Public Transportation System a.k.a. I Could Get There Faster (not to mention safer) Walking

So quick update, last weekend we went to a birthday party for one of the volunteers that has been here for a year and a half at the Irish Embassy. It was fun, so much fun I just can’t even seem to remember it, and that’s all I’ll say, for further details, shoot me an email. Now for the main subject of this posting public transportation. In conveying it’s nonsensical operation strategies I will relay a story that has taken place over Monday and Tuesday of this week.
So beginning on Monday, I’m hanging out in the pharmacy technician’s office, helping her play “Who Want’s To Be A Millionaire” on the computer and listening to bad R&B while I drill her on questions about Lesotho. The nurse, who I love because she is soooo unlike the Basotho, walks in and is like, “Nthabi, Alice (one of the counselors) is not feeling well enough to go to TY to get the order of condoms and latex gloves that we need, can you go instead?” I’m like “yeah, sure I would love to go.” Really it is working off the want to not be useless and to get out of the clinic for the day. Oh, and TY is short for one of the camptowns that is like an hour away called Teya-Teyaneng, hence the shortened version. The nurse then leaves assuring me she will let me know if and when I have to go, this is around 10:00 am. Not until 1 does she say, oh yeah, it would be great if you could go. An hour later I am on a taxi, or a kombi as they are called here. I must derail from the story for a moment to describe to you what these vehicles look like. First of all they are like 12 seater vans, in which they actually shove more like 20 people in along with all their baggage, which is a lot. And they are not so much vehicles sometimes (and sometimes they are really nice though) as pieces of tin scotch taped together with wheels and an engine that sometimes works. And if you are really lucky you’ll get to ride on one with a name like “Slow Motion,” “See Me Now,” “Tropical Paradise,” or my favorite “Slow Poison.” So back to the story, I’m on the kombi that will take me to Sefiking where I will get on one to go to TY. This trip generally takes around 45 minutes to an hour. So I get to Sefiking riding on “Slow Motion,” which is the nicest kombi I’ve been on thus far, I mean it has upholstered seats and air conditioning, which wasn’t on but it had it. At Sefiking they let me off and I go in search of my next ride, and I get on one that I think is going to take me to TY, but about half way there they pull over by a bar and tell me to get out and get on another kombi, which was right there but I am already an hour in my trip and have a solid half hour yet and I’m afraid that the Ministry of Health, where I have to go to get the condoms, will be closed and if I don’t leave TY early enough there will be no more kombi’s going my way and I will thus be stranded in TY. So I get on this other kombi and the driver from the previous one jets to the bar and I’m waiting another 15 minutes on this other kombi waiting for it to fill up so it will leave and, as always, as the Basotho are loading on they all have to take a moment and giggle and point out the “mahoa” (white person) on the kombi, I then greet them in Sesotho and they get embarrassed because, in my limited Sesotho, I do understand that they just made fun of me. Thanks!
So this one finally takes off and as we are driving I feel a tugging on my hair (and this has happened before) one of the Basotho women in the back is stroking and pulling on my hair (which I normally wear up in kombi’s but forgot). Why, why, why? Why the hell are they stroking and petting my head???? They think if you stroke a white person’s hair it will bring them good luck. I also have to be on the look out so they don’t cut my hair on kombi’s because they will burn it and use it for traditional medicine purposes. So and it just get’s worse from there. I finally get to the Ministry of Health and the person I have to get the gloves and condoms from is gone for the day and I won’t be able to get them and I have to come back in the morning, but not afternoon because she won’t be there in the afternoon tomorrow either. Well shit. I call my supervisor and he is like “just stay in TY.” Okay, at the house I don’t have here? What the hell? So I text Andre who lives in TY and ask him if I can crash at his house and he obliges, thank God. So I hang out with Andre that night and in the morning (without combed hair, fresh clothes or a clue) I trot on back to the Ministry of Health. It is at this point that they tell me they in fact don’t have the supplies and that I have to go to the TY Hospital which is far away and that I should take my vehicle. “Vehicle?” I ask. Yeah apparently the boxes for1000 condoms and 1000 latex gloves are pretty big and that it is unthinkable to take them on public transport. Really now? So I finagle a ride to the hospital and then to the taxi rank with the condoms and gloves. At this point I’m like this situation would only happen in two instances in life, in a movie, or to me. This doesn’t happen to normal people living normal lives and by this I mean transporting 1000 condoms on a taxi in a culture that does not talk about sex and being white, which they just think is hilarious. So there I am surrounded by 40 something women on a kombi with 1000 condoms on my lap trying not to break down in tears, which I about did when they told me at the ministry of health that I had to go to the hospital in my vehicle. So things are going and I’m feeling better because the driver of this kombi told me he would get me on the right kombi back to the clinic and so I’m thinking I will be fine and home in less than an hour. Ohhhh my was I wrong. I get to my next kombi without a hitch BUT when it gets going it moves at a rate slower than a turtle, why, I have no idea. There were no people needing to be picked up nor were we going through villages where people might be needing to get on. It was pure nonsense. The whole while they are just laughing at this white girl with 1000 condoms on her lap and when I try to speak Sesotho to them they just double over, I thought half the people were just going to fall out of the kombi because they were laughing so hard. Anyways, yes it does get worse, believe it or not. We finally get to about a solid mile outside of my village, so I’m pretty excited because I can’t wait to get off this death trap, a.k.a. the “See Me Now.” It is now that I spot the traffic check point, which are just set up randomly around Lesotho. We have to stop and our driver gets out and doesn’t really talk with the police and it doesn’t really look like anything is going on and I have no idea why we are not going. It is now that I a) spot a police officer holding a machine gun and b) have one of the police officers come up to me on the kombi and ask if he can have a box (there’s 144 in a box) of my condoms. At this point I roll my eyes and tell him they are far the clinic and if he wants condoms he has to go there but I have to get all these boxes there. And no I am not making any of this up, straight facts, and really I wish I was making this up which would mean that I would not of had to live through it and it would mean that the people here would not be so creepy towards me. We then wait on the side of the road while the driver gets his papers in order so we can leave for about 15 minutes. Which was good because I was seriously contemplating hauling my large boxes back to the clinic on foot, which would have sucked to have to do. So I finally get back to the clinic and drop the boxes off and go to take a shower. It was a very long day, but my worse experience thus far on a kombi so hopefully it is my last, which I seriously doubt, but now I know a few things. 1)Always wear my hair up on a kombi 2)Expect travel time to take twice the amount it should actually take 3)Always bring sleeping clothes and a toothbrush in case you have to overnight somewhere even though you are going an hour away 4)Never openly transport condoms (I will bring a very large bag from here on out) 5)Plead the trustees board to get Paballong their own damn car!! My rant is now over. I wish all wonderful weeks and pray you never have to step a foot on a kombi, or “Slow Motion,” or “See Me Now.”