Going to Moshoeshoe

In a time of complete chaos, when disaster came stomping through the land, grabbing what it wanted, devastating the rest; his name became an amulet to thousands, a talisman for the terrorised. They flocked to see him, to see if the lighthouse was real.

In a time when children did not play, their parents prayed for Moshoeshoe.

They dreamt of Thaba Boisu, the mountain stronghold of Moshoeshoe. Of a heaven in hell. Where skeletons could replace the flesh that had disappeared. The orphans could once again grasp stability. Where drought and famine were not victorious. The ragged refugees could rest their war-torn feet. And when war came, it did not leave as conqueror.

There's an exodus from everywhere, leaving night and day; going to Moshoeshoe.

Blessed with the skill of diplomacy, admired by foe as well as by friend. This man could fight, this man could talk. Man of the crocodile clan, his totem on the flag of Lesotho. Founder of the Sotho state, icon of African freedom.

Because of his wisdom, the children returned to play; singing songs of Moshoeshoe.

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* Moshoeshoe is pronounced 'Mo-shway-shway'.
* © 2010 Natty Mark Samuels.
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