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was born at Harrow
School, England in 1878. His father was Assistant Master there
for 37 years. Merwyn had five brothers and three sisters. All
his brothers were educated at Harrow, but Merwyn went to Rugby,
where he excelled at rugby and athletics. He was also a brilliant
scholar, writing Latin prose at 14 years old. On leaving school
he went to Oxford University.
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Mervyn Smith at his Desk
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Early view of the shop
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In about 1898 he came to South Africa and taught/coached
rugby at Bishops. This was too tame for him, so he went to
try his hand on the Diamond Diggings at Lichtenberg, where
he did not have much luck. He decided to join the B.S.A.P.
in Rhodesia (Zimbabwe), where he said he did not do much police
work, as he played rugby most of the time.
At the outbreak of the Boer War, he returned and
joined the Dorset Regiment and served throughout the war. At
the end of the war, he went to Maseru to visit his brother,
Reginald, who had joined the Colonial Service and had been
sent to Basutoland as Government Secretary.
Merwyn was fascinated by the country and spent
months riding around the country, shooting for the pot, as
he went along. One of the places he camped at, was Malealea.
He fell in love with the place and decided to open a Trading
Station there. He had to return to England to get permission,
and was assisted by some of his school companions, who were
by now in high places. On returning to Malealea he started
in a tent, first building the store and sheds and then starting
on the house, which was built of cut stone and under thatch.
A swimming pool, covered by thatch, was also built, and a tennis
court. As Merwyn was a fanatic for bridge and billiards he
had a billiard table brought to Malealea by ox-wagon, as were
all the building materials. The big verandah had all his shooting
trophies on the walls. Many also hung in the Bloemfontein and
Rand Clubs. The lounge and billiard rooms were wood panelled.
The lounge was a replica of the lounge at Binghams Melcon Dorset,
which was the family house, when his father retired from Harrow.
He was well established, when the 1914 - 1918
war broke out. He returned to England and again joined the
Dorset Regiment, who he served with throughout the war. He
developed "Trench Leg", which was a problem for the
rest of his life. After the war he returned to Malealea and
in 1919 got married. These were golden years. Trade flourished
and they used to go on shooting safaris in Rhodesia, Caprivi
Strip and the Zambezi Valley, - on one occasion, taking Basotho
Ponies with them. They also had frequent trips to England to
visit his family. They entertained a lot at Malealea and used
to ride to Qaba to play tennis with his great friend, Jarvis.
Merwyn's wife had a cheetah as a pet, but it had a depressing
effect on trade, so was given to the Johannesburg Zoo!!!
The depression years nearly put Malealea out of
business, but a Johannesburg friend gave Merwyn 12,000 pound
bond to tide him over. many of the local Basotho had credit
to buy food during this period and they never forgot "MOFANA"
for this. He was called "MOFANA", because when he
first arrived he spoke "Fanagalo". Later he spoke
Sesotho fluently.
The war years brought prosperity, which continued
to his death in 1951. During the war R.A.F. pupil pilots were
entertained at Malealea. Pay for serving Basotho in the army
was paid out to local families at Malealea. Merwyn arranged
that on this day the R.A.F. sent a plane over Malealea to do
a few acrobatics and Victory Rolls. At the end of the war,
he had name plates made with the name and rank number of all
the Basotho, who had fallen in the war. Oak trees from Malealea
were planted at the police camp in Maseru and the idea was
that each oak tree would have one of the name plates nailed
to it.
During and after the war he had two partners,
first Scholl, then Crooks. He also had The Falls Store at Maletsunyane,
but sold this to Frasers at the end of the war. All supplies
went up by pack horse and the mohair, wool and wheat used to
come to Malealea in big pack pony trains, and then he classed,
graded and sent it off by transport to Rail Head Wepener.
During the last years of Mervyn's life, he used
to spend the winter months on the Zambezi at a Shooting Lodge
he built. He had rondavels and a motor boat called "Queen
Elizabeth". At this stage his one car was called "George"
and the other "Elizabeth". He used to go up to Johannesburg
for a week just to play Bridge.
All his life he had a passion for road-making
and had to make the road from the "Gates of Paradise"
to Malealea, to get building supplies to Malealea. In his latter
years he used to set off with labourers, spades, picks and
wheelbarrows to repair the road. One corner was known as "Tickey
Draai" and another as "Sixpenny Draai". The
original wording at the "neck" as he called it, was:
"Wayfarer Pause Behold The Gates of Paradise". He
always did this when he came home to Malealea.
His other passion was letter writing. He used
to write to "The Friend" newspaper in Bloemfontein
entitled "Basutoland from within", which covered
every subject from Incorporation in the Union to strip roads
for Basutoland on the Rhodesian Model.
During the Royal Visit the King and Queen were
to have visited Malealea, but only the rest of the Royal Party
came for a luncheon. The well known BBC announcer Wynfred Vaughn
Thomas gave a report of the visit in one of his BBC reports.
Mervyn attended all the functions in Maseru and he proudly
wore his war medals at the Ex Service Mens Parade. The King
stopped to speak to him and said, "I see you served in
the SA War, as well as 1914-1918". To which Mervyn replied,
"No Your Majesty, not the SA War, I served in the Boer
War". A cousin of Mervyn's was one of the Ladies in Waiting
to the Queen, so he got a few `behind the scenes' stories of
the tour.
