Country Director Visits T.T.

Peace Corps Lesotho welcomed a new country director in February. She has been busy learning and adjusting to the ropes of leading us (the volunteers). One of the ropes apparently includes riding public transportation. Thaba Tseka was declared the winning district. K.X.J. came to visit us this week! Only I happened to be scheduled on the Sunday I returned from Katse/Bobete. When I left town on Wednesday my house was in total disarray, I did not warn my host mother I was going to have a visitor, and I was more than sleep deprived. I met K.X.J. at the bus stop with closest girl volunteer around one and took her on a five hour (close to the amount of sleep I had gotten in the past two days) walking tour of the town. Although the odds of enjoying myself were stacked against me I managed to have a good time. It was nice to spend some quality time with her and learn a little more about her.

It’s not really the director’s visit I want to tell you about. Instead it is about the video recording K.X.J. took of my host mother. She asked my host mother (who has been hosting volunteers since 2000) what advice she would give to volunteers. My host mother hit me hard, unintentionally… I think. She said, “they need to learn to wash their clothes without machines, how to dress appropriately for each occasion, and they need to learn how to cook (especially the food we eat).” It is not that I do not wash my clothes or wear skirts to school or cook. Okay, I do not cook but I do wash my clothes and I definitely always wear skirts to school. She went on and on about the importance of adapting to all things Basotho and in a lot of ways she is right. Basotho have been living here for years they have most things figured out when in comes to the chores associated with daily living.

At times we are all nitpicky. There is a reason I do not wash my clothes outside. When I perform tasks in the fish bowl as opposed to my hut Basotho constantly feel like they have to step in and help me, which leads to an immeasurable amount of guilt as I realize they already have so much washing to do and other chores to do. I recognize they are good-hearted people who are only doing what they do best, helping and teaching. Shouldn’t there be a point where I have learned, especially after to five months in country? Oh they are so patient, too patient. My patience has increased immensely but following three weeks on calculating the area of a rectangle my head is about to explode.

There is an additional explanation as to why I hang my underwear right on the line without a towel covering it. I am lazy in the hygiene department. I am sorry but it dries faster this way and when my weather choices are below 40 degrees or rainy I am entirely about efficiency. This country demands so much extra work as it is I wasn’t about to go beyond the bare minimum. There are mountains that need to be climbed and rivers begging me to come swim in them.
I’m giving in. Goodbye soaking Friday night and 45-minute scrubbing Saturday morning sessions, hello four hour torture afternoon sessions. Excess soap will be “wasted” and clothes will be even stiffer until I get this process down. My hands will most definitely be rubbed sore. I will splurge on gas for the warming of washing water. These things might be true nevertheless there will be no complaining.

On to dress. Apparently wearing a skirt everyday is not enough. There needs to be variety. This skirt is for this event and that red skirt does not match with the pink shoes. You should wear the heels to school and the sandals for gardening, not every day. Blah, blah, ha, ha. In my opinion I have already compromised my entire being to wear a skirt each day. There will be no more negotiating on the wardrobe. The weather is the only thing that is going to be me to change my shoes and I am pretty sure you are going to be disappointed because the boots I brought do not have heels. Sorry. It is cross-cultural exchange. A little give, a little take.

I won’t even go on to talk about the cooking mishaps. I make something I deem edible and delicious and the next day I am messing up a box of Kraft mac and cheese. It’s a process, a very long process. I am done blaming me. It the altitude, the lack of a formal kitchen…. or the fact that I am being enabled (top chefs in my district, a “restaurant” that sells chips (French fries) and fat cakes (think funnel cake-ish), and a family who brings me beans or bread each night because they consider me hopeless).

I’m blending right in!