Starting a business in Lesotho

I did it. 

I started a business in Lesotho. Let me explain a bit. 

I live in neighbouring South Africa, a beautiful part of the world. Life here is adventurous. Life here is not for sissies - as we call them. 
Africa is to live, to love, to fight... We stay here because we love it. We love it because it is AFRICA!

There are a few websites where you will find all the practical ways of registering a business in Lesotho. It's not a very complicated process - or so it seems. 

I tried the process alone and got nowhere in 3 months. So I hired an accountant in Maseru - Lesotho's capital. Which is by the way one of the smallest capitals in the world. #UselessFact
You will have to trust another human being to work on your behalf, but it will make your life a lot easier. And it will most likely be the only way to keep you sanity! 

Hiring people in a foreign country might not be good for your heart. But I am taking the gamble and I am 'trusting' other people in my business. 

So - all my paperwork is in place. The business is rearing to go!
I might write some more and keep people in the loop in the journey of starting and running a business in Lesotho.

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How to stop antidepressants?

I was there.

That uncomfortable moment when someone for the good of an 'antidepressant'-user asks me to share my story about quitting my anti's and when eternal happiness was found.

I was a non believer when it came to anti's.

I thought they were for attention seeking needy self centred people who were weak. (maybe they are, but I now proudly add myself to this group)

After finding myself longing more for death than for life I started anti's. They took the edge of my deep 'sadness' - read depression.

I used for 6 months. Anti's stopped me feeling more or less anything. Anti's saved my life.

Since I learned that modern medicine was for real and I am pretty sure prolonged my life by some time I consulted a doctor and slowly weaned myself of the good stuff.

It worked for me. I have been off anti's for more than a year and I am alright.

My fear with sharing my recovery story is that people make it into dogma. Not into my way, but into THE way.

I come from a back ground were testimony - life changing stories - are adored. Telling them became a subtle art of the right pauses and exclamation marks. Real - or near real - drama. Lived but polished. Real but storyfied maybe gloryfied.

Don't let other peoples stories determine your story. My story is  plain and boring. It works for now.

Yours is yours to live and try.

Your time, your rhythm, your story 

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My little racist brother

I am driving in my car past a location - township.

I see 10 little black children sitting next to the road huddled around a box.

My immediate thoughts are: will they kill the puppies in the box after severely abusing them or will they use the kittens they caught to knit a life blanket after which they will slowly club them to death like innocent baby seals.

I drive on and hate my thoughts. Why do I think this?

But it probably true - again - Why do I think this?

I pull over and turn around.

I will go back and say hello while having a look in the box.

20 Rand - 1 euro - will set these puppies free.

Imagine my instagram post: A selfie with a box full of puppies

with the caption: 

These guys saved by the bell #IamABell #Lucky #PuppiesOfInstagram #IamAHero #AllBecauseOfMyRacistThinking

My last # wouldn't make the cut. 

If I saw a group of white children play with a box in a middle class area my thought would have been: great to see a group of young future engineers and doctors experiment with this box. #kidsAreCute #DamnThisPartOfTownIsGorgeous

I went back.

I had a chat with these kids. They were playing with an empty box. #losersOfInstagram #Me

I don't like my little racist brother living inside my head. I will try to stop feeding him. If in doubt I shall chose to engage with people.  

#NoPostOnInstagram

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Culture shock

I am a passport holding European. I live in Africa. I love Africa.

I see myself as a pale African. I belong here. In a continent of conflict - in a continent of love - in a continent of life

But once in a while I go back to my 'mother'land. I visit the poor bastards who believe vitamin D starvation is natural, who believe that three days sun in a row is a great summer, who believe white people can dance...

I have never been so angry. I fumed for days. I needed to be calmed down. I wanted to punch some lovely people in the head. - I didn't

I met European entitlement.

Entitlement is a word I have always associated with Africa. Mainly in a context of middle class people telling me how unreasonable the poor are for wanting running water, housing, free schooling, education, hospitals...

I often choose to agree. I have become more capitalist than socialist by living in Africa. It keeps me sane. It justifies my life in a context of massive poverty. - I worked for it, so should they.

In Europe, I met unemployed people who have yearly holiday from looking for work.

You hear this right. People who are doing nothing take holiday from doing nothing to do ---- NOTHING!!!

And this is ok - I guess

But the people in the system expect this.

The expectations are sky high. And with this people can only be disappointed.

In Africa we celebrate the small 'normalities'. In Europe we lament the small 'defects'.

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Cannabis Honey

When I was a youth worker, I was often confronted by older people with complaints about my young people.

I always disagreed. Young people are awesome. They have dreams. They believe they can change the world. They often do.

Older people however, have always freaked me out. They seem too smooth. Smooth is never good. Unless you are a life insurance salesman... which is also not good. So never!

I finally have proof of my ever present suspicion towards the elderly.

I was invited to do a talk at a local walking club about Beekeeping in South Africa. They were a lovely bunch of people. The average age was rather high.  Here I can add that my grey hair blended in nicely.

After I finished my presentation, people showed their real colours. 10% of the 'congregation' asked me about CANNABIS HONEY. (10% was 4 people)

Can it be made? Yes - excited smile

Does it have 'Healing' powers? Not sure - a look of disgust with my no knowledge

Do I have it? No - disappointing eyes

Where can I get it? ... - a look of craving and desperation

One older gent asked me if I would put beehives in a cannabis field to pollinate the flowers and produce cannabis honey?

He assured me it wasn't for himself but a friend of his.

When I told him I can put my hives anywhere he asked for my phone number.

Old people are the new problem. The youth is fine. Leave them alone.

Rather worry about those smooth elderly...

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