The Road to Lesotho
Traveling south from Johannesburg, South Africa's largest urban sprawl, to the small country of Lesotho, was described as, "easy". A tolerable 350 miles (6-7 hours) away on newly paved highways in Africa's "best" mini buses. Africa time and Africa quality once again applied and 13 hours later, I arrived at my final destination - the small village of Semonkong.
My days travel began at 6 am but didn't really commence until 8. "We are almost full madam. A few more minutes." Sure, I thought, "half full" means we have at least another hour to wait before the minibus reaches capacity, enabling departure (as is common protocol in most of Africa). Impatiently waiting for over 2 hours, the last passenger finally boarded and our oversized driver climbed aboard. Vroom! Spitting and sputtering out of the parking lot, I realized this "premier" minibus was hardly fit to be on the road. The engines geriatric cough and wheels incessant whining instilling anything but confidence. And then came the rain. Large droplets plummeting in a side-ways torrent. Reaching for his wiper button, a solo creaky blade struggled to complete one half-moon revolution. One blade, where was the other? Despite our drivers reckless attempts to fix the other blade (one hand out the window fiddling with its base, the other clicking the wiper button and a lone knee steering the vehicle) the all important, driver-side wiper simply refused to function. Plan B. Lean over the center seated passenger as far as your gasoline pedal foot will allow and navigate from the windscreens "clear" side.
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There I was, wedged between 3 large and in charge, hair weaved women and one strangely sedated infant, cross-legged and trying to focus on anything other then my urge to pee. Two hours of bladder torture later, we pulled over for a potty stop. This is when all hell broke loose!
Inching towards one of the archaic fuel pumps, the engine, located directly under the driver seat, gave up! Smoke spewed forth and enveloped the entire cabin in a matter of seconds. Exhaust filled our lungs, smoke burned our eyes, voices of concerned passerby's filled our ears and the thought of an explosion overwhelmed our minds. Bodies began to fly!! |
Those seated closest to the vans sliding door were first to topple out followed by a monsoon of other passengers clawing to get out. Surging forward, the dozen or so people remaining, clogged the only exit out. Squishing, squashing and pushing each other out of the way, I was more concerned about fatal compression then a lethal explosion. Smaller then most other passengers, I retreated from the sliding door effort and instead squeezed between seats and the carpeted ceiling toward the driver side door. Worming between the final 2-foot gap, I catapulted myself over the smoking hot driver seat and out the ajar door. Luckily landing on my feet, I bolted for safety. Others were not so lucky. The larger passengers, seated furthest from any door, relied on windows. Babies first! Thrown to local passerby's, children were catapulted from the smoking vehicle followed by their parents who desperately tried to squeeze through. But, as the saying goes, you can't fit a round peg in a square hole. Dozens of passerby's crowded around to assist but only amplified chaos. "Get out!! Fire!". Duh, we know. The drivers brain finally clicked out of shock and into action. Racing to the back of the vehicle, he unlocked the trunk hatch and flung it open. Wailing for freedom, the final passenger was pulled to safety through the back seat gap.
The disarray of 18-people exiting lasted under a minute, but it seemed like an eternity. Complicated by extra large passengers and luggage stacked chest high on people's laps and in the narrow aisles, if there was ever a reason for vehicle safety protocol, it was now.
The smoke finally subsided and the vehicle hissed its final cry of defeat. No fire, no explosion, just an extremely tired, overworked and overheated vehicle. Now what? The driver placed a call to his taxi agency but it proved fruitless. We were half way to our destination and the taxi agency refused to send another vehicle all that way. We would simply have to wait for a local taxi company to help out. Pulling up a piece of curbside real estate, a fellow passenger offered to buy me a milk shake. "My favorite brand", he sang. Slurped from a non-discrip, yellow plastic bottle, the flavor could only be described as processed vomit with a hint of banana phlegm. Luckily, I only had to suffer through a few slurps before the relief mini bus pulled up. Discreetly tossing my banana surprise into the garbage, I raced for the open door and secured one of the closest seats to the sliding door. (Just in case another emergency evacuation was required).