Mervyn died suddenly in January 1950 and was buried
in the garden, by the Bishop of Basutoland. He had no headstone
as Malealea is his memorial. Malealea was left in trust to
his son, Anthony, but his partner, Crooks, had an option to
purchase under the partnership agreement. After a long and
expensive court action in the Supreme Court, it was ruled that
the Trust Deed was not valid, because it had not been initialled
on one page and Crooks exercised his option to purchase.
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The Old Bird Bath
still exists at Malealea
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Soon after Crooks moved into the big house from
the Cottage, the big house burnt down. There is only a bird
bath, built out of stone, with ANNO VIC, chiselled around the
top, that remains from the original house. Mervyn had this
bird bath built at the end of the war "Year of Victory".
Mervyn always maintained that the first thing
a person saw, when visiting a Trading Station in Basutoland,
was the "Long Drop or Kleinhuisie". He built his,
hidden away inside the bank below the house and had a beautiful
view of the Thaba Putsoa range of mountains to gaze upon, in
complete privacy. It has now been restored.
Many tales were told by Government Officials,
Police, Tourists, who used to stay over at Malealea, before
trekking into the mountains. They all enjoyed great hospitality
at Malealea and if they played Bridge and Billiards, even more
so. Snooker was only tolerated for Ladies. The leather bound
billiard score books also stand as a diary for important happenings,
such as bomb raids over Germany, The Invasion, Visits by Important
People etc.
Stories about Mervyn begin with how he used to
ride to Maseru of Mafeteng on a pony to play rugby, with an
alarm clock tied around his neck, which he would set for half
hours ahead, in case he dozed off and could wake up to check
if the pony was still on course. He is reputed to have galloped
down the gorge into the Ribaneng River, and that path was always
known as "Mervyn's Ladder".
Mervyn and his friends decided
to go back to Malealea to continue the party. A stranger, they
had met, came along as well. In the car he was lolling to one
side, then to the other side, but no one took any notice of
him as they thought he was drunk. On arrival it was found he
was DEAD !!! A wake lasting a few days was held and he lay
inside on the Billiard Table and was duly buried under the
Cherry Trees. Mevyn always referred to the grave as "The
Stranger's Grave".
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View from Top Lodge
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An extract from Kate Cretchley’s
version of the Stranger’s death! " I doubt it was the
fact that the hitchhiker was DOA when Mervyn and his pals reached
the mountain station of Malealea after a fairly lively weekend
in Bloemfontein. I also doubt that it caused much of a headache
when they stowed the old guy under the snooker table and went
ahead with the intended game. However, it must have been a
bit annoying to have been awoken by the scream of the early
rising housemaid who found the old boy rather difficult to
rouse, even when the best Malealea coffee was offered. A wake
was held lasting some several days to see the dear departed
on his way to the pearly gates, during which time he lay in
state on the snooker table, and the grave of this total stranger
still can be seen not twenty yards away from that of old Mervyn
Smith who, out of the kindness of his heart, brought the old
man to die in peace and tranquillity of Malealea, over fifty
years ago. "Mervyn and his friend, Kenneth Nolan, were
also known to have ridden through the Wepener Hotel on their
"Trusting Steeds"
from Norman Crooks. Various managers
lived at Malealea operating the trading station. An airstrip
was built at Malealea and the Jandrell family visited Malealea
regularly for week-ends and holidays.
The idea was
to start a very casual lodge and continue with the Trading
Station. The Trading Station burnt down on 6th March, 1987
due to a gas deep freeze. As the floors, walls & ceilings
were all wood, the shop went up in flames within minutes. Mick
was awakened in the early hours of the morning with a comment
by the night watchman "There seems to be a small problem
at the shop!!!"
An enormous steel structure was erected for the
Trading Station - (nicknamed by Simon Fourie, The Malealea
Emporium.) Over the years the Trading Station has declined
and the lodge has grown from 10 to 60 beds. The shop was made
smaller and the space was used to build Bacpackers Accommodation,
a games room, a diningroom & kitchen. Over the years, Nick
King, an Australian friend, after driving overland trips from
London to Harare, has spent a couple of months at Malealea
renovating the lodge.
Pony Trekking was started at Malealea in February,
1991. Di, Caroline, James & Sonja pony trekked into the
mountains on a 6 day recce trip with Simon Mokala, now one
of the main pony trekking guides for the various overnight
treks. Cultural Tourism has developed at Malealea.
THE RECCE PONY TREK TRAIL IN
FEBRUARY 1991
Caroline James story below about the Pony Trek in
1991.
She had a tragic snow ski-ing accident in the French Alps in
April 1998 and passed away.
We all miss her cheerful presence and wonderful sense of humour.
SONYA, DI & CAROLINE SETTING
OFF FOR THE RECCE PONY TREK, WITH TSELISO MOKALA, February,
1991.
(The highest rainfall in years!)
“What kind of saddles did you say these
were?” “Old South African army, I think,
made for long distance riding”
she replied with a grin. “And the sheepskin covers
are provided for extra comfort?” I asked wryly.
“Well, just imagine how you would feel without them”.
