Blog 20: Goodbye Phelisanong

Last week was frenetic, but thank goodness Sylvia and Malineo returned to help me through it. I have another meeting with the care mothers, the main point being to introduce the concept that when I leave they now have two physiotherapy assistants that will continue the work. The problem is that that Sylvia and Malineo only started here a couple of months ago and already they have risen to a more senior position. It’s a delicate situation where longevity of service counts for a lot.

I hope I strike the right note and finish the presentation with certificates and a video to try and show what an excellent job both the physio assistants have done. The previous day they had a test which went on for hours, as I got them to show me the exercises we have been doing with the children and grilled them with questions about it. On Thursday, they will have to do it all again as the parents are coming to learn about their children and how they can best help them during the holidays.    

About 20 percent of the children here are orphans, or have been abandoned. The majority do have parents and have been placed here either because the parents can’t cope at home, or its their best chance to go to school, with the school being right next door. The children with parents will go home for the long winter break, it’s too cold to stay here over July and August. While they are home hopefully the parents will encourage them to continue their physio and become involved in their rehab.

Thursday dawns and chooses to bless us with unremitting rain, not ideal for the children trying to show how well they are doing with their walking frames. Myself, Sylvia and Malineo tear up and down the pathway with umbrella’s over heads, sloshing our way through puddles, trying not to slip and keep children dry. It’s a little taxing but the children rise to the occasion, even though some are a little overwhelmed to see their parents.  Kolosoa can’t even look at his mother at first and hides his head in his hands. He recovers and shows her how well he can do his exercises and walk with his frame.

Bokang loves to walk, but is rather wobbly and needs a frame to support him and someone to guide him. Bokang’s mother is so impressed with his progress she says she is going to give away his wheelchair. It is not quite the miracle of Lazarus, it’s just that there is little culture of physiotherapy here and the children only need a chance. The other problem is that volunteer physiotherapist’s come and go, sustaining a legacy is a problem. That’s why I have put so much effort into training Sylvia and Malineo and hope that a physiotherapy house will be built here. This might encourage more frequent visit of outside physiotherapists and hopefully maintain more consistent input into Phelisanong.

Touching moments continue throughout the morning. Loreto’s father videoing her lifting her head and following his movements. She’s only at the first stages of development, but she has great potential to go further with help. She smiles and loves company, but she needs help to sit up and stimulation to get her to use her neck muscles. It will be painstaking work, but rewarding, as she will gradually gain a little independence of movement if her physiotherapy continues.

The day ends with guiding Lithape’s mother with how to blend her food and feed her upright. I am a little anxious because Lithape muscles can go into spasm if she gets stressed or excited and exacerbate her swallowing difficulties. All goes well though, and Lithape mother agrees it is a much better to feed her this way, than laying her on her back. I have a spare blender to give her to take home and I pleased with how the day went, despite the weather. More parents are due to come tomorrow, but Sylvia and Malineo can cope without me. It’s time for a break and I head for the high mountains.

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When Justice messages me about the chance of joining a trek in the remote Mokhotlong District, I jump at the opportunity. It’s an area I’ve been wanting to go to, but was unsure how to arrange transport to get there. There are seven of us in the group, including the tour guide, Stephen, and two 4x4 vehicles. Myself and Mathakane are picked up on route, in Leribe, as the others drive up from Maseru. As always things get behind schedule and by them time we reach the diamond mine, where we head off road, it’s getting dark.

We are at over 10, 000 feet and when the sun goes down its bitterly cold.  The mine is open cast and life must me very harsh for the miners that work here. We sign in, promise not to steal any diamonds, and start the descent to the small village that runs the campsite where we are staying the night. The facilitates were set up by the mine to try and provide the locals with some income. The mine is South African owned, as are all the best resources in this country. The other six people on this trip are all from Lesotho and we discuss why a country so rich in minerals, water, and beautiful scenery is so poor and is unable to exploit its own resources. Nobody has any answers.

By now it dark and the track we are descending is a jumble of large boulders. One of the 4x4 has little clearage and there are lots of sickening crunches as we inch our way down. We have to get out and try out to make out the hazardous route inch by inch. The men do lots of manly shifting of boulders by flash light, but it still takes over two hours to go about a mile, until the track finally smooths out at the end.

There are quite a few 4x4 at the campsite who have all crossed over the border from South Africa. Everyone has gone to bed to try and keep warm by the time we arrive. An old man brings us some wood and lights a fire, while we chuck some food on the braai and put up tents. A very cold and sleepless night follows and it’s a relief when the sun comes up and starts to melt the thick frost on the tents.

