So long South Africa

I’m sitting here on our last day in South Africa and Mike and I have been brainstorming a list of funny, interesting, sad and amusing bits and pieces from our month here.

Firstly, something that you simply cannot escape in this country are the dark bubbling undertones of race relations. For every glass of wine you sink on a sun drenched terrace overlooking a knock-out view, there is a glimpse from a car window of another South Africa where the vast majority of black people visibly live from hand to mouth.

On many occasions as we sat in a restaurant amongst white people being waited on exclusively by black people we felt a twinge of discomfort. It was all too reminiscent of photos my grandfather has shown me of life in India in the 1940’s where the British sat on terraces sipping G&T’s while their Indian servants beavered away around them. We keep commenting on how clean and freshly painted everything is here and how fantastic the service is in cafes and restaurants, but you cannot ignore the fact that that’s because labour is comparatively cheap and in plentiful supply.

I mentioned the townships in Cape Town, and this is something I have seen on the edges of many cities across the world but what I haven’t mentioned is that every town has a township however small or rural it is. In the rural areas black people hitch hike on every crossroads yet we rarely, if ever, saw a white person on foot. Until I got to Johannesburg not once did I see a black person sitting on the next table to us in a restaurant, or a black person in a fancy car, or in a suit, or owning a restaurant or guest house, or a mixed-race couple, or black and white children or teenagers hanging out together.

Of course we don’t know the whole story, and it is all too easy to jump to melodramatic and erroneous conclusions as a tourist, so we have both been trying to ask people along the way to explain what we have seen. The sound bites we have captured are by no means the whole picture, but I can give you the same pieces of the jigsaw that we have after one month.

In Cape Town the guy running the hostel we stayed at was chatting to an American girl at the bar who was criticising his racist approach. The basic gist of the conversation was “if you lived here long enough, you’d be a racist too because black people commit all the crime in South Africa”.

In Stellenbosch an Afrikaner bar man told us that he has a black girlfriend. “I was a total racist til I met her – my Dad was in the police so I grew up thinking that way. Then I met her, fell in love and I think differently.” I asked whether there were any other mixed race couples in the town, which houses a large university. “Yeah, three couples” he said, “everyone stares at us”.

At a guest house I asked the landlord whether there was a minimum wage in South Africa. He seemed hazy on the subject but said that that he thought there were different minimum wages for different industry sectors. He followed up with “but we pay our maid way over the odds, so it doesn’t matter so much. She gets 350 rand a week from us.” That’s £25 a week for a full time job. Staying a night in his guest house cost the same.

I asked a waitress in a restaurant where she was from as she didn’t have a South African accent. “I am from Zimbabwe” she replied. I asked where the other waiters were from. “Two from the DRC, two from Mozambique, three from Zambia, one from Zimbabwe”. I asked when she came here and she said just a year ago. I asked her what she thought about the news that day that Zuma would be the new president. She said that she would wait and see as she had learnt herself that everything can change in an instant. “I tell people here, I did not choose what happened in my country, I did not want to leave, everything can change at any time.” And then she hurried away. A stark reminder that the recent race riots in the country were black on black – black South Africans against black economic migrants from neighbouring countries all fighting for the same piece of a meagre pie.

Mike and I were listening to SAfm one day and a section called “children's corner” was aired. It was an interview with two Zimbabwean children living in South Africa. Questions covered were “why do you like South Africa?” and “what do you think of Mugabe?”. The replies were along the lines of “we love South Africa” and “Mugabe is a bad man”. It was a very blatant attempt to build understanding amongst South Africans and Zimbabweans but it sounded a bit like propaganda and was woefully simplistic.

Whilst washing up in a camp site in Kruger a middle-aged woman chatted to me about her sons and daughters. “Both my sons have finished college but of course it will be difficult for them to get jobs now because of the pro-black employment policies” she said, referring to the government’s Black Economic Empowerment policy of positive discrimination which has not been well received by everyone.