We continued bouncing along the uneven ground in
companionable silence.
We live in a world of constant change, where development holds
the key to the future. A frightening depletion of isolated
wilderness and other rural areas, bear the testament to this
progressive trend. There are still however, places where
the passage of time moves in a slow more measured way, and
life continues in a similar vein, regardless of events elsewhere.
Since my first visit to the mountain kingdom of Lesotho five
years ago, there hae been noticeably few changes, even within
the towns. In the villages a few new houses have sprung
up amongst the traditional rondavels, but these apart, things
remain the same. Development is minimal, there being
too little money available for these projects. There
are still aid programmes active within Lesotho . Many
of these involve improving farming methods and teaching farmers
about modern techniques, thus increasing production and output.
An independent country, the mountain kingdom of Lesotho has
the unusual distinction of being completely surrounded by another
- South Africa. It is a place of infinite beauty and
rare contrasts, of towering mountains and lofty peaks, meandering
rivers and mighty waterfalls, rolling valleys and shadowy ravines.
Each season is well defined, and cloaked in its own
colours; wavering plains of pink Cosmos, bright red summer
Aloes, delicate spring peach blossoms, and winter white snow
capped peaks. The country is home to the Basotho people
a tough resilient tribe who are, for the most part, subsistence
farmers. They graze their herds on the steep terrain
and high passes, whilst planting their mealies on terraces
cut out on the mountainside. It is a country whose lowest
point of 1500 metres above sea level, is the highest in the
world.
The history of Lesotho goes back millions of years, and yet
the nation itself is very young. Before the Basotho
arrived, the country was inhabited by Bushmen, whose many rock
paintings have enabled subsequent visitors to understand and
visualise their way of life.
In the early 1800s, peaceable communities of cattle owning
people, who spoke dialects of Sesotho were scattered across
the Transvaal highlands. During the 1820s, however, these
Chiefdoms were disrupted by widespread Difaqane disturbances.
Between 1815-1829 Moshoeshoe the Great, possessing
the intelligence and sensitivity to unite the fugitives of
these wars, gathered the remnants of the tribes dispersed by
Zulu and Matebele Raids, and created Basutoland withing the
natural refuge created by the Maluti Mountain ranges in the
west, and the Drakensberg in the east.
It was only in 1966, after a century of hostilities with its
neighbours, that Basutoland gained independence from the British
authority and became the Kingdom of Lesotho, ruled by King
Moshoeshoe II - the third great grandson of Moshoeshoe the
Great.
The mountainous topography of this country dictated that the
horse become the universal form of transport. This led
to the breeding of the traditional Basotho Pony which is descended
from Javanese horses imported for their strength, sure footedness
and calm temperament. They are called ponies because, as a
result of their harsh environment, they grow no larger than
a European riding pony.
Outside the major urban areas, electricity and telephones do
not exist, and wild open spaces are paramount. Coming
from Europe, where vast numbers of vehicles and people are
cramped into increasingly small areas, and communication is
taken completely for granted, this isolation has enormous appeal.
From the outset my attempts to organise pony trekking had been
thwarted by bad weather and communication. At the time
the only official pony trekking operation in Lesotho was the
Basotho Pony Project. Establishes by the Lesotho government,
this was initially funded and founded by the Irish Government
to improve the breed of Basotho Pony. The aim of the
scheme was to upgrade the pony trekking service and to make
the industry as a whole more profitable.
I decided, therefore, to try Malealea Lodge in the Maluti mountains
as an alternative. There, I had been told were plenty
of hiking trails, and possibility of pony trekking.
I met up with Mickey and Di Jones (the owners) and hitched
a lift back from Maseru to the lodge with them.
The day I arrived had coincided with the
end of the drought. The heavens opened and did not close
for nearly a month. The skies darkened, great black
clouds gathered, and the rain assaulted the parched land with
unabated force. Mountain faces spawned networks of brown
veins through which flowed a continual passage of water.
Gurgling streams were transformed into rampaging, brown torrents,
foaming and churning as they swept downstream, cutting deep
swathes through the earth and bursting over their banks onto
roads and tracks. Wonderful for farmer s, decidedly
soggy and miserable for hikers, and impossible for pony trekkers
- as I discovered - the pony owners would not set foot on the
mountain with their animals, until the rains abated.
Malealea Lodge dates back to 1905 when it was establishes as
a Trading Post by Mervyn Bosworth Smith. Educated at
Oxford, this charismatic, colonial character fought in both
the Anglo Boer and First World Wars. He fell in love
with Basutoland and lived there for over 40 years. The
small village at Malealea developed around the Trading Store,
and since Mervyns’s death in 1950, the latter changed
hands several times.
IN 1986 Mickey and Di Jones took over management of the trading
complex, and in 1987 bought the property. Since them
they have transformed Malealea into a fully operational and
increasingly popular lodge.
Although not officially established, the requests for pony
trekking from visitors to Malealea were increasing.
There were plenty of pony owners in the village who were keen
to take out more treks and a number of ponies to do so.
I explained that I wanted to go out for a few days, stay in
local villages and explore some of the region in the traditional
way, using ponies. Another girl also staying at the lodge
was keen to do something along the same lines. Di suggested
that the three of us go and do a test run, and see if something
could be put together for future visitors. Mickey, on
the other hand could not be persuaded nor bribed to accompany
us, and so the Pioneering Malealea Pony Trek set out as an
all female expedition.
