A lack of change in Maseru

Small change, as Harvey Dangerfield would put it, gets no respect in Lesotho. I often find 2 and 5 cent pieces while walking, sometimes directly in front of or near groups of impoverished street kids. I tend to get strange glances or a bit of laughter when people see me picking them up. Amounts less than 10 cents are ignored to the degree that if you are owed change =<5 cents, shops simply do not give it back to you. I recently purchased something for M29.95 and got a dirty look when I asked for my change (and no change!). To some extent, I can see this motivated by the comparative lack of value of that much money – I have never seen anything for sale for less than M .95 in price. And yet, it still seems very strange to me. I know a variety of people have lobbied in the US for the phasing out of the penny on the grounds that it represents an amount so small and inconsequential that it no longer functions as an effective mechanism of transaction. There is some truth to that, but I still expect to get my 2 cents in change, perhaps because I would rather that the marginal bits of value the penny represents line my wallet rather than that of some corporate entity. Here, where so many are so poor by practically every material metric, it continually surprises me that people should be so nonchalant about money of even slight value.

Joberg and Modikwe Game Preserve

I spent most of last week in Johannesburg attending a workshop on how to write applications for grants from the Global Fund (to Fight HIV, Malaria, and TB). It was not what you would exactly call fun (dual-track financing and modular application options? Whoohoo!), but it was very insightful and will hopefully help Lesotho secure funding for some very needy programs over the next few years. After training wrapped I headed north to meet up with my cousin E and his family, currently living in Joberg while on transfer with his consulting firm.

Joberg surprised me. I suppose I have become used to Lesotho and living in a developing country, but I walked into a supermarket there and felt like I was back in the States. Driving around one of the richer suburbs on Friday night with my cousin, I actually felt like I was back in Texas (i.e. lots of big box stores organized in such a way that walking is made practically impossible). It felt particularly at odds with the reputation that Joberg has (both anecdotal and statistical) for being extremely crime-prone. My short experience there was completely benign, but I realize that while there the areas I frequented were decidedly atypical (conference center, rich suburb, game preserve) and that I constantly had more experienced people steering me clear of risk.

E had, in the waning minutes of Friday afternoon, found an amazing deal on the Priceline of safari lodges and gotten us a spot at a lodge in the Modikwe Game Preserve. Saturday morning we began the drive north. For those familiar with E, he really likes to drive fast. I remember a family game in which we had to guess how many speeding tickets he had received over the years and the options were 2, 4, and 12. Guess which it was? I nodded off but was not too surprised to wake up to us being pulled over at a speed trap. E had been going fast enough that by the time he finally managed to stop we were a ways past the cops. He claims, and I will support his account, that it then appeared as though the officer manning the radar waved us off. Feeling like he had been dealt a stroke of luck, E drove off, slightly slower. Between five and ten minutes later a cop car streaked past us and honked until E pulled over again. It turns out the cop had not been waving us off and that E had been pursued as though he were trying to resist arrest. After an incredulous confrontation with the cop and a return to the speed trap, E was able to negotiate a mitigated ticket, based partially on the fact that while following the cop back to the speed trap we had been forced to break the speed limit constantly in order to keep up. Fine paid, we continued our trek.

Modikwe is amazing. Approximately twenty years ago the land, once given over to cattle ranching, was turned into a preserve and extensive efforts were made to restore it to its natural state in terms of flora and fauna. We saw an amazing number of animals over the two days, but a few highlights:
- The first large mammals we encountered were a pair of white rhino, mother and son. The son was nearing adulthood and weighed several tons. As they grazed his mother would periodically snort and push him, evidently telling him to find his own food and respect her personal space. Interesting behavior to watch when both participants are the size of Mack trucks.
- When we finally found lions, we found two non-pride holding brothers. Due to the fact that they did not view us as a threat (or food), we were able to pull to within about fifteen feet and watch them laze in the sun. E offered me $1,000 (USD) to jump out of the Rover and pat one on the head. I declined.
- On the second day we came across a pack of wild dogs. It was actually a sub-pack consisting solely of juveniles, left with a “baby sitter” adult while the rest of the pack went to hunt. About five minutes after we found them, all of the dogs got up as a group and ran off. After fifteen minutes of driving around while our tracker chased down the trail, we came across the larger pack. Turns out the adults had made a kill and had signaled for the younglings to come and eat. When we caught up with the group they were almost finished breaking down an immature wildebeest carcass. One had the head, another the spine, a few of the younglings played with and gnawed on a leg. The pack in total stripped, ate, and broke down the bones within minutes.
- We ran across elephants a couple of times, but the second day we came across a group of two smaller bull elephants methodically ripping the branches off a tree in order to get at the bark and the nutrient-rich layer directly below it. It was amazing to see them casually breaking down a tree large enough to hold a few decently sized humans. Evidently elephant herds, with no real natural predators in the parks, can become a driving force in deforestation if left unchecked.
Other notable encounters include the monotonous finch, buffalo, hyenas, a jackal, a rock hare, giraffes, impala, many zebra and wildebeest herds, and verdant monkeys. It was an amazing trip. I of course forgot to bring my camera along, but E has promised to send me his photos and when I have the chance I will post some of the more representative shots.

