Have you heard of Lesotho? Part 1
Grab your coffee
October-December 2018
Sitting in the terminal at Cairo International Airport, I reflected on my last two months in Egypt. While it is on the Continent, I was ready to go further into Africa. It was pulling me. Deeper, more immersive. The draw of a place I believed few others have seen. When I left the guesthouse, I remember the Australian Trio I was hanging out with asking me where I was off to next. “Oh, I’m going to Lesotho!”, I cheerfully proclaimed. Their facial expressions of confusion, shock, and wonder didn’t help keep my widening smile down. I was dreaming for far too long to visit this country, and now only death itself was going to stop me (or a delayed flight). “Never heard of that place mate where the f*ck is that?!”
Let me tell you all about it.
Lesotho is a small, mountainous, landlocked country completely surrounded by South Africa. It’s one of the few monarchies in the world and is also known as the “Kingdom in the Sky.” I take an 8hr flight with a layover in Johannesburg, then a small regional plane 1 1/2hr to Maseru.
The majority of the population live in rock huts. I see them sprinkled everywhere along the hills as we come into landing on just one runway at Moshoeshoe I International. The hazy green of the Drakensberg/Maloti Mountains that surround this Kingdom sit on the horizon. Everyone on this plane look like businessmen. Suits and ties. Upon landing it seemed like we were the only ones at this airport. Two lines at customs for locals and foreigners. I was the only one. The female officer had a vibrant laugh and energy I would grow accustomed to throughout my journeys in the Sub-Sahara. A positive attitude that’ll become a cornerstone to anyone’s memory who venture these regions.
Stepping outside there are shared taxi vans. The locals converse in their language, and I listen in awe as I hear clicking noises. Fascinating. Most people also speak English fairly well. It was quite hot today, my clothes soak with sweat in quick time. Barreling down the road it doesn’t take long for the traffic to get thick and on every other block people were selling almost anything. They would come up to the window asking if I want to buy water, popsicles, snacks, a goat, a solar charger, fruit, clothes, you name it. Continuing along there are several stores and businesses I observed that are Chinese. As I would come to learn, China is heavily entrenched throughout vast swathes of the Continent. Their economic ties (or in some cases, control) grows ever larger.
I get dropped close to the center roundabout. There are many bus and kombi terminals in this area that go to different parts of the country that I would struggle to navigate soon enough. I get out with my bag and start walking. There are few hostels here. At least to the degree any backpacker is familiar with. I booked an Airbnb, a whole house for $30 a night. I don’t recall the lady’s name nor could find her link, otherwise I would recommend to you. It was a few minutes down the road from the central Pioneer Mall. After checking in I see the electrical outlet is not what I expected so I go to the mall to buy a converter and exchange some money. The AC was a blessing from the sun. After getting what I need I walk past the food court. I see a large group of Pakistanis in traditional Kurta eating at the KFC. Another look around and I notice mostly Afrikaans as well. The local demographic was the minority in here. Later on, across South Africa I would observe the stark divide that exists between the populations but let’s save that for a future article.
The next few days are spent doing what I love most: just walking around the streets, no gps. The streets are full of life and people. Some chaos and commotion, but still harmonious in its system. Another wonderful aspect I would come to savor. Back in America, the roads are seldom walkable, and people spend too much time on screens, or inside. Here people barely can afford such luxuries, so might as well go outside. It’s a type of collectivism I miss and hope I can enjoy again someday. I walk past a group of kids, and they excitedly call out “Ni Hao!”. Being mistaken as Chinese would occur often. However, that misconception proved overall advantageous to me, in comparison to the treatment of white tourists I would later witness.
Some local areas were unhygienic. Trash covering the road, and bushes used as the bathroom by all. No one seemed bothered. That, mixed with the smell of exhaust would burn my nostrils on occasion. The sidewalks were packed with tarp covered stalls and tin shacks once again selling everything under the sun. There was an official souvenir shop in the center called the Basotho Hat. Full of traditional clothes and art. The fashion here is something I haven’t seen anywhere else. I buy a small keychain with the Flag and Hat on it, a symbol of this country. Close by I went to a liquor store, curious to try a local beer. The outside looked like a prison, no entrance, and I had to order through thick metal bars. The bottle passed through a small opening at waist level. Looking into the eyes of the guy who worked behind those bars I got the feeling he had a hard story to tell.
I’m eager for some scenery. The next adventure is going to the Katse Dam. Near center of the country and garnished by green hills. Kombi’s are the local vans used for travel. They leave when full, no set time or schedule. Best to go in the morning and play the waiting game. Walking around the multiple busy terminals, these vans don’t have signs or destinations. Hundreds of them parked, with people all over. I ask a guy in the street which one to Katse. He says, “Oh don’t worry Brother, I show you!” and grabs my wrist. Walking through the crowd and coming to a van just a minute later. Yelling through the crowd to the driver in local language he then switches to English and says, “Brother this van goes to Thaba-Tseka, then you take new van to Kaste.” Sounds good enough to me. I thank him and he cheerfully walks off, disappearing into the various markets.
I get on and sit in the back corner. The van was like an oven and sweat begins to rain out of my pours. Every few minutes someone else would get on. Bags, boxes and other sorts were loaded up. All space was utilized. Some people sit in the row with me and soon I am squished against the window and fellow passenger. My knees are up against my chest and bag on top. The guy next to me had his suitcase on the ground. Our feet rested on top of it. The other rows towards the front were filled after about 30 minutes. Meanwhile, an endless rotation of people continued to orbit around the van, trying to make a sale through the windows.