We decided, on this occasion to take a tent, and camp whenever
necessary. At that stage no agreement had been established
with the villagers for the allocation of specially equipped
huts for trekkers. In due course, this would be the
case, along with a long drop toilet. This would be done
in exchange for every village receiving a commission for each
visitor using the facilities.
This excellent eco tourism exchange has now been incorporated
by Malealea into all pony treks and hiking routes.
The locals of Malealea have also established the Matelile Pony
Owners Association, which acts as a pony trekking service for
operations such as Malealea Lodge. Ponies are rented to visitors
and the payment for each animal goes to its respective owner.
An establishment such as Malealea, however receives
a booking and commission fee. In this way the profits
and well channelled.
To illustrate how the involvement of Malealea
is helping overall, Di tells the tale of how one morning she
went out to see a group of German clients off on a trek.
Looking around at the ponies, she suddenly gasped in horror.
There, saddled up and ready to go was a living skeleton.
She rushed over and with the owner, led the horse away and
out of sight of the visitors. She explained to the owner
that overseas visitors came to Lesotho to ride the horses and
learn about the country. When they go home to their
own countries they tell their friends and others about their
holiday and Lesotho. It would be terrible if they had
o say that the ponies were starved and not properly cared for.
The owner nodded his understanding and returned to the
village mulling this over. Several weeks later his horse
was again saddled up and ready for the trekkers - but, what
a difference. It had picked up considerable weight and condition,
and without one bone showing through its shining coat, looked
alert and raring to go!
We put ourselves in the hands of the knowledgeable and extremely
capable head guide, Simon Mokala. His only weakness,
as we were to discover, was for a local liquid brew.
Every now and then he would disappear off on some pretext or
other.
I woke to sighs of relief on the morning of our departure,
- the day had dawned bright and clear. After a substantial
breakfast, group photographs and a cheering farewell from Mickey,
the Malealea Staff and half the village, we set off on our
Great Trek through the Thaba Putsoa mountain range.
Our trip was planned for abut 6 days, and would follow a route
unused by Europeans for many years. Our ponies had been
carefully chosen by Simon, as had the stocky grey packhorse
- at that time almost completely concealed by two enormous
saddlebags full of our equipment, and a lot of “not to
be left behinds” that in hindsight, should have been.
For the first time in days we had untrammelled views of the
surrounding mountains. An uneven chain of ridges like
jagged shards of sky, melted into penumbral escarpments, which
tumbled into valleys of brilliant green velvet pleats.
The landscape, washed clean of dust and grime by the recent
rain lay before us in sharp clarity.
Not having ridden for years, we balanced precariously on our
lofty mobile perches, straining muscles we hadn’t known
existed. We set off from Malealea in eager anticipation
as our ponies picked their sure footed way down a rocky, steep
switchback trail to the river. This suicide track is
used by motorbike competitors in the annual Roof of Africa
rally, and watching them manoeuver down the sheer rock face
has to be as nerve wracking as participating.
We were seldom on our own during the trek,
and were often followed by groups of barefoot, raggedly attired
children, whose liquid brown eyes gazed up at us beseechingly
as they demanded sweets or money in strident tones.
Just when we though ourselves alone in the wilderness , we
would see scampering bodies materialise our of the mountainside
and rush towards us.
Despite the short morning in the saddle, lunch the first day
was a welcome break from purgatory. At the end of a
steep climb, there was no feeling left in our behinds, and
without exception we fell from the horses in sheer relief.
It was decided then that it would make sense to walk
beside the horses from time to time during the next few days.
It would enable us all to stretch our limbs.
That afternoon, we climbed an impossible steep narrow, pass
leading to Sekoting sa li Farike. We caused great derision
amongst the local populace, as much by our presence on horseback,
as by our intentions, related by Simon. We were joined
on this ascent by a couple of well dressed and mounted Basothos,
who asked us whether we were scared, so slowly were we climbing
the mountain. I was surprised at the uncommon sight
of a woman riding. She was dressed in trousers and high
heeled shoes, a beret and had a heavy Basotho blanket wrapped
around her. She was the only other horsewoman we were
to see during our trek.
The terrain was precarious, steep and rocky, with stones that
kept slipping from under the horses hooves. The ponies
just took it in their stride and without altering their pace,
picked their way to the tope of the pass. The valley
fell away below us, a distant colourful patchwork of fields.
We arrived at what had appeared to be the summit, only
to discover another peak in front of us. Once
over this, the path descended in a gentle curve around the
mountain and down to the village where we were to spend our
first night.
As Europeans we were a rare spectacle, and scrutinised as such.
Simon had to ask the Chief’s permission for us
to stay the night. Once granted we set about erecting
Di’s 3 minute ZAR100.00 OK Bazaar tent away from the
main village, but still the centre of attention for the gathering
audience. The Chief sent us a cup of tea using his best
enamel floral Tea Set.
Cosy for two, it was definitely overcrowded for three.
With little room to manoevre, when any one of us wanted to
turn over or leave the tent, it necessitated subtle group action.
