Reaching the Kingdom
Trip Start
Aug 18, 2010
1
50
57
Trip End
Ongoing
Maseru, Lesotho
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Finally I found a fare that suited me and I waited in the large, open hall catching stares from locals in every direction. Five hours later, the bus pulled into the outskirts of the city and I was left with only a few hours of daylight to find either my next bus onward or a place to stay for the night. It seems that people (foreign travelers and locals alike) offer me the same advice for any city in South Africa: Don’t go out at night! I feel like people are constantly telling me ghost stories, and truth be told, it just makes me want to go out at night. The next (and only) bus didn't leave until 5:30 am the following day so I found a hotel and grabbed some food.
The daylight was dimming but there was still some time before the monsters came out to feed on foreigners. I followed my ears down the streets in search of the music and a booming voice that had woven between the buildings. I found a crowd gathered around a street corner. A man in a flashy suit with bright purple tie and matching pocket square followed the energetic steps of his two-tone, mirror-polished shoes. In his hand was a microphone that added a few decibels to his already piercing voice. With a wave of his manicured finger, he queued the music and his shoes danced in style. He removed his purple banded fedora and placed it upside down for consideration on the less than polished sidewalk that matched the appearance of the majority of his audience. His toes tapped around it. An old woman shifted over and dropped a small note into the insatiable hat and before she had a chance to return to her spot in the crowd, the man danced over to a milk crate full of merchandise. He grabbed a CD and danced after her. He forced the CD into her fragile hand and flashed a bright smile and alluring wink. Caught in his magnetism, she dug back into her starving purse and pulled out a larger note. "Hallelujah!" he yells to the crowd.
I saw the last rays of sunlight scraping down the building behind him as night inched into existence. His eyes caught the one different face standing in back of the crowd. Immediately his sermon flipped to English and everyone turned to see the new object of his persuasion. It’s funny how even with my linguistic shortcoming before he catered his sermon to me, I knew exactly what he was asking and offering. Hearing it in English just strengthened trust in my instincts. He returned to his milk crate and pulled out two CDs for me. Wow, the monsters really do exist… and much better dressed than I was expecting. I smiled and turned to walk away.
Morning brought an interesting dilemma. It was still dark outside and I was worried that I would have to run past the calls of satin-clad sirens to get to the bus station. Thankfully it wasn’t an issue and soon enough I had a seat on an old school bus bound for Lesotho. The bus stops at the border and everyone files into short lines at immigrations. South Africa stamps me through without incident and all I have to do is show my stamped passport to the South African guard at the far end of the building.
“So you are American?” he asks with a very demanding tone as he thumbs through my passport.
“Yes.”
He looks me up and down and flashes a look of calculation as his eyes rest on my pack. “What are you going to give me?” he asks. I shrug my shoulders and he asks again with more determination added to his words. “What are you going to give me?”
A small, old woman standing behind me leans over and offers an amazing response, “Give him peace.” With a wince, the young guard pulls back his head in surprise. He huffs and glares at us. We smile back. Without any exchange of money, he steps to the side and allows both of us passage into the Kingdom.
