Semate munched his feed as i cinched up his English-style saddle. He was a sturdy gelded Basuto not-so-small pony with a shiny thick roan coat. He was named for being “Smart”, as in having a neat appearance, but for someone who speaks only Sesotho, his name comes out as Se-MAH-teh.
Next, i secured the saddle bags already packed with peanut butter & honey sandwiches (using bread i ‘baked’ by wrapping dough in a t-shirt and dropping into boiling water), squares of paper from brown paper bags (no such thing as toilet paper here), a plastic bottle of previously boiled water, a small towel, a change of underwear and socks, a notepad, pencil, and a few books. My most precious items were a good lensatic compass and a 1:50,000 topographic map.
Sunlight already brightly lit the summit of ‘M’a Lehloana [Mother of Snow], the imposing hill behind our village of Ha Mahlong [Pleasant on the Eyes]. In our chilly mountain air, i was glad to be wearing my padded nylon coat.
As Semate finished his oats, i looked around for Naleli’s brother; my guide for the day’s journey to Lesobeng Mission to visit one of “my” elementary school teachers. I was assigned 14 elementary teachers to tutor as arranged through the “Upgrading Program” administered by Lesotho Ministry of Education, University of Newcastle upon Tyne, and Peace Corps. I had mailed a letter to the teacher a week ago telling him what day to expect my arrival; and that day was today.
Cher Makheta in our village assured me that the 20-mile ride to Lesobeng was an “easy day’s ride”, but this was my first long excursion into these roadless mountains, so i rather tardily arranged for a guide. After asking around, my neighbor Naleli told me yesterday that her brother would accompany me for a few South African Rand. She said he could meet me at my rondavel tomorrow [hosasa] at sunrise.
And now Semate and i waited . . . and waited. I went into my rondavel and employed the time to start a letter to my folks in California on a blue aerogramme. After an hour, i went to find Naleli, which took most of another hour as she was working in the fields. She explained that “hosasa” indeed means tomorrow, but an indeterminate ‘tomorrow.’ To specify “very next day” the term i should have used was “hosasa hoseng.” Her brother was nowhere near our village today.
Perhaps my irritation at this miscommunication tipped the scales of my decision process. I tightened Semate’s cinch, slid my boot into the stirrup, mounted Semate, and immediately started for Lesobeng.
A short distance along the jeep road to Auray Mission, we took a smooth, descending trail to the left. Morning breezes felt soothing, but an unworldly thrumming rose, descended, and rose again. I turned this way and that but we were completely alone. Was the noise just my imagination? Then i looked straight up to see a white-collared raven barely at arm’s length looking straight down at me with several wing feathers fluttering in such slow flight. A traveling companion! But this raven did not savor my presence as much as i was charmed by his, and off he soared.
We then rode steeply down and used switchbacks as we descended into Mantsonyane Gorge to a shallow ford at Selomo sa Tupakheiti. With its uneven bottom, large stones, and swift current, it looked treacherous. Semate, however, blithely crossed Mantsonyane River smoothly and unhesitatingly, revealing his lifetime of experience in these raw mountains.
We followed a steep trail out of the gorge and came to Mafa village where our path rose more gently. Mafa village was a scattering of a few rondavels, people, and sheep. I answered that i was on my way to Lesobeng when asked by a nearly toothless woman who was surprised to see a white person here.
We climbed steadily with a strong wind at our backs as dark clouds raced in on a northeasterly. A few large raindrops pelted us as our way began to level out at 9,000 feet.
A lightning bolt struck with blinding fury and a firmament-splitting CRACK! Semate remained calm. Me, not so much. It hit just ahead of us, no more than a football pitch away, and burned its image into my eyes. Terrified, i noted that my head was the highest thing within two hundred meters.
I leaned low and slid off Semate. He took the break to graze on sparse bits of grass around us. Now i was crouching next to Semate and he was the highest thing around. I hurried a good 30 meters away from him with the macabre realization that lightning might take him. Two more lightning bolts crashed into rock outcroppings a few hundred meters away as rain fell in drenching sheets. My jeans are soaking through and i feel cold moisture seeping through my not-so-rain-repellant padded nylon coat.
