Zimbabwe:Nearly a quarter of the population have fled the economic collapse, writes Joe Humphreysin Musina.
They mainly come at night, scrambling in twos and threes across the no-man's land between Zimbabwe and South Africa.
Like prison inmates on a mass break-out, they dodge police patrol lights and cut through the fence that separates their homeland from apparent freedom.
"We are suffering in Zimbabwe. We are dying of hunger," said Owen Nyararai, one of the latest escapees.
"There is no flour, no mealie , no sugar, no cooking oil, no soap. It's very hard," Marera Mugaga chipped in.
The pair travelled from Zimbabwe's Masvingo district to the border town of Beitbridge where they were set upon on by the "guma guma" - opportunistic thieves who swarm around the area.
Mugaga lost his money, Nyararai his mobile phone. One of their travel companions had a gold filing prised from a tooth.
"There were more than 15 guys in the gang. They were carrying long knives and knobkerries [traditional clubs]," said Mugaga, showing fresh cuts and bruises on his legs.
Other such refugees crossing the Limpopo river have encountered crocodiles. Yet more have become entangled in the electrified, razor-wire barriers that run for hundreds of kilometres along the river bank. The risk of injury is high, the risk of deportation higher, but still there is no stemming the flow.
Between January and June, 600,000 Zimbabweans entered South Africa legally.
How many arrived illegally is anyone's guess, with some estimating that at least three million Zimbabweans - nearly a quarter of the population - have fled south since their economy started collapsing under President Robert Mugabe's ruinous economic policies.
A night drive along the border illustrates the scale of the human flight. Long stretches of fencing patched during the day is once again torn apart as people, mostly young men, climb and crawl their way on to South African soil.
Pick-up trucks dart along the narrow road, stopping at pre-arranged collection points. Refugees are charged exorbitant fares for a lift to Musina, the main border town on the South African side of the Limpopo.
People-trafficking has undoubtedly become big business, and the once-depressed Musina is now booming. Locals report an upsurge in activity since Mugabe's decision last month to order a price freeze on basic commodities.
Food shortages have become more widespread in Zimbabwe, and things are set to get worse when a government ban on the import of unlicensed foodstuffs comes into effect on August 1st.
Elinor Sisulu of the Harare-based Crisis in Zimbabwe Coalition said the government policies were aimed at "making people more vulnerable" ahead of next year's elections.
"The only parallels I can think of are North Korea, and Cambodia under Pol Pot, and the only consequence will be the intensification of hunger."
She said it was no coincidence that the food restrictions were introduced just weeks ahead of the closing date for the electoral register. "People who should be registering to vote are now busy chasing after food, or are leaving the country. You'd have to assume they [the government] don't want people to register."
Francis Hweshe (25) from Harare, who crossed the border last month, said the government is trying to force people from urban areas - where support for the opposition is strongest - into the countryside, or abroad.
"It's all about preparing for next year. At the moment, there is no way Mugabe will lose the election," he said.
Hweshe, a newspaper journalist who was detained and allegedly tortured in custody, escaped across the border posing as a bus conductor. He has since found a part-time job - unlike many of his compatriots for whom emigration is merely another trial to overcome.
There is much hostility among South Africans to the new arrivals. Some Zimbabweans have been linked to organised crime. Others are accused of poaching jobs from locals. Exploitation is rife, and children are particularly vulnerable.
Ennie Lelushi, a voluntary outreach worker in Musina, said she had found employment for dozens of unaccompanied minors who had recently arrived from Zimbabwe. However, the work was fraught with difficulty.
"One man told us he had a job for a girl," she said. "But when we got there he said he had no job and instead would give her 100 Rand [ €10.50] to have sex. Just because the girl was suffering, starving, he tried to take advantage." Nyararai (20) and Mugaga (40) had their own story of abuse to tell.
On entering Musina, just hours after their dangerous crossing, they were stopped by a white farmer and set to work in a field. After a while, the farmer returned. "He kicked us, and threw stones at us, and told us we weren't doing it properly," said Mugaga. "So we ran away."
According to the International Organisation for Migration (IOM), which is assisting refugees in the area, deportations from South Africa to Zimbabwe have increased from 12,000 a month to 17,000 over the past year. A survey indicates that 27 per cent of IOM clients had been deported more than once.
"It's a very unpredictable situation," said Andrew Gethi, head of local operations for the aid agency.
A number of humanitarian groups, including the IOM, have discussed the possibility of setting up refugee camps in Musina. But the South African government is understood to be resisting any intervention that might accelerate the exodus.
Judging by Nyararai and Mugaga, Zimbabweans need little inducement to leave their homeland. Both had steady jobs in Harare, earning between 300,000 and 600,000 Zimbabwe dollars a month. That was barely enough to buy between six and 12 loaves of bread.
"When I left home, I told my wife I was going to war," said Mugaga, a father of four. "I don't know when I will be back."