To add a flicker of light to this depressing story, finishing in Johannesburg you can see a different picture. In Soweto, the mother of all townships and the centre of the anti-apartheid movement, the guide books tell you that some areas are decidedly middle class these days. When I went to Malcolm’s office half of his colleagues are black South Africans. In a coffee shop this morning and a restaurant last night you could have been in London in terms of the tables of every race sitting together.

We went to the apartheid museum today and this was an excellent way to end our time here and to reflect on what we have seen. When you scrutinise South Africa’s history it has been a huge achievement for it to even remain a country at all, so although there is a long way to go there is a lot to celebrate too. Hats off to Mandela et al.

And now for the funny bits…

Robots
For our first weeks every time we asked for directions people would tell us “keep going until you get to the third robot, then turn right”, or “it’s just on the corner by the robot”. Mike and I were in the dark about what on earth these were, not having seen any noticeable darleks on the side on the road. Eventually the light dawned – they are traffic lights.

Car wash
UK car wash: a man in Tesco’s car park flicks your windscreen wipers up, chucks a bucket of grimy water over your car and charges you £5.
South African car wash: two men roll up their sleeves and set to work, scrubbing, buffing, rinsing. The minutes tick by. The hoover comes out and no crease is left unexploited. Then the second man set to work with a paintbrush, easing the dust from the dials on the dashboard and the crevices on the panelling. The whole job takes about forty minutes and they charge you £2.50. They even found a banana in our car. Don't ask.

Maps
We purchased “South Africa’s Number 1 Road Map”. We got lost. Roads that appeared on the map didn’t exist, but other roads did and were jolly nice thank you very much. Sections of road that looked quite short lasted for ever and others that looked like they would take upwards of an hour flashed by in thirty minutes. We drove all the way to the border with Lesotho without actually seeing any signs for Lesotho until a sign within sight of the border gate helpfully pointed it out to us. A sign on the road to Addo said ‘Addo, 5km’ and 300m later another sign said ‘Addo’. We learned to roll with it.

Road works
A man stands in the road waving a red flag, you slow down, he waves it harder, you stop, he waves it some more, you edge slowly forward with a questioning expression on your face, he carries on waving and you pass by and continue cautiously – he meant for you to carry on.
You meet another man waving a red flag, you slow down but carry on, he waves frantically – he meant for you to stop.
We learned not to roll with it for fear of our lives – confusing as all hell.

Cash shops
You enter the shop and all of the produce, the till and the proprietor are behind metal bars. You can walk around the shop and see the produce but to get it to it you have to ask the guy to get everything together for you, and to pay him you have to put your arms through the bars. It’s a bit like buying food from an inmate.

Braai
It is a mystery to me how Australians have the reputation in the UK for being the BBQ nation because I reckon the South Africans can give them a run for their money, and then some. The country is obsessed with charcoal and meat! In Kruger we didn’t see anyone cook by any other means. We were lucky enough to be here for Braai day…. Braai day? That’s EVERY day!

Overall we have loved South Africa - the scenery, the food, the wildlife, the walks. Because of the contrast between the beauty and the problems here we have been made to think rather than just relax and enjoy ourselves and our experience has been the better for it. It is an amazing and fascinating country and without doubt the turmoil of the past is not yet wholly in the past. Even today the news has been all about splinter groups within the ANC. We will watch with interest.

Tomorrow, Tanzania and two weeks as leaders on a Fulcrum Challenge....

***STOP PRESS*** Oh Vee's maiden voyage

Yes, that’s right. On the way back from safari we popped the cherry of the world’s cheapest high-spec tent, and let us just say, the earth - thankfully - did not move. She stood fast in the wind - her guy ropes gracing the red earth and her tent flaps forming a proud and impenetrable barrier to the roaming vervet monkeys. She glowed like a freshly plucked sunflower amidst a sea of motor homes and we were proud to call her our own.

The lion sleeps tonight

For the past week we have been on safari in Kruger National Park with Malcolm, a mate of mine from Japan who is currently working in Johannesburg preparing for the 2010 World Cup. We started at the southern entrance to the park, snaking slowly northwards staying at a different rest camp each night and spending our days bumping across dusty roads in the coolest safari vehicle on the market – Malcolm’s green four-door Jeep Rubicon. There have been too many amazing wildlife experiences to mention, but here are Mike’s and my top ten.

