Lesotho, by Daniele Somenzi

The border between South Africa and Lesotho is fairly simple, I don't even get out of the car, the office is within reach of the window. Maseru, the capital, is another city among cities, the usual hustle and bustle; I spend a couple of hours there and then go a few kilometres inland, rolling hills and shepherds tending their flocks. Many black children play behind a school fence. Of white people, not a trace. There's a King here, in fact they call it the Kingdom of Lesotho. A little later I return to the border and go back into South Africa. The stamp is in my passport, so I can say I've set foot in this little state surrounded by South Africa. Bye.