Gran wrote to me while I was in Botswana and said: "I hope you manage to find Fidelma alright in South Africa. It won't be as easy as meeting at Victoria Centre [shopping centre in Nottingham], but I'm sure you'll be fine!" I found this sentence rather endearing, as I knew it would be easy to meet up with Fidelma, irrelevent of the fact that we were both in a foreign city. Little did I know that my self confident traveller smile would be wiped off my face in a month's time.

Yes. We lost my sister and her boyfriend.

We'd forgotten Easter affects travel and had agreed to meet at a place which was impossible to get to with public transport on Easter Saturday. So we changed our plans and agreed to meet them in Lesotho, a place that had the most likelihood of having public taxis going to. Fidelma and I hitched a lift with two lovely South African women, up Sani Pass, a beautiful and slightly scary drive along thin dirt tracks, up into the mountains and Lesotho. There, we enjoyed a beer at the highest pub in Africa (2874m) and I was taught how to play recycled guitar by a few local guys who busk for a living, all covered in thick Lesotho blankets. That was also the last contact we had with Ayesha and Markus, where we told them roughly where we were headed.

We managed to squeeze into a public taxi, which only had 4 more passengers than allowed, not bad for African transport, but 17 passengers with 17 big bags gets pretty intimate! That did mean that the cold mountain air couldn't reach us though, so we stayed pleasantly warm and cosy as we bounced our way into Lesotho, sound system blaring loudly, babies, bags and pumpkins being passed around to whoever had free hands. Maybe I'm mad, but it's these moments that I love: A crowded minibus full of people, all equal. Black, white, male, female, old, young, all paying the same, all squashed into the same small spaces, all with the same likelihood of being driven off a cliff and all bobbing to the same African rhythm, whether intentionally or not. Slightly deafened by the music, we arrived in Mokhotlong, one of Lesotho's bigger towns, a small place with the next minibus going our direction leaving the following day. Hm. So off we went to the side of the road, and played Ukelele with some children in the sun until the only car that came past stopped, and took us onwards in direction Ayesha and Markus, we hoped. An hour later we arrived in a little village in the middle of nowhere, and we realised we were two girls, wearing short shorts, flashing an instrument, and the sun was about to set. It is only very occasionally that Fidelma and I feel uncomfortable travelling, but this was one of those occasions, and suddenly it was getting dark very quickly and both the men and women's stares were strong and not altogether friendly. Multiple phone calls to Ayesha and texts questioning their whereabouts weren't getting through and we discovered there were no towns with accommodation until the other side of Lesotho, 170km away. So we got into a minibus that possibly had a drunk or drugged driver and went back the way we had come. We couldn't get through to hostels, we couldn't get through to Ayesha and the minibus was emptying as people headed off into the night. It was a relief to arrive at a hotel, above our budget, but in civilsation again and safe.

We were now fine, but we had no idea where Ayesha and Markus were. Our South African phones weren't working in Lesotho, and our British phones weren't getting through either. Two lovely guys let us borrow their phones, which also resulted in nothing, the hotel had no wifi and internet cafes were all closed, and so we sat there with 6 pieces of communicative technology in front of us, unable to communicate with my lost sister. We had no idea if they were still driving trying to find us or if they'd also given up and found a nice place to spend the night.

The following day, Easter Sunday, one of the guys who's phone's we'd used put out a plea on Lesotho radio to reunite the sisters, which although entirely useless due to it being in a language none of us speak, was very sweet of him. Luckily, another kind man leant us internet from his phone at the same time as Markus managed to get a few minutes of internet and he told us to go to the road and not to move.

It was certainly a very happy moment when they drove up and we finally found each other. But, however nice it was to be reunited, I think we'll stick to egg hunts next Easter!