#1 – The elephant destroyer
On our first full day in the bush the skies were overcast and the air was decidedly chilly. This does not make for the most beautiful wildlife viewing but it does mean that the animals are far more active. We happened upon a bull elephant in the bushes on a quiet road and decided to watch for a while. He munched away on the trees and pulled at the branches. Then he leant his trunk up the tree and started to push. The tree audibly creaked and groaned, but after a few seconds the elephant seemed to give up and strolled slowly to the other side of the tree and ate some more leaves. Then he leaned his trunk against the other side of the tree and really started to push. The leaves rustled and shook and the elephant kept going until with a loud groan the tree gave in and crashed down through the undergrowth. We really couldn’t believe our eyes. The elephant was probably 3-4 metres high, but the tree was easily 20m with a thick trunk and deep roots. After this mammoth show of strength he nonchalantly went on munching the leaves, leaving us flabbergasted.

#2 - The lady that was pleased to see us
Later than afternoon we had the pleasure of meeting another lone elephant at a watering hole. As he drank and sprayed water, we snapped pictures. Malcolm kept saying how lovely ‘she’ was but after one too many episodes of David Attenborough documentaries I was convinced that only male elephants wandered alone and the elephant must therefore be a ‘he’. We debated the point lazily as we chilled and watched him/her munching leaves and going about his/her business. Suddenly the elephant sprouted a fifth leg, a long black appendage that within seconds was slapping about - and at this point we could confidently say it - HIS ankles. The boys were horrified at the sight and we quickly moved on. After I had snapped a few pictures of course.

#3 – Cat on a hot tin road
On our third day in the late afternoon we were driving along one of the main tarred roads when I exclaimed, with my incredible knack of stating the obvious, “blimey, that looks like three lions lying in the middle of the road”. We drove closer. “Blimey, that IS three lions lying in the road!” We drove to within 5 metres, you could almost smell the lions’ breath as they sprawled on the hot tarmac in the afternoon sun. We took countless photos as they twitched, rolled over and fidgeted, and all was well. Then one of the lions stood up. At this point, with the windows down and the roof off the Jeep I was TERRIFIED and sunk down in my seat hoping they wouldn’t see me while Mike whispered urgently “take some pictures Sarah, stop being such a wimp”. Nothing could persuade me to sit up in my seat until the lion had safely flopped back down again into a slumber.

#4 – Mike’s almost road-kill
After we had watched the lions for half an hour or so we were conscious that we needed to get to camp as soon as possible before the gate closed so we decided we would stick to the speed limit of 40kmph, rather than our usual 20kmph crawl, and hot-foot it back to camp along a dusty unmade road. Mike was driving and he ramped the speed up and we bumped along in the dust with the sun sinking lower in the sky. We rounded a bend and almost smacked into a male lion out for an afternoon stroll, all three of us shouting “Whoaaaaaaa!” He pulled back in shock and the three of us scrabbled to reverse the car, put the windows up and take photos all at the same time. The lion gathered itself together and crossed the road, as cool as a cucumber, and retreated into the bushes leaving the three of us slumped in our seats, a gibbering wreck.

#5 – Raging bull
We carried on again, rounded another bend to find a large bull elephant near the road. As we slowed down and attempted to crawl by he came into the road, flapping his ears and stamping his foot. We reversed, turned off the engine and waited. We started the engine and tried again, and this time he raised his trunk and shook his head. We reversed and waited while he eyed us suspiciously. Two more attempts until finally he crossed the road and moved far enough away in the bushes that we felt safe to pass by.

#6 – Cats in the long grass
At Talamati Bushveld camp Mike and I got up at the unearthly hour of 4.45am to go on a walking safari. I had heard on countless occasions that walking safaris are a bit dull. As you trundle through the undergrowth any animal with any shred of a brain heads for the hills, so walking safaris usually entail bird watching (twitching) and examining animal spoor (poo-watching). However, after four days in the Jeep it was in everyone’s interests that I got a bit of exercise. We met Chester, our guide, and clattered out in an open-sided safari vehicle as the sun rose, passing a family of rhino on the way.

