Monday August 4, 2008

Last night was pretty chilly, but my blankets and the thick walls of the hut kept me pretty warm. It was a nice break from freezing in the cold Zonke nights. I woke to the sound of birds calling and the neck bells of a nearby grazing heard of cows. I had a quick breakfast of PB & J and an apple, then I made my way to the TACK shop, where they kept all the ponies and the saddles. There I met my guide for the trek to Botsekoua Falls, named Mafa. He showed me how to get onto my pony and some basic controls of the reigns. I was very excited to start the trek! I would be going by myself with Mafa, which would give me a lot of time to think and take in the beautiful country on my own.

My pony’s name was Sophie and she started off the trek with a stubborn streak. She kept breaking into gallops and prancing about in someone’s field as we rode down the road to the mountains. I hadn’t ridden a horse since I was a Girl Scout in the 5^th grade, so I was a little uneasy as she was tossing me all over the place. Finally Mafa took the reigns and guided her for awhile, with the promise that I would get them back after she calmed down. We passed through some of the village homes of Malealea and Mafeteng Primary School. I watched children run through the schoolyard and wished I could get off my horse and go talk to them and see the inside of their school.

Just as we were entering the valley a group of dogs came running and barking at us. We were riding over eroded limestone and loose rock, the last thing I needed was the horse getting spooked and bucking me off! Their owner called them away and I was able to relax again. We were descending quite rapidly now, and I was trying not to show Mafa how scared I was. I’m sure he has to deal with a lot of whiny, screaming tourists and I was determined not to be one.

When we came to the river, he let me have the reigns back, promising the journey would be easier from here. Sophie pretty much knew the way from this point and I only had to manually guide her a small bit. We began to climb up the mountain, and going up was much less scary than going down, though Sophie was still slipping a lot on the loose rock. As sure footed as horses are, I realized that sometimes even they make mistakes. I didn’t even want to think about what that would mean for me! We went along, and Sophie drove me straight into two trees. Mafa kept laughing and told me that I must control her, and that horses only think for themselves. Eyes watering and face stinging from several cuts to the forehead and cheeks, I thought to myself that I would love to control her, but I am too busy concentrating on the fact that I am on the side of a huge mountain with only inches to spare from the edge of my path!! It was fine though, as we were all still in good spirits.

Finally we reached the point where I would dismantle and walk the rest of the way to the falls. There was this random guy sitting on top of a mountain that came down to take me to the falls while Mafa looked after the horses. He said his name was Thembizo, but that might have been one of the few things he knew in English. We descended down a steep, narrow path to the valley. Still a bit wobbly from riding a horse, I kept slipping. I kept up with him pretty well, however, and I was proud of myself. I could hear the sound of running water, faster than the regular bubbling of the river, and my heart began to beat faster. We turned a rocky corner and pushed aside some brush on the path, and there I saw Botsekoua Falls! They were very small, but they were absolutely beautiful. The river poured out from between two rocks about 30 feet above my head and splashed down into a shallow pool before recollecting into a small river bed at my feet. Thembizo sat on a rock while I took some pictures and I attempted to touch the waterfall. I wish I had my bathing suit with me… what a wonderful sensation it would have been, splashing around in the middle of a waterfall! After about 10 minutes we started to climb back up to where Mafa and the horses were. I lost my breath rather quickly (another wake up call for MORE EXERCISE) but still kept up with him. Thembizo laughed and turned around and said: “Whew, I’m tired.” He was trying to make me feel better, because he wasn’t even breaking a sweat! Mafa came with the horses and we said goodbye to Thembizo.

I felt much more confident behind the reigns now, and going back down the mountain wasn’t so bad this time—but it was still a little scary. Mafa must have felt confident in my riding because he asked me if I wanted to try and gallop. I said yes! It was really fun and horse responded well to me, but it kind of hurt because my butt was really sore from riding a horse for the first time in ages. He left me on the road to the lodge for a few minutes to talk to a man cutting limestone. I found out later that he was looking for good bricks to make a new home for his family because his existing one was getting crowded.

