Right at the beginning we learned that Lesotho was a kingdom. The chief of the Basotho people had never been defeated in the wars among the African tribes. In recognition of this fact, he was given the Lesotho area, a British which became independent in 1960. The Drakensberg are on the South African side, while the mountains on the Lesotho side are called the Malutis.
Before the drive we got a geological lesson. The Drackensberg are mostly sandstone. The Maluti range was formed through volcanic eruption and two types of rocks, basalt which resulted from extrusions of lava and dolorite which was formed through intrusions.
Along he road, Phillip pointed out points of interest. One was a former trading station that was now used as a bus stop for people traveling into Lesotho. Up until this point, the road was asphalt, but as we passed that point the vehicle road became an uphill dirt road strewn with rocks, easy for a four by four. Along the way we could not help but to ooh and aah about the views into the valley, the spontaneous waterfalls springing from the rock and the view of the switch backs that were bringing us up to the South African border control. Our passports were stamped, the official asked me if I knew Celine Dionne and we continued up a steeper road to Sani Pass, the entrance to Lesotho.
The border crossing was somewhat bleak. There was a block like government building that we entered to have our passports stamped once again. As tourists we were given priority. We jumped to the head of the line to explain how long we would spend in Lesotho, while the ragtag Africans carrying plastic bags and cartons formed an ever growing queue for the inspection that was part of moving from one country to the other. Shacks and rondavels selling snacks, crafts and souvenirs of Lesotho, littered the area around the passport control. Off to the side, not visible from the border crossing was the Sani Mountain Lodge with the highest pub in Africa. We by passed for now and were told that we would stop there on the return leg of our journey.We continued climbing the mountains before having lunch at the Black Mountain pass, altitude 3,350 meters or just under 11,000 feet. We sat in the lee of a rock as protection from the cold wind at that altitude. In moving back to the Land Rover, Gila found the air so thin that no matter how much air she sucked in, it didn't feel as if there wasn't enough air to completely sustain her breathing. From that height, we could also watch the progress of the asphalt road being built by the Chinese to improve the route through Sani Pass. There were many trucks, land movers and dump trucks manned by the local Basotho and the parts of the road already completed gave our bums a welcomed respite from bouncing up and down and along the seat when we had been on the more primitive roads. This in turn led to a philosophical discussion about the changes to lifestyle and culture that would accompany the increased traffic through the highlands.
Our destination that day was 10 Riverside, a property owned by a Bathoto family that has been used by Drakensberg Adventures as a home stay site for both hiking and four by four tours. At first, we were thrilled by the opportunity to interact with 'real' Africans. We were served tea In their own rondavel that had a living room extension complete with a plush sofa and chair but no electricity. Then Entabalang, our Basotho guide took us on a tour of a nearby village called Matacheng. The villagers were expecting us and displayed their tools, pots and baskets, showed us how they ground their millet and then did some traditional dances accompanied by drums and ululating.
Upon returning to 10 Riverside we were joined by a group of French hikers who were also having dinner and staying overnight with the Basotho. While waiting for another dance performance by the Basotho women and the shepherds, a blazing fire was built and all of settled in for the show with our beers. These women did their own style of dancing. Some off them tied on partial skirts hung with hundreds of bottle caps that jingled as they moved. Part of each dance included turning their backs to us and with a shake of the hips made these skirts flip up as if they were trounces on can can dancers' dresses. Two young French women volunteered to don the kingly skirts and thoroughly enjoyed themselves shaking their booties and flipping their skirts.Next on the program were two of the shepherds in their traditional grey blankets and white gumboots.they danced to the beat of a drum and the music of a Basotho single stringed instrument. For the finale, all of us, around sixteen or so were interspersed among the Africans in a conga type circular formation and many of us with beers in hand shuffled in poor imitation of the Africans to the insistent beat of the drums and ululating.
When the dance ended we gathered in the main rondavel, many with lights on heads as there was no power, for the next sampling of Basotho culture, dinner consisting of mashed potatoes, pap (a white maize concoction) with a tomato sauce and three pieces of sausage. Phillip told us to wait for the dessert of ice cream with chocolate. It didn't take long to realize that without power ice cream was only a figment of imagination.
By 8:00, it felt like midnight and we headed to our accommodation, As with everything else at 10 Riverside, it was traditional Basotho, a round hut called a rondavel, no power, no beds, hides without cushioning and of course no bathroom. The facilities were situated a short distance, two leaning corrugated tin one holers. As you approached, you had to either hold your breath or hold your nose. The only modern convenience was a toilet seat over the hole. I dreaded a middle of the night bathroom urgency and in the end, I crouched behind the rondavel to do my business at two o'clock in the morning. Sleeping on the ground reminded me why I stopped camping. The hard earth against my back and the difficulty getting down and then standing up again has insured that there must be a bed at the end of each day of traveling.
