My camera can’t capture the beauty of the Lesotho highlands. Zoom in and you lose the perspective of layer after layer of shifting shades receding into the distance. Zoom out and all the texture of cliffs and caverns is lost in a wash of green. On the long trips from Maseru to Mokhotlong, words failed as well, reducing my vocabulary to “Ouah!!!” each time we crested another pass and looked out on yet another impossible valley, yet another wave of towering hills rolling on beyond the horizon.
Last week was my second trip through the Maluti mountains to the highland camptown of Mokhotlong, this time for an MDR-TB clinic with the community team. The first visit was a in January with Mahli and the boys on a somewhat random weekend road trip. I’d mentioned Everything Lost is Found Again: Four seasons in Lesotho by Will McGrath in a couple of previous posts, including my 2023 reading list.
Everything Lost is a great window into the wonders and weirdness of the mountain kingdom, ranging from the unavoidably tragic realities of a country with the third lowest life expectancy in the world to the comic misadventures and observations of an outsider navigating his own perceptions in a strange new land. The first time through, Mahli read it on her Kindle and I on paper and we kept stopping to gasp or laugh together, then shared it with Abe who now constantly references the language notes and local culinary and pop culture commentary. On a whim, I emailed Will’s website and told him we were off to Lesotho on the off chance we might cross paths.
Turns out he and his wife Ellen Block, a medical anthropologist originally from Ontario, were visiting Mokhotlong in January. They invited us to come see them and learn about the organization they support there, Touching Tiny Lives (TTL). It seemed like a ridiculous idea to go that far to meet a stranger and get a book signed so, true to form, that’s exactly what we did. We scrambled out of Maseru on a Friday afternoon and drove off into the mountain, finally arriving well after nightfall, slightly shaken from navigating the treacherous descents and hairpin turns in the dark.
One of the experiences of repeated travels is that each place you go has echoes of journeys past. Mozambique vividly recalls NorthEast Brazil, Finland feels just like Northern Saskatchewan. Portugal reminds you of Northern Mexico which reminded of Madagascar and so on. One of the strange experiences here in Lesotho is that, for all the canyons, there’s no echo. When we woke to see the green hills of the highlands, it felt like nowhere else I’ve ever been, a fresh experience unblemished by overlap.
The random road trip turned into a wonderful connection. It’s a risk to meet someone you’ve only known through writing or public persona, but Will, Ellen and their three kids are even more delightful and funny than the book revealed. We spent the weekend hiking the hills and valleys together and had a great time hearing their stories.
Central to those stories was the work of TTL. Founded twenty years ago at the peak of the AIDS pandemic, TTL cares for the most vulnerable children of the district. This includes providing a haven for children orphaned by AIDS - which was the principal work for many years - but also those suffering from malnutrition or other severe illnesses that need more care than their family can provide. Along with operating the Safe Home, TTL runs outreach programs, working with Village Health Workers to identify kids at risk and support their families. TTL also supports early childhood development programming and access to education in remote rural communities.
Mme Nthabaleng Lephoto is a central character in Everything Lost and when you meet her you can see why. She’s the mookameli, the boss lady with no time for bullshit and tons of time for children in need. As the Managing Director of TTL and a fearless advocate for the kids in her care, she leaves a strong impression. Hearing that there was a pediatrician visiting, she quickly recruited Mahli to examine all the children at the Safe Home. Mahli, thrilled to see some pediatric patients after treating too many adults at Botšabelo, identified some more serious issues was able to arrange follow-up care in the capital.
We left for home early Sunday morning, not wanting to repeat the trip in the dark. We were making good time, so we decided to stop at Afri-Ski for lunch. Yep, a ski resort in Southern Africa, but no snow this time of year. Or at least that’s what we thought. Just as we finished eating it started to thunder and lightning. Wild storms are the norm here so we didn’t think much of it, but then came the hail. Chunks of ice ranging in size from peach pit to golf ball rained down for over an hour.
The ice was at least four inches deep on the ground by the time it started to let up. When it finally looked to be easing up, we made a run for it. We piled, soaked, into the Xtrail and I started to drive. The moment I did, the ice slid off the roof of the car, breaking the driver’s side windshield wiper. As a farm kid from Saskatchewan I thought I’d seen all winter conditions, but this was a new one on me. Now I was driving blind in slush, ice and pouring rain. We managed to swap the passenger wiper to the driver’s side, but with several more passes to go before we were back in the lowlands, we decided it was safer to spend the night.
Perhaps because Ntate Makhetha was behind the wheel not me, last week’s trip went much more smoothly.
And a good thing too, because on the way back we were carrying precious cargo. I’d let Mme Nthabaleng know I was coming to town and she asked me to come see the babies at the Safe Home. I walked over before clinic started and saw a few kids, including Katleho*. Katleho had tuberculosis a year ago and now he’d been losing weight, coughing and even coughing up blood. Mahli had seen him when we were there the last time and despite treatment for pneumonia he wasn’t getting better, leaving us to suspect MDR-TB. After a long discussion that butted up against protocols of admission and transport, we were able to take Katleho and his mother with us to Maseru where he’s been admitted to the hospital, has started initial treatment and is undergoing more testing to see exactly what he needs.
Despite the smile above, Katleho wasn’t thrilled to be riding with us. Totally understandable, but with a proper diagnosis and treatment he has a much better chance to catch up on his development and live a longer, happier life. Which is the whole point of TTL. I saw the way Mme Nthabaleng and her team go the extra mile for every Katleho in their care. When one child was likely to need expensive services in South Africa, Ellen, who is Executive Director of the TTL board, said that’s what their budget is for, to give the kids of Mokhotlong district the quality of care they’d get if they lived anywhere else.
So while I’m here to work for Partners In Health, and when I encourage donations it will almost always be to that organization, I’ll make an exception today. I saw a kindred spirit to PIH in the work of TTL. By insisting that the sickest, most vulnerable kids get the best care we see the preferential option for the poor in action. The folks at TTL understand that the poorest patients should get great care, not despite their poverty, but because people in poverty are at higher risk for illness and need our support the most.
So for that reason I’m making a donation today to Touching Tiny Lives. Please check out their site or the video below and consider doing the same.
An interesting, informative, and inspiring read. Thanks.
Keep up the good work Doc!
(I made a small donation to TTL)
Awesome to read! Susan McLaren