OVER LAND  AFRICA

Nobody said overlanding is for sissies, and our exit route from Angola was a stern test of this. It took three days to cover 160km of the worst road we had ever seen, as we plunged from one giant puddle to the next, each one threatening to tip Agnes onto her side. The final stretch to the Zambian border was the worst we had seen, and our racing engine warned the border official at the Jimbe gate, who raised the boom as we just made it to solid ground.

Our passports were stamped at what was possibly the least frequented border in Zambia after the date stamp was moved from its position quite some years back. As we moved on to clear the vehicle through customs, raggedy hand-drawn signs led us to a dilapidated building. We walked in to find a Zambian customs official wearing the full Rambo kit – a bulletproof vest, army boots, AK-47, pistol, two grenades, ankle knife, thigh knife, forearm knife, camo pants, sunglasses, and a beret.

Not a good omen. He remained friendly and when he peered inside the vehicle, said, “You know... usually we search the whole car. It can take a very long time. We may even search it from the up... to the down!” He was clearly fishing for a bribe.

“No problem! We can read,” Harry said, as he lay down on his bunk with a book. The officer dressed for all-out war muttered something under his breath and, after some silence, we were sent on the road again.

Our challenging