This sudden downpour finally slackened as the darkest cloud mass moved East. Cool breezes. Quiet. Light steady rain. I walked back to my unflappable horse, mounted, and we started up again, hoping our way would descend from this exposed mountain top expanse. Three thousand meter-high Thaba Moea [Wind Mountain] summit was on our left side but shrouded in rain clouds. We followed gentle terrain up until we topped 2,700 meters. High mountain cool breezes rendered my damp coat and soaked jeans uncomfortably cold. I finished my last bit of sandwich while shivering.
Our trail soon did indeed descend a bit, then it leveled as we rounded hills, then descended again, sometimes a bit too steeply and slippery for comfort, but Semate wasn’t perturbed as much as i was by an occasional slip of a hoof. As we neared Ramosa village our trail was steep but well-traveled and easily managed by Semate.
We stopped briefly to confer with an older gentleman who walked with us a short way in light rain to show me how best to reach Lesobeng. He pointed out Ha Taole, a small village perched atop a tall escarpment on the far side of Lesobeng River Gorge. It was easily the most dramatic location imaginable for a village. He showed us the trail we should take to Ha Taole. From there it was an easy ride to Lesobeng. I thanked him, especially since he braved the cold rain to help us. We continued south through undulating farmland under a cover of rain clouds. In the late afternoon, it was fast becoming dark.
We rode right up to the edge of a near void. Our trail dropped steeply into Lesobeng Gorge. Our way down to the river looked perilously steep and wet. Semate agreed. He did not budge when i signaled him to start down via gentle kicks and clucking noises. But being so wet, cold, and just generally miserable, i insisted we continue. Semate relented.
Switchback after muddy switchback with frightful slips and slides we descended. It was on this descent when i reluctantly appealed to God, although i had been a ‘devout non-theist’ for six years.
Almost remarkably, Semate brought us safely down to where a gentle slope led to river’s edge — and darkness became nearly complete. I have always had good night vision, but i could barely discern anything when Semate began to ford Lesobeng River. I had no idea whether it could be crossed without our being swept away, but Semate continued unhesitatingly while rain came cold and steady.
When splashing of his hooves gave way to sucking sounds of mud, i was totally blind. It was a New Moon and the rain clouds blocked all starlight. Somehow, Semate seemed to be able to see as he continued forward. Up we climbed, gently up, as Semate walked so very slowly forward. Then steeply. Then turning. Increasing rain seemed malicious in what to me was utter darkness.
I could tell that my body temperature had dropped below normal in spite of my vigorous shivering. I traded my hands between holding reins and inserting them into damp coat pockets. I silently cursed myself for being so unconscionably foolish to have started this journey late and without a Mosotho companion.
Semate stopped and pivoted in place before continuing up. Obviously a switchback.
Consciousness ebbed and recovered and ebbed again.
Again Semate pivoted in place but in the opposite direction, then continued steeply up; another switchback.
Hooves sometimes slipped but held, giving me a fright. Slowly up and forward. Sometimes he steeply lurched up making it difficult staying firmly saddle-bound.
We may as well have been in a deep cavern as my eyes detected absolutely nothing. It was getting harder to remain conscious. Misery is too gentle a word for what i felt. Again i appealed to God.
Semate pivoted in place again and slowly moved on. One slow step after another and another and another.
In a pulse of awareness, i realized we were no longer moving. Semate had stopped. I had no idea how long we had been standing there. I urged him to continue on. No response. I gently kicked his sides. Nothing. I thought that perhaps he was feeling worn out and paused to rest.
In an act of kindness or commiseration, i reached forward in blackness to pat his forehead, but my hand touched wet stone instead. I had overreached his lowered head. Apparently, while walking with his head near the ground, he had walked into a rock wall. I felt around. On our right was just wet, gritty, nearly vertical rock. I extended my right boot sideways and felt that we had stopped with barely an inch between my leg and solid stone.
||**
Frustrated, shivering, angry that i got us into this predicament, i dismounted. But my boots only barely grazed a bit of mud and rock. I grasped for the stirrup with my nearly frozen, wet fingers but missed it in the dark as i slid down. I picked up speed, blindly tumbled, faster still in the punishing blackness, shoulder crushing against stone, then . . . .
