Driving through the African countryside on baboon infested roads (and they are big and scary - believe me!!) we arrived at our accommodation in Northern Drakensburg. We stayed at the Ampitheatre Backpackers an oasis in the middle of nowhere, well tended, clean and run by two lovely ladies and their gorgeous little son (though David may disagree with that statement having shouted at him for beating up his dog!).

There were many activities on offer at Ampitheatre but as we were only staying one night we had just the one option available to us. Fortunately this was not rock climbing or a strenuous mountain walk but instead a day trip to Lesotho (pronounced Lesootoo) - hurrah!David and I were ridiculously excited because it would both add another country to our 'Where we've been' list (and for the record I am in the lead!) but we would both get another country stamp in our passport (or so we thought!). Nice and early we hit the road for Lesotho and so driving along modern roads, stopping at modern service stations and driving through developed townships we arrived at the border with Lesotho. We were officially stamped out of South Africa and even had our camera serial numbers noted - well people with nice cameras had their serial numbers noted but apparently my pink olympus camera wasn't good enough to be recorded. As we crossed the border and entered Lesotho the first thing that hit us was the lack of tarmac - no actually it hit all our internal organs which were shaken around like balls in a lottery machine and the second was the lack of border control - so that would be no country stamp then!

The road to the village was full of road works as they are reinforcing the edges of the road to prevent landslides, so that single dirt track actually had people standing there with stop/go signs directing the traffic. The most amazing thing is that when they say 'go' all the people working on the road, male and female, stop, wave and smile. It's amazing how something so simple as people waving can make you feel so happy. I've come to the conclusion that we should introduce such a policy in the UK - but then again maybe not, as I doubt Lesotho has quite the same road rage problems as the UK!

First stop on our grand tour of Lesotho was a school. This is a community school which is solely funded by tourists visiting it through Ampitheatre. There are a few state schools but they are too far away for the children in this area to attend and other than that the government provides nothing! The school consists of three buildings, runs from 7.30am to 1.30pm and provides a hot meal for the children at the end of their schooling day. In the western world the meal, basically a bowl of maize, would probably be left uneaten but for these kids it is an important nutritional addition.

A round hut has been constructed to house the creche, another building is used by the oldest children whilst the final building is used by four different classes. How the teachers, or indeed the pupils can concentrate in this room is beyond me but they manage it. At least the school does have desks and chairs, the lack of which is a real problem in some other South African schools.

Having been shown around the school we then went in search of some local ancient rock art. On the journey up we were accompanied by 3 small, dirty and dishevelled boys. One looked so cute in a pair of blue wellies but he coughed so badly it was painful to hear. He was not alone in his coughing though as our tour guide and one of the teachers were coughing equally as badly. We have since discovered that it is highly likely they were suffering from TB which is a massive problem throughout Africa at the moment.

The objective of the rock art is very similar to the aborigine rock art - it was used to pass on messages to each other. Unfortunately the art has nearly disappeared through a combination of the elements and destruction by the local children. Attempts were made to protect it - a mud wall was built but the animals knocked that down and then a fence was erected which the locals pinched!

Our next stop was to visit the village Sangoma which was so interesting. A Sangoma is a traditional healer whose approach to medicine is based upon a belief in ancestral spirits. Given the distance to travel to a doctor or the hospital most villagers would approach a Sangoma first to remedy their ailments. With our guide as the interpretor we learnt how this Sangoma had been selected and how she actually practices her healing today. When she was younger she became very ill and through a series of dreams was visited by her deceased grandmother, who had also been a Sangoma. Her grandmother informed her that she had to go and visit a particular male Sangoma in another village or she would die. She told her parents and they took her to see this gentleman, who said he'd been waiting for her, that she would now be healed and she was to start training to become a Sangoma herself with him. The initiation ceremony performed prior to the commencement of her training was very barbaric as she had to drink the blood of a goat directly from its neck and then eat some of it's raw organs mixed with herbs. She told us that she also had to walk around with a chicken on her head during the initiation - the belief is that if it fell off, her grandmother was telling her that she should not become a Sangoma but if it stayed on that she should. It stayed on, she was trained and then had to repeat the goat thing on her graduation. To diagnose an illness our Sangoma smokes, inhales, drinks or eats Sage to call on her ancestors who will then diagnose the problem and give advice on how she should heal it. The Sangoma wore a red outfit which she told us was similar to what her grandmother would have worn and that she wears it to please her. It was all very interesting especially because the whole approach is so alien to us westerners with our conventional medicine.

A final stop on our drive out of Lesotho was to a local ale house. We were all told to keep our eyes peeled for any house with a white or yellow flag flying, as that meant that they has some home made beer or pineapple beer for sale. A green flag means that they have some hashish for sale but we didn't see any of those. Eventually we saw a house with such a flag and stopped for a taste of some pineapple beer. The beer was presented to us in a large snuff container, had the consistency and colour of milk (my favourite - yuk!) and had something orange floating in it. I know you shouldn't eat with your eyes but my stomach flipped at the sight of it - I pretended to try some but just couldn't do it!!! Sorry guy's, hands up I'm a wimp. David on the other hand did try it but seemed reluctant to go in for seconds when it was offered so I can only assume that it didn't taste that great.