Thursday, 15 May 1986: A Quick Trip to Independent Lesotho

May 19, 3:45 PM, Home of Eileen & Melvin, Kimberley, Cape Province

Last Thursday, I left South Africa for a few hours to visit Lesotho, a mountainous kingdom completely surrounded by South Africa.  Lesotho is about the size of Massachusetts with a population of about 1.5 million.  Prior to independence in 1966, it was the British Protectorate of Basutoland.

I rode with Tony (a Rotarian) and his colleague, Darrell, who are insurance agents.  They had to settle a claim for a Catholic priest, Father Dermot Tuohy, whose car had been totaled.  Tuohy is a faculty member at the University of Lesotho. 

We left Bloemfontein a little after 7:00 AM and roared east across the veld at 160 kph (almost 100 mph) in Tony’s black Mercedes sedan.  It didn’t feel like 100 when we were on good roads but when he hit 175 (almost 110 mph) a couple times, it was a bit too much for me.  Tony told me he had recently gotten a ticket for 185 (115 mph).  I’ll bet that cost him quite a few rand as the speed limit is only 120 here in the Orange Free State.  He said you really have to watch out for the black people walking along the road as they sometimes dart right out in front of you.  What pedestrian stands a chance against a Mercedes travelling at these speeds? 

About 30 miles east of Bloem, Tony pointed out smoke pollution from Botshabelo, a new black resettlement area with a population estimated at 200-400,000.  The government has relocated blacks, mostly Sothos, to Botshabelo from other parts of the country.  Smoke was hanging over this desolate valley because many people use coal for fuel.  It’s funny, but not surprising, that my newly updated map from SATOUR doesn’t even show Botshabelo despite it being larger than Bloemfontein. 

Our route from Bloemfontein to Roma.  Botshabelo and Maseru (mentioned in this story) are outlined in red.  The flags of South Africa and Lesotho are those that were in use in 1986. 

 

We passed scattered high mesas, and soon the purple, smoky mountains of Lesotho loomed on the eastern horizon.  Tony slowed down to about 100 kph after turning off on a gravel road short cut to the border. 

The relative ease with which Americans and Canadians cross our border bears no resemblance to the complications of crossing the South Africa – Lesotho border.  First, I got out of the car and got in line at the South African border post.  When I finally got up to the South African customs official, I had to step to one side to fill out an exit form.  Then, I waited behind the people who were now at the window ahead of me.  Arriving at the window, I gave my passport to a South African immigration agent who took it over to a large index where they apparently keep a list of undesirables, criminals, terrorists, etc.  After he did not find my name on the list, he cancelled the temporary South African residence permit in my passport, showed my passport to a guard, and the guard let me through a gate.  Can you imagine all this just to get OUT of a country?  Fortunately, Tony goes through the border frequently and has a quick exit stamp in his South African passport.  He didn’t have to go through all this hassle nor any rigmarole with the Mercedes.

I got back in the Mercedes, and we crossed the Caledon River on a rickety one-lane bridge and into Lesotho.  On the east bank of the river, we stopped at the Lesotho border post for more paperwork.  This was a relatively easy process.  The border agent took my passport, entered my name on a list and stamped a 30-day visa into the passport.  A customs agent wanted to see what Tony had in the boot (trunk).  After deciding that two spare tires posed no threat to Lesotho security, he waved us through and off we drove to Maseru, the capital and only real city in the country. 

Downtown Maseru seemed relatively prosperous for a small, “developing-world” city.  I learned that numerous countries pump foreign aid money into Lesotho, and a sizeable number of foreign governments maintain a diplomatic presence in the city – including the Russians and the mainland Chinese who enjoy being within spitting distance of their arch enemy, South Africa. 

Once out of the downtown, we entered an area of mostly poor homes and squatter’s shacks.  Like Mexico City, Nairobi, and most other “Third World” capitals, Maseru attracts hordes of people from the countryside who flock to the city in search of work only to find “not hiring” signs.  Even the relatively poor shacks were made of brick.  Wood is scarce in Lesotho as much of the timber is cut for fuel.  We passed a brick-making operation which was churning out the building blocks of more and more new homes for this sprawling city. 

