Village Life

This last weekend, I found myself in the small village of Likwae...called Nazareth by the missionaries who once lived here.

Lyle, who founded a small NGO in this area twenty years ago, spent many weeks in this village helping the residents install latrines and plant sustainable gardens.

This village became a part of him and he returns here often to visit old friends.

The remote nature of these villages is quite hard to convey.

The barrenness of the mountains they rest in only increases the feeling of isolation.

It's equally hard to convey the gregarious nature of the wonderful family that hosted us for the weekend.

Because Basotho culturally do not to smile in pictures, these photos certainly do not convey it.

But I assure you, this weekend overflowed with laughter and mischief.

Upon arrival, our host, M'e Maatong, sat me down, placed a black-backed jackal hat on each of our heads and requested a photo.

As one of the many animals that now only rarely roams the hillsides of Lesotho, it is considered quite prestigious to own one of these pelts.

At seventy-three years old, M'e Maatong has far outlived the average life expectancy in Lesotho.

With her face but a few inches from mine, she inquired if I thought she was old.

Knowing that age is as highly prized as the black-backed jackal pelt, I quickly assured her that I thought she was very, very old, causing abroad smile to envelope her face.

M'e Maatong's children's, M'e Machimi and Ntate Phoofu, were as equally excited to have their photo taken.

Although the photo sessions themselves are highly anticipate during each of Lyle's visits, even more anticipated is the viewing of the actual photos he brings back with him from his previous visit.

M'e Mateboho adorned me with a traditional Basotho blanket emblazoned with her families maize pattern. 

I also received a traditional Basotho name this weekend.

Moleboheng...meaning "We are thankful you came."

Many Basotho people have a variaiton of this name.

Of course, M'e Maatong made sure I knew my Basotho last name is Mani...her last name.

M'e Machimi cooks three meals a day over this small wood stove.

The smoke in the rondavel quickly became so thick Lyle and I both had to crouch on the ground to breath the last bit of fresh air leaking under the door.

Like many who cook this way, M'e Machimi and her family are so used to the smoke that it phased them little.

With the freezing temperatures outside, all the cats in the village seem to take up this same position. The puppy was not allowed inside and often huddled by the door trying to catch any remnants of escaping heat.

With the lack of rain the winter season brings, the hillsides turn completely brown.

The harvestable wheat and maize long gone, all that remains is a dense brown brush.

Yet a strong and definite beauty infuses this landscape.