We also learnt about the porous qualities of our shelter,
and that the bright orange groundsheet was of greater benefit
above than below.
Wherever we stayed, we were of major spectator interest.
We were rarely left alone, and although for the most part had
no problem with the company, it became a painful ordeal trying
to find an isolated spot for the morning ritual. By
the end of the trek we had the ‘bunny hop’ practised
to perfection. It entailed a rapid glance over the shoulder,
followed by a series of smooth, fast tow legged hops, in any
clear direction, with trousers affixed around the ankles.
The trick was to avoid uneven ground and potholes!
The mountain telegraph never ceased to amaze
us. A shout from one side of the mountain, would be
answered by somebody on the other. This message would
then be picked up by someone else and passed on to another.
In this way the raucous calls would continue in an echoing
chain across the ranges.
We learnt early on how little wood there was on the mountain,
and certainly not enough for us to make a cooking fire each
evening. As we had brought insufficient gas cylinders
with us, (we also managed to waste away a whole gas cylinder
in one go as we did not know how to use it correctly )
we ate very few hot meals, and largely depended on the villagers
generosity for boiling water for drinks. We could not
however , bring ourselves to expose our deluxe dehydrated Italian
pastas to public analysis. We lived for the most part,
therefore on biscuits, dried fruit and sandwiches.
Feeling rather like the morning after the
night before, somewhat battered and bruised, we struggled onto
our ponies that second morning and eased ourselves gingerly
into the saddle. The chief escorted us to the top of
the mountain and after profuse thanks for his hospitality we
set our for Ketane. The trails were in good condition
which made the crossing of a number of high passes much easier.
Throughout, we had spectacular views of the never ending
sierras. Clumps of red hot pokers (flowering red aloes)
dotted over the mountainside gave it a campfire effect.
At one point we descended through a boggy mire into a valley
of fiery licking flames. As far as the eye could see
was a sea of waving red hot pokers.
The terrain was extraordinarily variable.
We rode through gentle riverine vegetation, up steep
rocky passes, across undulating plains, through meadows of
alpine flowers, inhospitable marshy snow grass and moorland.
Throughout, we came across small busy villages, full
of chattering , curious people. “What is your
name, where do you come from?”. How much they
actually understood of our answers remained a mystery. Our
second night was spent a the mission village of Ketane.
Known for its magnificent 122m waterfall, the village sits
at the edge of a deep gorge overlooking the distant layers
of grey peaks and pinnacles. We were offered a rondavel
by the Chief, but declined as we were becoming accustomed to
life in a tent, and to the audience that seemed to go with
it. We were quite tempted though at the thought of all
the space provided by the rondavel. These round wattle
residences are generally well built, with a thatch roof, and
doors and windows. Being naturally well insulated they
are cool in summer and warm in winter. Escorted by a group
of eager children, and clutching our washing things and cameras
we headed down to the waterfall. Our guides skipped
down through the scrub, sheer rocky outcrops and faces with
the agility of mountain goats. We, on the other hand
slipped and stumbled, swung and panicked. The falls
were magnificent, but not enough to keep us from the alluring
clear blue waters of a nearby stream. | This
was where modesty was cast aside asunder. From every
vantage point on the surrounding mountainside, we were watched
and ogled
at by blanketed Basothos.
We were lulled to sleep that night by the sounds of the night
and village life, the whining dogs, baying donkeys, unsynchronised
cock crows and imbibed villagers who stopped and prodded the
tent in curiosity. The following morning we led the horses
on foot our of Ketane and down to the river, which had to be
crossed before climbing a steep pass.
Due to recent rains, the river had expanded
in width, and the water was flowing fast and deep. We
looked at one another anxiously. Simon found a suitable
place to cross and led the way, but not that far. His
horse was going nowhere, and leapt and reared and refused to
listen to his commands. Simon dismounted and led the
packhorse across in his gumboots. He left it on the
other side and returned for his own horse, struggling on foot,
against the strong current. He mounted his animal and
plunged back across the river. We, in the meantime were
having no joy with the horses who were rushing everywhere other
than across the river. Sonia and Di went upstream and
were last seen, holding their shoes delicately aloft with one
hand, weaving across the rocks and through the flow, leading
their horses to the other side with the other. They
were, needless to say, soaked to the skin. I attempted to ride
my horse into the river, but was nearly thrown in the ensuing
disagreement. I them dismounted and started to lead
it across. All would have been well had I not tripped
over a rock and landed face down in the water. Still
clutching the reins, I struggled to my feet and let the startled
animal over to a rock where I remounted. We plunged
into the deep water, and with the aid of a recently acquired
switch, made it across the river - also soaked.
We climbed out of the river up a steep narrow path.
The trail followed a narrow ledge around the cliffs with a
sheer, long drop into the gorge on one side. It was
extremely slippery and we kept a good distance between each
pony. The way became so steep and precarious towards
the top of the pass that we dismounted and led the horses.
Immense relief was felt all round when we finally crossed
over the top of the pass into undulating marshy grasslands.
The country opened up into great expanses of moorland where
large herds of sheep grazed, and young herdboys in white gumboots
and white miners helmets tended their animals.