**||
I extended my left boot outward. Nothing. I reached out with my left hand. Nothing. Only cold wind and rain.
Very much awake and alert, i considered our predicament. ¿Foremost, how do i keep both of us safe? ¿And how do we find our ‘real’ trail in pitch darkness? I got us into this predicament by being in a hurry. Now was no time to rush into rash action.
On our left could possibly be a long vertical drop. On our right it was obviously near vertically up. We need to somehow get both of us safely up to Ha Taole; to safety and warmth.
I thought about dismounting. Then i could . . . . No, that might not work. But if i . . . . Well, that depends. However, staying here through to morning might not be survivable.
Ok.
I settled on a procedure that could possibly work. I scooted backwards over Semate’s saddle, then over my saddle bags, then – with trust in Semate – i slid off his wet rump onto a thankfully solid surface. Semate did not kick; did not move. So far so good. Then holding his water-matted tail i practiced a version of braille with my boots. Wall to the right. Drop off to the left. Slight downwards incline directly behind but muddy and not a full meter in width.
Now the big test; getting Semate to follow me backwards!
I used a reassuring voice and light tugs on his tail. He stood fast. So i continued soothingly telling Semate to walk backwards but pulling much harder. He got it! He slowly followed me backwards with measured steps.
I continued practicing braille with my boots; exploring, tapping, visualizing our path’s direction and, most importantly, the edge where it dropped away into nothingness. Semate nearly backed into me once, but he stopped when i shoved against his butt with my hand.
Then we started backing up again, but now he backed up only when i pulled more firmly on his tail. Smart Semate.
We slowly ventured backwards along this descending narrow ledge for 3 meters, 10 meters, then 20 meters when my boots lost touch with the rock wall on our right side. ¿Are we back at the real trail? Both boots slipped on this steeper, more muddy surface but my hold on his tail kept me upright. This area is wider.
Semate resisted a little as i moved left and right, up and down, to and fro, reminiscent of a movie i’d seen where a blind woman explored the face of a man she met.
Finally i could visualize this switchback that Semate had missed. To test that vision, i ‘pulled’ him backwards up the putative proper trail until topography matched my hopeful requirements: a path was almost level side-to-side, about a meter wide and sloped up. In darkness, Semate had been unable to see this switchback.
But now i couldn’t climb back onto Semate since even this ‘proper’ trail was too narrow to get around beside him. So now i pushed on Semate’s butt signaling him to walk forward. He wasn’t buying that, so i pushed hard with both hands albeit without letting go of his tail. He finally complied.
He slowly moved forward until he reached a section of the switchback where my braille map showed it was wide enough for me to get around to his bridle by clinging to the saddle bags and saddle. Turning him around took a lot of coaxing, as he was apparently mostly blind himself. After gingerly climbing back into astride him, he was reluctant to move until i assured him it was safe. We now proceeded but after how long a delay? Twenty minutes? More?
The exhaustion and hypothermia mercilessly crashed back on me as we moved up the steep trail in absolute darkness. I soon lost sense of time & space but popped back into consciousness each time Semate pivoted at a switchback or had to mount some unseen steepness. I tried to keep my eyes open but without light, my eyelids kept shutting. Survival seemed less and less likely.
Once again awareness rose up out of unconsciousness and i forced my eyelids open. Strangely, unbelievably, i was looking into a dimly lit rondavel just meters to my right. Semate was still walking at the same slow measured pace but on level ground.
We stopped and i called out, “Aku ‘nthusa!” Nothing. I repeated my request for help and a young man came out into the rain. I explained that i was on my way to visit a teacher at Lesobeng Mission, but i had started too late in the day from Mantsonyane. [I doubted he would have known about my little village of Ha Mahlong, and Mantsonyane was the closest important settlement.]
