Lesotho Boatmen Ferry Villagers Across River for 40 Years

Every morning at 6am, Motlalepula Lethala pushes his small aluminum boat into the cold waters of the Senqu River in Qacha's Nek, Lesotho. He's been doing this since primary school, and nearly 40 years later, he still uses the same skills: reading currents, avoiding rocks, and steering with a punting pole.

Lethala is one of seven private boat operators who ferry people across one of Lesotho's largest rivers. They charge about $1 per person, earning anywhere from nothing on slow days to $25 on busy ones.

The work is essential because communities on both sides of the river depend on these boatmen to reach basic services. Without them, children couldn't get to school, families couldn't buy groceries, and patients couldn't reach healthcare.

A church-owned hospital boat operates for free between 8am and 5pm, but outside those hours, villagers call boatmen like Lethala. When a pregnant woman goes into labor at night or someone gets injured, he comes without hesitation.

The job comes with serious risks. Last year, strong winds overturned a boat, killing two people when the paddle broke and the rower lost control. When the river floods, the boatmen must turn away desperate callers because crossing becomes too dangerous.

Winter brings temperatures below freezing. "In the morning, everything is frozen: the punting pole, the seats," Lethala says. At night, he rows without a flashlight because river reflections can disorient even experienced operators.

Fellow boatman Leroba Ntereke saw his income drop sharply after a bridge opened 35 kilometers upstream in 2019. Before that, he earned up to $30 daily, but the new bridge allowed taxis to reach villages that once depended on boats.

The boatmen work on rotation, sharing the limited income among themselves without any formal oversight. They patch their aluminum boats constantly, but materials are expensive and new boats cost between $1,500 and $2,000.

Why This Inspires

Despite low pay and harsh conditions, these boatmen show up every single day because their neighbors need them. Lethala admits he doesn't even like the job, calling it "very hard," but he continues anyway.

Ntereke once bought a second-hand car to run a small taxi service with his boat earnings, but sold it because maintenance costs were too high. He returned to the river, where fuel isn't needed and the current does the work.

Their quiet dedication keeps isolated communities connected to the outside world, one crossing at a time.