Blog - Malealea Lodge

Chasing Horizons: Trail Running the Malealea Mountains with Phoka

Mon, 06 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0200

By day, you’ll find Phoka behind the bar at Malealea Lodge — mixing drinks, sharing stories, and greeting guests with his easy smile. But when his shift ends and the mountains call, he becomes something else entirely.

Phoka runs.

Not just for fitness, but for the pure love of the mountains.

He has conquered the legendary 50 km “Little Down Run” from Semonkong to Malealea, finishing comfortably alongside the leaders — a true testament to his strength, endurance, and deep connection to this land.

But for Phoka, that’s just the beginning.

In his spare time, he’s out there exploring, carving out new routes across the rugged terrain with trail experts like Jacques Mouton who arranges the yearly MUT (Mountain Ultra-Trail) in George. Phoka knows these mountains like few others do — every ridge, every valley, every hidden path.

They call him a mountain goat… and for good reason.

Sure-footed, steady, and strong, Phoka moves across the landscape with confidence and ease. Whether it’s a gentle trail or a challenging climb, he leads the way with quiet determination and a love for the journey.

And the best part? You can run with him.

If you’re looking for something truly special — not just a run, but an experience — Phoka is available to guide you through the breathtaking mountains of Lesotho.

🏃‍♂️ Trail running
🏔️ Local knowledge
🌿 Authentic experience

Run the mountains. Feel the altitude. Discover hidden paths.

Contact us at Malealea Lodge to arrange your trail run with Phoka — and see Lesotho through the eyes of someone who truly belongs to these mountains.

🚀🍯 “Mission Malealea: Honey Extraction One”

Wed, 01 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0200

Food at Malealea Lodge: Honest, Hearty, and From the Heart

Fri, 02 Jan 2026 00:00:00 +0200

We are not a city hotel.
We are not a fine-dining restaurant.
And we are not here to offer five-star dining with elaborate decorations.

Malealea Lodge is set deep in a rural, remote part of Lesotho. Running a kitchen here means long supply routes, limited availability, and careful planning. Within those realities, our aim has always been simple:

To provide food that is reliable, hearty, and honest — cooked with care.

This is one of the very few places I know where guests are genuinely encouraged to go back for seconds. Portions are generous and satisfying. When we serve T-bone steak, it almost fills the plate. Set evening meals come with two starches, and generous servings of vegetables — greens, orange vegetables, whites — real food, colourful food, nutritious food. The kind of meal that restores energy after a long day of hiking, pony trekking, or simply enjoying the mountain air.

Our meals are not plated with tweezers.
They are not designed for show.
They are designed to nourish.

We do care about presentation — you’ll often find fresh herbs and a simple garnish — but our focus is on substance rather than styling. In a place like Malealea, food needs to comfort, refuel, and bring people together around the table, rather than impress from a distance.

It is also important to understand the context of the surrounding villages. This is a subsistence-farming area, where families generally grow just enough food to feed themselves. It is not easy to find food in the valley. For this reason, guests need to bring their own food from outside the valley if they plan to self-cater, and we strongly encourage planning ahead.

As for being “African enough” or “European enough” — our food reflects who we are and where we are. It is home-cooked lodge food, influenced by many cultures, shaped by practical realities, and served generously. Guests enjoy comfortable beds, hot showers, free Wi-Fi, and warm communal spaces, all while being immersed in a truly rural mountain environment.

For those who prefer complete flexibility, we also offer fully equipped communal self-catering kitchens, where guests are welcome to bring their own food and cook for themselves.

And for guests seeking a deeply traditional food experience, our overnight village homestays offer something entirely different — meals cooked and shared with local families in their homes, as part of everyday village life.

At the lodge, however, we offer something simple and sincere:
warm plates, full bellies, and a place where nobody leaves the table hungry.

If you are looking for a place that values honesty over pretence, generosity over perfection, and nourishment over novelty, we warmly invite you to join us at Malealea Lodge — whether you choose to dine with us, cook for yourself, or simply enjoy the space, the mountains, and the quiet rhythm of life here.

URGENT: Community & Child Safety Alert – Action Required: No Sweets or Food Handouts Along the Road

Mon, 29 Dec 2025 00:00:00 +0200

Marek's Lesotho Journey

Fri, 05 Dec 2025 00:00:00 +0200

Marek's Journey into Lesotho

From Two-Way Radios to Starlink 🚀✨: Our Communication Journey in Rural Lesotho 🇱🇸

Thu, 21 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0200

When we first moved to the remote mountains of Lesotho in 1986, life at Malealea Lodge looked very different from today. Back then, “staying connected” meant something quite literal — and very limited.

The Era of Two-Way Radios (1986 onwards)

With no telephones, no faxes, and certainly no internet, our only lifeline to the outside world was a two-way radio. Messages had to be relayed in bursts, often through intermediaries, and communication was never private or guaranteed. It was basic, but it kept us linked — a thread of connection across the rugged valleys.

Driving to the Gates of Paradise for a Signal

Fast forward a few years, and the arrival of cell phones brought hope — but not coverage. In those early days, we would drive up the mountain to Gates of Paradise Pass just to catch a faint signal. Perched at the edge of the escarpment, we could make a quick phone call, often with the wind whipping around us, before heading back down into the valley where silence once again ruled.

Vodacom & Econet Towers: The Game Changers

Eventually, infrastructure reached us. First came Vodacom, then Econet, building towers that transformed the way we communicated. Suddenly, calls could be made from the lodge itself. Guests could reach home, and we could coordinate with guests and partners more easily. For a lodge tucked away in the mountains, this was revolutionary.

From Patchy Networks to Satellite Internet

Even with mobile towers, internet was often slow, patchy, or unreliable — fine for emails, but not for the growing demands of running a modern lodge. Guests expected connectivity, and we needed reliable systems for bookings, accounts, and communication.

Starlink Arrives at Malealea Lodge

And now, we’ve entered a new era: Starlink. With satellites orbiting far above, we can finally connect directly to the world — no mountains to block the way, no waiting for a clear signal. It feels surreal to think that in less than four decades, we’ve gone from crackling radio calls to high-speed satellite internet.

Looking Back, Looking Ahead

Each step in this journey reflects not only technological progress, but also the resilience of life in remote Lesotho. Communication has evolved from scratchy voices over radios to seamless video calls with loved ones abroad. For us at Malealea Lodge, it has been more than just convenience — it has been about staying connected with the world, while still holding onto the peace and beauty of our mountain home.

🇧🇼🇱🇸 A Landmark Visit & a Transformative Future for Malealea 🌍

Thu, 17 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0200

🛬 On a crisp winter's morning, the President of Botswana arrived by helicopter near Malealea Lodge, accompanied by esteemed dignitaries, to visit the proposed Makhaleng Dam site—just 4 km from Malealea Lodge.

This visit marks a major milestone in the Lesotho–Botswana Water Transfer Project (L‑BWT)—an ambitious cross-border initiative that could reshape the future of our region, bringing both opportunity and challenge to our community.

💧 The project involves constructing a major dam on the Makhaleng River and a ~700 km pipeline that will deliver water from Lesotho, through South Africa, to Botswana. It aims to enhance regional water security, generate hydropower, and unlock new possibilities for infrastructure and tourism.

🌄 Hope on the Horizon: Embracing Change in the Valley of Malealea

Here in the mountains, surrounded by a community that remains closely connected to the land, we feel a deep sense of hope for what lies ahead. The proposed dam has sparked thoughtful conversation across the region. While change always brings uncertainty, it also presents powerful opportunities for growth and connection.

🚧 Improving Access & Infrastructure

From a tourism perspective, upgraded infrastructure—especially better roads—could make this extraordinary region more accessible to visitors. With improved access, more people will have the chance to experience the breathtaking scenery, rich culture, and warm hospitality that Malealea is known for.

🏞️ A New Attraction on the Horizon

The dam itself could become a landmark in its own right, offering new recreational and exploration opportunities. It would complement the area’s existing activities such as pony trekking, hiking, and mountain biking—enhancing the overall tourism experience.

👩‍🌾 Economic Opportunity for the Community

Equally important is the potential for job creation. In a rural area where employment is limited, the project could provide valuable opportunities for local families—fostering skills, economic resilience, and long-term empowerment.

🏘️ Standing with Our Neighbours

We also acknowledge the difficult realities this project may bring. Some community members may face displacement, and we feel deeply for them. These are families whose lives, histories, and traditions are rooted in this land. As the project moves forward, it is essential that their voices are heard and their rights respected at every stage.

🌿 Honouring Heritage and Nature

Malealea’s identity is deeply tied to its unspoiled landscapes and cultural traditions. As development takes shape, it must be guided by a commitment to preserving the environment and respecting the generations who have called this valley home.

🌍 A Model for Sustainable Tourism

If shaped thoughtfully—and informed by lessons from past projects like Katse and Polihali—this initiative could become a model for inclusive, sustainable development. One that uplifts communities, protects ecosystems, and strengthens tourism in a way that is both meaningful and responsible.

💚 Our Commitment at Malealea Lodge

At Malealea Lodge, we’re proud to stand at the heart of this evolving story. Our commitment is to a future built on respect, collaboration, and a deep love for this extraordinary place. We believe tourism can—and should—be a force for good: one that honours the people, culture, and wild beauty that make Malealea so special.

🔗 Learn more about the L-BWT project here: orasecom.org/l-bwt-project

🎨 Meet Mr Majara Leluma from MJ Studio D’Arc

Mon, 26 May 2025 00:00:00 +0200

Murals at Malealea Lodge: A Celebration of Village Life

Each wall Majara has touched at the Lodge is a vibrant tribute to everyday Basotho scenes:

The Shepherd and the Mountains: A lone figure in a mokorotlo (Basotho hat), his silhouette framed by sunset skies, plays a flute under a stylized tree—a peaceful homage to Lesotho’s rural rhythms.
Home and Herd: Donkeys, sheep, and a shepherd cradling a lamb bring warmth to the walls—honouring the close bond between the land and its people.
Traditional Cooking Scenes: Women stirring pots over open flames outside rondavels reflect the heart of the village—the shared moments, labour, and love that nourish families.