We turned down a dusty track to meet Andre, our second guide, and another tourist. We hopped out of the vans and as Andre and Chester loaded their rifles they briefed us on what to and what not to do – it all sounded quite exciting and they were very funny guys, full of jokes. Just as they finished their explanation we heard a lion growl and both guides got very excited indeed. It’s difficult to describe the sound of a lion growl until you’ve heard it yourself. You don’t just hear the growl, you feel it too as it vibrates within you, leaving you in no doubt as to the power of these big cats.

They asked us to follow them - staying low - so we crawled through the undergrowth feeling a bit like burglars in a slapstick movie. We emerged on to a plain of dry yellow grass and they pointed out a lion ahead of us. To be honest it could just as easily have been a tree stump and I began to think they were winding us up.

They told us to stay low again and we carried on through the scrub with the field to our right. We emerged on to the field again and we could see the unmistakeabale form of a male lion standing in the grasses, looking straight at us, about 100m away. It immediately began to retreat. All five of us were hopping out of our skin with excitement and discussed what we had seen in loud whispers. The guides explained that the lions are scared of humans and almost always walk away when they see them. They said that they rarely see lions on the walking tours because the lions hear them and retreat before they see them.

A few seconds later we heard another lion growl so it was back into the bushes again. This time as we walked we could see the lion lying in the long grasses with its back to us. Our guides led us closer and closer until we were about 50m away. At this point the lion turned and growled at us, then it rose and watched us as we stood rooted to the spot, hearts beating nineteen to the dozen. After a while it too started to slowly retreat and we all whispered in amazement to each other. The guides made growling noises, saying “coooome aaand geeeet uuuus” and when they did this the lion stopped to watch us. Nothing can compare to the electrifying feeling of standing in the bush, eye-to-eye with a male lion and we felt incredibly lucky to have seen it.

#7 Lunch time mud bath
As we headed further north later in the week, the sun came back out, the temperature slowly rose and it became harder and harder to spot the wildlife on the move for the bulk of the day. The received wisdom is that you should rise early to see the animals at dawn and either take a siesta or stake out a watering hole during the day. As we drove along just before lunch in the baking hot sun I said “the one thing that I really want to see is a big group of elephants at a watering hole”. Not ten minutes later we passed a large watering hole and saw four bull elephant drinking at the water’s edge, their skin glistening where they had sprayed their backs with mud to cool down and to act as protection from the sun. We sat on a bridge and watched for a while and another elephant joined the first few. He began by slapping some mud about, throwing it high on to his back. Then he decided that really wasn’t doing the trick so he waded into the mud and lay down. That obviously wasn’t working either, so he decided to wade through the mud to the deeper water beyond and then across the river. At this point a larger bull elephant on the opposite bank decided he was not happy with that and shooed the younger elephant away.
Then, suddenly, on the horizon we spied a large group of elephants plodding slowly out of the thicket. As they saw the watering hole they began to speed up, nodding their heads in what looked like intense excitement – if elephants could smile that was what they were doing. As they got closer to the water they started to jog and the entire family ran head long into the water where they threw mud about, splashed around, wallowed and kicked their legs, stamped and slapped their trunks on the water in an orgy of muddy fun. The baby elephants particularly were gurgling and splashing about like toddlers in a paddling pool.

#8 - Let sleeping cats lie
Later that afternoon after a particularly wildlife-devoid hour or two in the relentless heat we found a pride of lions chilling under a tree. They were in such a tangle that it was difficult to make out exactly how many lions we were looking at. They slumbered on, with only their ears and tails twitching, occasionally lifting their heads to scratch or lick a paw, yawn, or roll over on to their backs with their legs in the air, looking every bit like big cuddly pussy cats.

