Winter 1978. I am holding a letter on pale lilac paper written to my mother on Wednesday 28th June from Bulawayo. The 5 pages tell the story leading to our deportation from Botswana; 'Mom this was the strangest evening of my life'. Goodness knows how she responded to this letter!
The post card I had sent Inel from Francistown was 2 days before the letter. I never got to the swamps, in fact it was many decades before I had the courage to go back to Botswana.
Fred and the gang had limped to Bulawayo with engine troubles. While the Jeep was being serviced, he invited me to join him, which I did, resigned, threw clothes in a huge suitcase and flew to Bulawayo.
The war was in full swing in the late 70's. We returned to Botswana via South Africa, by convoy to Beit Bridge then onto the Platjan border, through Selibe-Pikwe to Francistown.
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| In the garden at 4 Steward Avenue, Bulawayo, writing to my Mom. |
The plan was to collect Fred's fathers boat in Francistown. I write about the paperwork frustration, banking challenges, Fred's mounting irritation, feeling intimidated and quite frightened all day.
That evening we stayed with a woman called Iris, the shop-assistant to a businessman in Francistown that Fred's father had put us onto. The gang separated, Neil and Lee with the Hollander, the rest of us with Iris.
Iris the smuggler. She showed us a sealed Surf box full of currency. We were wide-eyed and terrified.
The following day was even worse. Taken into custody, made to wait without information.
Eventually a stamp in our passports - 'ordered to leave today- immediately'.
Deported.
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| 'Ordered to leave today-immediately' |
The gang braved the Plumtree road and made it back to Bulawayo - again. Fred and I stayed behind. We got to have a Rhodesian holiday instead, Zimbabwe Ruins, Lake Kyle and Kariba.
As my postcards home suggest, we were having a ball.
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| Postcards home from Rhodesia. |
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