April Updates

It has been a long time since I’ve posted.  Actually it’s been a long time since I’ve used a computer.  It feels really nice to type once again on the smooth keys of a laptop that was recently brought to Africa by my mother, who visited over Easter holidays with my stepfather.  My banged-up Macbook from 2006 that survived a spillage of oatmeal on it, two study abroad trips, four years of college, and sixteen months in Africa, finally quit working.  Yeah, it sucked, but it crashed at a good time: a month before my parents’ trip to Africa.  They were able to buy a refurbished one exactly like the one I had for a very good price.  I hope that this computer too will last me seven years, or more.

Lately I’ve been quite happy and have been enjoying my Peace Corps experience a lot these past few months.  Maybe it’s because I know both what to expect and what is expected of me after over a year of experience as a science and mathematics teacher. Perhaps it’s that the students are more motivated this year or that I’ve changed my attitude or perspective.  It could be because I’m spending more weekend free time in village than ever before, or that it’s the last year I’ll work at Mabuleng Secondary School.  It’s probably a combination of all of those things.  I’m not sure what exactly has happened, but I’m liking my job a lot better than I did last year and I’m trying to soak up every last bit of my interactions with the community members, teachers, and students.

The African Library Project books that were donated by friends and family members in Raleigh, NC arrived a few days ago and are sitting in a storage facility in Maseru, the capital of Lesotho.  My community is still trying to work out how exactly we’re going to transport them up to the mountains and who is going to do it, but it will happen somehow, at some point.  I’ve been talking to people and have a few different options.  Cataloguing and shelving them is how I plan to stay occupied over winter break when I’m not on vacation.  I’m really excited to make this library happen, and now that the books have finally arrived, it seems as if a lot of other teachers and community members are becoming motivated as well.

My most recent trip out of the country was at the end of March/beginning of April.   I met me mom and stepdad in Johannesburg, where we rented a car, and drove to a tented safari camp in the middle of nowhere in the Timbavati Game Reserve (east of Kruger National Park) in a tiny Honda, which was definitely amusing but probably not the best vehicle choice, we later decided.  Every morning and evening for about three hours at a time, we went out into “the bush” in huge open Landrovers to look for animals, although often they would simply wander into our camp (especially the warthogs).   After about a week, we had seen plenty of lions, hippos, elephants, giraffes, monkeys, warthogs, impala, kudu, buffalo, zebras, baboons, hyenas, and more.  After our Safari, we spent some time in the Mpumalanga region looking at waterfalls, canyons, and crawling around in really old caves.  We had a great time and I’m happy to have had the opportunity to experience the quintessential Africa safari.

It’s really hard to believe that I have a bit less than eight months left in the place that I now call my home.  Thinking back, that first year I lived in Lesotho was really stressful because events, other people, and my feelings were so unpredictable.  For a long time I felt a very deep feeling of alienation from both Lesotho and American societies.  The feeling of being completely alone and not belonging anywhere is a strange one.  It was probably one of the most uncomfortable and insecure years of my life.  But at the same time, I learned a lot about myself and of what I am capable.  I think it’s a good thing that I pushed through the rough times, because they led to 2013, which has been a really good year so far.  Although it’s still a long time before I leave Lesotho, it seems that my time here has passed quickly, and I can’t help doing what I always do when things come to a close: thinking to myself something along the lines of “well, this is the last time _________ will happen.”  Some of the statements I’m happy to say, but most of them make me a bit sad. 

Here are some of these “last” experiences I’ve had so far:

The last time I’ll celebrate Christmas, the new year, and my birthday in Lesotho.

The last peach season, during which I can walk up to one of the peach trees at my home to pick a fresh peach at any time of the day for one whole month out of the year.

The last time I’ll struggle to remember 70 similar-sounding but really different Sesotho names like Nkeletseng, Ntsokeleng, Moleboheng, Nthabeleng, Ithapeleng, etc…

The last times I’ll be able to go to bed at 8 p.m. and sleep 10-12 hours without feeling like I’m missing out on something or being unproductive.

