A Large Man in Harare

Nick and I lagged behind Stuart as we walked into the immigration hall. We filled in our landing cards - just like at school each checking what the other one had written so they tallied up. Occupation well obviously - advertising duh! Stuart was a couple ahead of us in the queue. This was crunch time as he had already been banned from the country and would have been put on the plane back to South Africa if they didn't let him in. If this happened Nick and I were to continue on - as normal. Thankfully there didn't seem to be much fuss at all, having payed he moved to the next counter where he was issued his visa, wondered around to the baggage carousel, collected his bag and made his way through customs.

"Good Evening" I said to the immigration guy, remaining calm and not trying to look like an intrusive journalist.
"Evening, visa fee - $70 please"
"OK" I looked in my wallet and only had $100 bills, "Do you have change?"
"No". Going well this I thought. As far as tips were concerned $30 was a little high.
"Nick, do you have any $20 notes?.... Damn"
"Can I pay in British Pounds?"
"£35". That was fine I had £60 - got £10 from Nick and then paid for both of us.

That sorted, he handed my passport over to the visa stamp guy, and I waited behind the person before me. Called forward, waiting a bit longer, he handed me my passport - yes I was in - relief. I checked it. It was Nick's - not so much relief. I gave it to Nick - which must have confused the visa guy - and he asked "Why are you here?"
"For a holiday - we're staying at the Meikles, then going fishing on the Zambezi and then up to Victoria Falls'"
"What do you do?"
"We're in advertising"
"What?"
"Adverts..... you know we make posters like those" pointing to the traditional airport walls covered in tourist and mobile phone adverts.
"Uh" he waved Nick through and picked up my passport.
"..... ... journalists. .... ...." he said to his colleague. But the one taking the money took no notice.
"....... ......... journalists ...... ......." again.
"Its OK ....... ... they paid .... ........"

and with that I got my passport. Met Nick with the bags and skipping on air we left for Customs - which thankfully wasn't manned.

Coming into the main hall it was very quiet, all the shops were closed and there were only a few people milling around waiting for those behind us to come through. Nick nipped off to the loo and I went out side to find Stuart.

As I came through the doors and headed for Stuart he turned towards me - but avoided me and whispered through clenched lips "I've been made. Don't stand with me. .......... ........... ........" I'm wasn't sure at all what the last words were - I'm sure they must have been important so doing as he said I moved on a bit and parked the trolley against some railings so it wouldn't roll into the road. Stuart in his 'seedy' / worn leather jacket (which you'll see a bit later) with cigarette in hand melted back into the shadows of the entrance. What the hell am I / are we supposed to do now. Not sure I waited and turned my phone on.

Trying to stand nonchalantly and not staring at Stuart I looked around to see if anyone was watching him or paying more interest in us than should be. Nothing, no one - though he was well hidden in the dark - just as they could be. Suddenly feeling very inept and exposed, I realised I had no phone numbers no names nothing to try and get out of this. Possibly for the best as less to implicate me. Eventually Nick came back from having a wee. He passed Stuart completely and came over. I told him what Stuart had said - or I had thought he said. I am not sure how long it took but neither of us could get our phones to work. Either no network log on to, no coverage, network busy, number does not exist, basically anything and everything to thwart us making phone calls or sending texts. Something that we got used to very quickly and would live with until we got out. Texts, non existent and partial phone calls later we managed to let Dan back in South Africa know what happened. This had taken 20 mins if not more - all the while waiting for a large man to come up to us and say "Come with me....."

Stuart, who had now moved out of the shadows and into the complete dark a little further along the building, was only distinguishable by the glowing tip of his fag, soon emerged phone in hand and said we had to go round to the other side, cross into the car park and find a red car. Great - its dark and we have to find a red car in the car park and not the one with the large man in!

We crossed the road and made our way into the car park - which had at least 200 cars in, strangely enough we were the only three white blokes around - no doubt looking lost. A large man approached us.

"Are you Dan's friends?"
"Yes."
"OK come with me."

What would you do... of course follow him... which we did. We put our stuff into the boot of the car and squeezed into the back. Sat in the front was another, slightly smaller man - on crutches - Jesus can it get any more surreal?

He turned around "Hi I'm Randall and this is Hopkirk, sorry about the delay but its good to see you here". (Not their real names!) Hopkirk, who is a very nice large man, added "I walked through arrivals a few times but couldn't see three guys together so missed you, sorry." And we delivered ourselves into their hands as we drove out into the warm & starry night.

When Stuart came through from Customs some one had come up to him and said "Good to see you here to cover the elections then" or something equally distinct. "No holiday of course".

Conversation followed about where we would be staying, ease of getting around, driver, food money, what the Mule was doing with the other kit we needed. as we made our way to the lodge where we would be staying that night. The plan was for tomorrow was to move into a house and the owner would move out for while we were there. Most interesting and welcoming were the various discussions that Randall & Hopkirk had on route .... how to avoid the road blocks!