For Lesotho farmer Setsabo Mothibeli it has been too long since the rain came, as he stands desolately among dried maize stalks in the barren field he should have been harvesting.
Like many subsistence farms in the small Southern African mountain kingdom, his fields would have fed about 15 people — but another year of drought, another failed harvest and the news could not be worse for the small country.
”The stalks are so dry that they are useless even for the animals,” says a frustrated Mothibeli, tossing aside the dried remains of maize that never grew to maturity.
”We didn’t harvest anything this year. We are stranded because even animals we were hoping to sell have been affected by the drought. There was no fodder for the animals so they are very thin and can’t be sold at the market.”
Driving out of the capital, Maseru, field after field of knee-high withered maize bears testimony to the devastation wrought by the country’s worst drought in 30 years.
Each desiccated field would have supported scores of people and livestock, who now pick desperately among the parched remains of the crops.
Even though it would have been harvesting season, some farmers can be seen trying to replough their fields in the vain hope that something will grow and feed their families.
The brown and dusty landscape stretches endlessly, mercilessly, with the only hope for the Basotho that international donors will heed the call for more food aid as government declares a state of emergency.
In the village near Mafeteng, about 80km south of Maseru where Mothibeli lives, the situation is especially dire and the World Food Programme (WFP) is bringing pulses, maize and vegetable oil, which will see 29 households (158 people) through the next month.
”This is one of the most hit villages from the drought. We expected to only be helping them for six months but then again we had this drought crisis,” WFP field monitor assistant Nthoneng Mahao tells Agence France-Presse.
The women of the village rush eagerly to help offload the bags and tins of food, rationing it before men and children bring their donkeys and a wheelbarrow or two to cart it off back home.
Malipuo Moleko has to feed seven people with the food aid, and says that while it often is not enough, the community tries to share vegetables and food so everyone had at least one meal a day.
”We always have something to eat, although we sometimes have to reduce portions so it stretches longer,” she says.
According to WFP country director Bhim Udas about 400 000 people across the country — a fifth of the population — will need food assistance as only 72 000 tonnes of cereal was produced for a population needing 328 000 tonnes.
The true depth of the crisis would only be felt towards the end of the year and early 2008 when current stocks run out and locals feel the effect of rising food prices.
”About 80% of Basothos depend on agriculture and there is only 10% of arable land,” said Udas.
Udas notes the irony in that the dehydrated country is considered water rich, and its main source of income is from the water it sells to South Africa through the controversial Lesotho Highlands Water Development Project.
”Water is one of the main incomes for government but the income is not shared with the people,” he says.
Lesotho, entirely surrounded by South Africa, makes about R25-million a month from supplying water to its giant neighbour.
According to Mahao: ”The government making water available for people, it’s a matter of accessibility. We don’t have taps, there are no water pipes. We seem to be the main exporter of water, yet we don’t have it for ourselves.”
The mostly rural country is massively food insecure and hard hit by HIV/Aids, and nowhere are the effects more poignant than in the malnourishment section of the children’s ward at Maseru’s Queen Elizabeth II hospital.
In one corner four-month-old baby Poello’s head lolls weakly to the side as he is fed through a tube in his nose. He is desperately awaiting antiretroviral treatment, but is still too undernourished to receive the strong medication.
Opposite him nine-month-old Matselitso, who came to the hospital four months previously, her belly distended from malnourishment, has started smiling and playing for the first time.
”In January, February and March two thirds of the children’s ward is filled with those who are malnourished and many arrive too late,” head of the paediatric ward Grace Phiri says. — Sapa-AFP