Around Lesotho with a washing machine

Another weekend on call is looming. It feels like I only just finished the last one. However, I think I can forgive myself for thinking this as currently we are all working every other weekend. Spending twelve days straight at the grinding stone with three days off in a constant cycle makes my brain go a little fuzzy. Hopefully the fuzz will clear once more docs arrive in the New Year.

Before I carry on with tales about my weekend jaunt, let me just give a brief synopsis on some of the events of the past few weeks:  we had some excellent, eager beaver, students from Cape Town who got their hands dirty for two weeks; I now have a cleaner – she’s called Princess – my house was slowly developing a nice layer of dust before she arrived; I have a washing machine – no more hand washing thank you; I have started digging a garden – with any luck in the next two months I shall have tomatoes, onions, courgettes, herbs and some pansies; Mitch smells of diesel and beer; the work load is noticeably getting heavier in this festive season - plenty of boys post ritual circumcision are coming in with septic members, my paediatric ward is getting very busy and the number of booze related injuries are on the rise; I successfully managed to use the power of talking to calm a psych patient down; I’ve been to see my “KFC” guy who’s face I sutured – the wound is coming along nicely; I grew a moustache; I noticed a definite rise in the number of children crying when I tried to cajole them into being examined; I shaved my moustache; the children don’t seem so afraid of me anymore.

Just in case you wanted to know how my poorly updated log book is going, here is a quick summary: In November I documented 27 spinal anaesthetics, 1 vacuum delivery and 9 intubations. Already in December I have logged 11 spinals, 10 lumbar punctures, 4 evacuations of retained products of conception, 1 vacuum delivery, 1 chest drain and 6 pleural aspirations (thoracocentesis). I have stopped recording the amount of joint manipulations and reductions, wound suturing and other common tasks – partly out of laziness, partly because I forget.

So, why does my car Mitch smell of booze and fuel? A question you may want to ask the minister responsible for the roads in Lesotho. Last weekend my Dutch compatriot, Jelleke, and I embarked on a weekend jaunt in the small country of Lesotho. All week the weather in Holy Cross was absolutely fabulous, but as the weekend approached, so did the rain – and oh did the heavens open. Fortunately, rain is no problem when you’re driving a four by four like Mitch. Lesotho is only a 3 hour drive from Holy Cross and covers a mere 200 km from East to West. However, now I’ve been there I can only imagine that it takes several days to traverse the country on the uneven roads even if the weather is dry and you have Jeremy Clarkson and his pals at the wheel of their brand new Land Rovers.

Before reaching Lesotho, we stopped off in our nearest commercial centre to get a few provisions and do a little admin. After two hours in town I had acquired a jerry can full of fresh diesel, 30 bottles of beer, which I had put in ice in the cooler, and a brand new washing machine. Yes, that’s right – I took my washing machine to Lesotho.

We had booked ourselves into quite a nice looking guesthouse somewhere in the mountainous countryside that adorns this country. Unfortunately, we didn’t quite make it to that nice somewhere on Friday or Saturday night. As I mentioned, the weather was dreary in South Africa. However, when we entered Lesotho on Friday afternoon the sky cleared to show off the magnificent beauty that adorns this almost untouched land. After taking in the scenery I noticed two things: firstly there are no fences - the land is entirely shared; secondly, the roads are terrible. However, we were travelling in my car – Mitch – sturdy as they come – a bit like a shire horse on wheels. Shortly after realising how shoddy the roads were, both of us thought that the 150 km drive to our intended destination may not be quite as straightforward as we had anticipated. Unfortunately, neither of us had remembered our guide book or a decent map. To hand we had a large road map of South Africa that had a bit on Lesotho and a satellite navigation system that would only tell us if we were on a road or not, but nothing else (I hadn’t installed the Lesotho maps onto it). So, we just looked at the map and “guestimated” that we would make it to a town about 75km away. It turns out that as you drive further into the country, the roads get worse. So, it came to eight thirty in the evening - we found ourselves in the pitch black, but for Mitch’s bright headlights, driving up and down steep “roads” (the satnav called these roads “alleys”. These alleys resembled a track of some sort with very large collections of boulders) at walking pace. Lady luck was with us though. As Mitch rumbled into a mountain top village we were greeted by the usual hoard of children, but also a young guy who spoke excellent English. With no subtlety at all I enquired if the village would provide us with shelter for the night. After a brief meeting with the chief’s son, who was full of festive cheer, he agreed that we could stay in our new friend’s rondavel (round house). In return we offered beer – unfortunately, most of the bottles had smashed on the rocky roads and the jerry can had also taken a small hit. Hence it smells a bit like someone has had a party on an oil rig in the back of Mitch.

Except for an irate donkey eeyoring at 4am, I had a very peaceful night’s sleep. The following morning I awoke to the quiet sound of the hills and with my dreary eyes took in the beauty of the surrounding scenery as the bright sun beat down on the luscious green mountains. After meeting the chief, his slightly hungover son and the rest of his family, we said our farewells. Not before taking the obligatory family photo, though, which I will send to them in the next few weeks. I am still amazed at the hospitality that we encountered. The young guy that we met gave up his modest house for us to sleep in. It actually belonged to his brother, who died a few years ago. I later learnt that I slept in his death bed – so that’s why Jelleke was so keen to let me have the bed and she sleep on Mitch’s pull out mattress (did I mention Mitch has a mattress in the boot?).

The rest of our trip was mainly spent taking in the awesome scenery and sitting behind Mitch’s dashboard as we drove over mountains in the sun, rain and fog – sometimes all at once. It really was incredible. However, next time we shall plan a little better and take some more provisions and camping gear.

In case of curiosity – the washing machine works just fine. Apart from having to screw a part back in after the bolts fell out, it only suffered a few minor dents.