He offered to let me stay in his family’s rondavel but i told him there was a room waiting for me at Lesobeng Mission. He repeated his offer but i insisted.
He went back inside for a blanket to wear, came back out, took hold of Semate’s bridle, and walked us through a steady rain. It was just as black as before but with occasional glimmers of light from nearby buildings. Our walk to Lesobeng Mission seemed so very far but i learned later it was less than three kilometers.
I was going to live. I survived my idiocy!
He found a worker at the mission who offered to get a bed ready.
My young guide refused to take any of the Rand i had with me that was intended for my guide. He promptly turned and left for his home.
Our host tied Semate’s reins to a metal ring, then led me to a dark room where he lit a kerosene lamp revealing a mattress on the floor with blankets. He said my clothes could dry next to the kitchen oven.
I asked whether he could find me something to eat and perhaps a cup of hot tea.
“Food is locked during night.”
“¿Can you get the key?”
“In morning.”
“OK. A cup of tea would be good.”
“Yes. I will try,” and he left the gloomy room.
After shedding my clothes, i lay down and pulled the coarse blanket over me. I was still shivering when he returned.
“Tea is locked,” he said as he handed me a coffee cup of cold water.
“A cup of hot water then?”
“Stove is locked. Not very warm. Need key to make hot.”
Oh well, it’s only discomfort.
He excused himself to hang up my clothes and also to put Semate in a stable with food and water.
The bed and i refused to warm up. I shivered sporadically, and may not have slept at all that night.
Curiously, i have minimal recollections of the next day; not the people i met, not the meals i ate, nor of the teacher-tutoring responsibility that was my mission. I do, however, remember learning how to take a shit in remote Lesotho villages.
When the time came to take a break for lunch, i said i needed to relieve myself.
“Step behind this rondavel,” was the answer.
It was obvious that our Sesotho language lessons in California lacked a few specifics.
“I need to do more than that.”
“Ah ‘n’tate. Mantla. Beyond those buildings,” [he pointed] “is mantlapeng.”
“Thank you,” and off i went to find whatever i was meant to find.
The buildings – rondavels and rectangular huts – were an uncomfortable hundred meters away as the need to vacate my bowels increased. I went between them and saw nothing, but the smell of feces was unmistakable.
Forty meters farther on was an expanse of darkly stained rocks. Between the rocks were dark piles of shit; most diminished by rain and time; a few piles were fresh. No outhouse; no blind; just a ten by twenty-meter area for defecating – a mantlapeng.
Bushes on the far side suggested some privacy, so i very carefully walked over the least slippery-looking rocks to get there. The best i could do was to claim a spot with a scrawny bush a meter behind me. As i loosened my belt, a man about my age carefully stepped out onto the dark expanse, nodded to me, and we both squatted at the same time. Almost immediately, a young woman appeared and greeted the other Mosotho. As she squatted, the two of them chatted amicably, catching up on the latest village news.
I used two patches of brown bag paper to clean up, pulled up and secured my jeans, and kicked a rock over soiled pieces of paper so they wouldn’t blow away. I congratulated myself on accomplishing a rather stressful bit of acculturation.
On the following day, two men on horseback led Semate and me to a ‘real’ trail leading back to Ramosa that was farther west, much less steep, and well-maintained. They also shared news that three women working together northwest of here had been killed by lightning two days earlier.
Both of my companions expressed their amazement that Semate and i had succeeded in ascending the ‘old trail’ on a rainy night. Only boys and their tended goats ventured out onto that steep escarpment; and only during daytime in good weather. That trail had fallen into disuse and was no longer maintained. They said the story of a lone white and his horse who ascended to Ha Taole on the old trail, in rain on a moonless night, would be a long-remembered tale.
We parted at Lesobeng River; they turned back satisfied Semate and i were safe.
The ride back home was thankfully uneventful; just a long day’s journey over treeless, dramatic terrain with a very much-appreciated equine companion. Also, i had become the possessor of an embarrassing, dramatic tale of foolishness, hardship, danger, and good fortune; a tale that would rightly go untold for decades.