We were often passed by proud horsemen wrapped in brightly
coloured Basotho blankets and wearing sinister black Homburgs,
during our trek. Astride their high stepping, arch necked
mounts, these riders were reminiscent of their South American
counterparts. They would always greet us and inspect
our motley gathering, before galloping off into the distance.
We saw the cliffs of the Lebihan Falls (
Maletsunyane Fall) on the Maletsunyane River some distance
before we reached them, concealed at the end of a sloping grassy
field. The falls are dramatic, as the water drops in
one straight, powerful line from the top of the cliffs to the
pool at the bottom. The falls are in fact the second
highest in Southern Africa, but have the highest straight drop
(192 metres) in Africa.
The falls marked the farthest point of our journey.
From there we headed back in the direction on Ribaneng and
Malealea. It was quite late in the day, and on remounting
the horses we noticed the ominous low lying clouds, dark, threatening
and pregnant with rain.
Within half an hour, the heavens had opened
given vent to a torrential downpour. Before we managed
to leap from our horses to put on waterproofs, we were saturated.
The wind and rain drove head on as we trudged up the
rapidly waterlogged, muddy mountainside. We should have
been heading towards our night stop, but for some reason it
was taking a very long time. We ode through village
after village, by this stage absolutely freezing and soaked
to the skin. Finally, after three hours in the pouring
rain, and a long climb to the top of the mountains, we came
to a halt in a small village.
This was one night where we would have been extremely grateful
for the use of a warm rondavel. In fact, that very thought
had been the one thing to keep us going during the long trudge
in the rain. But, as luck would have it, that evening
there was a meeting of local herdsman, and all the rondavels
were occupied. We were allowed to leave our things in
one of the huts overnight, but had to sleep outside.
Fortunately, our sleeping bags had remained dry in their plastic
garbage bag coverings. Our hands, however were so cold
we couldn’t move our fingers which made erecting the
tent an interesting exercise. Despite the roaring communal
fire outside, the dry clothing and continual cups of hot coffee,
we could not get warm. We eventually went to bed with
one last longing look at the clean, warm cosy rondavel behind
us.
The wind and rain raged around us all night, so much so that
at one point the tarpaulin was ripped off the tent, and we
had to stagger out into the night to retrieve it, and then
tie the flapping object back on.
We headed out the following morning under
blue grey skies, and scudding clouds. Simon was concerned
that the trails might be too slippery and dangerous, but decided
to take the chance. A meagre breakfast was eaten with
the entire village in situ. These wonderful characters,
farmers, herdsmen and their wives, all watched us with beaming
faces. We departed for Ribaneng cheered on our way with
great shouts and waves.
We climbed to the top of the mountain range, and rode into
a biting wind. Views of the spectacular surrounding
peaks managed, however to more than compensate for the discomfort.
We rode down through the most beautiful alpine
meadows carpeted by a kaleidoscope of wild flowers.
Our senses were invaded by the rainbow colours and pungent
smells of wild lavender and herbs. Everywhere birds
were swooping and gliding, Whydahs, Bishops, Widow s and others.
We spent the day climbing and descending different mountain
passes. Sometimes we rode, and sometimes we were happy
to wander along leading the ponies. The final pass before
the descent to Ribaneng was long and arduous. We struggled
up the last part to the top and were rewarded by a remarkable
downhill run. Scattered amongst the bush and rocks and
bright red aloes, were herds of peacefully grazing cattle,
goats and sheep.
The pass was so steep that once again we felt more comfortable
leading the horses. The switchback trail wound its way
down between the rock faces of the mountain. It is one
of the routes in the Roof of Africa Rally and was aptly nicknamed,
“Slide your arse pass”. At one point the
riders abandon their motorbikes and just hurl them down the
mountain.
The village of Ha Rasebetsane, near Ribaneng Waterfall, is
situated near the lower part of the pass, protected from the
elements. It is one of the best maintained villages
in the region and the local Basotho have great respect for
the privacy of visitors. It was extremely relaxing to
be able to wander around and not have to play the Pied Piper.
We had a rondavel set aside for us and were
happy to take advantage of this luxury, particularly as a storm
lashed the village with full vitriol during the night.
We left early the following morning and wound our way down
the stony path to the valley below. We passed through
wonderful orchards of wild peach trees, and treated ourselves
to a second breakfast, eating the sweet, succulent fruits until
we had stomach aches.
Once through the thriving village of Ribaneng we climbed a
final stony pass before riding across the undulating valley,
well on our way back to Malealea. We crossed the Makhaleng
River, and once again found ourselves drenched by one of those
fast and furious mountain storms. The rain eventually
stopped, and we were able to climb the steep stony trail to
Ha Phatela without too much concern. Then one final
gentle stretch and we were at the gates to Malealea Lodge.
Had we really been away for 5 days. It seemed a lifetime,
but what an experience, and what precious memories.
We thanked Simon, and our horses and headed inside for a welcome
cup of tea, and “how about a big bowl of steaming hot
pasta”. There should be plenty left!!
A Pony Trekking Association has been formed, a
committee is elected. Malealea Lodge buys equipment for the
association, for example saddlery, bridles, saddle blankets,
etc. In the meantime to get the trekking on its way, the horse
owners use their own saddlery until stocks build up over the
years. We hand the bookings to the association every week and
they organize which horses and guides take the treks. Horse
Owners have realized the importance of strong and healthy horses.