A Journey in Progress: Catch a glimpse of Majara himself, mid-brushstroke, bringing each scene to life—every ladder step a testimony to growth, vision, and dedication.
These murals are more than just art—they’re an invitation into Lesotho’s soul, told in Majara’s bold, minimalistic, yet expressive style.

🖼️ Support Local Art

In addition to his murals, Majara’s unique framed paintings are available for purchase at the lodge’s curio shop. He also creates hand-painted, personalised T-shirts on request. By supporting his work, you’re not only taking home a one-of-a-kind piece of Lesotho—you’re also helping a young, passionate artist continue building a life through creativity and self-expression.

Majara is currently working on his online portfolio, and as soon as it’s ready, we’ll share the link here so you can explore more of his incredible work.

📱 Connect with the Artist

📧 Email: mrmajaraleluma@gmail.com

📞 WhatsApp/Phone: +266 57482922 | +266 62780022

The Three Peaks Hike – An Epic Day Out from Malealea Lodge ⛰️💚

Sat, 24 May 2025 00:00:00 +0200

The climb up Mount Fuku Fuku was steep and demanding, but absolutely worth every step. Standing at 2,345 meters, the summit offered panoramic views that stretched for miles in every direction. We truly felt like we were on top of the world.

Along the way, we were treated to spectacular plant life — from delicate alpine grasses to the striking spotted aloes clinging to rocky outcrops. And high above us, a jackal buzzard soared through the skies, keeping watch over the valley below.

From the summit of Fuku Fuku, we followed the ridgeline, dipping and rising again as we tackled the second and third peaks. At the final summit, we took a well-earned break and enjoyed lunch surrounded by jaw-dropping scenery.

The descent proved to be its own adventure — with one particularly steep rocky section requiring a bit of bum-sliding and laughter — but it was all part of the fun. After rejoining the road, we made our way back to the car and returned to the lodge, tired but exhilarated.

This route covered about 8.5 km in total and took us around four and a half hours, including plenty of stops to admire the views, snap photos, and appreciate the wild, untamed beauty of Lesotho.

For those wanting to do the full hike directly from Malealea Lodge, you can add approximately 2.5 hours to the journey. The total distance, ascent, and descent from the lodge will be confirmed soon — but expect a full day of hiking with rewarding views every step of the way.

It’s a challenging but incredibly rewarding experience – definitely one for the books!

From Tickey Draai to TLBs: A Century of Road Building at Malealea

Thu, 15 May 2025 00:00:00 +0200

Over a century later, that spirit of perseverance and community remains strong

Every year, after the summer rains (typically between late April and early May), the Malealea community unites once again to tackle the road repairs. The tools may have changed slightly, but the spirit remains the same: teamwork, determination, and pride in our shared home. These days, we’re fortunate to be able to hire a TLB (tractor-loader-backhoe) and a tipper truck to dig up and transport materials from the nearby quarry, dropping off neat piles along the road (with thanks to the support of The Malealea Development Trust (MDT)), And then—just like in Mervyn’s time—the community arrives with shovels, picks, and wheelbarrows, ready to put in the hard labour.

110 Road Builders, One Big Heart

This year an incredible 110 community members came together in a single day to transform the road. I left in the morning and returned that evening—and I couldn’t believe my eyes. It looked like a team had been working on it for an entire month.

And they haven’t stopped. Week after week, they’ve kept showing up—improving the road, metre by metre—with nothing more than grit, community spirit, and a shared vision for a better Malealea.

Why This Road Matters

This isn’t just a lodge access road. It’s a lifeline for over 5,000 people living in the Malealea Valley. It connects the community to essential services and opportunities, providing access to:

Four primary schools
One high school
Several preschools
A rural health clinic
Countless homes and villages

Every day, local minibus drivers—in their Quantums and Sprinters—navigate this road to transport people to and from town, schools, clinics, markets, and workplaces. These drivers are a vital part of the rhythm of life here, braving the bumps and dust with determination, day in and day out.

Maintaining this road means supporting education, healthcare, transport, and daily life for an entire community in one of Lesotho’s most beautiful and remote corners.

The Journey to Malealea: What to Expect

This 7-kilometre stretch of gravel road from the tar turnoff to the lodge may not seem long on paper, but it’s an adventure in itself. It typically takes between 30 minutes to an hour to drive, depending on your vehicle and your driving skills. While a 4x4 is not required, we highly recommend a high-clearance vehicle—something like a Suzuki Swift, Toyota Corolla Cross, Toyota Urban Cruiser, or anything more rugged. Trust us, your suspension will thank you.

It’s bumpy, it’s slow—but it’s part of the magic.

To Our Guests: Thank You

So to every guest who makes the bumpy journey to Malealea Lodge—we see you, and we thank you. That wide-eyed expression when you finally arrive (after having taken your false teeth out and strapped yourselves in)—“Eish! The road!—means so much more to us than you might think. It reminds us that the journey is still an adventure.

Looking Ahead

The rains arrived late this year—only in February—but they hit hard. The damage was real. Yet, as always, the community was ready. We hope the repairs will hold through the next rainy season, which may come as early as November or December but we are so grateful to the community for standing strong.

As the Sesotho saying goes:

“Ha ho letho le etsoang ke motho a le mong.” (Nothing is accomplished by one person alone.)

The Legacy Continues

Here’s to the road builders of the past and the present. To Mervyn, with his wheelbarrow and vision. To the community with their shovels and teamwork. And to every traveller who braves the journey to discover the magic of this place between the mountains—Malealea, the Gateway to Paradise.

Overlanding in Africa - From Morocco to Cape Town to Cairo: A Compliment That Touched Our Hearts

Mon, 05 May 2025 00:00:00 +0200

The Origin and History of the Basotho Pony

Mon, 05 May 2025 00:00:00 +0200

THE ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF THE BASOTHO PONY - THORNTON 1936 ADDENDUM: FITZSIMMONS 1973

In order to arrive at the origin of the renowned Basotho Pony it is essential to trace the origin, development and subsequent decline of what was known as the "Cape Horse", which formed the foundation stock on which the once famous Basotho breed was founded.

THE CAPE HORSE

INTRODUCTION
The history of the Cape Horse may be conveniently divided into three periods:-

a) From the first importation in 1652 - 1811. Throughout this period practically all the animals imported were what has been described as oriental stock.

b) From 1811 - 1850 high class Blood horses and Thoroughbreds were imported.

c) From 1850 and particularly from 1870 - 1885, many inferior thoroughbreds were imported, which was one of the causes, amongst others described later, that brought about the decline of the Cape Horse.

DETAILED HISTORY OF IMPORTATIONS
Horses were first sent out to the Cape by the Dutch East India Company in 1652, but owing to bad weather they were landed at St. Helena and only reached the Cape in 1655. They were Java horses of a strong Persian and Arab strain. The Aborigines of the Cape saw horses for the first time in 1653, when four Java horses were landed after and extremely dangerous voyage.

In 1659 the Government agreed to Jan van Riebeck's request to send two horses from the East with every home-bound fleet. These were of the same stock as those previously imported in 1653 and 1655. In 1689 Simon van der Stel imported good stud horses direct from Persia, of which the farmers made good use. By this date horse breeding was firmly established, and we may claim for the Cape Horse an origin similar to that of the English Thoroughbred, viz:- mainly from the noblest strain of all warm blooded horses "the Libyan of North Africa" - through its Arab, Barb and Persian types. The animals were small but hardy and had excellent constitutions and temperaments.

In about the year 1778 several horses of Andalusian origin, a Barb and Arabian cross - were imported from South America. This was only another infusion of oriental blood from a different source; they were very good specimens.

The first eight stallions were imported from England in 1782, they were what was then known as "English Blood Horses" descendants of renowned oriental sires. In the same year five stud horses were imported from Boston, U.S.A.; they were derived from the Barb through the Andalusian horses of Spain, the English Blood Horse, Utrecht and early Dutch horses.

From 1795 - 1803 several excellent English stallions were imported and these brought improvement and development to horse breeding at the Cape. In 1807 some Spanish breeding horses were captured and land at the Cape. They were described as blue roans and red roans of medium height, broad chested and possessing great powers of endurance.

In 1808 a number of horses and mares, said to be of good Eastern and Spanish blood, were imported from the New England State of America. During the years 1811 - 1820 Lord Charles Somerset, the then Governor of the Cape, purchased in England, for the Cape, eighteen stallions and tow mares. The majority of these had lengthy pedigrees going back to the great oriental founders of the Thoroughbred. Sic died on the way out but many of the remainder and their progeny became famous. The colonists were so pleased with the Governor's excellent scheme of using the Thoroughbred to ennoble the Cape country-bred that the importation of good stallions continued and the decade 1820 -1830 saw many notable sires reach the shores of South Africa.

During the years 1840 - 1850 several stallions, which had stood at stud in England and are to-day mentioned in the pedigrees of famous winners, were imported, also several younger stallions and mares. Thus 1811 may be said to mark the beginning of the reign of the English Thoroughbred at the Cape which lasted for half a century, during which period the Cape Horse reached its zenith.

It is necessary here to impress the fact that up to 1811-1812 the Cape stock was almost entirely of oriental origin, and that the importations to the Cape from England prior to 1810, especially during 1770 -1790, included many of the sons and daughters, descendants of the first three great English sires bred from three great oriental sires viz:-

Herod (1758) best descendant of Byerly Turk (1689).
Matcham (1748) best descendant of Godolphin Barb (1728).
Eclipse (1764) best descendant of Darley Arabian (1706).

