Taxi rank

Passengers loading into a taxi named Ntate, or Father.
The most intimidating place in Lesotho has always been the Maseru taxi rank. It's where all of the public transportation starts and ends for destinations across the country. Especially in the late afternoons, when everyone is off work or out of school, it can be packed with people on the move, taxis and buses loading or unloading, and sellers of goods. The roads and alleyways often wind and dead end, making it difficult to navigate. Stores blast music to add to the din. Men get drunk and fight. Petty criminals roam. I'd never had the courage to photograph it.

But today was a mild day, and I sneaked my small camera from my pocket a few times for snapshots. This is ntate Rameno, who sells roots, mushrooms, bark and anything else a witchdoctor needs to concoct medicine. Before him I asked two other such sellers, both of whom said they were afraid of photographs. Not ntate Rameno. He said, "I don't have a problem with cameras." And look at the smile.

I also strolled up one of the tamer streets with my camera on my shoulder, mostly hidden within my hand, and the video mode rolling.