"Wayfarer. Pause and look upon a gateway of Paradise."
(Sadly, the bus did not pause long enough for me to get a good shot of this
plaque.)
10 am - Maseru So, in the U.S., we joke about being on "Asian" time, which is usually a good half hour to a full hour late. "African" time is no joke. No one here wears watches. Buses don't run on any sort of timetable. They sit at a stop until the bus fills up before they leave, regardless of whether that's 5 minutes or 5 hours from now. I'm in Maseru, waiting for the Malealea bus to leave. I've bought a new hat to replace the one I lost in Ladybrand, but it most definitely does not measure up to my old one. I'm said I lost it =(. But it was really only a matter of time as I'd lost it and refound it multiple times already.
Being a female travelling alone has made me a curiosity, not even mentioning that I'm a minority from America. Being from America is a fact that's difficult for a lot of Africans to grasp. They insist I must be returning to China when I leave, not to the U.S. My response is usually to tell them that I've never even been to China. Then I ask them whether they consider Puff Daddy and Beyonce to be African (Beyonce has almost cult status here). After all, they're black, aren't they? The amount of English spoken in Lesotho is marginal since it's only taught after fifth grade, and many of the people here cannot afford to send their children to school. I find myself resorting to charades very often, though charading "bottled water" is hard. I kept making the motion of drinking from a bottle, and they kept taking me to beer. The water in Lesotho is considered unfit for drinking. This means that after I bought my apple at a street stall, I was posed with the questionable dilemma of whether I should wash my apple. Do I wash it in potentially dangerous water? Or do I eat the street apple unwashed? I decided to take my risks and eat it unwashed. Mmmm... pesticides. Though I bet they don't use pesticides here. I did buy meat off a street market stall though. Again. I hesitated, but then my growling stomach overrode my common sense. So far, my guts haven't even protested. Funny, since nearly everything upsets my stomach in the States. No signs of even traveler's diarrhea so far. My skin has also cleared up.
Later. 3 pm. Malealea
Whoever said Malealea is only an hour away from Maseru is mad. It may only be 80-some kilometers away, but with the minibuses running the way they do, it takes 2 hours. We didn't leave Maseru until noon. I did not arrive at Malealea Lodge until 2:30 pm. The country looks very dry and dusty, and the sky is threatening to rain. I passed on a 2-hour hike to the gorge as the owners told me the view would not be visible in this mistiness. The minibus ride was a bit grueling. The van was so packed that there were people standing in the aisles. A young girl gave me her baby as she tried to maneuver her bags into the space beside me, but then she never took her baby back. She fed her baby as it sat in my lap, giving it cookies and juice, and showering me with crumbs. More concerning to me was whether this baby was toilet-trained. It certainly wasn't wearing a diaper. The only word I know how to say in Zulu is "I don't know" (very useful phrase. When someone foreign is angry at you, knowing how to say "I love you" or "F you!" in their mother tongue will not help). "Toilet trained" is a bit advanced for me, and it was evident the girl didn't speak English. I didn't have too much time to worry about it though, as the baby soon fell asleep against me, and I fell asleep against the window, crumbs and all.
As taboo as this sounds, after the minibus ride, I was indescribably relieved to see Malealea Lodge with its European lodgers and Beatles playing in the bar. All the comforts of the Western world - postcards, tea, stamps, real beds, but a creepy crawly bathroom. No matter. What people seem to always fail to describe in their high falutin' efforts to be a non-touristy world traveller is the automatic comfort found in being around other tourists. The safety in knowing that they'll share good deals with you instead of referring you to their friend who will then rip you off. Even though the guests speak European languages that I don't understand, it's nice to sit in the corner and write and blend in instead of being a curiosity always.
I bought a pink hat, a christmas decoration, and a handbag from the Malealea Handicraft Arts Center. I made a custom request and turned my hat in to be modified with an embroidered Basotho hat and the word "Malealea" on it. I hope I don't end up hating it. Chocolate is quite possibly the least productive thing to bring with you in Africa. I've already lost 2 Cadbury chocolate bars to the heat inside the minivans. My Mint Crisp is nothing but a melted blob at this point. Funny how chocolate is the universal word. I went to the gate and asked where I could find chocolate. They pointed me to the shack store. Sure enough, they don't stock eggs, but they do stock chocolate. The little kids run right up to you here and ask you where you're going. I'm still displeased with my Lonely Planet guide.
"Car wash. Find chocolate at the gate."
10 pm.
Malealea Lodge turns its electricity generators off at 10 pm, so I'm writing this by candlelight. It all feels very Little House On The Prairie as I lie in my trundle bed with my candle holder on the wooden table beside me. Except I'm in Africa. The majority of the clientele here are tour groups, but Mick (the hostel owner) says it comes in waves. I seem to have missed the backpacker wave. Its kinda nice though because this means I talked more to the local boys around the village and to the South African blokes who are the tour operators. The lodge invites the local village choir and band to play for the guests every evening. The band especially was great. I got to drum a bit with them. Their instruments are made of tin and metal gut, and their drum skin is just black rubber.
Tomorrow is my pony trek. I await with great trepidation and excitement. Dinner was fabulous. Am not looking forward to minibus ride back to Jo'burg.
 |  Originally uploaded by nantron |
041006_14malealeachoir
Originally uploaded by nantron