#9 - Baboon take-away
On our penultimate day I had scheduled a much-needed rest day at Oliphants camp. Due to a mix up with the rooms we had landed on our feet and had the pleasure of a rondavel right on the edge of the escarpment overlooking a sweeping bend in the Oliphants River. The temperature rose to 40 degrees and we sat in the shade for most of the day writing post cards, snoozing, and watching the wildlife amble by below us. At most of the accommodation in the park there are big signs warning you to take various precautions to keep the baboons away from your food, such as turning your fridge to the wall or bracing your doors but we hadn’t really seen much sign of the wily fridge-invaders. Our next door neighbours, however, had wedged a very heavy chair against their fridge door. Suddenly we heard a scraping and turned to see a huge male baboon dragging the chair from our neighbours’ fridge. Within seconds the eight or nine baboons had swept into action with furtive glances in every direction in case they were discovered. One smaller monkey stuffed handfuls of cherry tomatoes into his cheeks with both hands. Another stole a lettuce and sat on the wall munching his way through. Another took a metal bowl filled with leftover pasta and made a run for it. The alpha male opened a carton of African beer and drank the lot right in front of us. I stood there helplessly shouting “shoo” – to no effect – and in just a few further seconds they were gone, leaving the fridge open and a trail of empty cartons and spilt food in their wake.

#10 – There’s no place like home
At the end of that very hot day as we sat on the terrace and chilled, watching a bull elephant in the river below, the clouds started to roll in. Mike, Malcolm and I sat and watched as electricity began to crackle on the horizon. From our vantage point on the escarpment we could see for a few hundred kms to the south. We watched as a line of dust on the horizon advanced towards us, but there was barely a breeze where we were sitting. Then suddenly, with an almighty crack of thunder, the storm was upon us. A wall of wind hit us, sending everything flying, clattering at the screen doors and whipping up the curtains. We were slapped in the face by dry leaves, twigs and a swirl of dust. The three of us braced ourselves on the balcony, swigging our cold beers as the storm raged on in our faces - sun glasses on for protection against the dust despite the fact that the storm had cut out almost all of the light. It was the most dramatic weather I have ever witnessed – reminding me very much of the tornado scene in the Wizard of Oz.

Tarzan, King of the Jungle

After arriving in the Drakensberg Mike and I were keen to tackle some strenuous hikes so we signed up for a guided walk up the amphitheatre. This is one of the many amazing natural features in the park – an 8km long sheer rock face with a 1km vertical plunge off the edge and into the valley below. We set off with our guide and two other couples for the drive to the base of the walk.

This took us through Qwa Qwa, one of South Africa’s ‘Homelands’, areas of land which were designated to black South Africans in the 1960’s with the supposed aim of providing a home where they could be self-sufficient and live in harmony. In reality of course, the homelands were situated in place where there was no infrastructure or industry and many people were forced to migrate illegally to the cities for work. The Homelands made up 14% of South Africa’s land mass while the black population comprised 80% of the people. Today they look like extended townships and it was interesting, and shocking, to see how they have evolved since the 1960’s. This was yet another reminder of how apartheid may be gone but the legacy lives on.

Our guide Sim, a Zulu from the local area, gave us loads of interesting information and his views on what was important to black South Africans today. He told us that education – even primary education - is not free in South Africa. Sim’s view was that free education up to secondary level was the single most important step the government could take to improving the country.
The walk began with a slow but steady climb in the howling wind – so strong it nearly blew us off our feet. After about 5km we stopped at a steep gully in the rocks. Here Sim said “make your way up, finding your own path, and I will see you at the top”. Mike and I headed up first, scrambling up the gorge, each foothold at least knee-height above the last. The climb was 250m and the competitive side within both of us drove us on to get to the top before everyone else. The views down the vertiginous cliff face on the opposite side were well worth the climb. Due to the strong winds we had to approach the cliff with care, but it was pretty dramatic to crawl to the edge, lie down flat and hang your head over a 1000m drop.

After walking along the ridge for a while we turned back towards the face we had climbed for the nerve-wracking portion of the trip. To get back down to the path we had to climb down a hundred meters of metal ladders bolted on to the cliff face. I set off first so that I didn’t have time for my nerves to build and Mike said that as I disappeared over the edge his stomach lurched thinking it might be the last time he ever saw me. The wind howled and the only way to do it was to focus on each rung, not look down, and not think about the fact that one wrong foot would spell certain death. I then had the horrible experience – in reverse – of watching Mike come down as I stood safely at the bottom, willing him to make it safely. Needless to say, after that the adrenalin was pumping and we practically ran back to the minibus.