I really enjoyed my day with Mafa, as he was one pretty cool guy, and I learned a lot about him. He grew up in Malealea, went to school there and passed the Matric, but decided to stay around the are and do the same job at the lodge as his father did—taking care of the horses and being a guide. He lives with his brothers, sisters, and his sisters’ children. I asked him how well the lodge pays him to take people out on the treks He told me of the R 180 the lodge charged me for this trek, he may get R 50. He said the pay is not much, but it’s enough to eat and not go to bed hungry. He was mad when we found out the lodge was charging me the price for a 2 person trek, and that they would be keeping the extra profit. I told him that I wouldn’t mind being charged if he would be paid more as well, but we both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

We made it back to the lodge and we arranged, if he’s available to go on a village pony trek tomorrow, where he will take me to the sangoma (a kind of traditional healer in Southern African countries) and to the school. He realized quickly that I wasn’t into the touristy stuff, so he promised to extend the trek and take me to some extra places in the village to see more accurately how people live. This includes actually taking me to the sangoma’s home. Normally I wouldn’t go to a sangoma for services because it would be seen as disrespectful—many people consider their medicine to be legitimate. However, I wanted to see where the sangoma lived and worked, and it would have been rude of me to come to his home and not oblige him to perform some small service for me. Usually the lodge will order the sangoma to come to the actual lodge, or take a group of tourists to the schools, but I don’t want to be a part of those organized tours. The people in this area are probably sick of seeing white faces popping up in groups all the time, no matter how thankful they are for the money that tourists bring.

After saying goodbye to Mafa, I had lunch and then decided to take a walk. On my way down the road I was intercepted by a young boy asking if I would like to see the village. I was fine with it, so I agreed. He told me his name was David, but I wanted to know his African name. People are always giving me their English name because they are expecting that because I am white, I will be too lazy to learn their African name. He told me it was Tshebo (pronounced Tay-boh). Soon we were joined by an older boy whose name was Jack—he wouldn’t tell me his African name. They took me to their home where they showed me the baskets they had weaved out of grass from the mountains, and colored plastic strips from mealie bags. They sold them as a way to bring some income into their home, as well as collect money to support a local center that was purchasing food and clothing for orphans and vulnerable children (I asked to visit this center, but there wasn’t one actually built at this time. It’s still be developed. Right now it’s being ran out of a local woman’s home, but when we went to see here she wasn’t there). I asked them how long it took to make them. Tshebo said one would start at 8am and maybe finish around 2pm for one basket. And for all that work, they were only selling it for R 25! I decided buy one because I knew the money would be used well. I respected the amount of work that went into the little pot, and I know I will treasure it.

The boys were not related but they lived together with their sisters and brothers. Tshebo is an orphan, I found this out after they asked me what I was doing in South Africa and I told them about the children at the center. Jack still has his mother, but she is very sick. He told me that his father died from “being sick from AIDS.” They were very open about talking about HIV/AIDS I found out, because they have a subject in school much like our Health in the United States. Also, Lesotho has the highest infection ratio in the world (1 in every 3 people is infected), and the kids are taught from an early age to take extra care not to contract the virus. Jack also said his mother is very good at talking to people about being careful in life and to take care of themselves.

We left the village and Tshebo and Jack showed me some shortcuts to the village museum and the chief’s house. The chief is an 85 year old woman! In Basotho culture it is tradition that you ask the chief’s permission to marry, to go to them if someone steals something in order to bring about justice, among other things. It was really awesome to walk around on the sides of mountains with them and use all of the paths that lodge tours won’t take you on. They asked me a lot of really good questions and answered all of mine—we kept a conversation going almost the whole time. Jack said he wants to be a soldier or someone who works at the bank, and Tshebo wants to be a doctor so he can “help sick people and those people with HIV.” Jack is 16 and Tshebo is 13.

They took me into the museum and we found that no one was there. Usually there is an R 8 entrance fee, but since there was no one home to give the tour, I got one for free! Plus, I had two pretty knowledgeable tour guides with me. They showed me what all the things were inside of the museum and then made me some Basotho tea. To show them I was thankful for their company, I gave them each a fatcake that I had bought from a store in the village. They gobbled them up fast and were off. We walked back to the lodge through some shortcuts in the fields and they dropped me off at the gate. These kids were the real deal, and they had spent quite a bit of time with me so I decided to give them a small token of appreciation. Sometimes kids will play up their situation to make tourists feel sympathy for them, but not these guys. I gave them R 10 each for accompanying me. I wished I could have given them more but I only had R 20 on me at the time. I told them I had really enjoyed their company, and I was touched that they were willing to be so kind to someone they didn’t know. Jack tried to reject the money, but I pushed him to take it. We parted ways, and I was genuinely sorry to see them go.