We were on a minibus, making our way to a campsite in Golden Gate National Park. We’d passed through small towns and over hills scattered with tin-roofed houses. Tracing well-used trails linking communities like a spider’s web.
The earth had a distinct orange tinge to it as we progressed from open range to mountain terrain. Driving for hours, the tarmac we were on didn’t seem to end as it snaked its way up mountain passes and down through valley floors.
As the last light faded we pulled over to watch the sun set. Right before night came, and the last shards of colour left the sky, the jagged sandstone fronting the foothills of the park glowed golden.
We finally arrived at the campsite and unloaded our packs. It was getting cold as we put up tents and made some dinner. Once we’d eaten I climbed into my sleeping back and tried to sleep. I knew it would be cold at over 2000m so buried deep.
I was working as a leader on an overseas expedition and we’d arrived in South Africa a few days earlier. After spending some time acclimatising in Durban we’d stopped at Golden Gate Park on our way to Lesotho. A landlocked country within South Africa, we would be spending our time working with a local charity and doing some trekking in the high mountains.
It had been a freezing bitter cold night and I hadn’t slept well. Getting out of the tent there was a light dusting of frost covering most surfaces. After a hot shower and coffee, we took our tents down and stowed everything away. The site had a problem with baboons appearing from the trees and stealing things so it seemed prudent to get packed away before they ventured down from their hides.
After porridge and more coffee, we met the driver to arrange our departure. Heading to the Lesotho border we had more endless tarmac but the time passed quickly as scenery opened up around us.
Driving to the capital of Lesotho we learnt it was the King’s birthday and there was a party atmosphere. Maseru was established in 1896 by the British and sits at around 1600m on the western edge of Lesotho.
In the last few decades, it has expanded and modernised, building over the empirical scars of its past with the promise of the future. A large urban sprawl with hints of western influence everywhere. Shopping malls, luxury hotels, glass front offices and car dealerships filled with motors most of the general population couldn’t afford.
As we arrived at the backpackers lodge it was getting dark so we dumped the bags in our rooms and headed out in search of food. After a round of pizza and chips, we went back to the lodge and sat by the lake as fireworks lit up the night sky.
The next morning we drove out into the plains where there was nothing to see for miles other than the gnarly-jagged mountains far in the distance. Passing the occasional settlement of mud huts, we’d wave at the people standing outside tending fires, wrapped in the traditional blankets and smoking roll-ups. Dogs lying in the sun while goats and other cattle stood around munching.
The plains eventually disappeared and the mountains looked a lot closer. More orange and yellow hues but also a lot of green from fields nearby.
The hosts of the lodge where we were staying gave us a friendly welcome and said we could stay in the large hall rather than camp. After eating we relaxed, played games and chatted as the fire crackled away.
We woke up the next day and had a big breakfast, washed down with proper coffee and fresh orange juice. We spent the morning exploring the local area and looking at the mountains that surrounded us like huge castle walls.
Later on, we walked into the village to meet the families we would be staying with while working with the charity. Split into groups, ours would be staying with a lady called Grace and her two grandsons, Kananelo and Khosi. It was tradition to call the hosts Mama and ours was a big friendly warm lady with an old apron wrapped around her ample waist.
Her home was a mix of brick and mud with a tinned roof and sturdy windows. I had my own room with a large double bed and a thick duvet. The room was dark and damp with little light coming through the thick nets hanging on the windows.
Dumping my stuff on the bed I went back through to the kitchen to meet the family. The back door wouldn’t close fully so light streamed in from outside and the barking of dogs could be heard nearby. An old cooker sat in one corner with a gas bottle connected. The cupboards were full of pans, plates and mugs as well as boxes and jars of food. We sat at the middle table and shared the biscuits we’d brought.
After eating we went outside to explore with Khosi, kicking a football around for a bit and then he showed us around the garden. Lots of strange-looking plants, cacti and succulents grew among shrubs and grasses. Plots carefully arranged where they grew spinach, cabbage, carrots, onions, peas and potatoes.