One day a German Tour Operator wanted to have a look at the
horses used for the trekking. We asked a Basotho Guide to bring
his best horse. Well when we went to have a look at it, to
us it was the scruffiest, untidiest looking horse. On questioning
the guide, he informed us that "Sister" was their
best and strongest horse for getting up the mountain passes.
We have since had reports from clients that "Sister"
is indeed the best horse they have ridden.
Guides are learning to communicate and speak broken
English with their visitors. One particular bright young guide
often asks the clients the meanings of words he does not understand
and immediately tries to use the words in further conversations.
One couple were so pleased with their trek, they took their
guide to the Lesotho Sun for lunch. This was an experience
of a lifetime for someone who previously had only been herding
cattle & sheep. There are a quite a few young & older
guides who have managed to build their own houses from income
received for guiding and hiring out their horses. Horses arrive
from all directions and eventually, almost on time, the treks
set off: - Clients, Pack Horses and Guides into the distant
mountains. "Amongst this confusion of horses there seems
to be some sort of organized chaos," mused a client.
Within the first half hour of the pony trek, nerves
are tested by going down the gorge to the Makhaleng river.
One way of doing it, it is said is to "Close your eyes,
hold tightly onto your horse and pretend not to hear the rocks
rolling down the mountainside." But you needn’t be worried,
the Guides are excellent in the way they coax the horses and
nervous clients down the gorge and across river.
En route to the remote villages you come across
magnificent scenery and are often lucky enough to come across
various activities,
- Like boys preparing for initiation school.
- Bali Girls and
- A Sangoma throwing her bones.
- It is etiquette for the guides to introduce the visitors
the chiefs of the various villages and to inform them of their
destination. As the areas are really remote, the children
are curious to see the visitors. It is as if the circus has
come to town!!!
- Local traditions are explained to visitors as they pass
by villages. When passing a certain place, (generally between
two hills) where there is a heap of small stones piled together,
one should pick up another stone alongside the path, spit
on it and throw it on the heap. This is an omen of good luck
and good eating along the journey and at the destination.
Common mountains of Sefikeng and Sefikaneng derived their
names from such big heaps made there in olden times.
Basotho huts are rented from the villagers in
really remote areas of Lesotho. Half the accommodation fee
is paid to the owner of the hut and the balance is kept in
a fund for buying equipment for old and new huts opening as
the trekking gets busier. The huts at this stage are equipped
with mattresses on the floor, gas cookers, very basic pots
& pans and a bucket of water.
Arriving at the hut in the late afternoon, in
time to see the herdboys returning with the cattle & sheep,
which are kept in the kraal nearby the huts where you stay.
Firewood is scarce on the high mountain ranges, so fire is
made from scrub and dried out cow-dung. The meals are prepared
in large three-legged black pots.
The children often sing for visitors in the evenings
and are rewarded. This is still spontaneous and just seems
to happen without any rehearsals. Come morning, the sounds
of the cocks crowing, donkeys braying, cows mooing and pigs
grunting gently wakes you up. No chance of a late morning sleep,
but the spectacular sunrise is more than enough compensation
for this sacrifice.
There are many stories of delightful experiences
in the villages. There is the story of the hen sitting on her
eggs in the window-sill of a hut. Another group later reported
that the chicks and hen still occupied the window-sill. Another
group told with great relish of the chief who offered them
home-made beer from a large black drum. Suddenly the donkey
came along and also had a drink of beer from the same drum!!!
There are many places of interest at the various
villages and for a small fee, visitors will be guided by the
local villagers to these sights. Back at base camp, Basotho
children are encouraged to take clients on short hikes to Gorges,
Bushman Paintings Etc, so gaining experience to be future overnight
trekking guides. Staying at the different villages affords
an extra income for the villagers and we have feedback that
they enjoy hosting the visitors.
So for example will different coloured plastic
bags attached to a pole outside the huts indicate various products
for sale. Catering for Tourism is developing as the Basotho
people have the opportunity of growing and cooking their own
food for resale to visitors.
For guests not wanting to pony trek, there are
various other forms of encouraging local tourism by making
use of local transport:
- There is hiking in the company of innovative inventors,
- Coming in on wings and a prayer,
- In Style,
- An environmental friendly merc or
- Rowing down the river.
A particularly pleasant experience is the friendliness
and helpfulness of the Basotho people. There is the story of
the family whose car broke down in a remote area. A Basotho
man took them into their village and then gave them a lift
to Maseru in his "Clapped out Bakkie". He was most
informative about daily happenings and culture in the villages
and turned out to be a talented tour guide. This was actually
the highlight of the family’s stay in Lesotho. From Maseru
they then hired a local taxi back to the lodge late that night
and again found the taxi owner to be a natural tour operator.
The Keg Group tells of their delightful and unexpected
pleasure when doing a pub crawl in the village shebeens. The
Basotho Shebeens were so welcoming and honoured that our guests
were visiting them, they wanted to kill a sheep there and then
and great cultural interaction took place. The bar was then
named "The Keg & Pere", which is the Sesotho
name for Horse.