Finally, the driver gets in and we head out into the stop and go traffic. I make small talk with the guy next to me. He asked me if I wanted to see his pet turtle. “Umm, ok!” He then proceeds to open his briefcase and sure enough there was a turtle. “His name is Steven!” said the man proudly. How a turtle makes it out here is unbeknownst to me, but he looked well cared for. Steven rests on the man’s briefcase, seemingly curious about his surroundings as much as I was. This van was made for 12 people, but there were 20 of us. I can’t even see the front because of all the different things piled up. Having no idea how long the trip would take, as well as breaks, I rationed my food and water intake. I don’t remember how much I paid in Loti, it could not have been more than a couple Dollars. Struggling to wiggle my wallet out of my pocket, we passed the money up front. Finally, we escaped the grasp of the city and were let go onto the open road.
The hours went by, and the van would occasionally stop in the middle of nowhere to either pick or drop someone off. Occasional shacks would line the road and in-between, rock huts dotted the countryside. Primary transport out “there” is by horseback, and I get my first looks at those who make a life in these rural areas. Many shepherd animals and grow their own food, trading the surplus at markets. They wear traditional hats and are draped in shawls. Some wear ski masks and boots. I’m surprised how they don’t suffer a heat stroke in the glaring sun. There is hardly any shade. My phone was buried in my pocket, and I prefer to save the battery when I go out into the unknown. Plus, I don’t always like pointing a camera at someone, but here’s a few image credits:
The highway A3 twists and turns endlessly through the hills, but at least its smoothly paved. We do not stop for any breaks, and I feel immobilized in the van, my body slowly becoming numb. My spirit however is electrified as I can only stare out the window and marvel at the land. It’s quite common to see people walking along the highway, giving cheerful waves and bright smiles as we pass them. I think one of the most beautiful things while on a long trip, whether it’s a plane, train, bus, car…Is how one can appreciate the scenery yet may not commit every mile to memory. The moment was beautiful, but only a few still produce an image. Has this happened to you in your travels?
Steven was asleep now when we arrived late afternoon to Thaba-Tseka, his owner slowly rubbing his head. This is a large village and central rest area towards onward travel. We stop past the intersection north by a small shop. The area has a dozen vans parked as well. I say goodbye to Steven and the others. The man puts him back into his briefcase and with the others they walk on the road and off into the village that spreads out below this valley. No destination signs exist around these other kombi’s but the driver points to the van next to us and tells me that one goes to Katse. Is it coincidence or luck? I don’t know but out here you just have to go with the flow. I wait an hour for this van to fill up, packed once again. Another guy gets smooshed next to me and we make small talk. The sun is starting to get low on the horizon when we set out. The road immediately turns into gravel, bumping and shaking us without mercy. The suspension on these vans is long gone.
Going to a place where you are the only foreigner, somewhere you’ve never been can feel intimidating. The adrenaline rush fills me with life, energy, and vitality. I suppose I am addicted. Some may call me crazy. It’s all good. My body is pretty sore now, and I have bruises on my legs and arms. My bones were protesting the trip. Katse Dam is only approx. 230km or 143 miles from Maseru but it took us 12 hours to get here. As sunset began, darkness quickly enveloped us. The landscape to me appeared more jagged, steep, and even fiord like. The mountainous silhouettes created an ominous presence. I can’t wait to explore tomorrow.
We finally stop in the village and I clamber out, finding it difficult to shoulder my bag and start walking. There’s a lot of people and commotion at this stop. As evening sets in I meander through the crowd and get on the road. It’s a mile walk to the Kaste Lodge, which sits on a cliffs edge close to the dam. I come upon a police checkpoint and gate. They are surprised to see me and ask to see my passport. After copying my information, they ask typical questions about where I’m from, why am I here, etc. Things were going smoothly until the officer said, “I like your glasses give me your glasses.” Wtf I was thinking.
“Ummm I can’t do that I need my glasses to see.”
“Yes they are very nice give me your glasses.”
“No sorry I need them.”
“Yes I know but they are nice give them to me.”
“No.”
“Hmm, ok.”
And after that exchange they opened the gate and I kept on walking. That was weird.
This area seemed to be like a gated community, it was clean and quiet but also appeared empty. Walking into reception it felt like I had reentered the first world. Luxury and amenities abound. Even Wi-Fi holy sh*t! The Lodge had a central hotel and several separate buildings. I’m not sure if there is a main tourist season, because everything built here can accommodate hundreds of people, but I was literally the only person here. I book into one of the other buildings which are less fancy and was around $20. I rest for a moment on the balcony as the sun finally sets and reflect in awe on today and this impressive place. Walking into the bunkhouse the layout was constructed to me like a spooky hospital. A long tiled corridor and dim ceiling lights at measured intervals. Also the silence of being completely alone in here felt eerie, but the room was quite nice and the bed comfortable. I cook up some ramen and lentils in my camping pot and enjoy outside under the stars. The night was pleasant and the stars bright. I will see what the morning brings….
Stick around for Part 2 where I talk about exploring the Dam, discover one of the only Ski Resorts in Sub-Sahara, observing life at a diamond mine, spending Thanksgiving at the Highest Pub in Africa, and making new friends at the tallest waterfall in the country(maybe Part-3).
Thanks for reading!
-AbroadwithBrian
It was like riding along with you in the Kombis !
I hadn't heard of Lesotho before. Thanks for the descriptive story, Brian. That person really liked your glasses!