No way in, no way out

Unless you're in jail, the worst place to be in Zimbabwe is a border control post. It's the place where Kafka meets Godzilla. At the border last week I was told I couldn't leave the country, while a friend of mine was told he couldn't come in. And we were both given the same reason.

In my case, I presented myself to customs at the Beitbridge border with South Africa. I was on my way south to buy food in the republic, because food in Zimbabwe today is regarded as a luxury item.

The official glanced at my passport, which identified me as a journalist, then looked at me the way a cobra looks at a rat. I found myself hustled into a dark room, dumped in a chair, and subjected to a three-hour-long interrogation,