Maputsoe is the most populous city in Lesotho that is not a camp-town(district capital). As far as dirty little border towns go, it no doubt ranks quite high. Congested, trash-ridden, smelly, and altogether unpleasant, it’s a town that makes a lot of volunteers, well….cringe. Being an American in downtown Maputsoe means exposing yourself to countless absurd questions, egregious and ridiculous offers, and an unlimited supply of general harassment. For me, the place never fails to bring a smile.
If you want to travel South, there’s no way to avoid this delightful little town. When I go to the capital Maseru for Peace Corps reasons or want to visit friends, I inevitably have to stop by. Most recently I had to travel that way to join some friends for an outstanding thanksgiving dinner.
When I describe the place as magical, I’m hardly kidding. The chaos and misorganization of the town end up painting a wonderful example of precisely how not to manage such large volumes of cars, animals, carts, and people. Still, somehow things find a way to move along. People stop in the middle of the road to have discussions, kids run in front of moving traffic, women approach cars to sell bananas or cellular air-time, but somehow the pace never slows…everything keeps moving with barely a hitch.
The very best part of Maputsoe is the taxi rank. Something between 100-200 combis, buses, ventures, and taxis squeeze on to a messy and chaotic space slightly smaller than that of a football pitch. This space is surrounded on each side by shacks, seemingly made from whatever metal, plastic, or burlap scrap happened to be laying around at the time of their construction. Peer into the shacks and you can find people sleeping, cooking, dancing — selling coke, fruits, trinkets and the like, and god knows what else. EVERYTHING is squeezed into such a small space.
If you are looking for a certain taxi or combi to a certain location, you’ll no doubt have to ask where it is. While it’s a small space, you could still spend hours looking for the small little sign in the window of your taxi heading to your destination. Besides the distracting comments from everyone wondering, “What the hell is a WHITE GUY doing here!?”, you’ll be staying plenty busy trying to absorb the sights, sounds, and smells of the place, whilst trying to remain alert (lest you be pinned between a taxi and a bus busy fighting for a way out of the rank).
When you get to your taxi, you’ll no doubt be waiting for some time. You’ll be tired, but you won’t get to rest. People will ask you; will you buy bananas? Can you give me some rands for a beer? Where are you going? Where do you come from? How do you like Lesotho? How long have you been in Lesotho? Why is your Sesotho so bad? Can I have your watch? No? How about a job?
For the most part the questions are fair, but they are the same questions, again and again and again…they wear you down. You want to shut yourself up and ignore everyone…but you paint on a robot smile and offer some robot responses, wishing you could rest and still somehow seem friendly at the same time.
Eventually, the door will shut, and you’ll be left in a combi with 16-21 others, with no space to move your legs, and if you have luggage, no space to move your head, as your face will be squished between your own (what now seems) absurdly large bag and the window. You may be hot and want to open the window but the lady behind you will stubbornly shut it, as she doesn’t like the wind. Still, the engine has started, the gears are shifted and ground into reverse…your journey has started.
Well — almost. Remember that this is a small area with a lot of activity. There is only one way out…a way that plenty of other vehicles are fighting for. The driver, however, has been doing this for a long time. He throws the vehicle into first…reverse…first…reverse…we inch and wiggle our way through the rank, we block buses and come within centimeters of grinding sides with others. The mirrors are within millimeters of being peeled off…but somehow…with skill, determination, and grace(we need not patience here), we find our way out of the rank and onto the open road.
As you leave the chaos, you feel impressed, accomplished, and a little disappointed. The world may get a little more peaceful as you (thankfully) pull away from the dirt, grunge, and general craziness that is Maputsoe…but deep in your mind you know – the most interesting part of your day is done.
{ 1 comment… read it below or add one }
WOW! Your descriptive and entertaining style of writing can only be done by one who is LIVING and being ENTERTAINED by the tapestry that is life.
The world is much smaller that it was a few years ago and you will find that there is more Maputsoe on the planet than College Station, Texas.
I am happy to observe that Maputsoe is helping you complete the education that A&M could not. I am happy to observe that you are learning what can not be learned and (unlike spelling) can only be experianced. I am happy and proud of all you have become.
Most importantly I am thankful that you have not given your watch away and earned a trip to jail for your good deed as was the case with your father in Vera Cruz Mexico in 1978.
Stay strong my son.
Love,
Dad