The disarray of 18-people exiting lasted under a minute, but it seemed like an eternity. Complicated by extra large passengers and luggage stacked chest high on people's laps and in the narrow aisles, if there was ever a reason for vehicle safety protocol, it was now.
The smoke finally subsided and the vehicle hissed its final cry of defeat. No fire, no explosion, just an extremely tired, overworked and overheated vehicle. Now what? The driver placed a call to his taxi agency but it proved fruitless. We were half way to our destination and the taxi agency refused to send another vehicle all that way. We would simply have to wait for a local taxi company to help out. Pulling up a piece of curbside real estate, a fellow passenger offered to buy me a milk shake. "My favorite brand", he sang. Slurped from a non-discrip, yellow plastic bottle, the flavor could only be described as processed vomit with a hint of banana phlegm. Luckily, I only had to suffer through a few slurps before the relief mini bus pulled up. Discreetly tossing my banana surprise into the garbage, I raced for the open door and secured one of the closest seats to the sliding door. (Just in case another emergency evacuation was required).
We arrived at the Maseru border crossing, the capital of Lesotho, 7 hours after the day began. Thanks to a broken luggage trailer, my backpack was soaked! Slugging the sopping wet mess over my shoulders, I shimmied towards immigration. In one end, out the other. No line and no hassle at both immigration desks (exit South Africa, enter Lesotho) was the only silver lining to the trip thus far. Organizing a shared taxi (New York-style taxi shared between 4 strangers often bound for four very different locations) also proved relatively easy. Dropped off at the Maseru mini bus stand, I stepped right onto my final leg of the journey - an almost full mini bus bound for the town of Semonkong. An estimated 3 hour journey, I was beginning to think things were looking up.
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Photo taken by a friend. Not the visual wonder I experienced driving in.
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A few more passengers clambered aboard behind me, elevating my spirits further, but the final occupant, the one person necessary to make the minibus leave, took over an hour to join us. The smell of damp clothing, poor hygiene and greasy friend chicken (the dinner of choice) wafted through the cabin and my previously hungry stomach curled into a tumultuous knot. The easy fix would have been opening the sliding door for fresh air but you try convincing 17 locals to open the one thing protecting them from the freezing cold outdoors. As I painfully learned, the entire country of Lesotho exists above 3,500 feet and evening temperatures drop dramatically. So there I was. The only idiot in shorts, a tank top and one lone scarf trying to combat the cold by snuggling deeper into those wearing sweaters and blankets all around me. I would give anything for a jacket, socks or pants, but as it were, all my clothes were currently soaked from the days journey.
Dusk had set in by the time we departed Maseru and the rains once again fell. Traveling at speeds passable by a snail, we slowly wound up and down the challenging roads. Cold, hungry and jaded, I no longer cared about reaching Semonkong. I just wanted a warm fire and cup of tea! |
Crunching to a halt in nights inky blackness, the driver told me to get out. "This is Semonkong", I croaked? His uninspired eyeball roll said everything. Peering out the foggy windows all I could see were a few ramshackle buildings reflected off his dim headlights. Sliding open the mini bus door, I stepped into an unwelcoming world. Falling in thick sheets, rain pelted me from every direction, while a landslide of mud made traction damn near impossible for my worn Aasic soles. Loaded with gear and covered in Mother Nature, I begged the mini bus driver for a lift to the lodge. He responded, "Find a taxi." Are you kidding me. There isn't even a light on in this supposed town. Locking eyes one last time, he finally recognized my peril - more so, the opportunity to charge an exhorbidant fare for the small distance - and conceded to transport me.