Our newly resurfaced two-lane highway led us further east into the countryside.  Up we climbed through low mesas and toward the mountains.  Tony pointed out severe erosion in the bottom land which he said was caused by poor farming practices.  He added that while Maseru is trashy, the mountain country is complete unspoiled. 

About 20 miles southeast of Maseru, we came to the village of Roma, the site of the National University of Lesotho.  The school was originally founded by Oblate Fathers in 1945 with the support of the Roman Catholic bishops of South Africa.  At the time of independence, it became the University of Botswana, Lesotho, and Swaziland serving the higher education needs of these three Former British Protectorates.  By the 1970s, the arrangement became strained, and Botswana and Swaziland decided to start their own universities.  Tony thought the split was unfortunate because these three small countries would have been better off pooling their resources instead of each having its own university.

The campus isn’t all that plush but new construction was underway as we drove through on our way to the Pius XII College House in search of Father Tuohy.  As soon as we pulled up to the building, I jumped out, camera in hand, to snap a couple slides of the beautiful landscape behind the campus (farms and mountains).  Father Tuohy, an aging and smiling Irishman, greeted us and led us up to his office for tea.  Back in the USA, you would go into a claims office, fill out some forms for a clerk – all strictly business.  Her it was a social call.  Tony and Darrell handle all the university’s vehicle insurance.  All insurance in Lesotho goes through the government, and an agent really can’t try to work out good deals for their clients.  What he can do is provide personalized service creating good will.

View from the University of Lesotho campus in Roma.

 

I doubt if more than 15 minutes was spent on the nasty business of the totaled vehicle, but we spent a good hour conversing.  Father Tuohy did most of the talking, and the wisdom of his years and interesting, though somewhat drawn out, anecdotes could have held my attention for several more hours.  And of course, he seemed most pleased to have an American writer with an Irish surname in his audience.

Touhy has been in southern Africa since the end of World War II.  He attended the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg and has been at this university for some 37 years.  He has held a number of administrative positions at the school during both its private (until 1964) and public eras.  He also teaches English.  Many of black Africa’s past and current leaders received their academic training there.  The list includes the former Prime Minister of Uganda who was deposed by Idi Amin and several leaders of South Africa’s banned African National Congress.          

Predictably, the conversation soon drifted to politics – specifically what will happen to South Africa.  Tuohy had great optimism about the country’s future.  He felt that South African blacks and whites had lived and worked together for so long that they were, in a sense, part of the same family.  And, he went on to explain, some of the most tragic and ugly conflicts take place within families.  By way of example, he cited the Irish Civil War in which fathers and sons sometimes supported opposing sides.  The resulting wounds within the family were often severe. 

Despite the obvious wounds in the South African “family”, Touhy seemed to feel that blacks understood whites and even had a certain degree of respect for them.  He told of the time a professor from one of South Africa’s Afrikaans-medium universities came to Roma to give a series of lectures.  Tuohy figured there might be trouble from their black South African students.  Instead, they attended and listened attentively.  Afterword, some of them commented that, “he really knows his stuff.”  

He told another story of some blacks who visited Roma from overseas.  They had encountered some of the humiliations of apartheid at Jan Smuts Airport in Johannesburg and in a restaurant where they tried to eat while driving through South Africa on the way to Lesotho.  They were mad as hell when they arrived at Roma and wasted no time lambasting the South African system when they were greeted by black South African students.  But instead of saying, “Now you know what kind of crap we’ve had to put up with all these years,” the black South African students gave each other looks which seemed to convey, “Oh, I suppose we’ll have to humor these people while they tell their tales of woe.”  They listened in silence and finally one of the black South African students was heard to comment in perfect deadpan, “Yeah, man. Those Boers [Afrikaners] are really tough.”

