While travelling by road from Nairobi, Kenya, to South Africa, I hadn’t factored in going through Botswana. I didn’t even realize there was a country between Zambia and South Africa. It was a new twist in my journey.
I like to travel; there’s something about being on the road for long periods of time that calms my spirit. I have been to Uganda, Tanzania, Zambia and South Africa, and I plan on travelling to Ethiopia this year.
I am a 26-year-old microbiologist from Nairobi, and wanted to pursue my master’s degree abroad when my job laid me off during the pandemic. I started working as an online writer and realized that travelling was something I could do while working. When one of my favourite musicians, Kehlani, was performing in Johannesburg, South Africa for a festival, I decided it was as good a time as any to start my travelling.
I knew how to get myself from Nairobi to Zambia, but I didn’t know how to get from Zambia to South Africa. Turned out I had two options: Cross the border into Zimbabwe or Botswana. Since I had already partied in the southernmost part of Zambia—in Livingstone— I decided to try Botswana.
This meant catching a 6 a.m. bus from the town of Kazungula, which is divided by the Zambia-Botswana border, to cross the sparsely populated country to get to South Africa. Botswana is also considered more conservative and less cosmopolitan than my homeland of Kenya, which made me wonder how I’d make it out there. Evangelical churches there have rallied against a government proposal to decriminalize same-sex sexual relations, even though a court had ruled the current laws are unconstitutional. Newly found friends had also joked about how there’s only one bus in Botswana since the country has, like, six people (it has a population of 2.3 million compared to Kenya’s population of about 55 million). The Kenyan in me, accustomed to a solid bus network, did not quite realize how vastly different public transport was in Botswana.
The next morning, hungover and tired, I made my way to the border offices and passed seamlessly across the border. But I could not make the 6 a.m. bus since the border had only opened at 8 a.m. I crossed along with the truck drivers who were in the same lineup. On my right, a man had a passport with a similar colour to mine, Kenyan, so I decided to say hello in Swahili. He ignored me so I thought maybe he was not Kenyan after all. After my crossing was processed, I didn’t see him again and I went to get a bus.
There were no people at the bus station and no bus seemed to go all the way to South Africa, a journey of more than 1,500 kilometres. I had forgotten to exchange my money on the Zambian side and I couldn’t find any money changers on the Botswana side of the border. As I shared my predicament with the touts standing around the bus station, they kept asking what gender I was, as if they needed to know before they could help exchange money. They spoke their language, and I could make out what they were saying, but when one got very close to near me, I got scared and thought he was going to rob me. It turns out he was just flirting and wanted to be sure I was a girl.
I am a queer non-binary lesbian; I exclusively date women. I love moving through spaces where I can present as any gender. While many would label me as masc, my presentation swings. There are instances where it feels safer, or where I feel it’s sexy, to present as femme. In cases where people genuinely consider that I am a man, and it feels safer to be a man, I would be just that. I prefer being masc; it’s how I’m most comfortable. I wish in my travels that I did not have to be anything other than what I felt like being on that particular day.
On another trip, I remember travelling back home from Kampala, Uganda, at night and boarding the wrong matatu (a mini bus or shared taxi). This car had only men in it. I started to feel unsafe. When the tout misgendered me, I decided to present as a man for my own safety. The biggest dilemma in my non-conformity is which side I will gravitate towards at certain times. While it is often more dangerous to travel as a woman, strangers are kinder to pretty girls.
Travelling as a gender non-conforming person can be worrisome if you don’t know what to anticipate. Each culture can be quite different. I have found some countries, like Uganda and South Africa, to be unfriendly. But gender is not always the main problem. I found Johannesburg, South Africa, unfriendly because it was unsafe, in general, for solo travellers. I felt I couldn’t use public transport there, especially at night, and had a hard time making friends. But I didn’t find it risky as a queer person—I could be as masc-presenting as I wanted in Jo’burg.
So back in Botswana, no buses. Luckily, the young Kenyan driver I had met earlier appeared and spoke Swahili to me. It turns out he was going to South Africa, too. That is how I got a free ride all the way across Botswana to South Africa. Because I couldn’t change money in Botswana, the driver volunteered to give me dollars in exchange for my Zambian Kwacha. It was easier to travel with dollars since you can exchange it to the currency you want.
After driving almost 500 kilometres, we made it to Francistown, Botswana’s second-largest city, with just over 100,000 people. Since the driver was not on assignment, he was in no hurry to go back to work, so we thought we’d hang around Francistown for a few days.
My new friend was not much of a drinker and seemed to really miss his family back home. We had become friendly. He seemed to enjoy seeing young people like me be out and free—I don’t think he did anything other than work. Since I felt quite safe around him, this gave me a chance to let loose. After eating and taking a shower, we found a club where we could go out for a few drinks. The club we found was fun and seemed quite queer-friendly—it even had a gay vibe. The young men I saw dancing reminded me of a gay club I go to in Nairobi. I was surprised to find a place like this in Botswana.
At the club, I met a young queer Nigerian woman, a content creator who travelled for a living, who was there with a friend. She told me some of her travelling stories and we struck up a friendship. We drank, all four of us, till about 3 a.m. and then we got a room and slept. I still talk to the queer content creator now and then.
The following day the truck driver and I resumed our journey and drove all night, all the way to the South African border. My driver friend was going in a different direction, so he found me another driver who would take me over to Gauteng, the province where Johannesburg is located. Our Botswana journey had come to an end.
While I made many friends during that trip, I have to say that the driver made me feel like I was at home, even when I was at my most homesick. He didn’t once hit on me or make sexual remarks. He took care of me, made sure I ate, drank and showered and I generally had a lovely time with him. Every now and then on the road we would stop to look at wildlife since that whole road was like a park.
I think that the most important thing for queer and women solo travellers is learning to read the room. Although solo travel can be a daunting experience, especially in countries which are not as accepting, my best travel experiences have been when I’m alone because I’m better able to meet new people.
And my worries about Botswana? Despite its conservative reputation, the country was a breath of fresh air, partly because of my driver-companion, who didn’t seem to care what my gender was.