I remember one thing about horses, which came from a high-school friend. All of us had a crush on her at one point or another. She was the gorgeous, smiley, blond bombshell we all dreamed of. She loved two things: living in the country and showing horses. Once I went to see her in a horse show. I pitched up, and I asked her why she was smacking the horse on the belly.
“To make his erection go down,” she said.
Right…yeah I suppose you’d want to take care of that before the horse show.
On a particular Sunday morning (February 2006) I found myself at a horse race just outside of Semonkong (http://www.placeofsmoke.co.ls). Semonkong is 130km east of Maseru, Lesotho. Its claim to fame is two-fold: proximity to the 204m (670ft) single-drop Maletsunyane Falls (which we abseiled), and Sunday afternoon horse races. I was well informed of the former, as that was the reason why we were there, but the latter was a surprise. At the race, it seemed that everyone knew what to look at and what to do except for me.
So like a turd in a toilet bowl, I went with the flow round and round.
We decided to sit on a rocky outcropping overlooking the valley. In the distance the jockeys prepared their horses, some dancing, singing, and praying for the win. The local villagers, instead of watching some prosaic
(Folks from the surrounding villages came to watch the Sunday matinee of horse racing.)
(Aside from cattle and horses, donkeys were also part of the scenery)
(A young jockey making his way back home. The horses in the background were preparing for their shot at the gold.)