The revving of the old engines makes the exhausts belch out heavy dark smoke that pollutes the air. The raucous roar is deafening. Hawkers, who have pitched their stalls on the pavement beside these buses, are engulfed in smoke. They stand up ranting and raving. The drivers seem unconcerned. One of them pops his head out of the window and gives a wry smile.
This further infuriates the women who bluntly insult him in Setswana. The drivers come out of the buses laughing and buy sweets and cigarettes from them. The dust settles. They look like old buddies. They are all chatting and laughing. The leaking diesel tanks mess the pavement. These buses are old. I once heard a traffic police officer warning one of the drivers that he would ask them to wash off the smelly diesel, which has discoloured the pavement. Not only is this pavement damaged by the diesel; the overly loaded buses are making it uneven. The activities taking place around these buses become more intriguing to me. I hang on for a while to watch and chat to a few Zimbabweans. Some are hesitant to talk to a stranger, but some feel at ease about it. I sit down with three women under the shade of one of the hawkers' stall. They are so friendly. I ask them about how the food situation is in Zimbabwe. "The shelves in supermarkets are fully packed now. Nowadays we only come to Botswana to buy electronic gadgets," one of the women, who did not want to disclose her name, says. The other two join her in singing praises about the slow, but promising pace to recovery. They are so upbeat about this. It is common knowledge that shelves in most of Zimbabwean supermarkets used to be empty.