Tuohy wasn’t so sure, however, whether white South Africans (and particularly the Afrikaners) understood blacks.  In response to suggestions as to how black South Africans could be given a better shake, they were often heard to say, “Yes, but we know these people.”  In other words, let us do it our way.  Tuohy disagreed.  One thing he knows for sure about blacks is that they like to talk and talk and talk.  If you want to make rules for them, the way to get their cooperation is to have lengthy discussions with them.  If they have a say, they may be willing to accept stringent regulations which are reasonable.  But the stubborn Afrikaner has imposed his laws on the blacks without ever listening to any of their concerns. 

Tony and Darrell had to cut short the conversation as Darrell had to be back in Bloemfontein for a meeting at 3:30.  We wanted to save time for lunch at the Lesotho Sun casino.  We stopped the Danish Consulate to see if the consul could have lunch with us.  He was tied up.  I need to pee and asked the black secretary if they had a bathroom I could use.  “No”, she replied.  I was surprised that a consulate wouldn’t have plumbing even in Maseru, but managed to hold my bladder until we got to the Sun.  Later my companions pointed out that she probably thought I wanted to take a bath.  The word here is toilet or loo.  Ah, communication! 

The Sun’s casino is small and was rather quiet.  The hillside hotel has a beautiful view overlooking Maseru and the surrounding area.  It had failed as a Hilton, but seemed to be doing better as a part of the Sun chain.  The scrumptious buffet included fresh shrimp, roast beef, and dozens of other options.  All I could stuff in my fat mouth for R10.75 (US$5.25). 

View east of Maseru from the Lesotho Sun

 

The border crossing on the way back was about as slow as before.  Tony paid a 20 cent fee to get the Mercedes out of Lesotho.  I had to fill out a new immigration form on the South African side and had a new 90-day residence permit stuck in my passport.  They did not look up my name this time in their list of naughty people.  Suppose they noticed that I had been through a few hours earlier.

One question I neglected to ask Father Tuohy was his assessment of the role the U.S. is playing in the development of Lesotho.  Is it positive, negative, or merely wasted?  Tony and Darrell said that foreign governments do a certain amount of good in the country despite local government corruption which sometimes diverts aid money into greedy pockets.  I wondered if perhaps it would have been better to leave Lesotho alone.  Let the people remain “happy primitives” like in the old days.  Do well-meaning foreign governments create more problems than they solve by trying to modernize a backward nation like Lesotho?  Is it worth all the social disruption?  Tony and Darrell seemed to think it is if opportunities are created for education, jobs, and more people able to afford consumer goods like appliances which will make their lives easier.  And creating these new markets will stimulate more employment which will continue to improve the overall standard of living.  Well, OK, fine and dandy if economic growth can keep pace with unbridled population growth in countries like this.

Like it or not, however, big plans are underway for Lesotho.  An enormous hydroelectric scheme is about to get going in the northeastern part of the country.  Included are dams and water diversions which will generate needed revenue.  Lesotho will be able to sell electricity to the often drought-plagued Orange Free State.  The highlands of Lesotho are blessed with abundant rainfall which South Africa needs.  The new lakes created by the dams will stimulate tourism based on water recreation.  But, of course, there will be associated social and environmental problems.  I fear that in their enthusiasm to generate and irrigate, the engineers and bureaucrats may not give adequate consideration to ecological concerns.

A few days after my trip to Lesotho, I was eating lunch and sipping wine with a French Canadian priest who had spent a number of years working at a mission in Lesotho.  He now has a parish in Botshabelo.  He pooh-poohed the U.S. Peace Corps’ work in Lesotho.  He felt that Peace Corps projects in agriculture, etc. have little lasting impact.  Two years (the term of a Peace Corps volunteer) simply isn’t long enough.  You can’t really get to know African people in two years.  “You have to become part of their lives,” he said and that implies a long-term commitment.  How many of us are willing to devote two years, let alone a lifetime, to help the poor in a place like Lesotho improve their standard of living?  I’m not, and putting the problems of Africa in this context really brings home their magnitude to me.