Packing up and organising donkeys to carry the tents takes most of the morning. A third donkey is needed to carry our stuff and its decided that most of us should start while the search for an elusive third donkey continues. This leads to some navigational challenges as we head over into the next valley towards the Solane hot springs.  The sky is clear blue and the sun intense, as we sweat our way up to the col and down to the next valley to follow the river. The stark beauty of the area is magnificent, and the whole experience takes me away from the startling health facts about this country, instead focusing me on its unique geography and culture.

A herd boy and his dogs join us and guide us to the springs. The herd boys, are the only people out here. They spend their time looking after their animals as they graze through the summer months. They have nothing but a bag of maize, stick, blanket, and their dogs. They live at a “cattle station”, which is a just a small simple hut, build of rocks and grass. It’s a tough life, if they don’t keep a fire light at night they will freeze to death. Some of these boys are only primary school age and they get paid one sheep a month for their work. This means if they survive the rigours of life out here by the time they are a young man they will have their own flock.

The cattle stations are quite close to each other, for security reasons, as sometimes thief’s will try and steal the animals. The boys can shout across the valley to each other and normally have about half a dozen dogs each to guard their flocks.  At night, the flocks make their way back to the cattle station and spend the dark hours around the hut. The boys count them in and know each animal individually, if one is missing they will know which one. The sheep are kept for wool and by early May the boys will leave the cattle station and bring their flock to spend winter around the village. Most of the boys will have spent little if any time at school, I’m not sure what school could teach them anyway.

By the time we reach the hot spring we have made two river crossings and are deep in the mountains. The shadow has fallen into the valley, the steam is rising from the hot pool and the frogs are beginning to croak. The pool is swampy, sulphurous and primeval. Silver bubbles rise from a small hole and the stones are tinged with yellow, while strands of green algae gently waft in the ripples. We get the tents up, the fire going and the stars come out to witness our cooking and musical entertainment. I have brought my sax and the others improvise with spoons, pans and plates. It won’t be making the charts, but the music fits the occasion and we enjoy ourselves while the herd boys look on bemused.

The morning starts with a warm shower where the water from the hot pool flows over the edge of a small cliff. I sit on a stone showering watching the river flow by below me. While we pack up I learn more about the herd boy’s life, which I am fascinated by and we call by another cattle station on the way back. It is impossible to approach a cattle station without a herd boy or the dogs will tear you apart. The dogs are only fed pap, so are rather skinny, and are trained to go crazy if they scent a stranger. I peer into the hut, which is about a 6-foot circle, containing a small fireplace in the middle, a bed on brushwood and skins, some battered pots and pans, and that’s it.

It’s as simple and as close to nature as you can get. I guess it’s easy to romanticise, given the complexity of western life, and the trend for getaway retreats. There is no getaway for the boys out here, this is their life for half of the year. I’m sure it’s sometimes lonely and at times brutal. We have the luxury of viewing it from a comfortable distance. We leave them to it, walking back to our 4x4, admiring the views and taking pictures of a life we will never experience. We drive back to the tarmac via a longer, but much easier route than the one we arrived. Once we hit the road we make quick ground to Afri ski, the highest restaurant in Africa. Presently a motorbike and mountain bike playground until the snows come and the ski season starts.   

We have a quick meal at the bar. Inside it could be any ski resort I’ve been to in Europe yet, only some hours before I was standing beside a grass hut with an African herd boy. The contrast in life styles is incongruous, but it’s just another day in Lesotho.

I've made a video of the trip and put it on You Tube

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J4HH1oVY9LY

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When I get back to Phelisanong the kids are in great form and Sylvia and Malineo have been carrying on like troopers without me. Mahali has moved all his stuff, apart from the wardrobe, into the clinic and suddenly the physio room appears twice as big. We celebrate with a slightly crazy game of football with myself, Malineo and Sylvia each holding a child upright. The kids get rather over excited. Their legs go all over the place and their trousers fall down, but every is having a good time. Lesojane has returned from a long illness and busting a gut to make his wobbly knees control his feet so he can kick the ball. 

It’s difficult to believe I’ve now been at Phelisanong six weeks, but my last day dawns here and I walk down the track for the last time. I walk the kids to school, then go down to house 8 to play some music and dance with the little ones down there. School ends early on Friday so we gather up the hard-core physio crew from house 5 and take them to the physio room. I present them all with a small rucksack and a lollipop for their brilliant efforts over the last six weeks.

I tell them that Malineo and Sylvia will now continue their physiotherapy and to keep working hard at their exercises. Then it’s party time, I’ve brought my sax, Ashton is on drums, while the children bang on the table. Joyous music follows before we walk them back to their house. I was going to see them all later on in the afternoon, but suddenly I can’t face any more goodbyes and I slide away. Everyone was on a high and it seemed the right moment to go. I’m going back to Maseru on Saturday and will check in at Saint Angela’s, for a few days to see how they are getting on, before flying out next Thursday. My time in Lesotho is drawing to a close.