Lesotho for Lunch

A one way ticket to Bloemfontein. Yes, I know what you're thinking...  

But it was good stuffing my measly supply of gypsy essentials into my pack again. 

It felt right stepping out of the front door and taking the hike down the road to the bus station. 

Good Friday is as "good" a day as any for thirteen and a half hour bus journeys. 

Adventure beckoned and once more I needed to heed it's call!

You're probably wondering what adventures could possibly lie in Bloemfontein? 

But did you know that they have a 24 hour disco bar at the tourism office? 

Did you know that Leon Schuster was born there?

And did you know that Lesotho is only a brick throw (two[ish] hours) away from the bustling  Town?

I had [sort of plans] plans. 

I had [kind of] a mission. 

I had a crazy adventure into unknown worlds ahead of me.

And then my mother phoned from China and reminded me that Easter was about family.

[And Jesus also of course]. 

So there I sat in Bloemfontein at 2am with the big questions ploddering about in my head:

Why do they have a 24 hour hour bar disco at the tourism office which also doubles as the bus station?

Why was Leon Schuster born?

But mostly I was wondering where to from here??!?

I'd planned to try and spend some time exploring Lesotho and maybe even venture into Swaziland before eventually heading to Johannesburg to surprise my granny for her birthday. 

But the family would all be celebrating both her birth and that of my cousins over Easter dinner...

I did what any of you might do in my situation.

I jumped into a taxi to catch a bus to the border. 

My brand new South African passport needed some stamps.

I needed a cultural experience.

I followed a friendly lady into a share taxi and explored the markets of Maseru before I clambered onto a bus to the next major town.

The conductor forced us deeper in to merge with the back of the already over-crowded bus.

A human mosaic of colourful blankets and vivid emotions. 

I eyed the rolling hills and tiny villages and building supply shops as more people were added to our human mangle.

Mountains. Goats. Potholes. Puddles. Smiling faces.

A few hours later we stopped.

Lunch.
Maluti.

And then I walked to the border and cleared out. 

I begged for a small portion.
The regular servings could feed a family for a month.

The police pointed me in the right direction, but I was only the third person looking for a minibus taxi to Johannesburg that day and if I was lucky we'd leave before dark.

I walked down the road and started hitching.

I felt bad about hitching after mum had sworn me never to do it in South Africa.

But if mum wanted me to be with family at Easter, there was no other way.

I got a ride to Senegal. 

But before you get too excited, it's actually spelled "Senekal" and that place is is not all that exotic.

From there I got a very entertaining education on the South Africa I did not know as we bounced along a potholed road to Vereeniging (not all that exciting a spot either).

I tried to make friends on the minibus taxi to Jo'burg but nobody paid me any attention.

I wanted to know where exactly we were going? 

I wanted to know there was a way out of downtown Johannesburg in the dark. 

I wanted to know I'd be safe.

But 'safe' became a distant notion.

Monica turned around and whispered to me that she would help me, but it was not safe to talk to people on taxis. The man next to me agreed and told me how the gangs of Jo'burg now operate. 

A man at the back told me never to question anybody anything, because then you owe them. 

You walk like you know where you are going, even if you do not have a clue. 

At almost every corner are touts who want your money, your luggage, and [of late] your dignity. 

And then the whole taxi got involved with helping me make a plan to get to my granny.

As we stepped off the taxi I had a whole load of new friends, but I was not allowed to talk to them. 

Looking more touristy than ever

[With my backpack and rainbow gypsy pants]

 I was to follow them a few blocks to another taxi rank 

but pretend like I did not know them. 

Their helping me would get them into all sorts of trouble. 

This was one ride for me, but a regular commute for them.

I was not allowed to greet anyone. 

I was to stare straight ahead and walk with purpose.

They nodded to the Alexandra taxi and I climbed on.

"Balfour please" I called to the driver.

"I'll hold your bag" said the friendly man next to me.

I declined.

"Do you know the area?" he asked later.

