It is almost 6pm Central African time. I am on the Zimbabwean side of the border with South Africa, in one of the busiest border towns of sub-Saharan Africa, Beitbridge. I am about to infiltrate the world of Zimbabwean human smugglers known as 'omalayisha-a ndebele', which means 'transporters of the gods'.

By Thabo Kunene

In reality, they transport illegal immigrants into South Africa, with the help of corrupt border guards, who provide the smugglers with valuable information about the movements of South African forces for huge bribes.

I have an appointment with a 'mpisi' or 'hyena', who I will call Ndlovu, at a popular fast food restaurant. His job is to guide the smugglers and their clients through the thick forest, help them avoid the guards and cross the border safely.

I am very nervous. Crossing the border into South Africa is not only illegal, it is also highly dangerous. Many 'border jumpers' die trying to reach the 'promised land'.

Zuma T-shirt
I spot Ndlovu straight away. A T-shirt with a picture of Jacob Zuma covers his large belly - an indication that things are going well for him. The 'Omalayisha' are said to be among the richest residents of Bulawayo, Zimbabwe's second largest city.

He sits down next to me. "Why do you choose to be involved in such dangerous and illegal business?" I ask him. "Where do you want me to get a job?" he smiles. "There are no well-paid jobs in Zimbabwe. It is not possible to earn more than 150 US dollars a month. But in this business I make more than 300 US dollars a day".

"Besides," he continues, "because my job is risky I have become one of the most respected people in my community." With the money, Ndlovu has been able to buy a five-bedroom house, while most professionals in Zimbabwe aren't able to afford a home of their own.

Taking the risk
We wait in silence for a phone call from the drivers who will collect us in three vehicles. Then he breaks the silence. "Are you sure you want to take the risk and join the smugglers?" When I say yes, he warns me no-one must know I am a journalist.

Then his phone rings. Ndlovu orders me to join the traffickers for a briefing. When I arrive a trafficker demands payment from everyone in the group.

Those with no money are asked to provide contact details of their relatives who have to pay for them on arrival in Johannesburg - the dream city. I pay 1,500 South African rand in cash. The briefing follows. There are six short and simple rules:

* When you come across soldiers, don't run away or you will get killed.
* If they stop us, don't say anything, the traffickers will do the talking.
* When crossing the river, hold each other's hands in single file.
* If a crocodile approaches, attacks or kills one of you, the others must carry on with the journey.
* If you stumble on human remains in the bush don't panic, continue walking.
* And most importantly: don't talk, just whisper.

No way back
Anyone who does not want to continue is told to say so now, as there is no going back once the group is in the bush.

We are told to eat before we leave. The women of the group are told to change into jeans or tights. I ask them why they are risking their lives going to South Africa illegally.

"I have no passport and cannot afford to apply for a new passport in Zimbabwe", says Kholiwe Mabhena, a single mother. When I point out that she is paying the smugglers just as much, she explains that applying for a passport is a long process. Really she just wants to get to South Africa quickly to join her sister who has lined up a job for her.

As we talk, one of the traffickers interrupts: "Its time to move." Our dangerous journey is about to begin.

Inside the dark forest

It's very dark, but fortunately the guides have torches. We are dropped near the river, about 10 km from the immigration checkpoint. The drivers will meet us on the other side.

We wade slowly in single file across the knee-deep river and walk through thick forest. I notice human remains under a bush. Pieces of clothing are scattered around the bones. We are told they belonged to border jumpers who did not make it. The sight does not appear to deter the group.

After three hours walking through dense forest, we approach the border. There is only one major obstacle to go, a three-metre-high barbed wire fence. It used to be electric, but the fence was switched off when Apartheid was abolished.

The guides spot a patrol. We have to wait half an hour until we are given the all clear. We are told to move fast and rush to the fence, but soon retreat when we see flashing torches. Once again we hide in the bushes and trees until the second patrol passes.

Golden city
We clamber over the razor wire fence, ripping our clothes and suffering serious cuts and bruises, but we forget about that. We just think about the promised land - South Africa and the glittering golden city of Johannesburg.

On the other side, the border jumpers smile and pat each other on the back, but the traffickers warn us it is not time to celebrate yet.

The traffickers are anxious about the Mkhomeni roadblock. Some border jumpers and traffickers have been arrested there by immigration officers in the past. Not all of them are easy to bribe.

We are picked up in the vehicles and race to the border because of the danger of travelling at night. When we get there, a police officer demands our passports. The traffickers negotiate with him. We are told we have to contribute money to pay the officer or they will have us arrested.

Excitement
We pay 600 rand and are let through. I feel a huge sense of relief. We arrive in Johannesburg in the morning.

For some, it is time to celebrate. Sihle is excited. It's her first time in Johannesburg and her sister had already found her a job as a nanny. But others are held in houses until their relatives pay for their journey. Women are often sold for 1,500 rand - the equivalent of their fare.

For them the journey hasn't ended. It has only just begun.