We started out early in the morning with a breakfast of freshly baked bread, jam, peanut butter and hard boiled eggs. Phillip recounted an incident when he was guiding a group of boys. There were hard boiled eggs for breakfast and he convinced them that the best way to break them open was to crack them against their heads. On purpose, one of the eggs was raw. Well, you get the picture. I rather like Phillip's sense of humour, but I'm glad I wasn't one of the boys.
Our first stop was with the guide Entabalang at the traditional healer. Although we thought we were getting an example of the Basotho culture, in retrospect, we realized it was all a performance that had been paid for by Sani Lodge. After taking off our shoes to enter the rondavel, the healer explained through the guide that she was told to become a healer by her ancestors in a vision. Then she went away for a year to train, before returning to her village. The Basotho go to the healer for every reason imaginable, to read their future, to ask for good luck, to heal an ailment and to get advice. The healer speaks to her ancestors in order to find out how to help the villagers. The healer put on one of the jingly skirts and a ceremonial headpiece to perform her dance. We learned about how she rolled objects and bones to foretell the future and the remedies she offered for maladies.
After our little show, we set off for our next destination, Katse Lodge near the dam. It was a long way off. As we drove, we saw many shepherds in their traditional grey blankets tending merino sheep, angora goats and cattle. The shepherds are young boys who are sent off into the mountains to care for the grazing stock. They build stone rondavels to live in and create stone enclosures for the animals to protect them from predators. This entire process is part of the initiation of boys into manhood that ends with a circumcision ceremony supervised by the healer.
As we drove along through the highlands we noticed that all the children stood at the side of the road waving at first and then putting out their hands, begging. This initiated a discussion with Phillip that lasted for the rest of the trip. At first Gila did not have a negative reaction to the begging, but then she noticed a mother encouraging the children to run to the road. She thought that parents sent their children out to beg as part of their income. Phillip and I did not notice the mother's gesture and we both believed that the mother just had not stopped her children. Phillip then explained that white tourists sometimes throw sweets to the children creating the expectation of always getting treats. This begging was far less visible in the lowlands where life was a little more prosperous. Gila was incensed about the begging and wanted to admonish the children' s behaviour. Both Phillip and I were uncomfortable with Gila's desires and he assured her that there would be opportunities to speak to some local Africans about their attitudes to the begging.
On our long drive we made a slight detour to a lodge that was being remodeled. It was also the site of a trading store and one of the new dams for the Highland Water Authority. Phillip leads a hiking group of students every year and he was trying to make sure that he would have the appropriate accommodations for that excursion. On our trip out of this town, we stopped for another incredible view of the valley we had just left. As we were there we saw a Basotho man wrapped in a traditional blanket on a horse. We took photographs of him as well as with him. Then he pulled out a cell phone! How anachronistic! He asked for five rands to buy some air time for his phone. Phillip made it a point not to give handouts but in this case, he acceded because he had posed for us.
After a pit stop behind some rocks, we set off once again, this time traveling down into the valley with its panoramic view. As well as the flocks of sheep and goats, we saw the crops grown by the Basotho in terraces. There was wheat, maize, sorghum, cabbages and greens in strips across the mountain side, in distinct plots. It was amazing how industrious these people were with heir vey basic tools on a land that seemed at first glance so rocky and unsuited to agriculture.
For lunch we drove to the side of a river (a real one this time). All along the road, we had continued to pass children, many of them with their hands out, some shaking a fist, a few throwing stones when no sweets were forthcoming. When we stopped, under some trees, beside the river, we noticed that a group of boys ranging in age from about five to fifteen were hanging out and watching us from the road. They were a group of ragamuffins wearing torn and outgrown clothing. As we ate our lunch and drank our tea, the group inch by inch moved closer to where we sat. It was impossible to ignore them. I was somewhat uncomfortable given our earlier discussion about the expectations created by white visitors, but Gila had no reservations. She approached the boys, camera in hand, introducing herself and asking their names. The excitement and smiles grew as she snapped photos and let them see themselves on the screen. I let go of my inhibitions and joined in taking and displaying the pictures I had taken. In the meantime, Phillip encouraged the boys who had now grown to a dozen, to climb up to the roof of the Land Rover for a group picture. By now, it was time to pack up to continue the long drive to Katse. We knew it was appropriate to offer them something for taking their pictures but we had no idea what would be appropriate. Sweets were definitely out. We checked our box of supplies and realized that we had six apples. Phillip cut them in half and before we set out again we gave them to the children. They had had an adventure with some white people. I had had a chance to interact with the children instead of waving to them from the comfort of the vehicle. These unexpected adventures are what makes traveling so special.