Kanenelo then took us for a walk around the village and showed us where we’d be shitting for the next few days. As community drop toilets go it was the worst I’d seen. You could smell it before you could see the shack and it was held together with goodwill, rusty nails and string. The door swung open to reveal a rudimentary seat raised off the ground.
The students gave me a look and all I could do was smile and extol the virtues of good hygiene and hand washing. I visited that toilet a few times in the middle of the night during my stay. While it wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences there was no light pollution and the clear skies and bright moon made for an oddly pleasant shitting companion.
Over the next week we painted walls in the local school, taught lessons to classes, worked on the community farm and planted trees in a village nearby. Every night we would eat with our families together by candlelight around the kitchen table. Mama would spend all afternoon cooking thick tasty borotho bread cooked in a deep pan over a fire, preparing rice, pap, carrots, spinach and peas.
When our work with the charity was finished we left our families and headed back to the lodge. We had planned a three-day remote trek through the high mountains to Semonkong and the guide wanted to brief us and ensure we got an early night.
The morning we set off was cool and sunny as we walked into the mountains along dusty orange trails. Our main guide was called Pakani and he led us, with two others, on horseback as we followed on foot.
Hand railing rivers and valleys, occasionally dropping down one side to cross over old footbridges and climb up the other. Traversing mountain paths and over cols, we would pass small communities with people wearing balaclavas and wrapped in traditional blankets. Hands held out for sweets or money.
Our accommodation for the first night was huts made of rock and earth with a grass roof. We relaxed and helped the guides prepare and cook before playing some games and an early night.
The sounds of the village coming to life roused us. We drank hot tea as the sky changed colour from black to dark blue to light. We set off after breakfast with a big day ahead. We had a large ascent to a col at around 2800m where we would drop down towards that evening’s accommodation.
The climb started as zig-zags and then followed the valley, higher and higher reaching several viewpoints. We stopped for a break above some waterfalls. After reaching the col we dropped down and had a late lunch.
As we descended the terrain leveled out and we arrived at another village. The team were pretty tired so we ate and relaxed before another early night.
The evening was colder than previous, the black sky pricked with tiny bright holes, sparkling and winking. We had an evening of strong wind and the door on the hut rattled endlessly. At one point we woke to the doors flying open and dust swirling around.
On the final morning, we got ready, ate and collected our gear, heading off for our final day down into Semonkong. We passed through areas of rich crop cultivation, fields cut out and levelled into mountain slopes to grow various vegetables. Cows lolled around grazing, holding an important position in Basotho culture as they signify wealth.
As we descended down from the mountains towards Semonkong I looked back and realised how lucky we were to have spent time amongst them and meet the people who called them home.
In Semonkong, one of the students arranged for us to spend an afternoon with one of the village elders. Elizabeth and her family made the traditional Basuto blankets we’d seen people wrapped in. The blankets are very much part of Basthto life, a practical item of clothing, a symbol of wealth and of social standing.
Elizabeth’s family had been making these blankets for years and she expressed her fears that the tradition and culture of her people were slowly fading. Young people were more interested in making money and being Instagram stars than learning the old ways of her people. It seemed the 21st century was creeping its way over the mountains and down into these villages.
Our time in Lesotho was over we arranged transport back into South Africa. Our driver, Daniel, was Basutho. Maybe early twenties, he drove a new 4×4 and had an iPhone. He wore modern western clothes and listened to African house music.
I was sitting in the front so we chatted on and off about what he did and what he wanted for the future. He was a fixer and worked for the lodge where we’d been staying in Semonkong, driving people around and looking after them at the various tourist spots. He was saving to move to South Africa, wanting out of Lesotho to make money and have a better life. Daniel loved his country but he looked beyond the borders.
Daniel explained the roads we were driving on were built by the Chinese. Providing an infrastructure and giving the country a foot up and a step out of its past. Another long journey, it was fascinating to watch the landscape open up again, saying goodbye to the mountain kingdom.