"Yes." I replied, feeling bad for being short.

When we passed Balfour Park, I asked my friendly neighbour if I was remembering it right.

"Yes." He replied and then demanded five rand for the information.

I laughed, asked the driver to stop at the next convenience store and called Ouma.

And then there was family.

And [stinky-two-day-travelling] hugs.

And then a shower.

And then less stinky hugs.

There was an Easter egg hunt.

And church.

And more [even cleaner] hugs.

And laughing. And celebrations. And a feast.

Mum was right.

Family is the best way to Easter.

But Swaziland for Supper?

Thursday?

Who's coming with me?

Thank You for being Born

Coming home is not quite as easy as you might think. 

Even when you "just take a plane"...

While everyone else breezed past security, I had that bear scanned at all five airports on the way (Cairns. Bali. Bangkok. Addis Ababa. Johannesburg). 

Apparently either he or I look like we might be pushing drugs or smuggling some small children inside (although I'm not quite sure how I might have gotten said "small children" inside). 

And yes it was great to lick South African soil (some may call it "airport floor") 

and have my grandmother smiling and ready to make me her eternal housemate, never allowing me to venture off on another adventure ever again; 

but I had to keep her waiting an hour while I attempted to change $20 into rands. 

I didn't own an address or a phone number... even with a foreign passport, this simple task was impossible!

It took me four days and five attempts to try and acquire a phone number [luckily Ouma came in to rescue me... she'll have to do the same again as I attempt to unfreeze my bank account...]  

Meet Ouma. She's amazing!

I tried to hire a car, but without a credit card, nobody wanted to give me one. 

That's okay I suppose, I have started exploited our non-existent transport system for what it's not worth! 

And have enjoyed a whole host of incredible "taxis" with a plethora of friends and family!

But despite the bureaucracy and transportlessness, I have to admit it is flipping good to be back.

 I've spent a few days with my brother and his "pets". 

I've witnessed the miraculous growth of families as almost everyone I know has milked their wombs for their fertileness.

 I've spent time with my granny and cousins and friends. 

And I even had the privilege of crashing a best friend's wedding!

Brother

And just one of his many pets.

Look how fertile South African soil is...

It was a great wedding to crash too!

On long flights, in bank and sim card queues, on long bus rides, 

and while trapped in camp by herds of elephants; I've had much time to think and reminisce. 

I don't think any of you have an inkling of an idea of how incredible you really are and how much you've given to my life! 

In fact the list of people I need to thank for keeping me alive, off the streets, out of prison, and with a smile on my face is impossibly long!

They seem to get a kick out of trapping you inside

Some of you I have known for years and you've actively shaped and guided my life; 

you've put up with my nonsense, 

encouraged me, inspired me, given me all sorts of sound advices, 

and you've supported my weird life directions (sometimes with bated breath). 

For that I thank you profusely! 

But there's also all those people who hitched me (to get an ice-cream, or across countries, or oceans).

And those who hitched with me. 

Those who helped me reach dreams (like getting out of prison, or spending a day filling in potholes, or visiting Ikea, or building a raft and sailing it out into the ocean...) 

The amount of people who have taken me in for a night (or a month), 

those who have have fed me, 

or eaten with me (thank you too to the cannibals who refrained from eating me), 

who have kept me entertained and positive through all sorts of trials and tribulations and the hours/days/weeks of border crossings.

On some random border somewhere in central Asia 

Turkmenistan: where every time you stop to ask directions, you get welcomed in for a meal!

Thank you for random hugs and laughs and adventures.

Thank you too to those who carried a scowl and a frown; your misery reminded me I needed joy.

Thank you to all those who stop and help when crises strike!

Three flat tyres, at the same time in Mongolia.
A party ensued with all those who stopped to help!

In fact. It doesn't matter who you are, and whether I've known you for a minute or a decade; 

I want to thank you for being born! 

There's a reason you are here, and the world is a happier, friendlier, and epicer place because of it!

Somewhere in Australia with some happy people who made my week!