By Daisy Mulenga
I write this as a Zambian daughter who simply wanted to go home for the holidays, see my children and parents in good time before the busy period on the road. Instead, I spent four painful days stranded at Kazungula, reduced to humiliation and confusion, unable to enter my own country with my personal vehicle, instead offered to use public transport and either leave my car at the boarder or return it to SA.
This is not an attack on ZRA border security. It is not a defence of those who evade taxes or smuggle stolen cars. It is a plea for dignity, accountability and intelligent public administration.
When I first arrived at Kazungula, I did not have every document I would ultimately need. That much is true. I arrived close to closing time and I learnt, after the fact, that a foreign-registered or financed vehicle demands specific compliance steps – through what was pointed to me as a printed banner i must read. I accept that. There is a valid reason for that though, the car was just about 10 days old and the dealership had not completed registrations hence i got the temp permit to travel and police clearance. For countries that operate on more than this is how its been done in the past, i explained this in SA and they permitted me to travel, I explained this in Botswana and they also permitted me to proceed, I explained this in Zambia and i was the biggest red flag they had ever seen (Exggerated fact based on behavior experienced) . What I needed in that moment was specific clarity, guidance and an official explanation of the requirements. What I received instead was suspicion, intimidation and a system that defaults to treating over zealous people like me who just want to return home for Christmas, as criminals.
Over the next three days, I worked to correct every gap. I returned with a bank letter confirming permission to travel with a financed vehicle, SAPS police clearance, cross-border insurance cover, full registration documents, couriered number plates and every piece of supporting documentation I could obtain. At that point, I believed the matter was now one of verification and procedure. Instead, the atmosphere became more hostile. I was told i should not have fixed plates at the boarder, while i was clamped and could not move.
Despite presenting full documentation finally, I was told repeatedly no officer could touch my case without additional approvals, with an insinuation that I did not look trustworthy enough to enter Zambia with my vehicle, that I might run away without paying duties in future, or that the car could still be stolen. No one gave me a written position. No one cited the specific regulation. No one issued a formal refusal letter. What I received instead was a clamp on my car, a ZRA signboard placed on it like a badge of criminality, and a series of verbal statements that only deepened the humiliation for many days while I weeped and begged for help.
I ask directly: why clamp my car? Under what legal authority? Was I accused of evading tax? Was I refusing due process? Was I resisting inspection? If temporary importation is disallowed until verification, where is the official paper trail? I was not even given a chance to start the process, i was just told it wont happen. I guess they won, it indeed did not happen. How does a citizen appeal a decision if the decision is never documented?
As a citizen, I expected two things from an institution like ZRA. First, personal guidance on the correct process for a financed vehicle on foreign plates. Second, transparent grounds for denying entry. Instead, I was left in limbo, crying in public offices, moving between senior officials who could offer no written reasoning beyond the phrase “it is complicated.” I needed options and solutions on how we would remedial my good faith and willingness to comply. Instead i went on my own path to try correct all my wrongs and was still told – More verifications need to happen vaguely.
I offered a good-faith security deposit while verification continued. I was told the duty estimate would be so high that it was pointless to try. I was asked to return the following day because sign-off officers were unavailable on weekends. Meanwhile, my travel plans, my dignity and my emotional wellbeing were collateral damage.
There is a bigger economic problem here. Zambia says it wants investors. Zambia says it wants returning talent and diaspora engagement. Zambia wants vehicle tourism feeding into Victoria Falls. Yet at the very gateway to the tourist capital, citizens are embarrassed, denied information, stripped of agency and made to feel like intruders.
I am a businesswoman. I want to invest in my country Zambia. I want to build technology hubs. I want to create jobs. I want to build a media company that mirrors my South African Agency. But how do we encourage investment when basic administrative systems remain opaque, inconsistent and sometimes indifferent to human dignity? How many foreign businesspeople would tolerate what I endured?
In this situation, all I needed was a written statement:
• Why was my entry denied?
• What regulation governs the refusal?
• What is the formal temporary importation procedure?
• What was the legal basis for clamping my vehicle?
• What recourse does a citizen have?
• What is ZRA’s official position on financed foreign-registered vehicles entering Zambia for holiday purposes?
These are not emotional questions. They are governance questions.
Instead of clarity, I left Kazungula in tears, escorted back across the border, without a single written document explaining why. A patriotic Zambian shamed as though i had been expelled. This pained me.
There are solutions. Risk can be managed through refundable deposits, bank-verified ownership, insurance-based guarantees or a digital registry linking vehicle financing institutions and ZRA. A temporary importation bond product would remove uncertainty for honest citizens and give ZRA security over potential duty exposure. It is not complex. It is not revolutionary. It is simply proper administration.
I am not angry at Zambia, I am hurt. I am wounded by what Zambia allowed me to experience, God knows i count every day to get to holiday season so i can come home and have some sort of belonging. This was not just a border crossing. It was a message about how the system sees suspicion in everyone. If we want to build a competitive nation, we cannot continue designing systems that humiliate more than they regulate.
Cry, my beloved Zambia. Not because we lack potential, but because we continue to waste it at the gate.
Sincerely Disheartened,
Daisy Mulenga