The last year I’ll be able to see the Southern Cross constellation in the night sky (unless I travel back to the Southern Hemisphere)

The last time I’ll sit through a four-hour parents’ meeting that’s conducted in Sesotho only.

The last time I’ll draw a penis and testicles on the chalkboard to teach the reproductive systems.

Swimming in Mac Mac pools, Graskop, Mpumalanga

Stuff I Cook

I've always hated following recipes.  Luckily, living in Lesotho has caused me to get exceptionally creative and experimental, especially when it comes to food.  Despite only working with a few ingredients, I really enjoy cooking.  Because I am always cooking for myself, I notice my food, the spices, and what I did to prepare it a lot more than before.  After realizing that the smallest changes in ingredients or cooking methods can completely change the taste or texture of something, I've really refined my methods and have learned a lot of different techniques.  I've probably cooked swiss chard in at least eight different ways, and when I'm in town and am able to find the only red bell pepper or avocado I'll have for weeks (or even months), I devise ways I can incorporate it into my next meal and fantasize about eating it on the way home to my village.  Perhaps that seems strange to those of you who have always had avocados and red bell peppers at your fingertips, year-round, at the grocery store around the corner.

Now that I have a garden, I suppose I'm less creepy when it comes to thinking about fresh fruits and vegetables.  Here are some pictures of the more successful things I've cooked and eaten recently:

Sprouted lentil burgers and green beans

Snow peas, green beans, and chard from my garden

Salad with sauteed spinach, beet root, green beans, and garlic

Preparing for Year Two

Something I'm quite proud of is the quantity of books I’ve gone through during my time here.  I haven’t kept a list, but it’s probably between 50 and 75.  It almost seems as if number of novels read is now how I measure time.  It no longer surprises me if I finish a book in one day.  At times, I have far too much free time.  Teachers at my school will peer overwhelmingly at the small, single-spaced text of a book I’m reading as they flip through the pages and express their wonder.  Did I already finish the book of the same size I was reading three days ago? How does one read so fast?  And what could all of this possibly be about?

Although Lesotho has one of the highest literacy rates in Africa (85% of people over age 15), there doesn’t seem to be a culture of reading outside of the school environment.  Because people aren’t busy and being on time isn’t as important, I had expected to see a lot more people escaping into the worlds of novels, magazines, and newspapers in their free time.  Instead, Basotho seem to prefer socializing when they have a few minutes (or hours) to kill.  They make friends with anyone and everyone wherever they go.  Perhaps it’s a survival technique, but sometimes I wish Americans were more like this.  Instead of gluing your face to your iphone, for example, why not start a conversation with the person sitting next to you in the airport?  If Basotho had iphones or books in their native language at their fingertips, I suppose they would probably socialize less as well.  But this quality is something I really admire in them.  In this culture, two complete strangers sitting next to each other while waiting for their taxi to fill up are expected to at least greet one another.

Still, the deficit of a reading culture is something that worries me a little bit, especially because my school is creating a library with books that will arrive in March, all of which have been donated from a book drive in the U.S.  This means that they are all in English - hopefully at appropriate reading levels.  I aim to motivate students, teachers, and community members to read for pleasure, or at least look at some pictures.  In the process, maybe I can foster more of a joy of reading in my small community.  Setting up, managing, and getting people to actually use the library is probably what will occupy most of my time, in addition to teaching, for the first half of 2013.  I really don’t want to leave Lesotho with a pile of books collecting dust and eaten by silverfish.

I recently finished up my summer break appropriately at a mid-service conference near Maseru with 14 other Peace Corps volunteers in my group.  In October 2011, there were 23 of us, and now we’re down to just 17.  They are some of the most hilarious, inspiring, kind, and receptive people I know.  And they are doing great things in their communities.  After reflecting on our first year in Peace Corps, I realized that we are where we should be.  Lesotho may not be new and exciting anymore, and maybe the novelty of living in Africa has worn off, but this is still our home. I really hope that we can all stick it out for our last year and make it our best.

