A question from the audience: What is Africa like? (Seventh & Eight Month Reflections)

Disclaimer: There is a high chance I have gone crazy and the weird has become normal.

The only epiphany I have had the past two months is I am going to have to devote my whole life to saving the world, not just 27 months.

I have lived in Africa for the past eight months and unlike Sarah Palin's knowledge base Africa is a continent, not a country, and therefore extremely diverse with culture, climate and just about everything imaginable. Africa is a place people call home. There are definitely vast differences from our home, thank goodness or I would be out of a job. In order to keep from getting too down I like to pretend the corruption, culture, disease, and inefficiency in Lesotho contributes to the continents diversity. While as an American it is easy for us to realize these variations should impede daily life, they do not. These problems exist and they are not going anywhere in my remaining 19 months. Heavier Sigh. The Basotho will figure it out when they want too.

My original point: It wasn’t until I got a letter from 15 year old B.X.W. inquiring what Africa is like that it dawned on me. Africa is simply another place on the earth where people live. I can tell you Africa, at least Lesotho, is not like it is portrayed in our imaginations. I like to dream somewhere in Africa there are places I will visit and experience rhinos, giraffes, and other wild animals running free. Maybe even places where I can run into Simba's lost relative sitting in the shade of those cool African trees. There will be warm weather year round, huge markets, people dressed in native gear with painted faces. However, that is not where I live. I am surrounded by the sounds, smells, and sight of farm animals (cows, dogs, donkeys, goats, horses, pigs, and sheep) and cornfields as far up the mountain as one can see. There are pests too, plenty of them: gigantic spiders, lizards, mice/rats, and silverfish. This place is definitely not picturesque; nevertheless it is beautiful to me because it is my (temporary) home.

Lesotho is a place rich in culture. A place people raise families, attend school, and work. It’s a culture before education, live-in-the-moment, slow moving, small details are important, take time for one another lifestyle. Babies are toted around with their mothers. Toddlers and children play outside using their imaginations to entertain themselves for hours. The teenage crowd behaves as if they are too cool for school. Some work while attending school, some play sports, others get into trouble drinking and using drugs (the majority can’t afford to smoke!!!). They have their own slang and use cuss words. Adult men who can find work spend their days working while women typically care for the children and tend to the household chores. Just like in a perfect world, the elderly live with and are cared for by their children.

There is some electricity and absolutely no running water where I am located. Regardless, the people are just as materialistic as we Americans are. They love cars, cell phones, clothes, jewelry, make-up, and televisions. The wealthier families have televisions and enjoy South African soaps or American movies. For the most part the days are still controlled by the sun despite the electricity. The food varies by the seasons. Business as a concept is still a work in progress. Basotho are resourceful and sustain themselves, growing or making almost anything they need. For example, my host family (like most) relies on the shops for four things: paraffin, salt, sugar, and sunflower oil. As a result the shops are quite small and all sell the same things.

It is an exceptionally unique place that few will ever see. It is a mountain kingdom, a home to the Basotho (and me).

Another Perspective

Closest girl is not a blogger by nature (but then again, who is?). She decided to be a guest blogger today and I do hope you will enjoy.

I like carrots, I don’t love them. I like maybe one/two per week. Unfortunately unlike all veggies that are scarce, in high demand, and therefore can be bought individually, carrots can only be bought in bulk. Like 25 carrots at a time in bulk. Okay this is an exaggeration, but to me it might as well be the truth. You’re probably saying, “But carrots last a long time so what’s the problem.” Ha! You made an assumption about a commonly eaten vegetable. Didn’t your teacher/mother/friend ever tell you not to ass-u-me? No worries, I did the same. I was silly (very useful Basotho word), bought a pack, saw them rot within a week and then proceed to purchase another one. After some time, I gave up and was preparing for a somewhat long life without carrots in my daily cooking repertoire. Fast forward to January 2011, S.M.H. enters the Thaba-Tseka district and brings her very distinct eating style. Viola, carrots were back!

