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nB: Last week's claim this this posting would be my final Lesotho post
is untrue...one more to come.
nB2: In last week's post (On the Road Leg 3) I forgot to post a
picture of the view from my broken down daladala. This has now been
corrected, and I encourage you to
go back and visit it
Tuesday
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Over the course of my previous few blog entries about my trip to
Lesotho, I have made a few promises about topics I would discuss. As I
breeze somewhat quickly through my final week I will address some of
these points. One such topic is that of HIV/AIDS, and on Tuesday I was
able to visit an HIV clinic to get a first hand look at the
devastation it is causing.
By the time I arrived at the clinic on Tuesday, around 8:30, the
30m-long corridor that serves as a waiting area for the clinic was
lined, I would almost say packed, with over 50 patients all waiting
with their little health booklets. As I made my way down the hall I
was struck by the diversity of patients. First the demographic, with
old, young, men, women and children all well-represented: in a country
whose HIV infection rate is estimated to be an unfathomable 25-30%, no
demographic is spared. But I was also struck by the diversity of the
conditions of the patients; as I shuffled through the crowded hallway,
many of the patients I greeted and saw did not look at all like
patients. The vast majority of those attending the clinic looked just
as strong and healthy as anyone else, a result of the anti-retroviral
(ARV) medication they take twice daily. They will continue to take the
ARV's twice a day for the rest of their life, which will be
incomparably longer and stronger as a result. In contrast, there were
clearly some patients who were arriving at the clinic for the first
time. These people were hollow. Skeletal. Feeble. Sombre. Subdued.
Dependent. Helpless. In short, all the things that those on ARVs were
not; the power of this medication was on clear display right before my
eyes.
In what was the most moving experience of my two weeks in Lesotho, the
patients and staff of the clinic were called together to start he
clinic day with a prayer and some songs. The prayer and sermon were
delivered by one of the clinic's "expert patients", actually staff
members who themselves are HIV positive and who work as translators,
counsellors, ambassadors and friends. The expert patient delivered her
prayers and messages with the energy and passion of a firebrand
cleric, but hers were messages of hope, love and determination. And by
the time she burst into the first energetic song most of the people in
the hallway were on their feet singing, clapping and dancing, tears in
their eyes as I had in mine; the others, the newcomers, looked on with
their lifeless eyes, too weak to stand. I had to turn away.
Wednesday
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On Wednesday we took a hike up a large rock plateau near the town
where I was staying. Along the way I spotted and photographically
captured two more local uses for Lesotho's ubiquitous rocks, which I
have shown below in fulfillment of yet another earlier promise. In the
first picture someone has propped a longish, straight-ish (and
certainly sizeable) rock up on its end and is using it as the corner
post of a barbed wire fence to mark their property boundaries. I had
earlier remarked to myself, while driving through Lesotho's
countryside, the very low number of trees that seemed to grow. Perhaps
it is the country's elevation, or the rugged terrain, the freezing
winters or the reliance on wood for cooking; more likely, a
combination of all of these factors. Regardless, obelisk-like fence
posts are certainly a result of the disparate levels of availabilities
of wood and rocks.
My final picture from the "Lesotho Rocks" series is one of rocks
placed on the roof of a house, another favourite necessary Basotho
past-time. With Lesotho lying completely above 1400m, it is
susceptible to harsh, windy storms. Those who have the money to cover
their houses with an iron sheet roof (as opposed to those who remain
with a thatched roof, such as the house I showed in my first Lesotho
posting) run the risk of losing their precious shelter to a powerful
gust of wind, unless it is properly weighed down. Fortunately for the
Basotho, suitable weighty objects are never far away.
Thursday
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Thursday was spent was spent cruising around the town of Leribe,
chatting with people, popping into shops, inspecting the local wares,
bartering with shopkeepers, and being offered countless rides to
places we didn't need to go, and innumerable things we didn't want. It
was a fun day getting to know the personality of the town and its
people using the tried and tested method of simply wandering without a
particular destination in mind.
My absolute favourite encounter of the day was one with a couple guys
who operated a small clothing shop out of a wooden shack near the
market. During the days leading up to this encounter I had been
noticing the Basotho's passion for hats. I have never been to a
country, and I can confidently predict that I never will be to a
country, where hats feature so prominently in daily life. The number
of hats you see around town on Basotho from all walks of life is
striking, but the diversity and eclecticism of styles even more so.
Think of any type of hat: straw hat, cowboy hat, baseball cap, toque,
bonnet, fedora, bowler hat, panama hat, sombrero, beret, top hat, tricorne, pill box, fez, beanie, and any other, and
chances are on that any given day, in any town in Lesotho, you'll see
one.
So obviously my time in Lesotho would not have been complete without
some good pictures of the Basotho and their hats. Enter the guys at
the wooden shack clothing shop, who seemed to be nice chaps, and more
importantly were wearing nice caps. I asked them if they would be
interested in posing for a picture, explaining as best I could my
fascination with Lesotho's hat culture. They happily obliged and we
happily snapped a couple pictures. Then they switched hats, switched
poses, and we took a couple more. Then one of the guys wanted his
picture taken all by himself. Then the other guy. Soon our group was
growing, as nearby Basotho hatters wandered over to be in the
pictures; other shopkeepers simply tossed their weird or wacky hats in
our direction for us to use. Suffice it to say, my mission was
complete...
The extra wacky hat on the left is Lesotho's national hat
Final picture I want to show for this blog posting is of a product I
purchased in Leribe's largest and most reputable pharmacy. The
pharmacy does sell plenty of real (at least by Western medicine's
definition of "real") medicine, but there is a whole shelf dedicated
to a wide-variety of comical cure-alls. I think my laughter turned a
few heads in the pharmacy when I read the label...
Incredible value for $2
Tanzanian Top 10 List
Top 10 Names of Catholic Nuns That I Work With
10. Sister Maria Valeriani
9. Sister Dafrosa
8. Sister Maria Salvata
7. Sister Mary Benedikta
6. Sister Praxedis, not to be confused with
5. Sister Placida
4. Sister Adelaida
3. Sister Magna
2. Sister Gaudiosa
1. Sister Edelberta
(and I have to remember all these!) |