Reflections on my role as a PCV

Living in Africa for two years was probably the boldest and best decision I’ve ever made.  Although there have been times when I’ve doubted this, I know that all it takes is one trip to the capital and a bit of paperwork and I can be on a plane back to Raleigh the next day.  It’s comforting that this is an option if things get really tough.

What’s keeping me here exactly?  I’m not quite sure.  I’m certainly not saving the world or bringing entire African villages out of poverty.  Some people go into Peace Corps with huge ambitions and expectations.  After one year in Lesotho, I’ve learned to stop being so selfish.  This isn’t all about me.  I’ve learned to be satisfied with small achievements in my school and community and to focus on creating and maintaining relationships.  Focusing on things make my time here more enjoyable. 

I’ve always been a person with a plan.  I still am, but I don’t get upset as easily when things don’t happen as I anticipate, which is often the case in Lesotho, and probably other parts of Africa as well.  I’ve started to try a different approach here.  Instead of coming up with an idea and implementing it myself, I think Basotho should do it, and if they want my support, advice, and/or participation, I’m here for them.  I prefer to empower and motivate rather than taking charge and creating a relationship in which Basotho are dependent on me for success.  This is my overall philosophy about development. 

My primary job in my community is teaching.  Every day at school, I make an effort to remind myself that I’m transferring valuable knowledge and skills to my students, which they can later apply to their own country to improve the quality of life.  Some days I lose my grasp of this “big picture.” At times it’s very difficult when no one wants to participate, many do not understand (English), half the class is absent because they didn’t pay their school fees, or my lesson doesn’t work out as well as I’d thought.  But just when I think I can’t take it anymore, something beautiful happens that both surprises me and jerks me out of my slump.  This past year I loved Fridays because after lunch, all of the students would gather in one classroom and sing.  Basotho sing throughout their entire lives.  Harmonizing comes so naturally to them and they all seem to know the same songs.  I could sit there for hours while their voices carried all of my anxieties and disappointments away.

Africa can be beautiful, but life here can also be harsh.  This is the first time in my life that I’ve been completely alone.  No one is going to coddle and comfort me if am feeling lonely or sad.  Why should they when there are dealing with problems like feeding the family for the next few days or ensuring access to anti-retroviral therapy (to treat HIV/AIDS) from the local clinic that’s struggling to give help to everyone who needs it? These are real problems.  I didn’t think about it much before, but I now think it’s very important to know how to be by one’s self.  Even if people in industrialized countries are alone, they still have the Internet as a form of social interaction.  Here, most of us have to rely on our host families, neighbors, community members, and fellow Peace Corps volunteers, many of which do not speak much English, if any (with the exception of other volunteers).  They don't speak my language, so I have to speak theirs.  It’s amazing how much is added to life when I slow down and devote more of my time to getting to know people, rather than “hanging out” while actually doing something else like watching television, listening to music, dancing, drinking, or any other sort of distraction that hinders good conversation (not that I don’t like engaging in these activities too).  I really have to make an effort here.

It’s not easy living in Africa, but I’m doing it!  I can never answer properly when people ask me a general question about what life in Lesotho is like.  Whatever image of me you have in your head, it's probably not right.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adequately explain life here due to the range of experiences I’ve had.  If you want to know, come see for yourself!  I would love to host you!

The Holidays

It’s the holiday season again.  I’ve experienced all four seasons in Lesotho and I must say, although two feet of snow in August was amazing, summer’s my favorite.

