We decided to hike from South Africa to Lesotho, a small, mountainous country known as Africa’s Switzerland — probably because it gets heaps of snow, not just because they make awesome hot chocolate.
The journey is a steep, 8 kilometer climb on a bumpy, gravel road.
About halfway up, my asthma got the better of me. We flagged down a passing minibus with a tour group inside and asked them for help.
After I explained my health issues, the tour guide reluctantly let me inside the vehicle. Then he frowned.
DRIVER: Where is your husband?
ME: He is at home in California.
DRIVER: What if you got sick and your husband wasn’t around?
ME: Well, I guess I would just try to get better on my own.
DRIVER: It is a good thing I gave you a ride so you don’t get sick.
ME: Yes, it is. Thank you. I appreciate it.
DRIVER: Because if I did not give you a ride and you got sick, your husband would be very angry with me and might kill me.
ME: … uh …
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