One of the most bizarre experiences I’ve had in South Africa was actually in Lesotho. For those of you who don’t know, Lesotho (Leh-su-tu or Lee-su-tu, depending on whom you ask) is a tiny country that’s surrounded on all sides by South Africa. Trust me, migration studies have never been so exciting as when you study a country that exists inside another country. At any rate, this story takes place on the Lesotho side of the border.
I had gone pony-trekking with some friends (because that’s what you do in Lesotho) and we were on our way back to South Africa. Right before the border, we stopped at a gas station. While I was filling up the car, my friends went to the bathroom and came back with a story about how a store employee had purposefully locked one of them in the bathroom. Puzzled, I headed into the Shell Restaurant. (Side note: do gas station restaurants exist anywhere else?)
There was no one at the counter, so I poked around and found the restrooms. About ten seconds after I’d closed the stall door, I heard someone come into the bathroom and lock a door. My door. I was too baffled to protest. I mean, this had happened to my friend just minutes before. It was clear that I was in the stall, and even clearer that whoever had control of the keys meant to put me in time-out. When I finally did regain my senses, I started banging on the door and wondering how to hoist myself through the bathroom window. Finally, a large lady waddled into the bathroom and unlocked the door. There was no apology, no acknowledgement that she’d locked a stranger in the bathroom. All the woman said was, “Next time you must ask permission first.”
So it was a power trip. I had trespassed and she had shown me what was what (thought it didn’t strike me as particularly cost-effective to take the time and energy to tell a tourist what to do “next time”). Maybe this is what happens when you don’t have control of your borders—everyone goes a little crazy and gets a rush from locking other people in small spaces.
