Immigration Game Drive

Rajiv Louis
Jul 23, 2017 · 5 min read

A note by Rajiv Louis

The very regal Kori Bustard on a game drive at #Chiefscamp. Photograph by Rajiv Louis

Maun, Botswana July 2017. I reckon it’s generally accepted that traveling into Africa fills one with a sort of dread and wild expectation. As you disembark dread takes full control until you have passed through Immigration and Customs where expectation turns to pure wonder and fascination as you breathe in the air and walk through the place of our origins. But first the dread. For Veronika, this came flush in the face at Immigration when the officer told her, “Your visa says you have to pay 500 Pula.” Veronika still calm. “Yes I know. Here is the 500 Pula.” Immigration officer — equally calm but bemused, “But you see the thing is, only the Revenue Office can collect any form of official payment. And we don’t have any Revenue Office in the airport. So what shall we do? Wait here a moment.” And off she went into a cubicle that was the Immigration Office holding post at Maun Airport. We knew this office well from our last visit to Maun in 2014. On that occasion we had to pay $25 for the visa and they DID accept money at the airport. Only on that occasion they did not have change for $30 or $50 or $100, nor did they want to accept payment in excess, and the woman who had the keys to the cash lock box had left and, “we are not really sure when she will be back. In fact we think she may be gone for a couple of days. So what shall we do? Wait here a moment.

So yes, we knew the drill well. In 2014 they sent us off into the country, no stamp, no payment, just a piece of paper that said, “This woman is fine to roam around the countryside looking at animals, don’t bother her, don’t imprison her for gallivanting around the Okavango Delta without an entry permit for the country, she will pay us and we will accept payment when she comes back to the airport on her way out. Just trust us that we the authors of this hand scribbled note will be here on the date she returns and recall this episode, and don’t judge this letter that is written in disappearing ink on recycled elephant dung paper — at least we are being environmentally conscious.

Only on this occasion, in 2017, it was no longer dollars but Pula (Botswana grows more independent by the day) and on this occasion it wasn’t a payment at the airport, but rather we had to leave the airport and go to the Maun Immigration Office and make payment there. They have lots of change at the Revenue and Immigration Office. And on this occasion we had to return with the payment receipt to see Mr. Tolosi, our personal Immigration Officer, at the airport for him to stamp Veronika’s passport for 10 days entry. It was possibly the only time in our 15 years of marriage where my wife wished she’d chosen to take up an American passport and not stick with her Indonesian one. But then I quickly reminded her of who was in charge in America in 2017 and she quickly came to her senses and plucked up the courage to head out of the airport and straight to the Revenue and Immigration Office in Maun. The office only opens at two o’clock; it was now one fifteen.

The experience would have been far worse if not for the wonderful attention and service of the people at Mack Air, the charter service of choice around Southern Africa…..(at least we’ve only ever been booked on them) and Lampi, the wonderful representative from #SanctuaryRetreats. Lampi and the folks at #MackAir were unbelievably accommodating and helpful, and thanks to them, this little Immigration experience was less nerve wrecking. So our eternal gratitude to them.

To be fair, this wasn’t some Immigration shakedown — neither was it in 2014. Just bureaucracy gone amok. Some time ago, the excellently travelled and witty Douglas Adams wrote that the vast majority of ex-colonies have this sort of bureaucracy that can drive the sane screaming to the nearest psychiatrist — ten people to a task sitting at tables with typewriters and stacks of official paper with carbon paper in between for signing everything in triplicate. This was the embodiment of that wonderful post colonial bureaucracy. You need to pay a visa on arrival fee, but there is no ability to do that at the port of entry. So they send you off into the country that you’re not officially entitled to step into as yet, without any stamp on the passport. Perhaps they are half expecting you to do a runner and that’s the shakedown opportunity. But with two young kids in tow, it was a safe bet that we weren’t about to attempt a runner, and off we went to the Immigration Office where one officer after the other gave us an incredulous look saying, “So you need a visa?” No, I don’t bloody need a visa; I just want to pay for the visa. “But we don’t have any payment for this here.” Finally, Mr. Tolosi it would seem had done us a solid and called a woman at the Immigration Office to let her know we were coming. This woman was finally found and she then began the process of accepting payment. On a piece of paper in front of her were her directions to accept payment: ENTER NAME. HIT RETURN. NATIONALITY. HIT RETURN. VISA NUMBER. DONT FORGET TO HIT THE DAMN RETURN KEY. IT’S RIGHT THERE — THIRD ROW, FAR RIGHT. IT SAYS “RETURN”. HIT IT! You get the idea. An hour later we were finally done. And we headed back to Mr. Tolosi at the airport. He went through the process of stamping Veronika’s passport precisely to the date of expected departure seven days hence. No worries; we weren’t going to extend and risk going through the Immigration maze once again — which was a game drive of an altogether different sort.

A mokoro ride at #chiefscamp and a bridge too far for a pack of #wilddogs in the #okavangodelta. Photographs by Rajiv Louis

Rajiv Louis

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