The blood of these sires and mares made it possible for the Arab stock of the Cape to reach its zenith under the patronage of Lord Charles Somerset and the great Hantam breeders. There is no doubt that the blood of these great progenitors of the Thoroughbred was possessed in a large measure by the horses that entered Basutoland in 1830 -1850. We like to mention these illustrious ancestors and the dates of the Thoroughbred, and through the Thoroughbred of other famed breeds such as the Saddler and the Trotter, U.S.A. and the Hackney because contemporaneously and from the same sources were created the Cape Horse and the Basuto Pony, whose achievements in trying campaigns as remounts, on race courses and polo grounds, proved their relationship and equality to the world's best light horse stock. From 1850 - 1860 the quality of Thoroughbreds imported was not quite as good as that of the former importations. From about 1860 a period of calamitous decline set in due to a number of causes, amongst which the principal were:-

a) The farmers in their zeal for long pedigrees imported, particularly during the years 1870 - 1885, several hundred horses of poor type known subsequently as "blood weeds".

b) Severe visitations of horse-sickness which depleted the ranks of the original magnificent foundation stock (1854 - 1870).

c) The advent of Angora goat farming 1840, ostrich farming in 1860 and a rapid extension of the production of woolled sheep, had the effect of largely changing the system of farming to the detriment of horse breeding throughout the greater part of the settled area of South Africa.

d) The opening of the Suez Canal (1868) resulted in a loss of trade - particularly the remount trade. This factor tended to depress the horse market, with the result that farmers had to reduce expenditure on horse breeding and turned to other lines of farming, as mentioned under (c).

The foregoing factors brought about great deterioration, and the Cape Horse never again reached the high, general standard that it attained in the years 1810 - 1870. Several good horses as well as the "blood weeds" were imported during this period, amongst which were eight very good Hackneys and one Norfolk Roadster landed in 1888, but these had little of no effect in stemming the decline that had set in. Efforts have since been made by successive governments, private individuals and companies, to improve the general stock of the country but lack of interest, unintelligent cross-breeding, heavy losses incurred during the Anglo Boer War, and later the arrival of the motor car and other factors, have, made the attainment of this object on a general scale extremely difficult. Having briefly recorded the ancestry of the Cape Horse it is now necessary to trace the connection between this type and what subsequently became known as the Basuto Pony.

HISTORY OF THE BASUTO PONY
FIRST STAGE
For many decades the tract of land now known as Basutoland and the adjoining country now the Orange Free State, was sparsely inhabited by bushmen, and later more thickly populated by Suto-Chuana Bantu tribes from the north, east and west of Southern Africa. The comparative peace which these tribes had enjoyed for probably a couple of centuries came to an end when the Zulu invasions began early in 1822. It was during this period of invasions, wars and general trouble, which lasted for many years, that the tribes saw and procured horses for the first time, and it was the remnants of these tribes which were later gathered together by Moshoeshoe and welded into the Basotho Nation.

In 1825 the Bataung of Moletsane made a successful counter attack on a band of roaming Griquas who had come to raid them, and acquired, amongst other booty, a few horses, as it is recorded that in 1827 they captured much booty including horses from a band of Korannas who were in search of plunder.

In 1828 a band of Korannas, in an attempted attack on the stronghold of Chief Mohale in the Maseru district, was defeated, and Mohale captured and retained all their horses. About 1825, Moorosi and his people, the Baphuthi, with certain bushmen adherents, became vassals to Moshoeshoe. The Zulus had captured all Moorosi's cattle and destroyed his crops, and to replenish his herds he had for some years afterwards to make repeated raids into Kaffraria in order to acquire further cattle. His bushmen followers, in a raid about 1829, stole two horses from a farm near what is now the town of Dordrecht. One of these Moorosi presented to Moshoeshoe. This was the first horse owned by the great Chief, and history records the fact that, with little or no equipment and after many struggles, he learned to ride. After acquiring the art of managing and riding a horse he apparently lost little time in securing further equines, as in 1830 we hear of him going to see an old friend accompanied by twenty three young men on horseback.

In 1833 Moshoeshoe's eldest son received with delight his first gift horse from his father.About 1830 the aggressive Korannas, previously mentioned, made an attack on a Mophuthi named, Lipholo and on a Mosuto living on the site of what is now Masitise Mission Station in the Quthing district. Moorosi counter attacked, captured and brought back, amongst other plunder, sixteen horses. Shortly after the attack on Lipholo, just mentioned, a band of Korannas planned an attack on Chief Moorosi's stronghold - Thaba Bosiu. The chief hearing of this forestalled them and became the attacker, with such successthat he killed practically everyone and returned with much spoil including many horses.

After their encounter with the Bataung in 1827 the Korannas, who were now raiding many parts of the Suto-Chuana country, attacked the Zulu invaders, the Amangwane, near Clocolan Hlohloloane). The latter fought bravely until they saw a Koranna on horseback - the first they had seen - and they fled in abject terror. A similar misfortune overtook the Baphuting. They had, many years before, moved away from their homes in Wetsi's Hoek and after wandering long and far afield attacked the Bahlaping near Kuruman. After a time a mounted force of Griquas came to the aid of the almost conquered Bahlaping and the Maphuting, seeing this fearsome spectacle, fled. From the foregoing account it will be seen that the majority of the horses, procured by the tribes living in what is now Basutoland and the Free State up to the year 1835, were taken from the Griquas and Korannas in turn had obtained these by raids and thefts from the Cape Farmers (on the borders of the Orange River), aided by their allies, the bushmen, who had become expert thieves and raiders as they resented European farmers settling at their fountains, thus driving away the game. For these thefts and other reasons the bushmen were hunted in much the same manner as wild animals by the farmers.

At this point in the history of the Basotho Pony it is necessary to refer back to the history of the Cape Horse, from which it will be seen that up to 1811 the Cape Horse may, for practical purposes, be regarded as for purely oriental descent, and that the Thoroughbred importations from 1821 - 1835, for which Governor Somerset and private individuals were responsible, were splendid animals with a very large admixture of oriental blood. the foundation Basuto stock was, therefore, almost, if not entirely, purely oriental, and it is doubtful whether even the later introductions up to 1835 carried much thoroughbred blood, as it must have taken many years after Governor Somerset imported this Arab foundation Thoroughbred, for the blood of theses animals to have reached the horses taken from the Korannas and Griquas by the Basuto. It may, therefore, be fairly safely assumed that up to 1835 about 90% of oriental blood flowed in the veins of the Basuto Pony.

SECOND STAGE
The Maphetla and Mapolane, two of the earliest tribes to inhabit South Basutoland - related to the Baphuthi who gave Moshoeshoe his first horse - suffered many and various disasters as a result of war and famine; and finally, towards the end of 1822, the survivors journeyed to the Cape Colony, as far south as Somerset East, for protection and to secure a livelihood by taking service with the farmers under the supervision of Sir Andries Stockenstroom. After some years they returned to Basutoland in 1836 with the stock they had earned, which it is said included a number of horses.

The Batsueneng, after a fierce battle with the Griquas, were slaughtered to such an extent that they ceased to exist as a corporate tribe like the Maphetla and Mapolane already mentioned. Most of the survivors went to work in the Cape Colony but returned to Basutoland in 1836 and 1837 with horses and other stock. In the early part of the nineteenth century the great Zulu Chief, Moselekatse, exiled from Zululand and subsequently the founder of the Matebele Nation, with the aid of his regiments (impis) over-ran and laid waste a great part of what is known as the Orange Free State. He attacked whoever opposed him, including later on the Boer Farmers. In a counter attack against the forces of Barend, Barend composed of Bergenaars, Griquas, Korannas, Barolong and Bahlaping in 1830 Moselekatse recaptured all stock etc, which had been taken from him and also secured many horses. This state of affairs naturally led to ever increasing trouble as the Boers, who had begun to appear in the country in 1835, captured many cattle form Moselakatse’s people, with the result that he attacked them twice in great force in 1836 on the banks of the Vaal. On these occasions the Boer farmers suffered many casualties, and Moselekatse captured horses and other spoils.

It is thought that many of these horses came into possession of the local tribes during this period, which was one of raids and counter raids between these tribes and Moselekatse before he departed for the North with his marauding impis. He also attacked Chief Moshoeshoe at Thaba Bosiu in 1831, but was worsted, and that great Chief, who was also a great Statesman, treated Moselekatse so generously on this occasion that he was never again molested by him. In addition to the attack on Thaba Bosiu just mentioned, the local tribes, many of whom were vassals of Moshoeshoe, had for some years been invaded and attacked, again and again, by the Zulus, Korannas, Griquas etc., and in 1835, to add to their difficulties, Boer farmers began to arrive amongst these much harassed people. At first these farmers came for short periods only, but later their visits became prolonged. They brought with them their flocks and herds which included numbers of horses. These newcomers, unlike the Zulus who were marauders and a passing phase, had come to stay. This occupation resulted in further wars, raids and counter raids, in which much stock, including horses, changed hands. Later on, after the Orange Free State had become finally occupied by these European emigrants from the Cape Colony, and particularly after the wars between the Europeans and Basuto ceased, the local people were, as is the case to-day, largely employed by the emigrants as farm labourers and were paid for their labour in stock. Many horses were acquired by the Basotho in this manner.

Owing to the more settled conditions now established, European livestock speculators came into the picture of the Basotho pony for the first time. These men, knowing even at this early date, that the Basuto, were a sporting race and consequently anxious to acquire as many good horses as possible and prepared to pay handsomely for them, obtained droves of horses which they took to Basutoland and exchanged for cattle. In this way large numbers of horses found their way into the Territory, amongst them many good stallions which it is thought were not always acquired in an honest manner.

The horses which entered Basutoland from 1835 to 1840, during the second period of the origin and history of these animals, were mostly of excellent oriental blood with possibly a slight infusion of Thoroughbred from the earlier Thoroughbred importations into the Cape. From 1840 to 1870, by fair or foul means, horses continued to find their way into Basutoland, and these later importations must have had a greater proportion of Thoroughbred blood in their veins than was the case of the 1835 to 1840 importations. But whatever the proportion of Thoroughbred in these later importations it could not, diffused as it was, have made a great deal of difference to the preponderating oriental blood already in the country.

By 1870 it is recorded that practically the whole Basotho nation was mounted. This fact, as will be shown in the third stage, is thought to be the most important in the history of the rise to fame of the Basotho Pony.

THIRD STAGE
It is a peculiar point of interest in the history of Basutoland and its people that the unfortunate war of 1879, between the Allied Cape Colonial and Basuto troops against Chief Moorosi, who lived in the Quthing district, arose out of Mr. Hope’s judgement on Chief Moorosi’s son for the theft of some horses.

