Some seven hours later, after exhausting our search for a chopper, after launching two airplanes and one doctor, after landing a 206 on a bit of dirt road in the desert, after a hundred phone calls, some pretty hard decisions, and all the emotional energy I could muster, Susan was safe.
The problem was not so much the plough however. The problem lay deeper than any curl of steel could cut in a field. Deeper than the gullies swallowing up the fertile soil. Deeper even than the sorrow of the Basotho who have summarily declared themselves “cursed”. The problem lay in the hearts of the people.