The King is dead, long live the King!

With a package of lemon biscuits and a prayer for a safe journey in our luggage, we say goodbye to the dams and Masimon Mohale, our hostess. In contrast to what our maps shows, there is a beautiful new tar road from the Mohale Dam all the way to Maseru. Without real effort we climb the Blue Mountain Pass, the God-Help-Me-Pass and the Bushmens’ Pass. We cycle close to some mountain Reeboks and eagles before we whiz down into the western valley. Maseru, the capital of Lesotho, appears to be twenty kilometres further than our map tells us, so we have to end this day with over a ninety kilometres in our tired bodies; too much in this mountainous area, but what can one do?

Our first night in Maseru we stay in the Anglican Training Centre, but price and quality chase us to the only campsite of Maseru next day: the Lesotho Durham Link Campsite. The place, three kilometres from the centre of town next to the small Maseru Dam, is brand new and provides a beautiful view at the rocky hills and the lake. The organisation is connected to the Anglican bisdom in Durham, England, and develops several projects concerning health, culture, sports and education. All kinds of activities are available for youngsters and tourists, like canoeing, abseiling, rock climbing, orientation expeditions, mountain biking and archery. We appear to be the first travellers staying for a week; because of this we’re being allowed to use the office computer. Thanks for that!

The city of Maseru is a friendly mess of new shops, hundreds of loud mini-buses, disposal, the royal palace and all ministerial departments, a muddy bus station and of course shacks and stalls everywhere with any trade one can imagine. Only seven years ago half of the city has been damaged during the short civil war. Now it’s just like any of the small cities in Africa, with a lot of construction slowly going on, dilapidated streets and a comparable infrastructure.

At the English paper of Lesotho, the Public Eye, we’re enthusiastically being welcomed by Kekeletso Matli, the tourism journalist. She interviews us and Peter writes an article for the paper about our experiences in Lesotho. One week later the interview and article will be published. Keke promises us to send a copy to the Netherlands. Beware, we are getting famous.

Kings-day in Lesotho! It’s the 11th of March, an important day for the people of this tiny kingdom. Unlike Queens-day in the Netherlands, here it is a day of remembrance of King Moshoeshoe I who died on the 11th of March in 1870. Their first king is considered to be the founder of the nation; he succeeded to bring together the several tribes of the area in peaceful coexistence and to withstand attacks of other tribes and countries. The rule he lived by was that wisdom and power do not stem from a potion but depend on clarity of mind, goodness of heart and service to one’s fellow men. Now, two hundred years later, a certain Bush could learn a lot from this part of history.

During external attacks, together with his people he found shelter at the mountain called Thaba Busiu. Even for the heavily armed Brits, the flattened mountain with steep cliffs was an unconquerable fortress. After defeating a people or a tribe, Moshoeshoe used to pay tribute to the chief of the tribe in the form of cattle, to indicate his wish of a peaceful coexistence. He never allowed any feelings of revenge, not even when the cannibals of Rakotsoane ate his grandfather, Peete. After making peace with them, he performed the traditional burial rites over the stomachs of those who devoured his grandfather. Since his death, every year the government and people of Lesotho honour and remember their first king. Not on his birthday, as is usual in the Netherlands, but on the date of his death.

Between hundreds of Basotho we walk to the Moshoeshoe-Memorial at Palace Road. The many speeches have just finished when we arrive –good timing!- and the military parade is half way. High officials, from several countries, are sitting under a canvas awning especially erected for the occasion. We are standing amongst the common people on a grassy hill and enjoy a full view of the ceremonials. A group of runners arrive with a burning torch. The torch is being given to the present king, King Letsie III, a direct descendant of King Moshoeshoe I. The king slowly walks up the steps to the Memorial, followed by a procession with the Prime-Minister, the three big chiefs of the country and a herd of security guards. The Remembrance Flame is being lit and wreaths are being laid at the Memorial. When they return we’ve positioned ourselves next to the steps and the king passes us at a distance of one metre. This close to our queen would hardly be possible in the Netherlands.

The king and the other high officials all wear the traditional Lesotho blanket. In the 19th century the blanket was introduced in the country by a French missionary, who gave it to King Moshoeshoe I as a present. From that moment on everyone wanted a blanket and the people of Lesotho hung their animal skins in the trees. At the end of the same century a shipment from England arrived of which all blankets had a weaving fault in the pattern: a vertical stripe. The people were so enthusiastic about the stripe, that nowadays one does not encounter any Basotho without one or more vertical stripes in his blanket.

Cheeky we step into the office of the palace next day and request for a meeting with the king. Like some people told us, this appears to be possible. Unfortunately the protocol demands a written request after which it can take some weeks before an appointment is made. We don’t want to wait and stay in Maseru that long. Maybe on our next visit to this gorgeous mountain kingdom?

But still: long live the King!