Sliding through the mud for those final kilometers, I could almost feel my warm bed and taste a hot cup of tea. The day from hell almost over. Just a few more minutes, I thought. ERRRRR! Careening to a stop on the sloppy, slushy road, the driver jumped out of the van screaming something in hurried Besotho (the language of Lesotho). The other van passenger, a local girl who snagged a lift on my inflated payment, yelped in broken English, "He see thief. He chase her." A moment later the girl clambered over top of me and raced after him (and the thief). Twiddling my thumbs and peering into the darkness, I couldn't help but wonder...they're chasing a thief yet the driver abandoned his vehicle with keys in the ignition?? Not to mention me and all my valuables - worth more then a locals yearly wage. Locking all the doors, I slumped down the wet upholstery and lay quietly out of sight. Then, like zombies in the night, a huge group of people marched towards the vehicle. Cocking my head just above the window frame, I strained my eyes for a familiar face. No driver, no girl, just shadowy figures. They're coming for me!! Knock! Knock! "Mzungu, Mzungu" (White person, white person)! Dancing with fear, my eyes darted between the now, dozen or so faces crowding the foggy windows and that's when I saw her. The friendly girl who once sat next to me. The driver emerged shortly after bearing a defeated, lop sided grin. The thief, who as I later learned stole his phone, got away and the dozen other people in his entourage were local friends aiding in the pursuit. High speed chase over, it was time to put an end to this miserable day!
Continuing down the long, muddy hill, we came to a stop in front of a small bridge. The driver exclaimed, "You're here". I'm where? There is nothing. From across the bridge I could only see a few small lights, nothing that would signify lodge or even humanity. I told him to please bring me to the lodges main door as I had paid him to do so. Annoyed, he drove over the bridge and stopped only a hundred feet after. "Here". Through the darkness, I could just make out a sign reading, "Semonkong Lodge", along with a string of random lights leading up a hillside. Disembarking the minivan, I reluctantly grabbed my bags and moved into the dark void. "Hello…are you open", I yelled. No answer. I saw a sign for reception and proceeded up a narrow wooden staircase. At the top, I noticed a series of windows and a door. Too bad the lights were off and door locked. No one was home. Freaking out, I ran back down the steps towards the taxi but it was already rifling up the hill and out of sight.
Now I admit, my brain wasn't functioning at this point and instead of exploring other building alcoves or those distant lights, I just stood in the rain and yelled, "HELP". "Hello Madam". Whirling around, a plump, genial looking woman beamed back. "You made it!" "Uh, yes I've made it??" Analyzing my deranged, water logged status, she ushered me upstairs and opened the reception office. "We thought you would never arrive", she said with a concerned expression. "I didn't think I would either," I replied. Quickly registering my passport details she said the rest could wait until tomorrow. "For now", recognizing my need for warmth and food, "can I offer you some dinner? "Yes", I greedily replied, "anything warm." "I recommend the butternut soup", she sung. Perfect. I still wasn't sure where this so called edible delight would come from, every place still seeming dark and uninhabited, but I was willing to try. She handed me one lone key attached to a large wooden keychain and summoned Paul, the night security guard, to show me to my room.
Slinging my wet backpacker over his shoulder, he kindly handed me an umbrella, switched on a a large flash light and said, "Follow me madam".
Floundering through puddles and muddy recesses, Paul led me up the ghostly lit path. My umbrella kept collapsing, my shoes were saturated, and my thighs revolted on each steep step up. "Where's my dormitory, on top of the mountain", I joked. Paul just laughed and reassured, "only a bit further". The moon cast an eerie glow on a steadily approaching structure. As we neared, the large stone rondoval and thatched roof revealed itself. "Home, sweet home", he proclaimed. Walking up to the dark stoop, Paul explained no one else was staying in the 6-bed dormitory. It would be my private room. Excited and nervous in the same breath, a grunty turn of the key and rusty creak bid us passage.