The year 1870, as previously mentioned, is regarded as the most important in the history of the Basuto Pony. Practically the whole Nation was mounted, and, for this reason, the tide turned from import to export. Mr. W.H. Surmon in his report dated 6th July 1885, mentions the fact that in 1875, when a census was taken, the horse population int he southern part of Thaba Bosiu district was 8,000 and that the numbers increased considerably during the succeeding 10 years. There are two reasons fro regarding the turning point from import to export as the most important in the history of the Basuto Pony. It will be remembered that in the history of the Cape Horse the year 1870 marked the beginning of the decline of those renowned and valuable animals, due to the importation and use of large numbers of :blood Weeds” and the other causes mentioned int he notes given earlier on the Cape Horse. Had Basutoland at that time not reached saturation point in imports. this detrimental blood would have entered Basutoland and caused a similar decline. This purely fortuitous coincidence of the importation of :blood weeds” to the Cape, and import saturation in Basutoland in the year 1870, cannot, therefore, be too strongly stressed, as it marked:-

a) Practically the cessation of import, which fact prevented the entrance of the “blood weed” stock.

b) The commencement of export, which fact brought the merits of the Basuto Pony to the notice of Europeans.

From 1870 onwards the Basuto Pony as a type or breed began to be known amongst Europeans, and as export grew, its fame spread throughout South Africa and finally, during the Anglo Boer War, throughout the Empire.

Another cause of the decline of the Basuto Pony, reported during this period, was intense jealousy amongst the people. A man it was said would often castrate his best colts rather than stand the risk of his neighbours deriving benefit from them as stallions. It is not thought, however, that this could have been a serious obstacle to improvement, otherwise the improvement and maintenance of the breed at a high standard in the earlier stages of horse breeding would have been impossible. It will thus be seen that the Basuto Pony was steadily rising to fame during the period 1870 to 1903, and that during the same period the fame of the Cape Horse was steadily declining. There is no doubt that the Basuto Pony, like the once famous Cape Horse, became a definite and well established type due to it’s origin. Its conformation, character, paces, action and high powers of endurance were typical of its Eastern ancestors. In the case of the Basuto Pony certain characteristics became accentuated due to the nature of the country in which it was bred and the manner in which it was handled by its owners.

Basutoland is the most mountainous and coldest part of South Africa. The Basotho are fast and fearless riders but may be described as poor horse masters: shelter and food other than that supplied by nature are seldom considered. A Basotho pony was and is galloped up and down precipitous mountains where any other horse and its rider would fear to proceed at a walk. This treatment, together with the climatic and topographical conditions, tended to increase and accentuate the inherited characteristics, viz:- the small six, endurance, etc of these animals, which were already fearless and surefooted of any known type of breed; in fact even the mountain bred mule, known the world over for sure- footedness, can hardly be compared with these ponies, because the mule, unlike the horse, lacks courage and trust in its owner to face almost impassable conditions, viz:- rivers in flood, rock ledge trails etc.

The Basotho Pony, as previously stated, rose to the zenith of its fame during the Anglo Boer War (1900).

🌍 Celebrate World Labyrinth Day at Malealea Lodge on 3rd May.

Thu, 01 May 2025 00:00:00 +0200

More than just a beautiful feature, our labyrinth is a symbol of sustainability, creativity, and community spirit. Each bottle tells a story — of evenings shared under the stars, guests from around the world, and the magic that happens when we find purpose in repurposing.

Whether you’re seeking peace, reflection, or a moment to connect with nature, we invite you to take a quiet walk through our labyrinth — where every curve leads you closer to clarity.

🕐Walk as One at 1

On this 17th annual World Labyrinth Day, many will walk a labyrinth at 1:00 p.m. local time to help create a rolling wave of peaceful energy passing from one time zone to the next around the globe.

Walk with us this World Labyrinth Day. Your journey starts here

📍 Find the labyrinth tucked beneath the trees at Malealea Lodge.

📅 Read here to find out more about World Labyrinth Day – First Saturday in May.

From Clongowes Wood College - Ireland 🇮🇪 to Malealea - Lesotho 🇱🇸 – A Journey of Kindness

Tue, 15 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0200

All the way from Ireland, these remarkable young men arrived with more than just their backpacks — their suitcases were filled with donated clothing, thoughtfully collected for families in need. Months of dedicated fundraising back home made it possible for them to contribute meaningfully to a wide range of community projects here in Malealea.

During their stay, the group worked alongside locals on initiatives that truly matter:

Supporting the orphans’ teaching garden, helping grow food and hope for the future.
Tree planting in the village, especially for our elderly residents — a lasting symbol of care and environmental stewardship.
Constructing a Men’s Corner at the clinic, creating a safe space for men to gather, share, and seek support.
Assisting with fencing at the wetlands, helping protect a vital environmental area.
Revitalising the Tsinyane community garden, contributing to local food security.
And helping install a water tank at Letlapeng village, improving access to clean water.

These projects will have long-lasting benefits, and the relationships built during this time will be remembered for years to come.

To every student and teacher from Clongowes Wood College — thank you for showing what compassion in action looks like. Your hard work, humility, and willingness to learn and serve have left a powerful impression.And to the Malealea Development Trust, thank you for your unwavering commitment to the community. Your leadership and vision continue to inspire and connect people across the globe.

Together, you’ve built more than infrastructure — you’ve built hope, dignity, and friendship.

We can’t wait to welcome Clongowes Wood College back again in the future.

Studying for finals are we?

Jackie Muller — Wed, 09 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0200

It was 1997. I had just graduated from university and had come back to Lesotho to work at the lodge with my parents. At the time, my dad was still running the Trading Station, and the lodge was just beginning to take shape—we had only ten rooms back then. But it had heart, and we were building something special, one step at a time. There was no electricity or solar power—just a generator that ran for a few hours in the evenings. Guests lit their rooms with candles, and communication was a challenge. There were no telephones, no cell phone signal, no internet. My mom spent much of her time in Bloemfontein, taking bookings via phone and fax, and relaying them to my dad using a 2-way radio system connected to a repeater station in Dewetsdorp. It was remote, rugged, and full of character—and that’s when my grandfather came to stay.

That same year, he had a major health scare—a heart attack - a proper, dramatic one that landed him in hospital for a quadruple bypass. After the operation, he needed somewhere quiet to recover, so naturally, he came up to Lesotho. What better place to heal than the mountains, with fresh air, no traffic, and minimal interruptions—except for the odd goat or two?

During those quiet days, something shifted. My grandfather, who’d always been a thoughtful man, came across the Bible and found himself drawn to it in a new way. With time to reflect and a heart freshly reminded of life’s fragility, he started to read more and more. Soon, daily Bible studies became part of his routine-verses underlined, passages read with care, notes scribbled in the margins.( And I can truly testify to this, as he later gave me that very Bible—and it’s here with me still).

Now, my dad and my grandfather were good friends, really—and they had a quiet understanding between them, the kind that didn’t need many words. One day, my grandfather was sitting on the verandah – (the very same verandah we were sitting on that evening) deep in his Bible study, the afternoon light catching the pages. My dad had just come down for his afternoon tea break from the Trading Store. He paused, saw his father-in-law with the Bible open on his lap, brow furrowed like a student before an exam, and without missing a beat, said with a grin, “Studying for finals, are we?”

And that was it—they both absolutely lost it. Full-on belly laughs, that kind of laughter that comes from deep love and shared history. It echoed through the verandah, through the trees, and settled into a memory that still brings a smile.

So now, whenever I think of my grandfather—especially as we marked what would have been his 100th birthday—I remember that moment. Not just because it was funny, but because it captured so much of who he was. Thoughtful, wise, deeply spiritual… and always ready to share a good laugh with his son-in-law.

POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS, BELIEFS AND CUSTOMS by Justinus Sechefo Preface

Sun, 23 Mar 2025 00:00:00 +0200

DEATH
Since death was considered so terrible an occurrence in all localities, it would be out of the question to classify the many inconvenient superstitions about it. In those olden times the "leqhofa" the hut of the dead man, especially one in which an aged person died, who had no family, was left unoccupied, its entrance blocked up either with stones or bundles of grass. Kraals in which such deaths occurred were deserted and the spots no longer held fit for habitation.

Surprising or sudden deaths, such as caused by the striking of lightning etc. were incidents of great shock. Witch doctors were urgently sought for, and divining bones thrown down by them to reveal the mournful secrets. Death reports were announced to relatives at night. Children upon their inquiring as to the whereabouts of such and such a newly deceased, were told, "ofaletse" he has emigrated, and not "o shoele" he is dead, which was a vulgar as well as a wrong saying.

It was also improper especially during the term of mourning to pronounce the name of the deceased, but he should be addressed "the late so and so".In olden times there was no night watch over the corpse as is done today, since as far as possible the corpse was buried during the night of the day of death.

Funerals were nocturnal performances, held only by grown ups at dead of night. In many cases the young were not allowed to see the dead body, neither to attend the funeral.

THE END OF THE HELPLESS OLD AGED
"A very old man who would not die", but was a nuisance and a burden to the family, was done away with. He would be placed at the entrance of the cattle kraal, so that the cattle getting inside the kraal for the night would trample him to death and then he would be picked up to be buried quietly.

GRAVES
On no account should the grave dug out for the dead remain open during the night. The corpse must necessarily be buried on the same day the grave was dug, that is on the day of death. But in the case of great stress or perplexity impeding the burial, the grave should be watched by men throughout the night to prevent the "baloi" (evil doers) from approaching it.

Graves of elders and owners of cattle were dug out in their cattle kraals since of necessity the rich should not be separated from their cattle.. The stones of the kraal were removed for sufficient space for the grave, and the kraal was built up again after the burial. The grave itself was nothing more than a round hole, a few feet deep, since there were no spades for digging, but only small iron rods called “kepa” used for digging medicines or clumsy blindly pointed sticks made from hard wood of the wild olive tree. The body was not laid stretched out in the graves, but was buried in a sitting position.

