My Journey from South Africa to Lesotho
Embarking on a 600km journey from South Africa into Lesotho turned out to be one of the most peculiar experiences of my trip. The day began with me anxiously waiting at a local bus station in Durban. Having been cautioned repeatedly about the safety of public bus stations, especially with expensive camera gear and as a foreigner, I was on high alert. Despite recommendations to opt for an organised tour, I was committed to using public transport as much as possible for, as much as possible, for my year in Africa as i headed north towards the Mediterranean sea in Egypt. Only a few days into my trip, I was determined not to break this promise to myself or let the potential threat of crime deter me, provided I took all necessary precautions.
I arrived at the bus station early in the morning, skipping breakfast, hoping to catch a day bus to Lesotho and cross the border in daylight. However, fate had different plans. The bus failed to fill up, and we found ourselves waiting until around 1:30 PM. By then, exhaustion and hunger had taken their toll. My initial fear of the bus station gave way to anxiety about a nighttime border crossing into a country where my phone wouldn’t work, I had no local money, and I had no idea where I would be staying for the night.
As the hours dragged on, I considered returning to my accommodation in Durban and waiting until the next day. Just when I was about to give in to frustration, the driver suddenly announced we were leaving. We set off north, driving through the stunning but rugged landscapes of the Drakensberg. The scenery was breathtaking, yet the journey was grueling. I started to doze off in the warm afternoon sun, but was abruptly jolted awake by a violent shaking of the van-we had sheared a wheel bolt and were now stranded.
The situation was dire. There was no phone service, no one around, and we were stuck. The driver needed to climb out of the valley to get a signal and left in search of help. Hours passed with no updates, but eventually, he returned, informing us that assistance was on the way. A replacement Toyota finally arrived to take us to the border. when we arrived it was almost 10 PM and the border was about to close.
Crossing the border was a relief, though it was rough and devoid of any immediate signs of a hotel or help. With no money and growing anxiety, I was unsure of my next steps. The lady, Ellen who had guided me across the border noticed my predicament. She asked where I was headed, and I showed her the hotel listed in my Lonely Planet guide. Unfortunately, she informed me that it was impossible to reach it that night. Instead, she suggested a local church and arranged a taxi to take us into town.
Her kindness didn’t end there. After organising everything, I gave her the remaining South African rand which i had (and a few pounds in GBP) and she bid me good luck. The church was a large hall with 30 or 40 beds, all made up but currently completely empty. It was a simple but welcome sanctuary. I was overwhelmed with relief and gratitude, having been saved from a potentially dire situation. starving i fell asleep but. dream in comfort from how I’d been saved.
