Delays, cargo and corruption on a Zim-bound bus…Inside the chaos

TORONTO had already waited three long hours at Bosman Station, yet there was still no sign of a bus heading to Zimbabwe. As the clock crept towards 9 pm, hope began to fade. The station, once busy and full of movement, now felt slow and uncertain, and frustration was starting to set in among waiting passengers.

Then, at last, there was a sense of relief. A white coach with “Zimbabwe” written across it pulled into the station. Without wasting time, Toronto rushed to secure a seat, even managing to bargain the fare down slightly. At that moment, it felt like the journey was finally back on track.

However, it did not take long for him to realise that something was not quite right.

The bus itself was clearly not designed for passengers. Instead of comfortable seating, much of the space was already taken up by goods. Solar panels, batteries, second-hand computers and plumbing materials filled the back seats, leaving limited room for travellers. It quickly became apparent that this was less a passenger coach and more a transport for cargo.

The situation only became more frustrating as time went on. For nearly two hours after boarding, people continued to arrive, bringing even more goods to be loaded onto the bus. Bags, boxes and equipment kept piling up. Despite the late hour, there seemed to be no urgency to leave. In the end, the bus only departed well after midnight — hours behind schedule.

As the journey continued towards Musina, the delays did not stop. At every security checkpoint along the way, the conductor would jump off the bus. Each time, passengers were told that they were “sorting it out.” No clear explanation was given, and this phrase became a repeated reassurance for what seemed like ongoing informal dealings.

By this point, the bus was already far behind schedule, and passengers had no choice but to wait and hope the situation would improve.

When they finally reached the South African side of the border, the confusion deepened. Around 6am, a teenager suddenly climbed aboard and made an announcement to the passengers: “We’ll park at Ultra City. The bus crosses at 3pm.”

For those on board, the statement was both surprising and disheartening. It was still early morning, yet they were now being told they would have to wait several more hours before crossing the border.

As it turned out, even that timeline was overly optimistic. The bus only managed to cross into Zimbabwe at around 8pm — a full day lost on the South African side alone.

Toronto later learned that the teenager was what he described as a self-styled “clearing agent.” According to him, his role was to mediate between the bus crew and border officials on the Zimbabwean side, who were expected to return for duty during the 8pm shift.

However, there was a clear distinction between what he claimed and the reality. Proper clearing agents operate within the law and follow official customs procedures. This individual did not.

While genuine travellers waited patiently for their documents and luggage to be processed, the crew appeared more focused on moving undeclared goods and assisting border-jumpers. The priority was no longer the passengers, but rather the cargo and those trying to bypass formal processes.

Through conversations with fellow passengers, Toronto learned that this was not unusual. Some travellers shared that buses like this often operated for months without paying their crew regular wages or salaries. As a result, the transport of contraband and undocumented crossings had effectively become the main source of income.

The contrast with his earlier journey could not have been clearer.

On his trip to Johannesburg, Toronto had used Tamuka Coach. While the service was simple — with no snacks provided — it was efficient and reliable. The bus departed on time, made a single stop for refreshments in Masvingo, and went through immigration procedures smoothly at Beitbridge. It then arrived in Johannesburg as scheduled, without unnecessary delays or complications.

That experience now felt far removed from the one he was enduring.

On the return journey, the situation did not improve. After clearing immigration at Beitbridge, Toronto once again found himself waiting for the same white coach. This time, however, the long wait gave him an opportunity to observe what was happening around him.

Nearby, a woman was selling boiled eggs. She appeared relaxed and comfortable, chatting freely with a security officer even as other vendors were being chased away. At first glance, she seemed like just another small trader trying to make a living.

But as time passed, a different picture began to emerge.

A young man approached her and began talking openly about “clearing” buses and omalayitsha — the small transporters who move goods across the border on a daily basis. Shortly afterwards, one of the malayitshas handed the woman a stack of papers. Without hesitation, she began typing quickly on her phone.

Moments later, a customs officer approached. The woman then turned towards nearby passengers, casually asking if anyone had change.

It was at that point that Toronto began to understand what was happening.

The woman was not simply selling eggs. She was acting as a middle person, linking bus crews, omalayitsha and border officials. The boiled eggs were merely a cover. Behind the scenes, she was part of a system of informal payments and transactions.

Such individuals are commonly referred to as “Zvihomwe” — meaning “pockets” in Shona — because they collect money, often bribes, on behalf of border officials.

Toronto also learned that omalayitsha who chose not to work with these “agents” often faced long and difficult customs checks. In many cases, they were subjected to heavy penalties or repeated inspections, making it harder for them to operate independently.

What emerged from his experience was a picture of a deeply rooted system — one that affects not just travellers, but also the country’s economy. Delays, informal payments and illegal crossings all point to a network of corruption that continues to thrive at the borders.

The consequences are far-reaching. The state loses significant revenue, honest traders struggle to compete, and ordinary passengers lose time, money and patience.

In the end, Toronto was left with a simple but important question — one that speaks to a much bigger issue.

Do we need more layers of security to deal with these challenges, or is what is truly needed a complete change in mind-set?