As it’s getting colder in North Carolina, the days are getting hotter and longer in the other hemisphere as we progress into December.  Riding through the mountains early this morning with the fresh air blowing in my face, I marveled at the bright green grass blanketing the mountains, the river that is full and sparkling from recent rain showers, and the once spindly trees on its banks that are now lush with new leaves.  Vegetables in my garden are sprouting, and I found a caterpillar crawling up the wall in my room yesterday.  After a very harsh and frigid winter in the Mokhotlong district, everything is impatiently exploding with life.  Perhaps it’s a result of me living all year without air conditioning or indoor heating, but Lesotho’s climate fascinates me with its bipolarity.  There’s beauty to be found in all of the seasons, but most of all summer.

Growing up in North America, it can be a bit strange celebrating Christmas at this time of year and at this location on the Earth.  It’s definitely more difficult to get in the holiday spirit when the temperature is so high and none of my family is around to listen to Brenda Lee and Mannheim Steamroller (my favorite Christmas artists) with me.  It’s also weird to cook and eat such rich food when it’s sweltering outside under the hot African sun.  It only takes about ten minutes for me to get a sunburn here.  However, it’s important to cook a large, delicious meal and share it with others on Christmas, and I think Basotho would agree.  I can’t write much about Basotho Christmas traditions, because I was with other Peace Corps volunteers last year and will be again this year.  But because many Basotho are Christians, I know it is an important holiday for them as well.

I hope you all have an enjoyable and relaxing holiday season with the people you love most.  And when you think you can’t spend another day with certain family members because they are stressing you out or driving you crazy, take a moment and remember us Peace Corps Volunteers.  I think all of us will value the time spent with our families a lot more after the two years we’ve been apart from them.  

Our home-made Thanksgiving place mats.  Yes, that's a quart of beer in the right-hand corner.  Happy holidays!

Love and Sex in Lesotho

Today I’m writing about my observations on love, marriage, and sex in Lesotho.  First I think it’s necessary to define love and what it means to Americans.  By love, I mean romantic love, which is different than the kind one feels for family members or close friends.  I actually don’t know if I’ve ever been in love, so I guess I don’t have much authority on this topic, but based on my experiences and what others have told me, love is a deep feeling of affection for a special person that evolves and intensifies over time.  It’s dynamic, meaning that it can grow and change.  Over time, one can fall in love, but it appears that one can fall out of love too.  In America, the phrase “I love you” is not thrown around casually.  Two people may be attracted to each other and have a nice romance happening between them, but they will not necessarily say the words “I love you” to each other.  This is because these three little words mean a special kind of mutual intimacy that is shared between two people who know one another in a way that’s different from all other people in their lives.  Saying the phrase also means a relationship is getting more serious and that these people wants to spend a lot of time, perhaps as much as a lifetime, with one another.  It’s possible that love doesn’t always happen like this or feel this way to Americans, but this seems to be the general concept.

Now, I’m not sure I can adequately describe love in Lesotho and what it means to Basotho, but I do know it is very different than our idea of “love,” particularly in my very rural region.  I’ll start with dating.  For Americans, dating is the period of opportunity in which people get to know each other and fall in love.  If mutual love doesn’t happen, the people typically break up and move on with their lives.  If it does, they will probably continue seeing each other, which can lead to moving in together, getting married, having kids, growing old together, and so on.  With the exception of polygamists living in some areas of the U.S., this is between two people only.  Like in the states, people are monogamous in Lesotho.  In spite of that, there appears to be a culture of having multiple concurrent partners, meaning more than one sexual partner, even if a person is married.  A partner may know that the other has another man or woman on the side, yet they typically turn the other cheek.  If a man is having an affair with another woman and his wife finds out about it, it is extremely unlikely that his wife will consider leaving him.

