

He was not very complimentary, nor was he amused with having his Sunday evening spoiled by the actions of a lowly Patrol Officer in Plumtree - I know this, because he told me himself - in words of one syllable.

Then trying to explain myself on the telephone - again - to the local representative of the Botswana Commissioner of Police.

Finally, near midnight, we were allowed to proceed with everything except the field stripped G3. Oh, and I “forgot” to tell them about the G3 working parts in my pocket.

I had more cross-examination at Plumtree Police Station by Superintendent Sibanda, but since he had readily sanctioned the job, there was not a lot that he could say. And, the fact that I had the working parts of the weapon in my riot jacket pocket somehow saved me from more embarrassment."

Robb WJ Ellis

The Bearded Man