Visible graves, outside the village, were as far as possible avoided so as not to frighten people. In the case of those who had no reason to be buried in respectable graves in their cattle kraals and in the case of strangers, graves were dug outside the village. These unfortunate places were dreaded spots. People should not sit nor stand upon the heap of a grave. A person who happened unconsciously to do so, should have his or her feet passed slightly over a brisk fire of grass to scorch off the misfortune.

THE BURIAL
In those primitive days of feudal times, even in days of leisure and peace, men and boys did not sit down heavily on the ground. They always “satup” even in the “Khotla” while eating, so as to be able to leap up instantly at any call of alarm.

The dead body for interment was wound up in an ox skin, bound with ropes of the “moli grass” and placed “sitting up” in the grave, sop as to be able to rise up instantly on the day when it would be summoned to do so.

Under no circumstances should the corpse be buried lying stretched out in the grave. The corpse was gently lowered down into the grave and supported on all sides with the ground dug out to keep it firmly “sitting up”.

A few grains of the seeds of the “mabele”, occasionally maize, sugar cane, pumpkin seeds and a tuft of ordinary doog grass twisted into a tiny ring were thrown beside the body in the grave. His or her snuff box, if any, was also placed at the side of the body.

The corpse was placed sitting up in such a way as to half face the east, so that the rising sun might slightly cast its rays on the corpse’s right cheek. Some of the binding ropes about the head were gently cut through with a knife so that the covering of the face could be slightly opened to prevent suffocation. The ground was then thrown in as far as the level of the head. Lastly a small flat stone was placed directly above the centre of the head and the grave was filled up with sand.

In each case the ground dug out of the grave should all be brought back to fill it up again, so that none of it remained scattered about. The surroundings should be swept clean and all particles of earth remaining placed on the newly covered grave. However, should it happen that much of the ground remained, it was carefully removed and scattered thinly over the grass at some distance from the grave so as to prevent evil doers from taking any of it to do mischief over the corpse.

A mound of stones was built over the grave and a higher stone planted at the top end to mark the head side. In certain cases the dogs would smell out the putrified body which was not too deep in the ground and would scratch at the grave. In these cases it was necessary to crush the bitter roots of the “leshokhoa” plant, which were dipped in water and sprinkled over the grave, or placed in pans “mangetana”, around the grave.

An unfortunate man who died stretched out without people to help him to close his mouth and eyelids, or fold his arms and legs, had the stiff muscles at the back of the knee joint gently cut through with a knife, so as to allow the body to be easily positioned sitting up in the grave.

Now in modern times, since the heir is the first to let flow his blood at all incision ceremonies in the family, it is also hiss privilege to be the first to throw a handful or spadeful of soil into the grave. The rest of the family, beginning with the eldest, follows after him, after which everyone can then take part in filling up the grave.

The custom of the olden times was that the person who placed the corpse into the grave had to be purified or compensated as explained later. At the same time, this showed the public the lineage and succession of the family in case of any dispute afterwards.

An imposter, “ho ja metlakana”, who falsely claimed and took upon himself this exceptional privilage which did not lawfully belong to him, would be condemned by the ancestral gods. Invariably such a man became stupid, dull or even insane. The pan that bore the seeds in the grave was place above the grave.

EMBRYOS
Embryos are buried in old broken earthen pots. The smallest may even be placed in an old horn of an ox and then buried. Only women , who have acted as midwives during the confinement may perform the burial, which takes place in the early hours of the morning or about nightfall. The grave or hole is dug out by the woman on an ash hill outside the premises. A man, if needed, may help dig out the hole, but cannot attend the burial.

COMMON BELIEFS
A house spider should not be disturbed, it being the pillar that sustains the “back- bones” of the family.
A whirl-wind, whirling into a house, foretells the coming of a stranger. A whirlwind whirling one about should be spat upon to quell the misfortune it brings.
A dog howling ominously, “moola ke seotsa”, brings evil. It must at once be stopped or chased away.
A dog should not sit in front of people, especially in front of men with it’s back turned towards them. This portends sure evil. At once it must be chased away with contempt.
A visitor going on a long journey, when passing a certain place, (generally between tow hills) where there is a heap of small stones piled together, should pick up another stone alongside of the road, spit on it and throw it on the heap. This is an omen for good luck and good eating along the journey and at his destination. The common mountains of Sefikeng and Sefikaneng derived their names from such big heaps made there in olden times.
A person stooping to drink water a a spouting spring of water should before drinking appease the master below by generously throwing on the surface of the agitating water a tuft of green herbs, otherwise the restless water will erupt onto his face.
A cock clucking like a hen brings evil to the owner - it should be destroyed at once. The same applies to a hen crowing like a cock.
Pottery women should cease to mix up their clay, to form pots, or to bake pots after a death in the village has been announced. After this time all pot work cracks and spoils.
Men should not eat bread-scraps from the pot because doing so would cause their drawers, “tseha” to burst asunder.
MASIANOKE and KHOHO ea LIRA:

This bird, “masianoke”, the Heron or Hamerkop, seems closely connected with lightning. When the “Masianoke” alights in the village, it announces lightning in it. This bird should in no way be killed, nor should it’s nest be touched or disturbed.

KHOHO -ea-LIRA

This bird, “Koho-ea-Lira” or Dikkop, screeching near the village forewarns of the the same evils, therefore, it rouses the apprehensions and anxieties of all villagers.

LEPHAKA-TLALI

The “lephaka-tlali” is a spot seen on grass in the fields that has supposedly been scorched by lightning. Such a spot used to be dreaded and someone unconsciously passing over it, should when noticing it, have his or her feet passed over a flame of fire on the grass to escape misfortune.

THE MOKHOTLA

The “Mokhotla”, or black ibis bird, possess exceptional and wonderful charms. To obtain these from it, a device is used. A snare is laid in the nest of the bird to catch it’s young ones. When one is caught it should neither be killed nor removed from it’s snare, but left securely ensnared within it’s strings. The mother bird when returning home and finding her young one ensnared in this manner, places a drug on the snare, which will cause the strings to open. In this way she releases the captured one. The famous drug found on the snare should be removed and used as a medicinal charm. However, should one on the following morning find the drug on the snare and the captured bird still ensnared, he must take the drug away, leaving the little bird ensnared and continue to do so every morning, until at least he has found it gone and a fresh drug on his snare. This particular drug is the true one to be preserved.

THE INFANT CHILD
The birth announcement of the first-born child to its father is formal. A male neighbour goes to the place where the father of the child happens to be and by standing behind him unnoticed strikes him with a stick in his hand saying: “We are given a son!” In the case of a female child, a woman in the same way pours a calabash of water over his head saying: “The birth of a girl!”.

This shock and excitement changes into joy itself. The first-born boy is the property of the grand-parents. It has to be weaned by a ceremony performed by the grand-father, generally after the of two or even three years suckling, during which period there are no sexual relations between the young couples.

Such actions spoil the child, who at that time continues to suckle congealed milk, caused by pregnancy. The “senofu” or “spoiled child” suffers from chronic constipation, caused by the mild and very often dies.

So as to prevent an infant from afterwards becoming a rogue or a thief, it must be protected against the least rain drops for the space of two or three months after birth. Then on one fine day, when there will be a nice shower of rain, the infant is taken out and gently laid down on the ground in the reed closure in front of the house. Here pouring rain will freely spatter over it for a few moments. The frightened infant will scream bitterly. The family all shout out as if mocking at it, saying: “Ah! Behold the thief, the thief, the thief!” Suddenly it is picked up, wiped, caressed and taken to the house.

A young child ready to be given solid food, should be given it by a chosen man known to be of a good temper and morals. He gives it a slice of meat, which the child sucks eagerly as if it were sucking into itself the good qualities of the man. In the olden times, it was customary that a good respectable herd boy should exclusively do the milking of the cows for the infants.

All adults, men and women, with the exception of the aged and younger boys and girls are forbidden, for the space of two or three months after the confinement of a woman, to enter into her premises, since their “bad conduct and trampling everywhere”, they are apt to cause evil to the infant, “ho hata ngoana”.

🧚‍♀️ Discover the Magic of the Fairy Trees at Malealea Lodge! 🌳✨

Sat, 15 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0200

✨ A Magical Thank You! 🧚‍♀️🌿

A huge thank you to Venessa van Zyl and family for bringing a touch of magic to Malealea Lodge! 💖🏡

The Recce Pony Trek in February 1991 By Caroline James

Sun, 09 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0200

SETTING OFF FOR THE RECCE PONY TREK, WITH TSELISO MOKALA, February, 1991.
(The highest rainfall in years!)
“What kind of saddles did you say these were?” “Old South African army, I think, made for long distance riding”
she replied with a grin. “And the sheepskin covers are provided for extra comfort?” I asked wryly.
“Well, just imagine how you would feel without them”. We continued bouncing along the uneven ground in
companionable silence.

We live in a world of constant change, where development holds the key to the future. A frightening depletion of isolated wilderness and other rural areas, bear the testament to this progressive trend. There are still however, places where the passage of time moves in a slow more measured way, and life continues in a similar vein, regardless of events elsewhere.

Since my first visit to the mountain kingdom of Lesotho five years ago, there hae been noticeably few changes, even within the towns. In the villages a few new houses have sprung up amongst the traditional rondavels, but these apart, things remain the same. Development is minimal, there being too little money available for these projects. There are still aid programmes active within Lesotho . Many of these involve improving farming methods and teaching farmers about modern techniques, thus increasing production and output.

An independent country, the mountain kingdom of Lesotho has the unusual distinction of being completely surrounded by another – South Africa. It is a place of infinite beauty and rare contrasts, of towering mountains and lofty peaks, meandering rivers and mighty waterfalls, rolling valleys and shadowy ravines. Each season is well defined, and cloaked in its own colours; wavering plains of pink Cosmos, bright red summer Aloes, delicate spring peach blossoms, and winter white snow capped peaks. The country is home to the Basotho people a tough resilient tribe who are, for the most part, subsistence farmers. They graze their herds on the steep terrain and high passes, whilst planting their mealies on terraces cut out on the mountainside. It is a country whose lowest point of 1500 metres above sea level, is the highest in the world.

