A farewell to Zimbabwe

Tariro Mbudzi spent his last night in Harare penning a farewell note to his father. The two are not close. The son is a supporter of the embattled opposition Movement for Democratic Change. His father is a former army major and a diehard member of the ruling Zanu-PF.

But still it was not an easy letter to write. Barely 17, Tariro was expecting his school leaving exam results any day. His family assumed he would be there to receive and hopefully celebrate them. Instead, he had decided to leave his home and join the flood of fellow-countrymen fleeing the economic shambles of Zimbabwe for the region's powerhouse, South Africa.

"I took three hours writing it," he recalled. "I ended by saying: 'If God loves me I'm going to help you take care of the little ones [his younger brothers and sisters]. And please make sure they go to school.' "

The following morning before dawn he caught a bus south. Just 24 hours later, in daylight and in view of the Financial Times, he was clambering over the barbed wire fence at the frontier, his attaché case with a spare set of clothes flapping in his wake. Behind him his friend Obey Sithole grunted as his T-shirt snagged.

Then suddenly they were both over and across the dusty road that snakes along the frontier, all the while looking out for the South African military patrols that face the impossible task of stemming the exodus from their northern neighbour.

Ever since gold was found in the rocky reef that skirts Johannesburg 120 years ago, Africans have poured into South Africa from the north in search of money in the continent's El Dorado. Even at the height of apartheid when an electric border fence was often switched to lethal mode, the northern frontier saw a steady flow of people across the Limpopo river marking the border.

However, in the past few years as the Zimbabwean economy, under President Robert Mugabe's increasingly dictatorial rule, has headed into freefall, the dynamic has dramatically changed. Rather than migrating back and forth, most Zimbabweans are staying. They are also more desperate. This year even more than before the flood appears to be gathering pace.

"The situation is escalating," said Colonel Johan Herbst, of the Limpopo border command. "In the past Zimbabweans came for jobs. Their families stayed behind. They came over neatly dressed, and with a food parcel.

"That has changed. Their condition has deteriorated. They are shabbier, some haven't eaten for days, and we find women and children in bigger numbers."

Although thirsty after 24 hours on the road, Tariro and Obey are not as desperate as many of the Zimbabweans who sneak across the frontier. But they have no intention of returning home. "I will stay for as long as it takes to change my life," said Tariro. "Maybe I can be a garden boy. It's too tough in Zimbabwe. My teachers earn just 800,000 Zimbabwe dollars (about $45, £23) a month. How can people survive like that?"

Tariro says he spent many an hour with his fellow pupils at Harare's Mazoe High School plotting their escape. As it happened, his was not an entirely smooth run. Just before they raced for the wire, he and Obey had to hand over many of their possessions to the "guides" who had helped them to bribe the Zimbabwean guards.

"They took my baseball cap and my smart shoes. I brought them in case I had a good job."

In other respects, Tariro and his friend were fortunate. Many refugees remain for weeks stranded in the border region before being picked up and sent back by the South African authorities. But within days the pair had travelled by road and melted into the mass of Johannesburg's townships 340 miles to the south.

Official estimates suggest that up to 3m Zimbabweans live in South Africa. That sounds high given that Zimbabwe's population is fewer than 15m.

But it does not surprise Johannesburg residents who have become used to highly qualified Zimbabweans working as gardeners and waiters. Nor does it surprise residents of Diepsloot, an informal settlement outside the city, with a high density of Zimbabweans. "It used to be just men, now it is women too," said Dorah Mafifi, a South African resident. "There are too many of them. What can we do?"

That is a question that is vexing the South African authorities amid public concern that the incursion has fuelled crime and xenophobia. Tariro offers no comfort: the flood, he says, has barely begun. "To tell you the truth almost everyone in Zimbabwe sees South Africa as their saviour and wants to come here to start again."