If I could offer one piece of advice to anyone thinking of going to Lesotho, it would be this: if you are on a limited time frame, and don't have your own transport (preferably a 4WD) - don't go. I've been lucky enough to visit quite a decent number of countries over the course of my life and I can't recall an experience of ever taking so long a time to travel so small a distance as Jen and I have encountered over the past couple of days. To be fair, we've only spent about 50% of our time on a bus. The other 50% has been spent waiting for one.
Reluctantly leaving Malealea, our aim was to make our way the following day to Thaba-Tseka, about 120km away by road. We figured that, even allowing for what we'd heard were the difficult travel conditions through central Lesotho, this would be plenty of time. We figured poorly. The thing about travelling by public transport in Lesotho is that not many people seem to do it, and when they do they go from one village to the next, where the transport terminates. So unless you're on pretty much the single main highway in the country then you just have to keep picking up short-haul minibuses and the like to get you to your destination in stages.
And this particular journey, short as it was, took four stages - the first, to Motsekuoa, was waylaid by another of the police stops like we encountered outside of Quthing and a lengthy wait for papers to be found and delivered, and of course for money to change hands. The second, from Motsekuoa to Mazenod was surprisingly smooth and quick - the worst thing that could have happened, as it turned out, because it raised our confidence in the remainder of the journey to a level which didn't come close to being justified. Stage three took us from Mazenod - eventually, via yet another police stop and interminable delay - to Nazareth, where my attempts to fit in and be Jesus didn't get us anywhere. In fact, the wait at Nazareth could almost be a stage unto itself, such was the situation as we sat by the side of the road half way up a hill leading out of a middle-of-nowhere town waiting for a bus that may or may not have ever come. Eventually, just as we decided that "may not" was probably going to win that one, we got lucky in the form of a group of guys in a ute who let us (and the few locals who were also milling around waiting for Godot) jump in the back of their pick-up for the drive to Thaba-Tseka. We realised three things over the course of this open air journey through central Lesotho's mountain passes:
1) That the scenery was wonderful.
2) How little ground we'd made so far that day, as this bloke drove bloody fast and it still took us forever to reach our destination.
3) That fast, winding roads are exactly what my lingering hangover didn't need, as I managed to throw up out the back of the truck. Twice.
But by God we made it to Thaba-Tseka, a mere ten hours or so after leaving Malealea. Once again, those ironic deities who play with mortal man for sport had their fun with us, because we found ourselves a fantastic little hotel for the night with a great all-you-can-eat buffet (including dessert - result) which pleased and encouraged us to the point where we were convinced that our journey to Sani Pass the next day would be quicker and easier. After all, Sani Pass was only another 70-odd clicks away.
We never got anywhere near Sani Pass.
It wasn't for want of trying, mind. Energised by our excellent night, Jen and I got up early and made our way to the bus stand on the other side of Thaba-Tseka. Where we proceeded to wait just over three hours for a bus to arrive. Fair enough, the long wait was normal but we'd managed to be there early enough to get the front seats - always a win when you have legs as long as ours. Settling in for another hour or so to wait, we were then told that a man with a truck was leaving right this minute, going exactly where we wanted to go (Sani Pass) and that we could go with him. So we left the front-seat comfort of our minibus to find that the man leaving now was one I'd already spoken to that morning, didn't have room for us and wasn't going to Sani. So they only gotten everything wrong, made worse by the fact that when we returned to our minibus we'd lost our sodding front seats.
It was ok though, because we were leaving immediately, and with such a short distance to travel the worst must have been over. Surely.
At 5pm - nine hours after arriving at the Thaba-Tseka bus stand, we arrived in Linakeneng. We had travelled 40km. And there they left us.
So there we were, a real middle-of-nowhere village high up in the mountains of Lesotho, with the sun going down, the cold setting in, and no onward transport to anywhere we actually wanted to be. It sounds really cool now, and if you'd put a camera on us it would have made a great cut-to-an-ad cliffhanger in an adventure travel documentary. But when you're actually living it the way Jen and I were there, then our only thought was pretty much "what the frack do we do now?"
Thankfully we'd befriended a local lad named Joseph on the journey who spoke some English, and he set about speaking to a local lady named Agnys, who worked for the district council, about getting us a bed for the night - a bed which actually turned out to be the sofa in her house. And by "house" I mean "room" because that's all it was - one room with a bed, a table, a gas lamp and a sofa. Oh, and some rabid dogs outside that she told us not to go anywhere near. Which was nice of her.
Settling in for the night, struck by her kindness and the fact that she didn't want any money from us, Jen and I offered to buy Agnys dinner at the local food-making-and-selling-place (to call it a "restaurant" is a stretch that not even I am going to make). And there, on our way into the village, we see it - a man, in a minibus, with the engine on. Approaching him and waiting for the expected response to the effect that he was travelling in the other direction, or not travelling at all, what we actually got was the best news we'd heard in a long time - that he was heading in our direction, that he would just take us and our new friend Joseph with him. I almost kissed him, but didn't want to lose the offer.
So he took us to Mokhotlong, which is where I'm writing this, and ironically after such excruciatingly slow travel up until that point he got us here across icy, snowy mountain roads with absolutely maniacal speed. It's not Sani, but it's a little closer, our guesthouse is warm and cosy, and we've just tucked into a fantastic home made chicken and rice dish.
We'll get to Sani Pass tomorrow. Probably.
Things Jennie will remember:
1) That Agyns' real name is Maeseta
2) That Joseph's real name is Mokhethi and we are ever thankful that he spoke English
3) That Mokhethi knew Seala (he'd gone to school with him) and Seala was the reason we sorted out the rooms for the night.
4) Watching all the piles of straw go past on the back of the pick-up
5) The face masks everyone wears to keep warm, as well as their blankets:
6) The children who still wanted their photo taken even in the middle of nowhere:
7) The driver's name who appeared from nowhere to take us to Mokhotlong was Khotso which means "peace". He's actually my angel.
8) All the Sesotho that I learned (spelling here is my own phonetic!) - very useful when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere!
Kallybooa - Thank You
Dumela - Hello
O Pel E A Jou-A = How are you? "Ho Joang?"
Response = "Ho Shaapi"
What's your name? "U Mang?"
Where do you come from? "U Tsea Koae?" (U Cha Ko-Ay)
Are you Happy?
Yes I am Happy: "U thabele" (O Ta Be Lay)
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