The history of Lesotho goes back millions of years, and yet the nation itself is very young. Before the Basotho arrived, the country was inhabited by Bushmen, whose many rock paintings have enabled subsequent visitors to understand and visualise their way of life.

In the early 1800s, peaceable communities of cattle owning people, who spoke dialects of Sesotho were scattered across the Transvaal highlands. During the 1820s, however, these Chiefdoms were disrupted by widespread Difaqane disturbances.
Between 1815-1829 Moshoeshoe the Great, possessing the intelligence and sensitivity to unite the fugitives of these wars, gathered the remnants of the tribes dispersed by Zulu and Matebele Raids, and created Basutoland withing the natural refuge created by the Maluti Mountain ranges in the west, and the Drakensberg in the east.

It was only in 1966, after a century of hostilities with its neighbours, that Basutoland gained independence from the British authority and became the Kingdom of Lesotho, ruled by King Moshoeshoe II – the third great grandson of Moshoeshoe the Great.

The mountainous topography of this country dictated that the horse become the universal form of transport. This led to the breeding of the traditional Basotho Pony which is descended from Javanese horses imported for their strength, sure footedness and calm temperament. They are called ponies because, as a result of their harsh environment, they grow no larger than a European riding pony.

Outside the major urban areas, electricity and telephones do not exist, and wild open spaces are paramount. Coming from Europe, where vast numbers of vehicles and people are cramped into increasingly small areas, and communication is taken completely for granted, this isolation has enormous appeal.

From the outset my attempts to organise pony trekking had been thwarted by bad weather and communication. At the time the only official pony trekking operation in Lesotho was the Basotho Pony Project. Establishes by the Lesotho government, this was initially funded and founded by the Irish Government to improve the breed of Basotho Pony. The aim of the scheme was to upgrade the pony trekking service and to make the industry as a whole more profitable.

I decided, therefore, to try Malealea Lodge in the Maluti mountains as an alternative. There, I had been told were plenty of hiking trails, and possibility of pony trekking. I met up with Mickey and Di Jones (the owners) and hitched a lift back from Maseru to the lodge with them.
The day I arrived had coincided with the end of the drought. The heavens opened and did not close for nearly a month. The skies darkened, great black clouds gathered, and the rain assaulted the parched land with unabated force. Mountain faces spawned networks of brown veins through which flowed a continual passage of water. Gurgling streams were transformed into rampaging, brown torrents, foaming and churning as they swept downstream, cutting deep swathes through the earth and bursting over their banks onto roads and tracks. Wonderful for farmer s, decidedly soggy and miserable for hikers, and impossible for pony trekkers – as I discovered – the pony owners would not set foot on the mountain with their animals, until the rains abated.

Malealea Lodge dates back to 1905 when it was establishes as a Trading Post by Mervyn Bosworth Smith. Educated at Oxford, this charismatic, colonial character fought in both the Anglo Boer and First World Wars. He fell in love with Basutoland and lived there for over 40 years. The small village at Malealea developed around the Trading Store, and since Mervyns’s death in 1950, the latter changed hands several times.

IN 1986 Mickey and Di Jones took over management of the trading complex, and in 1987 bought the property. Since them they have transformed Malealea into a fully operational and increasingly popular lodge.

Although not officially established, the requests for pony trekking from visitors to Malealea were increasing. There were plenty of pony owners in the village who were keen to take out more treks and a number of ponies to do so.

I explained that I wanted to go out for a few days, stay in local villages and explore some of the region in the traditional way, using ponies. Another girl also staying at the lodge was keen to do something along the same lines. Di suggested that the three of us go and do a test run, and see if something could be put together for future visitors. Mickey, on the other hand could not be persuaded nor bribed to accompany us, and so the Pioneering Malealea Pony Trek set out as an all female expedition.

We decided, on this occasion to take a tent, and camp whenever necessary. At that stage no agreement had been established with the villagers for the allocation of specially equipped huts for trekkers. In due course, this would be the case, along with a long drop toilet. This would be done in exchange for every village receiving a commission for each visitor using the facilities.

This excellent eco tourism exchange has now been incorporated by Malealea into all pony treks and hiking routes.

The locals of Malealea have also established the Matelile Pony Owners Association, which acts as a pony trekking service for operations such as Malealea Lodge. Ponies are rented to visitors and the payment for each animal goes to its respective owner. An establishment such as Malealea, however receives a booking and commission fee. In this way the profits and well channelled.
To illustrate how the involvement of Malealea is helping overall, Di tells the tale of how one morning she went out to see a group of German clients off on a trek. Looking around at the ponies, she suddenly gasped in horror. There, saddled up and ready to go was a living skeleton. She rushed over and with the owner, led the horse away and out of sight of the visitors. She explained to the owner that overseas visitors came to Lesotho to ride the horses and learn about the country. When they go home to their own countries they tell their friends and others about their holiday and Lesotho. It would be terrible if they had o say that the ponies were starved and not properly cared for. The owner nodded his understanding and returned to the village mulling this over. Several weeks later his horse was again saddled up and ready for the trekkers – but, what a difference. It had picked up considerable weight and condition, and without one bone showing through its shining coat, looked alert and raring to go!

We put ourselves in the hands of the knowledgeable and extremely capable head guide, Simon Mokala. His only weakness, as we were to discover, was for a local liquid brew. Every now and then he would disappear off on some pretext or other.

I woke to sighs of relief on the morning of our departure, – the day had dawned bright and clear. After a substantial breakfast, group photographs and a cheering farewell from Mickey, the Malealea Staff and half the village, we set off on our Great Trek through the Thaba Putsoa mountain range. Our trip was planned for abut 6 days, and would follow a route unused by Europeans for many years. Our ponies had been carefully chosen by Simon, as had the stocky grey packhorse – at that time almost completely concealed by two enormous saddlebags full of our equipment, and a lot of “not to be left behinds” that in hindsight, should have been.

For the first time in days we had untrammelled views of the surrounding mountains. An uneven chain of ridges like jagged shards of sky, melted into penumbral escarpments, which tumbled into valleys of brilliant green velvet pleats. The landscape, washed clean of dust and grime by the recent rain lay before us in sharp clarity.

Not having ridden for years, we balanced precariously on our lofty mobile perches, straining muscles we hadn’t known existed. We set off from Malealea in eager anticipation as our ponies picked their sure footed way down a rocky, steep switchback trail to the river. This suicide track is used by motorbike competitors in the annual Roof of Africa rally, and watching them manoeuver down the sheer rock face has to be as nerve wracking as participating.
We were seldom on our own during the trek, and were often followed by groups of barefoot, raggedly attired children, whose liquid brown eyes gazed up at us beseechingly as they demanded sweets or money in strident tones. Just when we though ourselves alone in the wilderness , we would see scampering bodies materialise our of the mountainside and rush towards us.

Despite the short morning in the saddle, lunch the first day was a welcome break from purgatory. At the end of a steep climb, there was no feeling left in our behinds, and without exception we fell from the horses in sheer relief. It was decided then that it would make sense to walk beside the horses from time to time during the next few days. It would enable us all to stretch our limbs.

That afternoon, we climbed an impossible steep narrow, pass leading to Sekoting sa li Farike. We caused great derision amongst the local populace, as much by our presence on horseback, as by our intentions, related by Simon. We were joined on this ascent by a couple of well dressed and mounted Basothos, who asked us whether we were scared, so slowly were we climbing the mountain. I was surprised at the uncommon sight of a woman riding. She was dressed in trousers and high heeled shoes, a beret and had a heavy Basotho blanket wrapped around her. She was the only other horsewoman we were to see during our trek.

The terrain was precarious, steep and rocky, with stones that kept slipping from under the horses hooves. The ponies just took it in their stride and without altering their pace, picked their way to the tope of the pass. The valley fell away below us, a distant colourful patchwork of fields. We arrived at what had appeared to be the summit, only to discover another peak in front of us. Once over this, the path descended in a gentle curve around the mountain and down to the village where we were to spend our first night.

As Europeans we were a rare spectacle, and scrutinised as such. Simon had to ask the Chief’s permission for us to stay the night. Once granted we set about erecting Di’s 3 minute ZAR100.00 OK Bazaar tent away from the main village, but still the centre of attention for the gathering audience. The Chief sent us a cup of tea using his best enamel floral Tea Set.

Cosy for two, it was definitely overcrowded for three. With little room to manoevre, when any one of us wanted to turn over or leave the tent, it necessitated subtle group action. We also learnt about the porous qualities of our shelter, and that the bright orange groundsheet was of greater benefit above than below.

Wherever we stayed, we were of major spectator interest. We were rarely left alone, and although for the most part had no problem with the company, it became a painful ordeal trying to find an isolated spot for the morning ritual. By the end of the trek we had the ‘bunny hop’ practised to perfection. It entailed a rapid glance over the shoulder, followed by a series of smooth, fast tow legged hops, in any clear direction, with trousers affixed around the ankles. The trick was to avoid uneven ground and potholes!
The mountain telegraph never ceased to amaze us. A shout from one side of the mountain, would be answered by somebody on the other. This message would then be picked up by someone else and passed on to another. In this way the raucous calls would continue in an echoing chain across the ranges.

