Just because someone decides to call your country, Land of no fences, doesn't mean you're gonna blog about it. Or does it? Land of no fences is a nice enough appellation. Lesotho has been called lots of things, and has gone through many phases of development; it is rather quaint, I find, for such a country to be called thus. [ Read ]
When you really look at it, though, there are fences all over the place. Much lower fences, to be sure, than previously, and barbless. But they're there alright. I was recently amazed at the amount of effort it took me to get a response from an official, some official, any official. It was hard, made more so by insufficient or not really visible means of contact for government officials. That's a fence right there, mate. A wall. You can bang your head on it and bleed.
The size of the gap between rich and poor is a fence. The only thing that's equal between rich and poor is what the rich have and what the poor haven't got. I know that that's a low blow. To be sure, the power of the vote is equal, but that's about it, and that's rather recent.
It remains true, nevertheless, that Lesotho is a land of no literal fences. You can roam everywhere and anywhere, climb any icy peak and swim any clear river; you must, however, make sure you find the chief of the village and report your presence to him (usually, very few ladies hold that coveted position).