Lesotho (Leh-soo-too, the country) is filled with Basotho (Bah-soo-too, the people), which is comprised of many Masotho (Mah-soo-too, singular form of Basotho).

Pony trekking in the Lesotho mountains

Morning.

The altitude here makes me want to pee all the time. I got up three times in the night to urinate, and got lost coming back on the third time. Partly because it was so dark outside (no electricity), partly because all the huts look the same, but mostly becuase I didn't have my glasses on. It gets pretty cold here, but my Basotho hut surprisingly holds the heat pretty well. There's a distinct temperature difference when I enter the hut. Here, the people are building a new hut. You can see that the frame is made from branches, and the walls are just mud and rocks.

Later.

I met a Brit gal traveling on her own and decided to take a pony trek together. A German couple, Petra and Rainier, decided to join us as well. For the 6 hour pony trek (which would take us by the waterfalls), we had to bring a fleece, rain gear, and lunch. I ended up being very very grateful for having the fleece. The temperatures change on whim in the mountains. By chance, I ended up with saddle bag #9. Nice, eh? I took most of the pony trek photos from the back of a trotting horse. So apologies for the lack of composition and centering in some of the pictures.

Here is our pony trek guide and my horse, named "Lesotho", though oddly enough, all of the horses seemed to be named that. My suspicion is that all the horses had South Sutu names that they knew we'd never be able to pronounce. As is evident from the photo, my horse was a particularly cheeky one.

One of the first things we rode by was a Lesotho school. Since it was so early in the morning, the children are outside playing in the schoolyard. Can you imagine going to school with a backdrop like this?

This is one of our guides to the waterfall. The pony trek guide brought us to a location where the boy was waiting for us. We dismounted and he led us to the waterfall. You can see that he's wearing hand-me-downs. The standard rate is 10R per hour (~$1.50 USD). The walk to the waterfall was only half an hour, but we gave him 10R anyways. At the market, you can buy 12 apples for 1R.

My last night in Malealea. The nights here are very cold. I'm grateful for the fleece and down vest I brought from home. The Basotho hat and "Malealea" that I requested be embroidered on my new wool cap turned out a bit gaudier than expected. The Basotho hat embroidery was fine, but the Malealea spelled out in metallic beads was a bit too bling-bling for me. No matter. I wore it regardless because it kept my ears warm. This here is where I lay my head down to sleep.






This is my misguided attempt at snapping a shot of the stars. I've never seen such a beautiful night sky and I've never before wished so much that I could have extended exposure on my little p&s digicam. So many so many stars. It makes me think that perhaps the Basotho are richer than they seem. Lesotho apparently has an even higher rate of HIV infection than South Africa. Swaziland has the highest, then Botswana, then Lesotho, and then South Africa. Like most African countries, the Basotho deny that there's a problem, no one talks about it, and no one gets tested. In South Africa, 1 in 4 is HIV+, and 1200 people are buried every weekend.

More from the Travelog.

Malealea, Lesotho.

Lesotho - bus ride.
Originally uploaded by nantron

"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.)

Lesotho - Maseru
Originally uploaded by nantron

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 sin

Lesotho - Maseru
Originally uploaded by nantron

ce 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

Lesotho - bus ride.
Originally uploaded by nantron

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

Lesotho - bus ride.
Originally uploaded by nantron

, 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.

Lesotho - Malealea
Originally uploaded by nantron

"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.

041006_15malealeaband_small Originally uploaded by nantron

041006_16malealeaband_small Originally uploaded by nantron

041006_14malealeachoir
Originally uploaded by nantron

The Rules.

9 am.
I've broken the cardinal rule of travelers. "Never eat street food." I ate chicken gizzards yesterday, off the streets of Kliptown in Soweto. I was hanging out with my co-counselor N and she bought me some. I could hardly say no. But I seem to have made it through the night with my intestines in one piece. I stayed the night in Soweto after touring Kliptown. A few of the kids from camp recognized me in the tour bus and waved at me from the street.

Soweto
Originally uploaded by nantron

One of them was still wearing his camp shirt. Judging by the holes and dirt on it, you could tell he hadn't taken it off since camp ended. Kliptown is, quite literally, a shantytown. The houses are made of corrugated metal and tin, and everyone shares a few outdoor taps. There's communal porta-potties as well, and most of the children run around dirty and barefoot. It was surprisingly small, less than one square mile of shacks. The associate director of the community center said that there's usually one grandma taking care of 12 children because the parents have been killed by AIDS. N's sister is HIV+. She announced it to me this morning. Death seems to be a familiar thing to South Africans. N's other older sister passed away in April, of a "headache". The death certificate lists the cause of death as "natural causes." No 31 year old otherwise-healthy woman dies of natural causes. She left behind a son that N and her remaining 2 sisters take care of. His father had been killed a few years ago by a carjacker who shot him at close range while his 9 month old baby watched in the backseat. [Photo: Kliptown.]

