Day 3-065
8 hrs, 10 kms

The minibus meanders through the hilly villages, past crowds up uniformed school students coming home, before finally heading to Morija . But rather than a well lit town center, I find myself on a dark, dirt path with a sign pointing towards the "Morija Guesthouse".

Well, actually it's two paths, and I end up taking the wrong one. I ask a couple of fellows passing by and they tell me I'm heading the wrong way and offer to show me the way. I tell them I can figure it out... but they still come along.

Oh, and they're carrying baseball bats. Nothing to be concerned about, right? This is Lesotho, not South Africa.

Lesotho?! Why the hell are people playing baseball in Lesotho? British imported sports like football, cricket or rugby I can understand... but baseball?

Turns out, for some reason it is popular here in Lesotho...

The path zigzags in the darkness, with several forks along the way... not easy to figure out in the dark for the first time . And no, I don't get robbed, but I do give them a nice tip for their assistance.

The Morija Guesthouse is the last house up the hill, with forest and cliffs behind it and a stunning view of the valley ahead. It's a beautiful lodge-like house with traditional Lesotho thatch roof and decorative artwork on the mud exterior walls. Clearly a lot of love has been put into this place.

The owner is a French woman who came here 28 years ago, married an American missionary kid, and has lived here ever since. On the wall is a plaque dedicated to her husband who "was born, lived, and was buried in Morija." On the walls are pictures of different community projects... an after school program... community development projects...

Another poster explains this "eco-tourism" project. This house was built using local, sustainable materials, and as much as possible the food comes from local growers. I'm intrigued by the concept ... and by the idea of someone coming and living their life in a place like Morija, Lesotho.

After I get settled in we chat for a bit. She gives me another perspective on "missionary" work in Africa.

"The first missionaries here came by invitation from the Basotho chief. And they were key in helping the Basotho communicate with the British to help keep their country from being trampled on. They also put the language into writing and pushed for education and literacy. Without them, most likely Lesotho would have been overrun by the Boers and subjected to the apartheid state. They were actually quite progressive in their philosophy and objectives"

I ask how she feels about her life here. "Living here isn't paradise," she tells me "I try to help people by providing jobs for them. But sometimes they become too dependant. It can be very draining. But these projects and after school programs, they give me a sense of purpose ... A feeling that I'm doing something..."

A Place Frozen in Time

Next morning I know I have a beautiful day ahead of me. I eat my breakfast of muesli and yoghurt perched on a boulder overlooking the valley and the plateaus and mountains beyond. Yes, I can see how someone could fall in love with this place...

Then it's time to get exploring. First objective: follow a trail up the mountain, past a small reservoir to check out the dinosaur footprints. The path takes me up the steep mountain forest. It's good to see that at least a few patches of forest have been preserved. There are some huge boulders that have fallen off the top of the cliff. One of these boulders has landed on its side, exposing some well preserved footprints of what has been dubbed the "Lesothosaurus" a 3 foot dinosaur that once roamed these parts.

I gaze at the footprints, then down at the valley . It seems like a perfect opportunity to disconnect from the present and gaze back through time at the millions and millions of years that have gone by since this fellow made his mark.

I see ancient forest coming and going... majestic reptiles ruling this valley... Changing climate creating alternate periods of lush greenery and brown desert...

I see the first homo sapiens arriving... perhaps setting up camp where Morija is located today... I see tribes coming and going. Invaders coming up through the valley. Wars being fought. Periods of havoc followed by periods of peace...

I see the landscape changing as forest are cleared for farmland... roads and power lines... more villages popping up... until I reach this present day...

I continue on looking to the future. Human habitation continues... then the road crumbles and becomes empty... the people move away and disappear... until it finally looks like they were never here at all...