In a country where sex is obviously happening, HIV/AIDS is rampant, and not everyone uses a condom, it’s surprising how unaccustomed people are to talking about sex and the AIDS pandemic.  If an issue is uncomfortable or sensitive, Basotho will avoid talking about it. This creates a lot of problems, especially the fact that most parents here never have “the talk” with their children about sex.  But let me go back to the point I’m trying to make.  In America, multiple concurrent partners would be unacceptable.  It would be a violation of the norms of love that exist between two people.  When one partner is unfaithful and the other finds out about it, there is usually some sort of confrontation.  The afflicted partner may assume that the other doesn’t love him or her enough, because in America, when two people love each other, they shouldn't want to have sex with anyone else.  At least this is what we like to believe.  Maybe it’s true for some, others, maybe not.  In any case, after such an affair, there are a few different options for American couples.  Maybe they talk things through and stay together.  But, they could just as easily break up, or if they are a married couple, get divorced.  In Lesotho, however, sex is not openly discussed – it’s a taboo topic of conversation.  Most Basotho also seem to shy away from conflict.  I'm not sure if it's a result of the previously mentioned factors, but a lover or two on the side is common and seems to be an unspoken understanding among Basotho.  If someone gets upset and wants a divorce, well, that’s just scandalous.  I don’t know of any divorced people in my region of Lesotho.

The other difference I’ve noticed with “love” is that, a lot of times, it is imposed and controlled by men.  When a man proposes love to a woman, it means he has found a woman he wants to marry.  His family must first pay “lobolla,” the bride price, whether the currency is cows or cash.  The woman may barely know the man, but if she is of marrying age, has no other opportunities, or the future is looking bleak (i.e. she is uneducated or isn’t performing well in school), she may accept.  Of course, she may accept for other reasons too.  But because lobolla is paid, the man has a sort of ownership over his wife. 

Women also tend to get married at very young ages in Lesotho.  Case in point: two of my students, a 9^th and a 10^th grader, permanently left school to get married.  Many Basotho are bewildered when they find out that I’m 23 years old and still single.  Depending on what kind of mood I'm in, I'll make up lies about my husband and kids, just to stall the marriage proposals and prying questions about my love life.
Otherwise, both men and women express shock and amusement when I tell them that no, I do not need a husband to be happy and that I haven’t fallen in love with anyone yet.  Seriously, they laugh in my face.  Perhaps this is because, for rural and uneducated Basotho women, a husband isn’t necessarily someone they’re head-over-heels in love with, but rather, a person that can ensure their security and help fulfill society’s gender roles and expectations for them.  In my rural village, the expectations for women include taking care of the home, looking after the children, gathering firewood, wild spinach, and water, cooking, washing clothes, and making sure their husband is satisfied.  In return, the man looks after the animals and does some sort of work to provide financial security and stability.

I don’t want anyone to think that I’m making sweeping generalizations about all Basotho and the nature of their relationships.  I’m sure there are plenty of Basotho out there who think of love in the way that Americans think of it, who are faithful and very much in love with their significant others, and who accept more modern roles and expectations of women.  But love is definitely different here in many ways.  Although I’ve lived here for over a year, I’m still surprised when a man I’ve just met immediately tells me he loves me and wants to marry me.  I’ll probably never know how much of this is tradition and how much has to do with the fact that I am an exotic foreigner.  I have both male and female friends here, but I personally don’t think I could ever be in a romantic relationship with a man from Lesotho, because it seems as if our ideas of love, marriage, and gender roles clash.  I'm not saying cross-cultural relationships don't work.  They're certainly possible, and there are Peace Corps volunteers who date Basotho.  I know that a lot of my friends at home are getting engaged and married, but I’m not in a rush.  Until I meet the right person, I'm happy living the single life.

A Weekend in Village

Whew, I feel like I’m recovering from my own little hurricane Sandy over here (yes, I do actually use my shortwave radio to keep up with current events).  October was the busiest month for me thus far in the Peace Corps.  Although it was fun, I must say that I’m glad it’s over.  After a trip to the diamond mine, a welcoming party for the two new Community, Health, and Economic Development volunteers now living in Mokhotlong, picking up the new Peace Corps trainees from Maseru, bringing them to Mokhotlong and hosting them at my house, having a day-long barbeque at Tsehlanyane National Park and getting a really intense bout of food poisoning on the four hour taxi ride back during which I threw up all over myself, I’m exhausted.  And broke.