Soweto - Nonlhanlha and her nephew.
Originally uploaded by nantron

N's house in Soweto is worlds above the shacks. She lives in a nice safe neighborhood in what seemingly is a middle class home. But she shares her full sized bed with her sister and her nephew, and her brother sleeps on the futon in the same room. There is no running water inside the house. Only a tap in the backyard and a flushing toilet outdoors. No shower or bath facilities exist. Not even a sink in the kitchen. They heat up water in a kettle every morning and sponge bathe themselves. They live simply, but well. The men here are -aggressive-. The word "love" also seems to be thrown around lightly here. I've gotten a few marriage proposals. There is this South African belief that having sex with a younger man will youthen your appearance. It's also a South African belief that if you have big breasts, it's because you've had a lot of sex. [Photo: N dressing her nephew for school.]

Soweto minibus.
Originally uploaded by nantron

I've been sitting in a minibus for the past hour, waiting for it to fill up so I can go to Lesotho (pronounced Leh-soo-too). That's the other travel rule I'm breaking. I'm traveling by local minibus taxi alone. But I'm in a taxi filled mainly with women, so I'm not feeling too endangered. I don't anticipate the ride being pleasant though as the seats have no padding, the vehicle doesn't seem like it has great suspension, it's a 6 hour long ride, and its cramped. I'm starting to doubt the wisdom of this choice. But Lesotho is so remote that no trains or buses run there. This is my only option.
[Photo: Friends from the minibus - Kefuoe, Lebohang, and Motselisi.]

Soweto Taxi Rank.
Originally uploaded by nantron

Later. 10 am.
Been here waiting since 8 am. Seriously considered asking for my money back in an attempt to go to Jo'Burg to take Greyhound to Bloemfontein, and then take minibus from there, but realized that greyhound would not be leaving till 4 pm. That and, I couldn't get my money back. The passengers have started chatting though. I suppose this is the "true" experience since I'm with the locals and I should be more appreciative. Patience is not the ability to wait. It is the ability to wait with a good attitude. I, obviously, am not patient.
[Photo: I watched this view for 3 hours as I waited inside the taxi.]

Getting to Lesotho - broken minibus.
Originally uploaded by nantron

Even later. 7 pm.
After the most horrifying ride in which the minibus broke down twice and we had to switch taxis in Ladybrand (where I lost my hat), I'm finally in Lesotho. I would not recommend traveling long distances by minibus for any backpacker. The presence of a backpack alone makes it a struggle. I sat for 8 hours squashed into the corner with my backpack in my lap. Then I had to sacrifice the water in my Nalgene to help cool down the radiator in the overheated vehicle.
[Photo: Broke-down palace.]

Lesotho/S. Africa border
Originally uploaded by nantron

They dropped us off outside of Lesotho and I had to get off and walk across the border with my backpack. I felt Mexican. I arrived in Maseru (the capital of Lesotho) on foot and was planning on going straight to Malealea where the lodge is, but it was too late for the minibus taxis to be running. A lady offered to take me in her private car for 300R, but I balked considering that a minibus in the morning would be 17R. Instead I checked into Lakeside Hotel, a seedy little place. Do not stay here. Ever. First of all, there is no lake. Secondly, the loud pounding music coming from next door doesn't particularly assure me of the hotel's clientele. I suppose I'll venture out and check the dinner menu.
[Photo: Border between Lesotho and South Africa.]



9 pm.
I don't know why I was so shocked to see a small roach in the bathroom, but I was. My penchant for chocolate has done me in as my stash melted all over the inside of my bag. My sleeping bag liner caught the brunt of it. Whereas falling asleep enveloped in the smell of chocolate sounds heavenly, I realized it would attract roaches by the hundreds. So far, my original idea of losing weight in Africa hasn't happened. The daily chocolate bars may be why.

10 pm.
My boogers are black. Am still hating my new Lonely Planet guide and intensely desiring my old Let's Go guide.

12:30 am.
Someone is rattling the doorknob of my room. Am hoping desperately that it's a drunken person who is trying to get into the wrong room. Am scared =(.