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African Stories: The Photographer. Between Pontdrift and Musina. South Africa..|| Oberholzer: I am travelling due east, parallel to the Limpopo River, which forms the border between South Africa and Zimbabwe, the latter known world-wide for its previous president, whom most of the world considered totally insane. He governed over a completely defunct economy, whilst parading through the streets in his cavalcade of Mercs wearing brightly covered shirts with pictures of himself on them. Meanwhile, across from his illusionary paradise, the South African border police, army units and customs officials have their hands full containing the influx of illegal immigrants flooding in along this border. When the river's course is dry, they really flood in. I thought I might get a picture of a group of illegals sitting beneath the shade of a Baobab tree, you know, pondering and daydreaming about their newly found freedom and the job opportunities they might find. This area is full of both, escaped Zimbabweans and Baobabs. Then a small red dot appears on my windscreen between the small cracks and dead insects. After a few minutes, the red dot becomes a man on a bicycle with an object slung over his shoulder. I pull over because it's not often that a red dot has a camera around his shoulder, a blue cap on his head and red gloves on his hands, I mean, Eureka! This is a colour photographer's dream. He's dark and I am light, he's in a rush and I am not. He's cycling to a far village to be the official photographer at a wedding ceremony. He agrees to a chat when I bring out two cold beers and my Canon camera. ‘Chenzira' is a Zimbabwean who escaped from the clasps of his mad president three years ago. He gets by, taking pictures of social events in the area. “Hey” he says, with a smile, “These people here in this place, they have lots of money for the weddings, and the funerals ---- houw! Much money for the funerals!” It's something quite special sitting in the shade of a Baobab Tree drinking beer with another photographer. When we parted, he asked me for some film. “Film!”, I exclaimed, “Sorry, my friend, I stopped using film many years ago”. Saddened, when we parted, I add, “but you live and photograph well now”. Then I left that red dot on the road to get smaller and smaller. (Some months later, I looked up the meaning of ‘Chenzira'. In Shona it means, ‘The one born on the road') (KEYSTONE/LAIF/Obie Oberholzer)