We learnt early on how little wood there was on the mountain, and certainly not enough for us to make a cooking fire each evening. As we had brought insufficient gas cylinders with us, (we also managed to waste away a whole gas cylinder in one go as we did not know how to use it correctly ) we ate very few hot meals, and largely depended on the villagers generosity for boiling water for drinks. We could not however , bring ourselves to expose our deluxe dehydrated Italian pastas to public analysis. We lived for the most part, therefore on biscuits, dried fruit and sandwiches.
Feeling rather like the morning after the night before, somewhat battered and bruised, we struggled onto our ponies that second morning and eased ourselves gingerly into the saddle. The chief escorted us to the top of the mountain and after profuse thanks for his hospitality we set our for Ketane. The trails were in good condition which made the crossing of a number of high passes much easier. Throughout, we had spectacular views of the never ending sierras. Clumps of red hot pokers (flowering red aloes) dotted over the mountainside gave it a campfire effect. At one point we descended through a boggy mire into a valley of fiery licking flames. As far as the eye could see was a sea of waving red hot pokers.
The terrain was extraordinarily variable. We rode through gentle riverine vegetation, up steep rocky passes, across undulating plains, through meadows of alpine flowers, inhospitable marshy snow grass and moorland. Throughout, we came across small busy villages, full of chattering , curious people. “What is your name, where do you come from?”. How much they actually understood of our answers remained a mystery. Our second night was spent a the mission village of Ketane. Known for its magnificent 122m waterfall, the village sits at the edge of a deep gorge overlooking the distant layers of grey peaks and pinnacles. We were offered a rondavel by the Chief, but declined as we were becoming accustomed to life in a tent, and to the audience that seemed to go with it. We were quite tempted though at the thought of all the space provided by the rondavel. These round wattle residences are generally well built, with a thatch roof, and doors and windows. Being naturally well insulated they are cool in summer and warm in winter. Escorted by a group of eager children, and clutching our washing things and cameras we headed down to the waterfall. Our guides skipped down through the scrub, sheer rocky outcrops and faces with the agility of mountain goats. We, on the other hand slipped and stumbled, swung and panicked. The falls were magnificent, but not enough to keep us from the alluring clear blue waters of a nearby stream. | This was where modesty was cast aside asunder. From every vantage point on the surrounding mountainside, we were watched and ogled
at by blanketed Basothos.

We were lulled to sleep that night by the sounds of the night and village life, the whining dogs, baying donkeys, unsynchronised cock crows and imbibed villagers who stopped and prodded the tent in curiosity. The following morning we led the horses on foot our of Ketane and down to the river, which had to be crossed before climbing a steep pass.
Due to recent rains, the river had expanded in width, and the water was flowing fast and deep. We looked at one another anxiously. Simon found a suitable place to cross and led the way, but not that far. His horse was going nowhere, and leapt and reared and refused to listen to his commands. Simon dismounted and led the packhorse across in his gumboots. He left it on the other side and returned for his own horse, struggling on foot, against the strong current. He mounted his animal and plunged back across the river. We, in the meantime were having no joy with the horses who were rushing everywhere other than across the river. Sonia and Di went upstream and were last seen, holding their shoes delicately aloft with one hand, weaving across the rocks and through the flow, leading their horses to the other side with the other. They were, needless to say, soaked to the skin. I attempted to ride my horse into the river, but was nearly thrown in the ensuing disagreement. I them dismounted and started to lead it across. All would have been well had I not tripped over a rock and landed face down in the water. Still clutching the reins, I struggled to my feet and let the startled animal over to a rock where I remounted. We plunged into the deep water, and with the aid of a recently acquired switch, made it across the river – also soaked.

We climbed out of the river up a steep narrow path. The trail followed a narrow ledge around the cliffs with a sheer, long drop into the gorge on one side. It was extremely slippery and we kept a good distance between each pony. The way became so steep and precarious towards the top of the pass that we dismounted and led the horses. Immense relief was felt all round when we finally crossed over the top of the pass into undulating marshy grasslands.

The country opened up into great expanses of moorland where large herds of sheep grazed, and young herdboys in white gumboots and white miners helmets tended their animals.

We were often passed by proud horsemen wrapped in brightly coloured Basotho blankets and wearing sinister black Homburgs, during our trek. Astride their high stepping, arch necked mounts, these riders were reminiscent of their South American counterparts. They would always greet us and inspect our motley gathering, before galloping off into the distance.
We saw the cliffs of the Lebihan Falls ( Maletsunyane Fall) on the Maletsunyane River some distance before we reached them, concealed at the end of a sloping grassy field. The falls are dramatic, as the water drops in one straight, powerful line from the top of the cliffs to the pool at the bottom. The falls are in fact the second highest in Southern Africa, but have the highest straight drop (192 metres) in Africa.

The falls marked the farthest point of our journey. From there we headed back in the direction on Ribaneng and Malealea. It was quite late in the day, and on remounting the horses we noticed the ominous low lying clouds, dark, threatening and pregnant with rain.
Within half an hour, the heavens had opened given vent to a torrential downpour. Before we managed to leap from our horses to put on waterproofs, we were saturated. The wind and rain drove head on as we trudged up the rapidly waterlogged, muddy mountainside. We should have been heading towards our night stop, but for some reason it was taking a very long time. We ode through village after village, by this stage absolutely freezing and soaked to the skin. Finally, after three hours in the pouring rain, and a long climb to the top of the mountains, we came to a halt in a small village.

This was one night where we would have been extremely grateful for the use of a warm rondavel. In fact, that very thought had been the one thing to keep us going during the long trudge in the rain. But, as luck would have it, that evening there was a meeting of local herdsman, and all the rondavels were occupied. We were allowed to leave our things in one of the huts overnight, but had to sleep outside. Fortunately, our sleeping bags had remained dry in their plastic garbage bag coverings. Our hands, however were so cold we couldn’t move our fingers which made erecting the tent an interesting exercise. Despite the roaring communal fire outside, the dry clothing and continual cups of hot coffee, we could not get warm. We eventually went to bed with one last longing look at the clean, warm cosy rondavel behind us.

The wind and rain raged around us all night, so much so that at one point the tarpaulin was ripped off the tent, and we had to stagger out into the night to retrieve it, and then tie the flapping object back on.
We headed out the following morning under blue grey skies, and scudding clouds. Simon was concerned that the trails might be too slippery and dangerous, but decided to take the chance. A meagre breakfast was eaten with the entire village in situ. These wonderful characters, farmers, herdsmen and their wives, all watched us with beaming faces. We departed for Ribaneng cheered on our way with great shouts and waves.

We climbed to the top of the mountain range, and rode into a biting wind. Views of the spectacular surrounding peaks managed, however to more than compensate for the discomfort.
We rode down through the most beautiful alpine meadows carpeted by a kaleidoscope of wild flowers. Our senses were invaded by the rainbow colours and pungent smells of wild lavender and herbs. Everywhere birds were swooping and gliding, Whydahs, Bishops, Widow s and others. We spent the day climbing and descending different mountain passes. Sometimes we rode, and sometimes we were happy to wander along leading the ponies. The final pass before the descent to Ribaneng was long and arduous. We struggled up the last part to the top and were rewarded by a remarkable downhill run. Scattered amongst the bush and rocks and bright red aloes, were herds of peacefully grazing cattle, goats and sheep.

The pass was so steep that once again we felt more comfortable leading the horses. The switchback trail wound its way down between the rock faces of the mountain. It is one of the routes in the Roof of Africa Rally and was aptly nicknamed, “Slide your arse pass”. At one point the riders abandon their motorbikes and just hurl them down the mountain.

The village of Ha Rasebetsane, near Ribaneng Waterfall, is situated near the lower part of the pass, protected from the elements. It is one of the best maintained villages in the region and the local Basotho have great respect for the privacy of visitors. It was extremely relaxing to be able to wander around and not have to play the Pied Piper.
We had a rondavel set aside for us and were happy to take advantage of this luxury, particularly as a storm lashed the village with full vitriol during the night. We left early the following morning and wound our way down the stony path to the valley below. We passed through wonderful orchards of wild peach trees, and treated ourselves to a second breakfast, eating the sweet, succulent fruits until we had stomach aches.

Once through the thriving village of Ribaneng we climbed a final stony pass before riding across the undulating valley, well on our way back to Malealea. We crossed the Makhaleng River, and once again found ourselves drenched by one of those fast and furious mountain storms. The rain eventually stopped, and we were able to climb the steep stony trail to Ha Phatela without too much concern. Then one final gentle stretch and we were at the gates to Malealea Lodge.

Had we really been away for 5 days. It seemed a lifetime, but what an experience, and what precious memories. We thanked Simon, and our horses and headed inside for a welcome cup of tea, and “how about a big bowl of steaming hot pasta”. There should be plenty left!!

- Caroline James

A Wild Afternoon at Malealea Lodge

Sat, 01 Feb 2025 00:00:00 +0200

It was late afternoon, Lucky was just finishing up the last bit of lawn mowing behind the lodge—completely unaware of the chaos he was about to unleash! I was in the bar doing stock when suddenly, Roxy 🐕 came sprinting in, panicked, with a single bee hot on her heels. Moments later, Bob was tearing up and down the deck, swatting at the bees with his hat and losing his glasses in the process.

Then came Monstuoe and Lucky in their blue overalls, bolting past at full speed! Helgard burst into the bar, covered in stings—ten in total! Meanwhile, Sana and the cleaning ladies, on their way home, found themselves under attack, while the bees also went after the men sitting outside the shebeen. Even the kitchen ladies weren’t spared, taking a few stings themselves. Phoka, just watching the mayhem innocently from the deck, also got targeted!

Thankfully, everyone is okay, and now we can laugh about it. Bob and Helgard can’t stop cracking up—turns out Bob has some serious speed after all! 🐝

The Heritage of Socks and how Irish wolfhounds came to be in Lesotho

Kate Kirk — Thu, 23 Jan 2025 00:00:00 +0200

The Irish Wolfhound is one of the oldest and most iconic dog breeds, with a history stretching back thousands of years. Originally bred in ancient Ireland, these majestic dogs were primarily used for hunting large game such as wolves, deer, and wild boar. Their name reflects both their Irish origins and their purpose as wolf hunters. They are known for their size, strength and courage and symbolised power, often being gifted to to foreign rulers.

By the 17th century, the Irish Wolfhound's primary role—hunting wolves—began to decline as wolves became extinct in Ireland. This led to a dramatic drop in their numbers. By the 19th century, the breed was nearly extinct. Captain George Augustus Graham, a British officer, is credited with saving the breed in the late 1800s. He meticulously crossbred the few remaining Irish Wolfhounds with other large breeds like Scottish Deerhounds, Great Danes, and Borzoi to restore their numbers and original appearance.

Today, Irish wolfhounds are known as gentle giants, beloved for their calm temperament and loyalty. Despite their historical significance, they are relatively rare and require careful breeding to maintain their health and vitality.

