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?

Old and Lonely

It’s really amazing how one minute you’re doing your weekend grocery and vital Easter egg shopping and the next you’re surrounded by ambulances and blood…

Three missed calls and a rude message later I finally picked up the phone. The brother had been rushing me because he was bored of waiting – but you can’t hurry shopping queues. And from last week’s hurrying of the cashier I have learned never to rush them either. They stop what they are doing look you in the eye and lecture you on how your whole life needs to slow down and while it’s embarrassing to have a horde of people listening to it – my cashier definitely had a point: I probably did need to slow down a little, and I think Jeandre’ (the brother) does too.

When I eventually made it into post-queue-freedom I tried to push one more thing with the brother: “Should we grab some beers on the way out?” – Jeandre’ was tempted but replied that he just wanted to leave the shops forever and that it was probably better for us to be healthier anyway so we didn’t.

But after climbing the escalator and descending the stairs (a random exit methodology I know, but yes, that is how the Garden centre works), we walked straight into two screaming woman and an old man in a pool of blood.

We calmed the younger woman down and asked her what had happened. “He fell on his face” she cried. “Do you know him?” “No. He was alone.” A security guard and I asked the man if he was okay to get up, and lifted him to his feet to try and get him into a more comfortable sit down/ stroke recovery position while we sent the older woman to find centre management and Jeandre’ ran to find ice.

Blood flowed in rivers from his nose and mouth as I sat him down and tried to find out how bad the fall was and how aware he was of his surroundings. “What’s your name sir?” I thought he replied Chad and called him that for most of our conversings… but it was in fact Ted. Ted was hard at hearing and softly spoken – the following was yelled and repeated many times over:

“How are you feeling?”

“Am I alright? I fell.”

“You’re bleeding a lot but you look alright. Did you trip over something?” I asked, wondering still if he had had a stroke.

“I just fell over.”

“Is there anyone I can call?”

 “No.”

“Do you have any family?”

“No”

“Do you have any friends?”

“No. I live alone.”

“Surely there is someone who we can call?”

Blood was now forming little meandering streams on the sidewalk.  Jeandre’ returned with a bag of frozen peas he had just shoplifted from Woolworths (He figured throwing a R50 note at the security guard as he fled the scene would make up for it). Now it was my turn to run to get toilet paper.

A crowd had gathered by the time I got back and Ted seemed to be slipping out of consciousness. So I carried on talking to him as we mopped the blood off his face and suit.

“And how old are you?” - “95” - “Do you know where you are?”… The conversation then shifted to actual medical support seeing as nobody with any official medical experience had shown up yet. We didn’t want to call an ambulance because we knew he had no medical aid or much money so we found a good Samaritan with a car and were almost set to go when the centre’s first aider finally pitched followed by one ambulance after the next. The whole street shone with bright flashy lights and uniformed people.

Apart from a big cut to his mouth and a potentially broken nose, Ted also had a broken wrist. He needed a hospital. The paramedics assured us that he would be well taken care of and that he wouldn’t pay a cent for it. Jeandre’ left them with his phone number just in case.

My heart was broken as I watched the whole scene unfold. Imagine having no family and no friends. Imagine living to be 95 without having anyone to celebrate it with. Imagine being taken to hospital with nobody to visit you. Imagine finally reaching the end of your life with nobody to say goodbye to. I tried to imagine what it felt like to be Ted.

Ted spent the entire time clutching his small bag of blood covered groceries. I had sent one of the screaming woman on a mission to find a new bag for him – but even then he wouldn’t let go and finally only gave way enough for us to slip his torn bag into a new one. He’d taught himself to trust nobody. It was as if those groceries were his prized possessions.

“Am I alright?” Ted asked the first paramedic on the scene after various tests and questions had taken place. The paramedic looked him I the eye and said a very respectable “Sir, if I were your age and I still had a heart rate like that and still walked to the shops, I would be very happy indeed.” A smile cracked across his face for the first time.  

In retrospect we probably should have stopped to buy beer (we would have made it home a couple of hours earlier) – but meeting Ted changed my life in a weird way. If I am lucky enough to make it to 95 in good health; I want a life filled with people, with trust, with meaning and a life filled with constant smiles. Without that it doesn’t matter how old you are - you’re pretty much dead already. I hope Ted finds that before it really is the end. 

The grandmother and the other Ted - she seems to get younger by the day - Teddy on the other hand  is starting to look a bit worse for wear.

Grey haired and old or uber young - we ALL need people!

The oldest pizza I've ever met - there's a reason it is now lonely in a garbage can somewhere.