S.M.H. is a believer that eating food doesn’t need to be proceeded by cooking of any means, unless it’s popcorn. There are exceptions to everything, don’t judge. As a result, she is a superb eater of fruits and vegetables by volumes. I thought I like apples and bananas, but since S.M.H.s arrival I’ve been reduced to an average eater-Phepi me. Same goes for hiking up hills-phepi me again. Now because of this ability to eat raw fruits and vegetables I’ve been able to secretly loot two to three carrots a week for my vegetables curries, soups and more importantly fake fried rice which I haven’t really cooked yet, but have put a lot of time thinking about cooking. Waiting on American teriyaki sauce-life is a drag sometimes. The best part is that S.M.H. hasn’t even noticed this stealing of vegetables since she consumes five bags a week. Ha! Not only do I get carrots, but I save a whopping two rand. That is four fat cakes, half a Basotho lunch. This also has caused problems for the general Thaba-Tseka carrot market (used very loosely here) since Basotho are now also having trouble finding carrots for their general consumption. Don’t even get me started on the S.M.H. effect on the apple and pear market, that’s a five page thesis. I’ve even started contemplating on leaving work early on delivery days just to beat her to the shops. My biggest hope from this carrot situation is that maybe they will start selling them individually like everything else. Double yes, since it would solve the overarching problem and the act of stealing does give me a little anxiety.

My little projects!

I’ve been told that back in the 1980’s WHITE Afrikaner Missionaries decided to have a parade and drive around Lesotho throwing tons (literately, not figuratively) of candy to the Basotho children just so that in the future every white person, trust me if you don’t think your white, your white here, afterwards would have to endure the following statement, “Give me sweets” as soon as they walk outside. Except it is not only the children, even the oldies ask because you guessed it, they still remember. Of course, I’ve might have embellished the above story, but deep down I think those Afrikaners knew what they were doing, since I’ve yet to see one in Lesotho unless they are locked in an overfilled land rover heading to the Dranskberg for holiday.

Some chose to ignore. I chose to stop and commence a small lecture. I’m going to attempt and in fact, as a Peace Corps secondary project, undo all the damage those Afrikaners have done and teach every young and old Basotho that white people are afraid of candy and therefore banned from all things sweet. Sooner or later they will cease to ask.

I am having much luck with my "white people don't have candy" project (note major sarcasm) that I have also decided to teach the Basotho that prior to noon is the only time we say "good morning!" It does not matter if it is morning, afternoon, or night the little ones (and uneducated elder ones) greet me with "good morning." During the winter holiday between the hours of noon and four I take Spads for walks simply to work on greetings. This project is having a much higher success rate. In all honestly it does not really matter to me that after five it is still considered morning but if they are as eager to learn English as I am Sesotho I figure they best learn correctly.

Fully Stocked

Oh. My. Goodness. You can stop sending packages!!! I can’t begin to thank all of you for the generous care packages I have received! You are all absolutely incredible, and I am so appreciative of the time you have taken to prepare such amazing packages. Old neighbors, friends in college with no money, parents of children I babysat for, parents of my youngest brothers friends, my sweet parents, my old grandparents, and so many more have all come together to send me love in a box. You have all gone overboard and my kitchen cabinet (and I imagine your wallet) shows it. I am bursting at the seams with black beans, chocolate, macaroni & cheese, muffin mixes, and taco seasoning! It’s a processed wonderland. You have not just filled my kitchen cabinet. I am also stocked on antibacterial handsoap, batteries, chapstick, crosswords, sudukos, paper, and sponges for the remainder of my service! Living thousands of miles away you have shown me an abundance of tangible love from back home.

Now do not get me wrong, I LOVE receiving packages but equally as much I adore your letters. Life is so much easier when I “hear” about your lives back home. It is nice to know what you are up to and to be reminded of the efficiency we call America. Save yourself a few bucks and pick up a pen!

If you still insist on sending packages here is an updated list:

• Almonds
• Dried Fruit
• Granola Bars
• Cheap Pens (for my students)
• Music (put your favorite new tunes on a CD/flashdrive and send it my way)
• Reading Material (sports articles, magazines, books)
• Starbucks VIA Ready Brew Coffee (I have a French Press so technically any coffee will do but these are easy, delicious, and portioned just right for a morning cup before school)
• Trail Mix
• Velvetta Cheese

Really, though you have gone above and beyond! Kea Leboha!

For the game. For the world.