The next day we decided to attempt the rather more sedate ‘Rainbow Gorge’ in the Cathedral Peak area. It started in rolling grassy plains, slowly creeping deeper into a steep-sided gorge where we had to scramble across huge boulders and bridge the stream. The guy at the hostel had given us a map and said “you’ll know when you reach the end of the gorge”. That wasn’t really so. We reached what looked like the end but managed to help each other over a huge smooth boulder and cross the stream to get a bit further. Then a few hundred metres later we got to a deep pool with a chain ladder at the far end. At this point Mike – a new man after the ladder antics of the previous day – transformed from the ‘play it safe’ man we all know and love to Tarzan king of the jungle. He stripped off to his boxers, waded through the freezing water and hauled himself up the ladder. When he got to the top he urged me to stick our boots and his clothes in my pack and follow suit. The next obstacle was another deep pool with a fallen branch hanging across it, Mike balanced on the branch, using the rock wall for support and made it across and up the next steep rock. Here we decided to stop for a late lunch and I discovered a very cool feature – a smooth concave boulder sweeping down to a deep plunge pool below – a natural waterslide. I willed myself to slide down it – it worked a treat and dunked me deep into the icy pool, Mike soon followed suit. We had a fantastic hour playing about in the pools and eating our lunch in a sliver of sun that penetrated to the valley floor before we decided we should turn back. Tarzan and Jane, happy again.

Speedy gonzales strikes again

Today was a day of "shall we shan't we". We left Malealea with the intention of heading to Sani in the south-east of Lesotho but after a few hours changed our plans and decided to leave Leostho and head to the southern Drakensburgh mountains in SA, then we changed them again and decided to go to the central Berg, and then the north. Our heads were reeling with the rapid pace of change. When we had finally decided a plan of action Mike started driving towards the border crossing. We passed a few villages where the police were pulling people over but they waved us on when they saw we were tourists.
As we passed one of the last villages before the border our luck changed - a strapping policeman waved us to the side of the road and approached the window while I urged "do whatever he says and stay calm...please".
"Sir, I am stopping you because you have exceeded the speed limit. Do you accept that you were speeding?". Mike tried pleading innocence, tried using the 'we are but humble tourists' approach, but the cop wouldn't budge. He went away and came back with the evidence - as Mike had overtaken a barely-moving pick-up, heavily laden with straw, he had broken the 50km speed limit by 19km. We were in trouble.
The cop continued "you have two options. You can fill in the paperwork and you have 7 months to pay the fine of 180 rand (about 14 quid) or you can pay me now. As you are tourists we will give you a special discount and the fine will be only 100 rand. I didn't even wait for him to finish before I had handed over the cash. It literally went into the cop's back pocket and he was as eager to let us move on as we were to get out of there. Our very first African bribe and Mike's fourth speeding fine in two years - not bad for a man consistently mocked by his friends for his sedate driving style!
After we crossed the border and skirted the north-east corner of Lesotho we passed a town called Clarens. I suggested we stop for lunch but Mike thought the outskirts of the town looked "rubbish", so we moved on. As we drove on we got hungrier and I looked on the map for the next town - there wasn't one. I opened the guide book to see if there were any options listed in the local area. Nothing. I then found a description of Clarens: "this is a town you stumble upon by accident and talk about for years afterwards...blah, blah, bah.. it's no wonder that the likes of Brad Pitt and Prince Harry make a bee-line for Clarens." Bugger. We drove on, hungry and hurting after the speeding fine incident, Mike bemoaning his lost gourmet lunch in Clarens. We arrived in the northern berg as the sun set over the dramatic Drakensburgh escarpment.

