High In The Malutis

The following is a poem written by Father Chris Ahrends. It was written after his latest visit to the hospital. I think it gives a great perspective on life here in Mantsonyane.

High In The Malutis
By Chris Ahrends

High in the Malutis

I see clinging crops on

craggy mountain contours

surrounding thatched huts

and wonder,

whose homes they are?

I see the young boy not yet ten

plastic bottles

and gumboots singing

at dusk

dispatched to

fetch well-water

for the night and family

as have his brothers fetched

for years before.

I see a blanket-wrapped man

his dark brow still

darkened at dawn

driving six oxen already

carting rocks

that will one day become

his wall, his home, his kraal

his all. 

I see the bustling women walking, bright

patterned dresses swinging

umbrellas holding back

the sun and later, the

coming storm

on their way home

and ask myself,

where are they going and

will they get there in time

and for what?

I see the distant shepherd

herding scattered flocks on

well-worn paths

whip cracking

dust spraying

and wonder how

he keeps his eye

on so many

and against what

does he have to watch

that they may safely graze?

I see two shy toddlers

teetering near their hut

naked but

for unbuttoned jerseys

holed and old and

as dusty as

the gnarled tree

under which their wire-carts

lie waiting for them

to ride away one day. 

I see the tough teenage boys

sticks in hand

drifting to the village

keen dark eyes watching

through grey balaclavas

pulled down

as hard as they

believe they are when

prowling shabby shabeens

where one night

they'll fight

to show they're

becoming men.

I see the weary grandmother

sitting outside her door, her

thread-bare blanket a

garment of service of

years of toil

etched in each clear line of

her face, the story of

how, with her own hands, her

husband gone she

raised each child and brick to

build their lives and house

all three rooms proud,

and I'm overwhelmed by

her power.

I see an elder approaching,

white-bearded and bent,

the retired catechist, I'm told,

his wide-rimmed hat

pulled low, his

well-trod gate

now slow

after years of blessings

and walking and talking and teaching

a faith he still holds dear,

and, as we pass,

the palms of his hands held upwards,

reverent and open,

he says warmly

"Dumela N'tate",

and I too, am blessed.

This, and so much more,

everyone everything so real

in the Malutis I feel it all;

And wonder as I see

another life another deal,

who would I be?

Father Chris is a consultant with HOPE Africa and has been to Lesotho several times to work with the Hospital on their vision for the next 10 years. He was the chaplain to Archbishop Desmond Tutu for 5 years and has also been the director of Archbishop Tutu's foundation. You can read more of his poetry here.

Just a few house keeping things: First, a lot of you have contacted me about not being able to comment on my blog posts. I think I have fixed now, so comment away! Second, I now have a Picasa web album with all of the photos that appear on this blog. It will make it easier for you to look through them all. You can find it here.

Sala hantle!