Sliding through the mud for those final kilometers, I could almost feel my warm bed and taste a hot cup of tea. The day from hell almost over. Just a few more minutes, I thought. ERRRRR! Careening to a stop on the sloppy, slushy road, the driver jumped out of the van screaming something in hurried Besotho (the language of Lesotho). The other van passenger, a local girl who snagged a lift on my inflated payment, yelped in broken English, "He see thief. He chase her." A moment later the girl clambered over top of me and raced after him (and the thief). Twiddling my thumbs and peering into the darkness, I couldn't help but wonder...they're chasing a thief yet the driver abandoned his vehicle with keys in the ignition?? Not to mention me and all my valuables - worth more then a locals yearly wage. Locking all the doors, I slumped down the wet upholstery and lay quietly out of sight. Then, like zombies in the night, a huge group of people marched towards the vehicle. Cocking my head just above the window frame, I strained my eyes for a familiar face. No driver, no girl, just shadowy figures. They're coming for me!! Knock! Knock! "Mzungu, Mzungu" (White person, white person)! Dancing with fear, my eyes darted between the now, dozen or so faces crowding the foggy windows and that's when I saw her. The friendly girl who once sat next to me. The driver emerged shortly after bearing a defeated, lop sided grin. The thief, who as I later learned stole his phone, got away and the dozen other people in his entourage were local friends aiding in the pursuit. High speed chase over, it was time to put an end to this miserable day!
Continuing down the long, muddy hill, we came to a stop in front of a small bridge. The driver exclaimed, "You're here". I'm where? There is nothing. From across the bridge I could only see a few small lights, nothing that would signify lodge or even humanity. I told him to please bring me to the lodges main door as I had paid him to do so. Annoyed, he drove over the bridge and stopped only a hundred feet after. "Here". Through the darkness, I could just make out a sign reading, "Semonkong Lodge", along with a string of random lights leading up a hillside. Disembarking the minivan, I reluctantly grabbed my bags and moved into the dark void. "Hello…are you open", I yelled. No answer. I saw a sign for reception and proceeded up a narrow wooden staircase. At the top, I noticed a series of windows and a door. Too bad the lights were off and door locked. No one was home. Freaking out, I ran back down the steps towards the taxi but it was already rifling up the hill and out of sight.
Now I admit, my brain wasn't functioning at this point and instead of exploring other building alcoves or those distant lights, I just stood in the rain and yelled, "HELP". "Hello Madam". Whirling around, a plump, genial looking woman beamed back. "You made it!" "Uh, yes I've made it??" Analyzing my deranged, water logged status, she ushered me upstairs and opened the reception office. "We thought you would never arrive", she said with a concerned expression. "I didn't think I would either," I replied. Quickly registering my passport details she said the rest could wait until tomorrow. "For now", recognizing my need for warmth and food, "can I offer you some dinner? "Yes", I greedily replied, "anything warm." "I recommend the butternut soup", she sung. Perfect. I still wasn't sure where this so called edible delight would come from, every place still seeming dark and uninhabited, but I was willing to try. She handed me one lone key attached to a large wooden keychain and summoned Paul, the night security guard, to show me to my room.
Slinging my wet backpacker over his shoulder, he kindly handed me an umbrella, switched on a a large flash light and said, "Follow me madam".
Floundering through puddles and muddy recesses, Paul led me up the ghostly lit path. My umbrella kept collapsing, my shoes were saturated, and my thighs revolted on each steep step up. "Where's my dormitory, on top of the mountain", I joked. Paul just laughed and reassured, "only a bit further". The moon cast an eerie glow on a steadily approaching structure. As we neared, the large stone rondoval and thatched roof revealed itself. "Home, sweet home", he proclaimed. Walking up to the dark stoop, Paul explained no one else was staying in the 6-bed dormitory. It would be my private room. Excited and nervous in the same breath, a grunty turn of the key and rusty creak bid us passage.
3 rustic wooden bunk beds lined the perimeter with a fireplace and large armoir anchoring the circular room. A large bathroom also sat just off the main rondoval. My eyes immediately navigated towards the fireplace. There were matches and candles resting on top of the mantle and wood in its belly but where was the fire starter? I was a girl scout Paul ,not a bush man. He saw my anxiety and reassured to help with the fire after dinner. Thanking Paul for his assistance, he slipped out of the rondoval and back to his security post. I was alone.