I was once photographing a herdboy with his sheep
& goats. I jokingly said to him, "Please make your
goats move to another area." With that he took out his
"Basotho Leseba" (kind of a flute), whistled and
played a tune. The goats were directed to where we wanted them
to go.
While I was on the original 6 day recce trip with
two friends and a Basotho Guide, Tseliso, we must have set
off in one of the highest rainfall seasons in Lesotho. On the
third day, while riding in three hours of solid rain to our
next hut destination, we all decided we had had enough and
asked Tseliso if we could get back a day earlier. He shook
his head and said there was no way and the horses plodded along.
I then said to Tseliso " How about if we pay you for a
6 day trek, but we get home in 5 days!!!" Well from that
moment the horses just took off and we got home a day earlier.
On the trek Chief Puli sent us a tray of tea in his best enamel
tea pot and mugs, decorated with flowers. His village is called
"Sekoting sa lifarike" (which means, "The trough
which the pigs dug," as this valley is surrounded by a
magnificent ring of mountains,)
The Mountain Kingdom of Lesotho may be rough and
tough, but it is at the same time as gentle as a spring flower,
soft as the summer grass covering the undulating hills, refreshing
as a sparkling mountain stream in autumn and awesome and austere
as a winter landscape. Whatever your choice of climate may
be, Lesotho can provide. Of particular value is the quiet nearness
of nature offering the overworked and over stressed a tranquility
nowhere else to be equaled. This makes Lesotho the ideal venue
for conferences, because it forces people to leave behind their
day to day routines so restricting for creative and innovative
thinking. People caught in ruts are so busy fighting for their
daily survival in competitive environments that they can’t
afford to risk replacing old ideas with new ones for fear of
failure. Trekking in Lesotho restores those long forgotten
feelings of daring and adventure.
Well take those same life weary people and throw
them into the cultural environments and experiences of a Lesotho
Trek and they cannot but open their eyes and minds to the people
around them, who behave differently, have different needs,
priorities and goals in completely different circumstances.
Yet the observer is surprised to find that the challenges are
the same: Survival: Profit: Competition: & Quality of Life.
The discovery of this awareness inadvertently
opens the eyes and suddenly, standing the clear crisp dawn
you find that you are beginning to think differently. While
you marvel at the quaintness of the people around you, you
find that you are actually learning from them. Of course, facing
the adventures of a trek is excellent for team building. All
in all, there will be times when a pony trek in Lesotho, may
force you to close your eyes and there will be times when it
will open your eyes. Either way you return to your own environment
with a greater energy and a new outlook on life.
"AN EXTRACT OF A TREK REPORT, OCTOBER 1991,
INDICATING THE RESPONSIBILITY THE GUIDES HAVE ON THESE PARTICULAR
TREKS" Rough, tough and very, very different is this "Roof
of Africa" trek into the Lesotho mountains. It must be
hiking as it was many years ago - no detailed trail maps, no
laid out trails with markers. no log cabins with toilet and
braai facilities. Instead your guide (on pony) obtains the
frequent help of the villagers as to the best way up the mountainsides,
or across the many river crossings, and then negotiates, on
your behalf, with the local chief for a suitable hut for that
particular overnight stay !!! Plenty of drinking water is supplied,
and even cleaning the mud off your hiking boots is included
in the princely sum of R15.00 per person !!!! Rough, tough
and very, very different is this "Roof of Africa"
trek into the Lesotho mountains. It must be hiking as it was
many years ago - no detailed trail maps, no laid out trails
with markers. no log cabins with toilet and braai facilities.
Instead your guide (on pony) obtains the frequent help of the
villagers as to the best way up the mountainsides, or across
the many river crossings, and then negotiates, on your behalf,
with the local chief for a suitable hut for that particular
overnight stay !!! Plenty of drinking water is supplied, and
even cleaning the mud off your hiking boots is included in
the princely sum of R15.00 per person !!!!
There is no need to cater down to the last dehydrated
pea, as the other Basotho Bay which accompanies the group is
our pack-horse. It carries huge leather panniers into which
are packed your food supplies, clothing and all other "MEDICINAL"
requirements for the trek. The Pack Horse amazes all by the
remarkable feats it performs in defying the laws of gravity
on the many treacherous ascents and descents.
The "Glamour" of the trek lies in the
innumerable mountain peaks, valleys, waterfalls, streams and
rivers which are relatively unspoilt by mankind and mot least
of all the very friendly locals. Lesotho is truly a country
of water which is evident everywhere. We were unfortunate to
be there during the highest rainfall recorded in the past 100
years !!! The last two days were a race to beat the fast rising
rivers. Our crossing of the Makhaleng River could only be achieved
by boat. Not so lucky for the horses who had to swim across
the raging river. After a hard swim they arrived on the other
side apparently no worse for wear as they began grazing almost
immediately!!! We safely made our way to the comfort of the
Malealea Lodge, which was our base, and left our rural guide
in wonderment as to why these crazy hikers pushed on through
the pouring rain, rather than rest up in a mountain hut and
take another week or two to complete the trek when the weather
cleared!!! At the end of it all the question is - Is it worth
it? The answer is a very definite YES!!! The long treks are
not recommended for the faint-hearted - but then the trail
can be tailored for your individual requirements.
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