Before checking into the lodge, Phillip drove us to the site of a tower, 2,500 meters up on what he called a road. We drove through a village of rondavels, mostly on grass until beyond the village, where there were two strips of concrete just where the wheels touch the ground with some grass in between. We ascended at a very steep angle for yet another breath taking view of the dam and reservoir as well as the modern village that had been built to house those that had worked on hue dam. This village was now Katse Lodge and the houses were self catering units.
After a night on the floor of a rondavels with a deep latrine as the facility, we felt as if we were in the lap of luxury in a large two bedroom, two bathroom house. We used the kitchen facilities for breakfast the next morning, but for dinner we went to the main lodge for a dinner buffet and wine. Over dinner we continued the discussion about the children begging and asked our waiter for his opinion on the issue. He explained that the begging was more typical of the highlands because the Basotho there were less civilized (his words). He was embarrassed that such a thing happened and found fault with the parents for allowing the behaviour. He agreed that tourists throwing sweets from the car as they drove by had given the children the expectation of always receiving something from the whites. He believed that it was a disservice to the children giving them the expectations of getting something for nothing. He himself was a Basotho but he had not gone through the shepherd phase or the initiation because he had gone to school. Phillip promised us that we would be able to speak to another local once we were at Maliba Lodge.
The next morning we made breakfast and lunch for the road and set out early for our tour of Katse dam. It was the Monday of a holiday long weekend so there were a number of South Africans, most from Durban on the tour as well. First we were told about how the dam had been built by a consortium and how this was only the first part of the project whose purpose was to provide South Africa with much needed water. Gila got right into the presentation and asked how the road built to facilitate the building had affected the culture. She also wanted to know how the local Basotho felt about the dam. The guide was promoting the dam so he minimized any effects and dissatisfaction about the project. We then drove to the actual dam and were taken inside for a tour where we were shown all the safety measures taken. Being inside the dam was quite disconcerting as we imaged the millions of litres of water pressing against the walls. Finally we drove on to the dam and were able to view both the river and the reservoir from the top of the structure. Apparently there is no swimming in the reservoir because of the fear of water demons nor are boats allowed in order to keep the water pristine. For visitors, however, there was a surrey that took a cruise around the reservoir. From a distance the dam was quite majestic but close up it was an ugly monstrous concrete structure.
It was once again time to move on. We were now headed for Maliba Lodge situated in Tsehlanyan National Park another long drive but most of it was on paved roads. We were no longer in the highlands and we drove through a number villages supported by a shopping strip of stores although describing them as stores was quite an overstatement. They were corrugated shacks, some with merchandise hanging from the doorways and others with displays on the outside. The local mode of transportation was either mule or horse. We stopped at one such town named Ha Lejone for an exploration. The "mall" was about two city blocks in length along the highway. There was a restaurant of sorts, a Vodophone cell outlet, some older women selling oranges and bananas from a crate, a hair salon, a general store and a store dealing in grains. Music was blasting out onto the road as people went about their business. As white people, we created quite a stir wandering through the community. Gila again made herself quite at home introducing herself as a visitor from Canada to everyone she passed. She looked for a cell phone charger at Vodophone, bought some oranges from the street vendors and went into the general store. What she noticed was that almost everything that was for sale was made in China.
Once more, I overcame my inhibitions and began to wander on my own. Beside the general store was an older man building a shelf unit. He was speaking to a young woman and child. I introduced myself and asked if the others were his family but he laughed and said she was trying to buy the shelf from him. He asked where I was from and became very animated when he heard I was from Canada. He had worked in the diamond mines and one of the supervisors whom he remembered fondly was a Canadian as well. He kept talking about how much he admired this Canadian and then asked if I would take his contact information. I was a little taken aback but felt that I couldn't not accept the slip of paper he was offering me. His anticipation hanging in the air now was palpable. With a start, I realized I was expected to provide my name, address and phone number as well. I hesitated for a moment, but I had already let go of my inhibitions by beginning the conversation in the first place and so I provided him with my number and address. He was thrilled. Later Phillip commented that this slip of paper would give him bragging rights for some time. It was not often that a Basotho man got the personal information of a white North American woman. Gila told me I had received a marriage proposal. We laughed about that idea for days.
