1988

1988: Arrested in Zimbabwe

In 1988 I went on a long trip starting in Africa and ending at ICME-6 in Europe, where I was to represent the AMC Committee in the absence of Peter O'Halloran, who was organising the IMO there. I was only at the IMO when the first visitors were arriving. Lois was jealous of this first part in Zimbabwe, to which she had never been, but nevertheless offered me some wise advice from her experience. She told me not to worry if I was to arrive for a bus scheduled for 0900 one day and be told “the bus is not going today, but it will definitely do so tomorrow”.

Maybe about 1800, after a long flight from Sydney and Perth, I landed in Harare and I found myself in a big queue of passengers seeking passage past immigration. Eventually I got to the head of the queue and the officer asked for my onward ticket. He noticed the later destinations and started shouting Johannesbirg and Cape Town through the hall. I assumed I was about to be put back on to the Qantas plane. Then he read on and noticed Budapest, capital of what was still a socialist country. He relaxed, grabbed some air and I was allowed through.

Over the next few days I went first to Victoria Falls, then back to Harare, then flew down to Masvingo, where I stayed with Richard Knottenbelt, whose students entered the AMC. I stayed there a couple of days, mixing a visit to Great Zimbabwe and working in his classrooms.

My time there had finished, and was about to travel on, with some trepidation, to South Africa. It was not right to tell my Zimbabwean friends my next stop was in Apartheid South Africa one the way to Europe, but I wanted to visit an academic friend who was running multiracial activities. My flight back to Harare one morning was fairly early, but gave me some leeway in making a connection to South Africa. Richard was able to drop me off at Masvingo airport early enough to be able to arrive at school on time. The only problem was that I seemed to be the only passenger at this small airport.

I go to the check-in and am told that my plane will not go today, but it will definitely go tomorrow. It was further south but they decided not to land at Masvingo just to pick up one passenger. I explain that I am that one passenger. The attendant smiles courteously. I have already outdone Lois. With her it only happened on buses. The following is from my travel diary.

I telephone Richard’s school and explain to him my predicament. He says that Harare is close enough for him to drive me there and make my connection. He arrives about thirty minutes later and says that under the circumstances he has been given the day off. We start our journey in his relatively modest, carefully maintained vehicle. About 20km north of Gokomere (his school north of Masvingo) we are stopped by a policeman. He looks around the car and we are allowed to continue. Maybe just over an hour later we are more than half way to Harare and we come across another roadblock.

The policeman looks around the car and this time we are in trouble. Richard explains to me that we have been placed under arrest and will need to go under escort to the nearby police station. He asks me not to open my mouth unless I really have to.

Another police vehicle arrives and we travel under the convoy of two vehicles, one behind and one in front. Richard explains that it seems we have the wrong sticker on the car. He also has a motor bike and he believes he has put the registration stickers on the wrong vehicles. He hopes he can explain this, but otherwise they think we are South Africans smuggling stolen vehicles into Zimbabwe.

We drive into a major compound past a line-up of police standing at attention with rifles and bayonets. I have seen these types of scenes in movies. We are escorted into the commandant’s office and we are first asked to hand over our passports. He looks at Richard’s and asks if he is related to Harry Knottenbelt. Richard explains he is his father. The commandant explains that Harry was his headmaster. Harry is Mugabe’s chief white adviser, and so things are looking up.

The commandant asks Richard for an explanation of the wrong sticker. Richard tells him the story about the motor bike. The commandant makes a five minute call in Shona, presumably to the motor registry in Harare. The commandant hands us back our passports and we are told we are free.

We make our way out, this time without the ceremonial guard and push on to Harare airport. Fortunately Harare airport is about 20km south of the city and we arrive with what seems to be enough time. Richard leaves me at the check-in and departs assured that I will be OK, but fortunately he doesn’t know what flight I am on. In fact I did make the flight to Johannesburg, but with little to spare.