In praise of "Lazer Fingers!!!"

Last Christmas my family got together in Houston, even though it is a town none of us actually live in. We were staying at a La Quinta, and next door was an authentic Mexican restaurant (none of the staff spoke English authentic). The second or third night there, after downing a delicious quesadilla and some decent horchata, I was making my way out when I saw one of those little coin operated vending machines, the kind that dispense goodies in roundish plastic balls that have to be popped open. As a kid I always lusted after these items, in large part because my mom rarely was forthcoming with the requisite 25-cents. Anyway, this one was offering, in garish lettering, “Lazer Fingers!!!” How could I resist? I dutifully dropped in my 50 cents and was rewarded with an LED flashlight small enough to be attached to the first knuckle of your index finger. Initially, in the light-pollution inundated Houston parking lot, I was quite underwhelmed with my purchase. It was difficult to see the light, it felt a little small, and the implied ability to cut my older brother in half with its awesome power never materialized (not for lack of trying).

Why this long-winded reminiscing? Somehow my lazer finger made it to Africa to me. While it may not have seemed like much in Houston, in the darkness of Maseru it has saved me a couple of times. Maseru gets dark like nothing I have ever experienced in a town in the U.S. At night you can stand in “downtown” and see the Milky Way clearly; my neighborhood is nearly pitch black after sundown. Anyone who has significant experience with true darkness can relate to how useful I have found this tiny, quiet powerful, seemingly inexhaustible flashlight. I carry it in my pocket at all times and when I have found myself walking in the evening it has often steered me clear of ditches, mean dogs, groups of questionably unoccupied young men, and other dangerous spots.

My dispatcher friend Lucy

I tend to use the same cab company when I travel in Maseru and have struck up a bit of a friendship with a couple of the dispatchers. They know me by name and know the few locations that my commuting revolves around. One of these dispatchers, Lucy, is a particularly good friend of mine. Recently, when my cabbie came by he took an unusual route. About half way through he pulled up to a building I had never seen before with a line of people stretching out the back. When I asked him what was going on he explained, using our patented blend of his bad English and my worse Sesotho, that Lucy was inside and that it might be nice if I went and said hello. So I did. My dispatcher friend was waiting in line and was quite nice in person, neatly dressed in a traditional dress and with a very friendly smile. Only when we got back in the car and began driving away did I think to ask what the building was that should have such a long line in the middle of the day; it was the Department of Funeral Services.

Bread Machines

One of the best parts of grocery shopping in Maseru is the opportunity to use the industrial bread slicing machines. After you checkout, there they are, two square blocks of gleaming metal approximately the size of full-sized Xerox machines. Slide your newly purchased loaf in the back (mind your fingers!), slowly ease the lever forward, and watch the miracle of sliced bread become a reality. It has become an eagerly anticipated part of my grocery ritual, and even feel a little haughty when I see newbies trying to use the machines for the first time and winding up with mangled loaves. This arrogance is truly misplaced as I required some help the first time myself. A nice but rather shabbily dressed man was watching over the machines and offered to help in light of my obvious ignorance. At first I thought he was hoping for tips, but it became clear after watching for a bit that his primary motivation was free access to all of the bread scraps the machines’ operations inevitably produce. He helped me load the bread in, showed the correct technique, and helped himself to the odd half slice that fell through into the catchment beneath the machine.

Contrasts

A few weeks back I was invited by some friends to a happy hour at one of the two “luxury” hotels in Maseru. Nestled on the top of one of the hills around the city, the Lesotho Sun is a decent hotel but, like many grand hotels you run into in developing countries, one apparently born of an unfulfilled optimism about the country’s future and now a few decades past its prime. One of the biggest attractions is an outside patio with pool and bar that has a magnificent, sprawling view of Maseru. As we enjoyed our drinks and the view, we noticed someone had started a large garbage fire in the yard of one of the tiny cinderblock and corrugated iron houses at the base of the hill. It soon began raining bits of plastic ash, causing most of the revelers to withdraw into the confines of the bar.