The chills were rampant. Chills of cold, hunger or fear I couldn't be sure. Layering up with the few dry items left in my bag, I clicked on my Samsung mobile mini flashlight and began carefully retracing my steps. Returning to the reception area, dark once again, I followed the steps down and around the front of the building. A dim light flickered in the near distance and I could see the faint outlines of two people. |
Moving towards the figures, I could now hear laughter and yes, even smell my steamy, soupy salvation. "What took you so long", one of the figures chuckled. Coming into view between thick rings of cigarette smoke, the stout man carried a smile but I only saw mockery. Trying to conceal my frustration, I briefed Peter, the lodge manager, on the grim details of my trip and concluded, "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm freezing."
Pushing open the hardy oak door hidden behind his rather large mass, a parallel universe opened. The cold, rain, and miserable attitude of today evaporated into the warm glow of a crackling fire and dozens of smiles. The dining room was a buzz with activity. Eager diners enjoyed plates of culinary delights while half a dozen staff pulsed around the room, ensuring everyone's wine glass was full and meal satisfactory. Aside from the atmosphere, the room was stunning. Stone walls adorned with paintings and pictures of Lesotho's beautiful countryside, rustic wooden tables complete with tee lights and fine china and a striking high-arched ceiling above it all, exposing the bones of the building; weathered wooden beams running it's length. Every surface was thought about with the greatest of detail and the rooms concluding personality was intoxicating.
Still struggling to comprehend this indoor/outdoor dichotomy, Clara, a kind hearted, big grinned woman, led me to my private, pre-set table. Not even bothering to hand me a menu she said my soup was ready and would be delivered momentarily. Would I like anything to drink first? I knew tea was the better choice for body warmth but the days events called for a glass of wine. Cheers to me and one hellacious day!
The soup was rich and hearty complimented by a crisp, salted almost focaccia-like bread for dipping. My spirits soared with each bite and although my demeanor was still far from sociable, I was at least coming back to life. Tomorrow would be a good a day I thought.
Leaving the warmth, I clambered back up the hill to my private abode. Expecting a bitterly cold sleep, I was shocked to find a snapping and popping fire within. Looking around, I croaked, "hello, is someone here?". Then it dawned on me, Paul probably tended the fire while I was at dinner. So there I was, in my own stone rondoval, sitting before a roaring fire place with the last remains of a bitter day evaporating. Awww, Semonkong Lodge was looking up.
Pushing open the hardy oak door hidden behind his rather large mass, a parallel universe opened. The cold, rain, and miserable attitude of today evaporated into the warm glow of a crackling fire and dozens of smiles. The dining room was a buzz with activity. Eager diners enjoyed plates of culinary delights while half a dozen staff pulsed around the room, ensuring everyone's wine glass was full and meal satisfactory. Aside from the atmosphere, the room was stunning. Stone walls adorned with paintings and pictures of Lesotho's beautiful countryside, rustic wooden tables complete with tee lights and fine china and a striking high-arched ceiling above it all, exposing the bones of the building; weathered wooden beams running it's length. Every surface was thought about with the greatest of detail and the rooms concluding personality was intoxicating.
Still struggling to comprehend this indoor/outdoor dichotomy, Clara, a kind hearted, big grinned woman, led me to my private, pre-set table. Not even bothering to hand me a menu she said my soup was ready and would be delivered momentarily. Would I like anything to drink first? I knew tea was the better choice for body warmth but the days events called for a glass of wine. Cheers to me and one hellacious day!
The soup was rich and hearty complimented by a crisp, salted almost focaccia-like bread for dipping. My spirits soared with each bite and although my demeanor was still far from sociable, I was at least coming back to life. Tomorrow would be a good a day I thought.
Leaving the warmth, I clambered back up the hill to my private abode. Expecting a bitterly cold sleep, I was shocked to find a snapping and popping fire within. Looking around, I croaked, "hello, is someone here?". Then it dawned on me, Paul probably tended the fire while I was at dinner. So there I was, in my own stone rondoval, sitting before a roaring fire place with the last remains of a bitter day evaporating. Awww, Semonkong Lodge was looking up.
Unfortunately, none of the photos seen here are my own (All found online and through friends).
My camera was stolen shortly after my time in Lesotho and with it, all my pictures.
My camera was stolen shortly after my time in Lesotho and with it, all my pictures.