dancingthroughchaos

‘Just like any other chaotic African country’ – a local

So said our friend as we ground our tentative way over gravel roads, in and out of spine-jangling potholes, past the incongruously shiny Chinese and American embassies of the capital, Maseru, and back into South Africa from Lesotho.  He’s travelled all over Africa, so he probably knows what he’s talking about.  

It was an impactful 36 hours reflecting a much more rural Africa than the Europeanised version we see in Cape Town.  They are currently celebrating their 200th birthday and the founding of the Basotho nation under Chief Moshoeshoe.

We were there to visit a friend who runs a clothing factory in the capital before driving out of the city to the town to visit some others in the town of Mafeteng, know locally as ‘Gun City’ s.  Not entirely promising as names go.

The scenery on the west side of the country is mesmerising though not as mountainous as the east. 

Nevertheless, it was fascinating to see ladies carrying babies on their backs, others balancing loads on their heads, herders watching over their cattle, people sleeping under trees, vendors selling a colourful variety of goods from their shack shops, mealies (maize cobs) being roasted over open fires for sale on the street, and the gogos (grandmothers) chatting, drinking tea or gazing out into the distance, their lined faces full of ancient stories and cultural wisdom.

Africa is not for the faint-hearted but it was a huge privilege to meet with a handful of rural pastors in that ill-named town where they were thanking God for answering their December prayers.  For the first time in many years no one had been shot or killed over the festive season.  They were grateful.

These men are working hard in demanding conditions and in a place few people have heard of, let alone choose to go.  Unemployment is high and brings its own barrage of poverty-related consequences. One of those pastors spends his days selling second-hand clothes at the side of the road while juggling his responsibilities to care for his congregation and have meaningful input at a local secondary school.  I wish there were some version of the Oscars for such men and women who consistently and selflessly work for the uplifting of others.  I found the whole trip hugely humbling and felt privileged to spend an evening with them.

The visit reminded me of all the times I’ve wanted to bring British young people to Africa to show them something different from the cultural expectations they have in a comfortable  Europe.  One of my daughters used to watch an American TV show called Sweet Sixteen and Strict Parents, or something similar.  Unashamedly spoilt and wealthy teenagers whose parents were experiencing the painful rewards of consistently and unquestioningly indulging their offspring, allowed them to spend a couple of weeks with another family operating from a diametrically opposed philosophy.  The idea (I think) was to give them a wake-up call about their values and privileged lifestyle, and perhaps break them out of their excruciatingly selfish perspective.  Public humiliation on national television probably wasn’t the best solution.  I can’t help feeling that a whole bunch of therapists are probably still reaping the financial rewards of that  social experiment.

However, had an episode chosen to take them to Mafeteng it would have been fascinating to watch them recalibrate on every level in order to make the necessary adjustments to make sense of life there.

Such visits would almost certainly be good for all of us who are used to living in the west, regardless of age, where even a basic standard of living is a world away from a Lesotho reality.  We get comfortable very quickly, which means we are seduced into complacency, becoming so caught up in our own lives that we rapidly lose perspective on the things and the people who are truly important.  Empathy and compassion can be consigned to the back-burner as the incessant unfolding of crises from our news bulletins desensitises us to the enormous challenges faced by so many.  Overwhelm tends to keep us in a mode of semi-paralysed self-preservation.

Staying overnight, we were glad not to hear any gun shots.  While we were equally happy to leave, there is a part of me that wants to keep the experience of that visit alive as a measure of how fortunate I am. and as a reminder of courageous people who make great sacrifices to be the difference in the countless back waters of the world where they will never be acclaimed, lauded or receive a material reward.  They are an inspiration.