It had been a while, but I finally got a weekend to live like a village lady again.  I slept 11 hours for each of three consecutive nights and it was glorious.  On Saturday, instead of paying the two students who normally wash my clothes every two weeks, I did it all by myself.  Yes, I lugged my two buckets down and up from the tap multiple times and washed all of my dirty clothes by hand.  Oh boy, had they piled up.  And they were grimy too.  It’s really not easy scrubbing the dirt out of clothes by hand - jeans are the worst.  After a few hours, I stood outside admiring the colorful string of clothes hanging out on the line and felt quite proud of myself.

While my clothes were drying, I decided to bake some bread.  I had told the girls at my school that on Saturday, we would have a “girls club” at my house at 3 pm, which really means 4 or even 5 pm on Basotho time.  I busted out the big Dutch oven and made a huge loaf of sweet corn bread.  I couldn’t wait for them to try it because, although corn is the main carbohydrate source, people don’t get very creative here.  Most Basotho mainly eat papa, a stiff version of grits, and a chewy corn mush called samp.  I couldn’t wait to show my girls that they could also make bread out of cornmeal.  It came out beautiful and golden-brown, and I cut it into mini squares and everything.  Because there were still a few hours until girls club, I sat around coming up with fun self-esteem activities, gathered all my nail polish colors, and looked for a flashlight in case of a request for a condom demonstration (no bananas can be purchased in village).  When I had run out of things to do, I read “Banker to the Poor” by Muhammad Yunus, which is the story of how micro-credit lending broke the cycle of poverty in developing countries like Bangladesh.  I would highly recommend it to anyone interested in economic and/or grassroots development.  Anyway, 4 o’clock arrived, and so did a huge thunderstorm.

No one came to my girls club.  This happens a lot in the Peace Corps and in Lesotho.  Things are planned, but no one shows up, even if they say they will.  Later that evening after the storm, I went outside to throw some food scraps to the chickens and noticed the usual mob of scrawny kids hanging around outside the shebeen near my house, playing with sticks, stones, and balls made of plastic grocery bags.  There was also one of those pitiful little cars made out of wire and tin cans that little boys push around everywhere they go.  I went over and played with them for a little while, and then I remembered all of that bread I had made.

I guess for a moment I forgot that I was a white girl.  People already think I’m well off because of the fact that I have less melanin in my skin.  I’ve started to notice a trend.  If I ever give something to someone here, not because they are Africans but because giving people things makes me happy, that person tends to assume that I have an endless supply of it.  Instead of simply saying “thank you,” and being happy with the gift, they come back for more, especially the kids.  It seems so rude, but I guess my “manners” are completely different from those of Basotho.  Now, I not only get asked for sweets and money, but also balloons, stickers, tennis balls, and now bread.  I thought these kids might want a little snack…never again! It makes me sad, because I like being generous, but I have to stop giving things away, even if I do it intermittently.  People don’t ever forget here.  Two days later when I got home from school, a crowd of kids made themselves comfortable right outside of my window and proceeded to scream my name over and over again, followed by “Bread! Bread! Give me bread!”  I didn’t know what to do, there was no bread left, and they wouldn’t leave.  I paced around in my room for a while until some old lady came along telling them to scram or she’d beat them.

On Sunday, I finally planted my first garden.  I had been putting it off for a while because I wasn’t sure if my host family had any space for me in their fenced-in plot.  Gardens have to be fenced in where I live because there are so many sheep, goats, cows, horses, and donkeys that will eat all of the plants as soon as they come up.  My host dad, a farmer, seemed so happy that I was taking interest in gardening.  After he helped me prepare the soil, I planted tomatoes, pumpkin, cucumbers, swiss chard, green beans, chives, basil, cilantro, and thyme.   This is a big experiment for me and I’m not sure if anything will actually grow.  But it’s worth a try, especially when fresh fruits and vegetables are hard to come by.   If I actually manage to grow and harvest anything, I’ll post a few pictures.