Sure-Footed Ponies: Rain, Rain, Rising Rivers

ENTRY 4: Rain, Rain, Rising Rivers
January 24, 2011—Between Semonkong and Maseru
Par for the course, rain mucks up the filmmaking works in Lesotho.



Papali and I spent the better part of last week coordinating auditions at schools, orphanages, and churches. When TR finally arrived from Johannesburg, we turned our attention to location scouting. Cecil, TR and I piled into Kinski and took the helter-skelter dirt road back to Semonkong. As we came into town, the hills were cloaked in dark, ominous clouds. As expected, it poured rain all the next day. We donned rain gear and drove farther into the mountains, to the remote villages where we plan to film, but before long decided to make our way back to the lodge to wait out the rainstorm. However, when we got to the bridge leading back to town, we found that it was completely flooded over by the river.
 
Dismayed, and soaking wet, we decided to cut our trip short and return to our warm and dry home in Maseru. We'd settle our bill and collect the rest of our belongings when we came back this way in a couple of weeks. Sloshing along the muddy road, the first few bridges were barely exposed by the river, but still passable. Finally, however, we came to where the road was completely flooded over. An attempt to cross would have likely dumped us in the drink, so we returned to the original bridge, only to find that the water level had climbed even higher.
 


We resigned ourselves to a cold, wet night huddled in the back of Kinski, under a single bed sheet. Then, Cecil counted the number of river crossings that we'd have to make in order to reach our lodge. To our delight, we realized that we must actually be on the same side of the river!
 
We made our way on foot through wet cornfields and groves of willow trees that stood solemn guard on the elevated riverbank. By chance, we stumbled upon a fellow traveler who enthusiastically offered to guide us to our place of refuge. She was a large woman in the possession of a poncho that I very much envied, and she reeked of Joala, beer made from fermented sorghum. Drunk as she was (insisting that Cecil was a lost relative from the South African city of East London., and begging TR to photograph her in various poses), she somehow proved to be a competent expedition leader. After an hour and a half of trekking in deep mud, we arrived at the lodge and ate a hearty meal, drying our clothes by a roaring fire—what joy!
        

  
That night the rain did not stop, but slowed to a misty drizzle, which meant the river neither rose nor fell. Our fear was that if the river did not recede, we'd be trapped in the mountains for several more days. This would make a mess of our tight schedule, and even tighter budget. We simply had to get out of Semonkong.
            
In the morning, we learned from a lodge employee that a bus was soon to depart town, one that could plow its way over the flooded bridges. While not technically amphibious, this abused motorcoach seemed our best bet back to the lowlands, so we made a plan that TR and I would secure seats on it and Cecil would hike back along the river's edge and try to catch up to us in the truck. If the rain picked up again, Cecil would be stranded in Semonkong, but at least TR and I would be back in Maseru to attend to our upcoming casting sessions and meetings. The bus was jam-packed with people, with all its windows closed—essentially a 3-hour standing sauna (secure seats we did not) with an entire African hamlet for company. But the rivers we did cross!


 
Three hours into the trip, quite predictably, the bus got stuck in mud. Passengers were squeezed from the bus doors like toothpaste, and summoned to throw rocks and vegetation under the spinning wheels of our paralyzed transport. Just after snapping a photo of this unraveling new episode of "Africa Wins Again," Cecil appeared around the mountain bend, triumphantly waving his long arms out the truck window. Saved!
            
Reunited at last, we bounced furiously down the last stretches of the unpaved road. The reason for our urgent pace was that the rain had begun again, and we had one more river crossing to worry about. Predictably, it was flooded over. However, we were able to observe another vehicle, about the same size as ours, cross without incident. Holding our breath, we pushed Kinski through the swift current, then cheered when tires touched dry land.
            
We finally arrived back at our house in Maseru only to discover that, because of flooding that occurred in the municipal water pumps, the entire city is without water for the next three days. Tomorrow, still smelling like the bus from Semonkong, we have our final callbacks for all local actors. As long as we can stay on schedule and budget, we're still winning over here!

Want more Sure-Footed Ponies? Get caught up:

Sure-Footed Ponies: An Introduction
Sure-Footed Ponies: The Beginning
Sure-Footed Ponies: Return to Lesotho
Sure-Footed Ponies: Tortoise's Pace

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