Lesotho...Meeting the Chief

October 11th, 2008 – yes still the same day

We decided to continue our drive in Lesotho and complete a small loop exiting from a different border control post. It looked nice and simple from our map book as really there was only one road to follow, it also looked quite short so we were confident in finishing the route before the border shuts at 4:00 pm. And so we set off.

Enjoying the sheep, goats and cows grazing beside the edges of the road, and being slightly horrified by the sheer volume of children chasing after the car asking for sweets, we made our way on single lane gravel roads at best. There was no postage of what road we were on, where exactly we were headed and as time crept on we were relieved to see a small, easily missed sign pointing to the left. Taking the left turn we continued our journey. More sheep, goats, cows, but also the occasional donkey loaded with goods, horsemen wearing ski masks covering their faces, draped in thick wool blankets in 20+ degree weather, and still loads of children chasing the car demanding sweets.

This road was slightly different as Karel says ‘mountain up, then mountain down, followed by mountain up, then mountain down’ with altitudes between 2,000m to 3,500m. Much, much steeper. Much, much rocker. Time continued to tick past. Looking at our watches, then looking at the sky, then looking at the map, trying to judge how much longer sunlight would last, we formulated a plan. Another 15 minutes drive and then if we didn’t see anything promising we would stop at a village and see if we could spend the night.

15 minutes later we arrived at a village. Stopping the car, unrolling the windows we asked a young girl getting water if we could speak to the chief. She pointed towards a house down the hill. We drove back down, climbed out of the car and approached a woman wearing a ribbed red polo neck top carrying a baby. Asking if we could see the chief it soon became clear that she didn’t speak English. Luckily another woman came out from her hut and we explained we would like to speak to the chief to see if we could stay for the night. She directed the woman in red to show us where the chief was, so we walked uphill.

The chief was a man with kind eyes and grey hair, wearing a pink shirt slightly worn at the seams, clean khaki trousers, a dark blazer and dress shoes. He didn’t speak English, but shook our hands gently while looking at us tenderly. Another gentleman translated for us (Karel later thought that this man probably worked in the mines around Jo’burg as he spoke Fanagalaw, a mix of English, Afrikaans, and several African languages). As we walked to the car, the chief held Karel’s hand with one of his, and his cane with the other.

Immediately we were asked if we needed food, water and a place to sleep. We told them that we had everything we needed and that we have a tent. They were a bit curious when we said we slept on the roof of our car, so Karel popped open the tent as a magician pulls a rabbit out of his hat. Amazement for all.

Thinking quickly of what we could offer our new neighbours, we remembered we had a flask of peppermint tea. Gently unscrewing the top, and carefully pouring the tea, I offered firstly to the chief. The look on his face was a picture. He wrinkled his nose, squinted his eyes and smacked his lips. It didn’t go down well. We offered next to the translator, the second in command if you will. He had a similar reaction and asked if it was medicine, surely only medicine could taste so badly especially as we boasted the drink was healthy. After the men, we offered to who we think was the chief’s wife. She really enjoyed it and finished the cup. The chief decided to then try the tea again. If his wife liked it, maybe there was something to it after all. But no, no there wasn’t. We asked if we could offer to the children, as we generated a great crowd. I guess if there’s no t.v. strange white people with a magic tent are as good as it gets. Children came up, took a quick sip and passed it on amongst themselves, daring each other on.

We wished each other a good night and said other kind words in our separate mother tongues. We were told it was an honour to have us stay, especially as they don’t have any white people visiting their village. The final words of the chief weren’t for us, but for the pekenese (children), telling them not to bother us. Never have we ever seen such a quick fleeing of children.