Saddle up the horses

Oh, how I've always wanted to be a cowgirl - springing up into the saddle, a dig of the heels and off into the sunset in a cloud of dust and clattering hooves. This was to be a day where we could indulge that fantasy - albeit clad in a pair of sunflower-yellow wellies with a turtle motif and a pair of stretchy leggings. I left my chaps and gingham shirt at home unfortunately.
When we woke up, two saddle bags and two pack bags were waiting outside our hut. The saddle bags really were the stuff of cowboy movies. Made of dusty old leather and smelling very horsey they were big enough to pack a few apples, a bottle of water, a tin of chewing tobacco and some beef jerky (or a less cowboy-like cheese sandwich and a cereal bar). We filled the pack bags with all the kit for an overnight stay and rushed out to met our horses.
Mike was paired up with Sani and me with Jobo and our guide was Pakiso. As we set off it became apparent that Sani was testing Mike at every step, stomping his hooves, pawing the ground, changing his pace. We explained to Pakiso that I have ridden a lot more than Mike and suggested we swap horses. He replied "your horse is lazy, you will need your experience to keep it moving". Mike struggled on - as soon as Sani felt that his rider didn't have the requisite experience he stopped dead in the path and refused to continue and Pakiso had to lead him. My horse needed constant clicking and kicking to keep up and Pakiso cut me a stick and instructed me I had to use it or we would never get to our destination.
We set off into the mountains. The first bit of the ride involved walking gently through the fields, Besotho shepherd's passing us and children smiling and waving. It wasn't long before it became more challenging. We started to pass down a steep mountain valley - paths covered in boulders and sheer slippery plains of rock. The sure-footed Besotho ponies navigated all of this with barely a stumble and scary though it was, you just had to put your faith in the horses.
The day moved on in a blur of sunshine and we both relaxed into the ride. In the late afternoon Pakiso told me to go in front so that I could dictate the pace and on some sandy tracks in the valley I spurred the horse on to trot and canter. I was beaming with pride as I turned after one such stretch to see Mike confidently mastering a rising trot, reins in one hand, the other nonchalantly on his thigh looking every bit young John Wayne.
We arrived in the village as the sun was turning golden. A small gathering of Besotho huts and livestock perched on a steep hillside. There was only time to drop off our stuff before we ushered off again on a three hour return walk to the Ribeneng Waterfall. I introduced myself to our guide and he told us his name. After 100m or so he turned to Mike and started up a conversation
"What's my name?"
"What's your name?"
"Yes, what's my name?"
"I'm sorry I wasn't really listening, tell me again..."
"What's MY name?"
"I'm really sorry, honestly, I am very forgetful with names - ask Sarah"
"What's MY NAME?"
(Me: "Mike I think he's got a bit muddled with the old possessive pronouns, I think he means what's YOUR name")
"Ah. what's MY name, it's Mike"
"Ah, Mike..... Daddy."
"Not Daddy, just Mike"
"Yes Daddy"
He then proceeded to call Mike 'Daddy' for the rest of the walk. "Come on daddy", "keep up daddy". The more I laughed, the more he carried on. He spoke no other English. I taught him to say "Who's the Daddy?" and he shouted it louder and louder as we continued up the hill. It was very surreal and absolutely hilarious.
At the waterfall I stripped off and went for a quick dip in the ice cold pool before we had to return as the light was fading.
When we returned to the village it was a hive of activity, the shepherds were bringing in the livestock and outside our room was a pen of perhaps 40 goats with their new-born kids bleating pitifully and a stone coral of bullocks.
We stoked up the gas stove in our simple mud hut, lit a candle and ate a delicious bowl of pasta on the mud floor. Outside the hut the stars were heavy in the sky and all across the hillside you could see the cooking fires in the villages glowing red.
The night was not a peaceful one - the wind howled, the door creaked open and a cacophony of animal noises continued through the night. When the cockerel started crowing outside our door at 2.30am we realised sleep was not going to come that night.
The next morning after drinking tea on the step of our hut and watching the famers begin to take the livestock back out to graze it was time to saddle up and return to Malealea. The day was equally as pleasant as the day before and we made a great pace. Mike's horse was raring to get home and he had a tough day holding him back but we both thoroughly enjoyed the experience. We reached the camp in the early afternoon and relaxed on the terrace with some cool beers, enjoying the knock-out view of the mountains.