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It is a risk!
Entry 72 of 79 | show all | print this entry |
Since there is no "daylight-saving" adjustment in South Africa, it is light by 4:30. One morning I got up early and set off for a nearby kopje, promising to be back for breakfast. The ascent took slightly more than the hour I had predicted. I walked around on the flat top for a while, maybe a kilometre long and empty except for birds. As I came down a herd of cattle were struggling up the steep slope.
This foreign propensity for walking vigorously but purposelessly, only to underscore the pointlessness of the exercise by returning almost immediately, has always produced among Basotho friends a mixture of amusement, puzzlement and concern. Concern, because it has always been considered dangerous to walk alone, especially at night. Once in Maseru I was even banned from going out after dark to use the privy in the garden, forced to use a chamberpot. And when I made the 10-hour walk from the road-end at Ramabanta's village up to Semonkong under a full moon, I was greeted in the morning by shocked relief and a scolding. Which I didn't understand, because no one ever specified the risk, and those mountains seemed to be one of the most benign places on earth. But later I came to believe that it was connected with a fear of ritual murder (in which various body parts are used as muti or traditional medicine). I'm not sure whether this fear was specific but unspeakable, or merely a vague cultural memory. But there seems to be good reason to believe that such murders still take place occasionally; and in Zimbabwe, where many unthinkable things are happening, the practice may even be making a comeback.
Anyway, after that first little walk, I began eyeing the similar but even more inviting kopje that rose behing Setsing, the commercial district. From this side, there were a couple of breaks in the vertical rock band near the top that otherwise would have sealed off the flat top from easy access. I mentally tried to map out the best route, trying to convince myself that it could be scrambled safely. If Phuthadijhaba were a place that tourists came to (or a place that tourists came from), there would be refreshment stands at the top, succeeded by restaurants and chalets, then hotels and a cable car. But it was pristine, only cattle up there. My own calves were twitching. Ntate Molise talked about accompanying me, but I knew that this was for my safety rather than any urge to see the view.
But Ntate Molise was not feeling well that week before I left for Swaziland, and after I returned I knew he was tied up with preparations for the first-ever graduation ceremony of the Khothalang Educare Centre. One morning when Adel brought tea I kind of hinted at going up by myself. She stood silently in front of me until I looked up, then she fixed me with an uncharacteristically stern gaze. This was the one argument I could not refute.
Eventually I said, "But maybe it's risky."
"It is a risk! A big one!"
Every layabout in Setsing, of whom there were many, would see me going up that green big-screen slope. If anything happened to me, she would feel responsible.
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