This brings us to how they came to be in Lesotho, a country which, at the time, was going through a transformative era. The arrival of Irish missionaries in Lesotho is a lesser-known but fascinating chapter of the country’s history. These missionaries, most notably from the Catholic Church, played a significant role in shaping Lesotho’s religious and cultural landscape during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Their introduction of Irish Wolfhounds is tied to their broader mission of influencing and adapting to the communities they served. The introduction of Irish Wolfhounds to Lesotho aligned with the missionaries’ efforts to adapt to local conditions and needs. In Lesotho, livestock was—and still is—central to the economy and culture. Herding in the country’s mountainous terrain requires hardy and intelligent dogs to guard against predators. Over time, Irish Wolfhounds would have adapted to Lesotho’s mountainous terrain and integrated well into local herding communities. Basotho herd boys, known for their resilience and deep knowledge of the land have relied on their dogs for centuries to assist in herding and protecting their livestock. Basotho herding dogs are not a specific breed but are often a mix of local breeds, bred over generations for their intelligence, stamina, and loyalty. After the introduction of Irish wolfhounds, they were crossbred with some Basotho herding dogs, resulting in a unique lineage of robust, versatile dogs capable of thriving in Lesotho’s challenging environment. (Just like Socks!)

The story of the Irish wolfhounds in Lesotho and the introduction of them by the Irish missionaries highlights the intersections of culture, heritage and innovation. Together they have shaped a unique chapter in Lesotho’s history, where the strength of its people and their dogs continue to inspire. Just like Socks, every Basotho dog has a unique history and unique characteristics. What they all have in common is loyalty. Loyalty to the herd boys and their owners, who are also their best friends. I have rarely seen a friendship as strong as the one between Socks and Mick.

History of Malealea (1905 to present)

Tue, 21 Jan 2025 00:00:00 +0200

Early 1900s

Mervyn was fascinated by the country and spent months riding around the country, shooting for the pot, as he went along. One of the places he camped at, was Malealea. He fell in love with the place and decided to open a Trading Station there. He had to return to England to get permission, and was assisted by some of his school companions, who were by now in high places.

Building Malealea

On returning to Malealea he started in a tent, first building the store and sheds and then starting on the house, which was built of cut stone and under thatch. A swimming pool, covered by thatch, was also built, and a tennis court. As Mervyn was a fanatic for bridge and billiards he had a billiard table brought to Malealea by ox-wagon, as were all the building materials. The big verandah had all his shooting trophies on the walls. Many also hung in the Bloemfontein and Rand Clubs. The lounge and billiard rooms were wood panelled. The lounge was a replica of the lounge at Binghams Melcon Dorset, which was the family house, when his father retired from Harrow.

The War Years

He was well established, when the 1914 – 1918 war broke out. He returned to England and again joined the Dorset Regiment, who he served with throughout the war. He developed “Trench Leg”, which was a problem for the rest of his life. After the war he returned to Malealea and in 1919 got married. These were golden years. Trade flourished and they used to go on shooting safaris in Rhodesia, Caprivi Strip and the Zambezi Valley, – on one occasion, taking Basotho Ponies with them. They also had frequent trips to England to visit his family. They entertained a lot at Malealea and used to ride to Qaba to play tennis with his great friend, Jarvis. Mervyn’s wife famously kept pet cheetah, but it had a depressing effect on trade, so it was donated to the Johannesburg Zoo!!!

The depression years nearly put Malealea out of business, but a Johannesburg friend gave Mervyn 12,000 pound bond to tide him over. many of the local Basotho had credit to buy food during this period and they never forgot “MOFANA” for this. He was called “MOFANA”, because when he first arrived he spoke “Fanagalo”. Later he spoke Sesotho fluently.

World War II brought renewed prosperity to Malealea, and Mervyn played a pivotal role in the local community. He arranged entertainment for visiting Royal Air Force pilots. Mervyn arranged that on this day the R.A.F. sent a plane over Malealea to do a few acrobatics and Victory Rolls. He organised pay distribution for Basotho soldiers' families at Malealea. At the end of the war, he had name plates made with the name and rank number of all the Basotho, who had fallen in the war. Oak trees from Malealea were planted at the police camp in Maseru and the idea was that each oak tree would have one of the name plates nailed to it.

During and after the war he had two partners, first Scholl, then Crooks. He also had The Falls Store at Maletsunyane, but sold this to Frasers at the end of the war. All supplies went up by pack horse and the mohair, wool and wheat used to come to Malealea in big pack pony trains, and then he classed, graded and sent it off by transport to Rail Head Wepener.

During the last years of Mervyn’s life, he used to spend the winter months on the Zambezi at a Shooting Lodge he built. He had rondavels and a motor boat called “Queen Elizabeth”. At this stage his one car was called “George” and the other “Elizabeth”. He used to go up to Johannesburg for a week just to play Bridge.

All his life he had a passion for road-making and had to make the road from the “Gates of Paradise” to Malealea, to get building supplies to Malealea. In his latter years he used to set off with labourers, spades, picks and wheelbarrows to repair the road. One corner was known as “Tickey Draai” and another as “Sixpenny Draai”. The original wording at the “neck” as he called it, was: “Wayfarer Pause Behold The Gates of Paradise”. He always did this when he came home to Malealea.

His other passion was letter writing. He used to write to “The Friend” newspaper in Bloemfontein entitled “Basutoland from within”, which covered every subject from Incorporation in the Union to strip roads for Basutoland on the Rhodesian Model.

During the Royal Visit the King and Queen were to have visited Malealea, but only the rest of the Royal Party came for a luncheon. The well known BBC announcer Wynfred Vaughn Thomas gave a report of the visit in one of his BBC reports. Mervyn attended all the functions in Maseru and he proudly wore his war medals at the Ex Service Mens Parade. The King stopped to speak to him and said, “I see you served in the SA War, as well as 1914-1918”. To which Mervyn replied, “No Your Majesty, not the SA War, I served in the Boer War”. A cousin of Mervyn’s was one of the Ladies in Waiting to the Queen, so he got a few `behind the scenes’ stories of the tour.

Mervyn died suddenly in January 1950 and was buried in the garden, by the Bishop of Basutoland. He had no headstone as Malealea is his memorial. Malealea was left in trust to his son, Anthony, but his partner, Crooks, had an option to purchase under the partnership agreement. After a long and expensive court action in the Supreme Court, it was ruled that the Trust Deed was not valid, because it had not been initialled on one page and Crooks exercised his option to purchase.

1950's to 1986

Soon after Crooks moved into the big house from the Cottage, the big house burnt down. There is only a bird bath, built out of stone, with ANNO VIC, chiselled around the top, that remains from the original house. Mervyn had this bird bath built at the end of the war “Year of Victory”.

Mervyn always maintained that the first thing a person saw, when visiting a Trading Station in Basutoland, was the “Long Drop or Kleinhuisie”. He built his, hidden away inside the bank below the house and had a beautiful view of the Thaba Putsoa range of mountains to gaze upon, in complete privacy. It has now been restored.

Many tales were told by Government Officials, Police, Tourists, who used to stay over at Malealea, before trekking into the mountains. They all enjoyed great hospitality at Malealea and if they played Bridge and Billiards, even more so. Snooker was only tolerated for Ladies. The leather bound billiard score books also stand as a diary for important happenings, such as bomb raids over Germany, The Invasion, Visits by Important People etc.

Stories about Mervyn begin with how he used to ride to Maseru of Mafeteng on a pony to play rugby, with an alarm clock tied around his neck, which he would set for half hours ahead, in case he dozed off and could wake up to check if the pony was still on course. He is reputed to have galloped down the gorge into the Ribaneng River, and that path was always known as “Mervyn’s Ladder”.

AFTER A WILD PARTY IN BLOEMFONTEIN, Mervyn and his friends decided to go back to Malealea to continue the party. A stranger, they had met, came along as well. In the car he was lolling to one side, then to the other side, but no one took any notice of him as they thought he was drunk. On arrival it was found he was DEAD !!! A wake lasting a few days was held and he lay inside on the Billiard Table and was duly buried under the Cherry Trees. Mevyn always referred to the grave as “The Stranger’s Grave”.

An extract from Kate Cretchley’s version of the Stranger’s death! ” I doubt it was the fact that the hitchhiker was DOA when Mervyn and his pals reached the mountain station of Malealea after a fairly lively weekend in Bloemfontein. I also doubt that it caused much of a headache when they stowed the old guy under the snooker table and went ahead with the intended game. However, it must have been a bit annoying to have been awoken by the scream of the early rising housemaid who found the old boy rather difficult to rouse, even when the best Malealea coffee was offered. A wake was held lasting some several days to see the dear departed on his way to the pearly gates, during which time he lay in state on the snooker table, and the grave of this total stranger still can be seen not twenty yards away from that of old Mervyn Smith who, out of the kindness of his heart, brought the old man to die in peace and tranquillity of Malealea, over fifty years ago. “Mervyn and his friend, Kenneth Nolan, were also known to have ridden through the Wepener Hotel on their “Trusting Steeds”.

Keith Jandrell bought Malealea in 1961 from Norman Crooks. Various managers lived at Malealea operating the trading station. An airstrip was built at Malealea and the Jandrell family visited Malealea regularly for week-ends and holidays.

Mick & Di Jones

Mick & Di Jones bought Malealea in December, 1986. The idea was to start a very casual lodge and continue with the Trading Station. The Trading Station burnt down on 6th March, 1987 due to a gas deep freeze. As the floors, walls & ceilings were all wood, the shop went up in flames within minutes. Mick was awakened in the early hours of the morning with a comment by the night watchman “There seems to be a small problem at the shop!!!”

An enormous steel structure was erected for the Trading Station – (nicknamed by Simon Fourie, The Malealea Emporium.) The Trading Station declined and slowly the Jones's shifted focus to expanding the lodge. What was the shop is now the reception area, games room, bar, dining room & kitchen. Nick King, an Australian friend, after driving overland trips from London to Harare, spent a couple of months at Malealea renovating the lodge in the '90's

Over the years, Malealea Lodge has grown into a welcoming lodge, hosting travelers from all over the world. With its unique history, breathtaking scenery, and vibrant hospitality, Malealea Lodge continues to be a cherished destination, blending adventure and community spirit with a legacy that began over a century ago.