You know those tickets N.X.B. purchased for us at the end of the post titled Ha Ke Nako for the 1D vs 2C match up, well you won’t be surprised to learn they never went through. Due to lack of internet we did not learn this until all the actual tickets were sold out. Determined to see a game seven of us departed for Bloemfontein, South Africa early Sunday morning. We got to the ticket office three hours before game time, no tickets. We walked the streets looking for scalpers, no luck. We scarfted down McDonalds like it was the best tasting food ever. I realize that is very unlike me and sounds disgusting to you, but it is amazing what eight months in isolation will do to your taste buds. Then there were three of us wallowing in the grass outside the Waterfront Mall, the other four had tickets to the game.

In a last minute attempt we sent J.P.B. off to try again for tickets praying he would not be arrested. He scored! For a bit over $100 each we had a ticket to see Germany play England. After all we had been through we were shocked when our tickets weren’t fake. It was so good to finally see a game (live) and fill my sports void. The game was awesome, the atmosphere unreal. The fans were alive and intense.

Following the game we raced to the last Kombi back to Maseru exchanging game stories the entire way. We all went to the same game but we were split off in four different sections of the stadium. Exhausted, the ride back was silent. Rejuvenated, we managed to make it to Maseru Sun for the last half of the Argentina/Mexico game.

The Dirty South

It’s finally time to socialize now that school has come to an end. Another lesson I have learned while teaching: teachers earn their breaks! To kick off the winter holiday my friend J.P.B. came to stay for a week. Next I was off to Quthing to spend time with two of my favorite volunteers! The two day trek for a three day stay was worth every second and penny. I made it just in time to catch the last USA game of the group rounds. We won in extra time in what might be described as one of the greatest sporting moments in my life. Then we (well they) cooked a hearty meal, we enjoyed terrible wine (not the taste, the effect, of course, kidding the company was the soul enjoyment on this bitter cold winter night), and chatted the night away. Thursday I got a tour of the school A.J.S. teaches at and a tour of another volunteers house nearby. It is amazing how different each volunteer house is (both of their houses have running water, one has a geyser). When they took me to the local scone shop I had to ask if I was in America. My question was answered when the “bakery” only had one of eight items on the menu.

In the afternoon K.A.B. and I headed to her place in Mohales Hoek. She is isolated. It is one thing for her to say and another thing to witness. No bar, neighbors (she is on a school compound), post office (although those are only in the camptowns, lucky me), soccer field, or shops. I like to pretend I would be able to handle that, instead I will admit I am much more of a city girl (or camptown girl in this instance). We relaxed at her site and continued to catch up on our three months apart. Friday night we taught her students how to make smores. They indulged in gooey goodness while I took advantage of the warmth of the fire. At one point I got a little too close managing to catch my shirt on fire.

On Saturday we were up early to head to Maseru to meet some friends for lunch. I felt so American, out to lunch with the girls. Then I took a warm shower. Normally the shower comes before the outing, in Peace Corps it comes whenever you find one. Afterwards, K.A.B. gave me my first hair cut since I left home. For having no experience she did a good job cutting my hair. The boys cooked us dinner and we headed to the Maseru Sun (a hotel) to watch the USA play what would ultimately be their last game. The capital is so different from village life. Picture big comfy couches, the game projected on to a big white wall, and a live band performing during half time. Every now and then it is nice to have a week away, more importantly to be American.

My grass is greener!

K.A.B. was one of the other three volunteers in my World Cup group. We have been refunded $10500 of the $13000, the remaining $2500 is on her credit card. A few weeks ago she was mugged in her camptown, all cash and Lesotho bank card stolen. New bank card, new week. When N.X.B. and her went to Bloemfontein to pick up our World Cup tickets (only to find out we have no tickets) she used an ATM and was scammed. Her Lesotho bank account was drained. She lives over a mountain in a valley where she has no access to anything, meaning she is able to save a lot of money for vacations. Peace Corps will only reimburse her for the amount of time remaining in the quarter, not the total amount in her bank account. Take that as a R7000 loss! They say bad things happen in three. Bad thing #3: She spilled boiling water on her leg, ended up with second degree burns, and as I write is in Maseru seeking treatment for her infected burns. Somebody cut this girl a break!