I continued to wander and came across another man eager to talk to me. We shook hands, a triple shake, in the Lesotho manner. We began to talk about the weather. He explained that it was warm now but by June and July it would be very cold. I told him that June and July brought Canada's warmest days. It was In December, January and February that we had our coldest weather. He was incredulous and told me it wasn't possible. As we said good bye with another hand shake he shook his head as if to say that he had met a crazy white person. Everyone in that so called mall seemed eager to have contact with me. It was as memorable event for each of them as it was for me. I was not used to being the centre of attention in this way and somewhat self consciously made my way back to the Land Rover to find Phillip and Gila.
They had had their own adventure. They had stepped into the offices of a money lender. He explained his repayment method. If someone borrowed a hundred rand, he would have to buy back one hundred and twenty rands at the end of the month. If he did not have that sum, he had to pay he twenty rands of interest and the hundred and twenty would be due next month. Until the full amount plus the interest of twenty rands was totally paid off, the twenty rands was to be paid monthly. Twenty per cent compounded monthly! Phillip asked how he had accumulated enough money to lend. Diamonds was the answer. Phillip speculated that the diamonds had been smuggled or stolen or both. Fortunately banking practices in this part of the world are more reasonable.
On our way out of the community, we passed a goat shearing shed and Phillip stopped to ask if we could enter and witness the process. Fall seemed a strange time to shear animals just before winter.. Apparently, sheep are sheared in the spring. Because of the lanolin in the wool, the wool remains supple over the winter and helps keep the sheep warm. The goat hair lacks lanolin. Long hair during the winter will freeze and may result in the death of the goat. Owners herd their goats into a fenced pen in front of the shearing shed. One by one the goats are led into the shed where men with large shears grab the goat by the head and begin the shearing from the head down. The speed with which the goats are processed is amazing. Few of them bleat in protest. Once done, the goat is led back into the pen. As the hair falls to the floor, it is carried to a central table where other men sort it according to quality and pile it into the appropriate bins. The hair is then bundled into large bales, marked according to grade and then shipped to South Africa to create mohair wool. The entire operation is a cooperative in which everyone shares in the proceeds. It was fascinating. Phillip also admitted that he had never been in a goat shearing shed and had enjoyed the experience.
It was still a long way to the Maliba Lodge and we set out once more. The roads in this area were still paved and we began another climb notable for spectacular rock formations and valleys patch worked with growing crops. Our lunch stop was again at a point over 3,000 meters in height at the Bokong Mature Reserve that was being refurbished. Once again, the views of the mountains and valleys was awe inspiring. It was a sunny day but the wind was fierce and we moved indoors to finish our lunches. The inside housed an interpretation centre complete with animal skeletons, taxidermic animals and poster boards displaying and explaining the vegetation and geography of the reserve. Although a short hike was part of the program, we chose to forgo it and carry on.
Our next stop was in a town, not village, called Leribe where the Land Rover was fuelled and the ingredients for shandies was bought. At this stop we also found a pharmacy for Gila (she had caught the cold that Shelley and I had already had) for some cough syrup. Before leaving town we stopped into the Leribe Craft Centre that sold a variety of mohair scarves and sweaters as well as jewelry and baskets made by the Basotho women in a workshop type atmosphere. We entered the jewelry workshop also on the property and watched in fascination as the women manipulated the materials into stylish earrings.Within another hour, we had reached our destination, the Tsehlanye National Park that was home to the very posh Maliba Lodge. When we arrived, before we even left the parking lot, we were greeted by Adele with a plateful of hot face cloths to freshen up with. The lodge was a paradise with impressive sculptures and furniture that looked like it was crafted from the surrounding forests. Even the bathroom in the lobby was more luxurious than any other public rest room I had ever seen, fashioned from dark wood and marble floors and basins, spacious, airy and filled with succulent plants. Later we found out that, to decorate the lodge, they had bought several cratefuls that came from Bali. Only the paintings of Africans from a variety of tribes were local. The best feature, however was the fact that one of the staff had an Apple charger. In our attempt to travel light and with the mistaken impression that we would seldom have any electrical connections, we had our devices but not any way of recharging them. For the next two days, we plugged in phones and iPads every time we came to the dining room.
Gila and I stayed in a rondavel a distance from the main building, while Phillip was housed in a dorm type accommodation reserved for guides adjacent to the main building. We had been impressed with the Katse house after a night on the floor at 10 Riverside. This room and bath surpassed any of our expectations, a really comfortable bed, pristine white bedding and towels, a flushing toilet and shower and a desk equipped with all that was necessary to make tea or coffee. We showered and unwound from our long treks the past two days and met with Phillip for an unforgettable dinner in the dining room, springbok carpaccio, sorbet to clean the palate, duck breast on a bed of rice and an incredible concoction of ice cream and pastry sitting is a pool of a amarula. We felt well pampered by the time we drifted off to sleep.
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