The Social Scene

A few weeks after my friend moved from her safe haven in South Carolina to the Wild West she called me to tell me she was lonely and I quote, “you have no idea how hard it is to make friends.” That comment was a direct stab, of course, in her defense I am sure it just came out, she probably did not think twice about it. Remember though, my parents dragged me half way across the country to Small Town, South Carolina when I was 15. It was at this exact moment in life I learned how thankful I was for all the friends I had and how difficult it was to make friends. I went from having a plethora of friends in a place where people understood me to a place I do not think I ever fit in or would ever fit in no matter how hard I tried. For the record, I tried pretty hard.

My life was not a pity party; I definitely found my nitch running and made a solid friend. All those relationships that were built over the course of the first 15 years of my life still existed, but everyone needs a social life that involves more than talking on the phone. In all honesty, almost eight years later as much as I still miss the Heartland I am happy my parents made the decision to move on behalf of the family. The move opened my eyes to a world of possibilities. I formed my own opinions and saw things in a completely new light when my homogenous group of friends was not around to influence my decisions.

Equally as unsatisfied with South Carolina (I like to pretend) my parents proceeded to relocate almost every year of my college career. Translation: On breaks when most of my friends went back home to catch up with old friends who attended various other colleges I was temporarily friendless. My social life was back to consisting of my family and cell phone. Bitter much? Trust me I know how hard it is to make friends.*

This same friend went on to tell me in the PC I was going to have built in friends. At the time I thought she was borderline insane. I envisioned myself with the farthest thing from an American social life as one can get. I chose this route so I was prepared for this. I was confident I would make friends with Basotho and partake in their form of social enjoyment for the time away. Turns out women in Lesotho do not have social lives. Their only form of social enjoyment is church, and I am not about to start going to church. Church that lasts over four hours, starts in the wee hours of my one off day, and mind you occurs in another language. That, to me, seems about as far from entertainment as can be. I have been to the bars a few times to bond with bo-ntate (adult males), unfortunately I can only do this in the company of other male volunteers for safety reasons. I have a ridiculously amazing host family and a cell phone. I have made family and a cell phone work before to fulfill my social needs. This is different though because they are not my family and the cell phone does not make outgoing calls.

There are only 80ish volunteers serving in the country at one time and seven in my district. Only once a year for three days are all 80 volunteers are gathered at the same location at the same time. In addition to this people are always leaving, and new volunteers arrive in June and November. When describing the strength of friendship with people I pull out my handy solar system analogy (copyrighted: me, 2004). There are three basic categories: planets, satellites, and debris. Planets are your close friends, the ones you confide in, the ones you look forward to spending time with, and the ones you can rely on for anything. Satellites are the people you get along with but do not necessarily someone you divulge your deep dark secrets to. You do not want to put yourself in a position where you would ever feel vulnerable around these people. When satellites come together everyone gets along and enjoys him or herself. Then there is debris, people you do not clique with. You deal with the debris in each situation as it arises. This analogy can be used under three circumstances: 1. You never for one second think your solar system is superior to any other solar system out there. It’s not and will never be. Stop trying. Be yourself and be unique. 2. You are the not center of your solar system. It is a circle of friends. 3. Labels are understood and do not need ever be discussed out loud.

This analogy works really well here. I am really pleased with where I was placed, and I despise traveling long distances for the weekend. This keeps me landlocked in my district most of the time and limits my social circle to about five friends. As a result of different interest and living far apart the majority of other volunteers are satellites. I am thrilled to inform you there is very little debris in country.

This weekend I am alone for the first time in more than two months, and here I am, six months later admitting defeat. Having built in friends is awesome; being alone is not quite so awesome. I could go on about each one of my built in friends individually and explain how each one of them is making this experience more enjoyable. As a result of this post being a marathon I will keep the details on my planets to a minimum. There is closest girl who had I come across in the states I would have dismissed her immediately. Thankfully that did not happen. We have a lot in common despite coming from extremely different backgrounds. She keeps me balanced, goes along with all my quirks, and lets me stay the night when I have a bad day. The rest of my friends are of the male species. They play pool with me, help me build shelves, talk sports with me, repair my bike, and cook for me. They treat me like their little sister. At first I was slightly annoyed by this (because I am not that much younger), now I embrace it. In view of the fact I miss my brothers more than words I am thankful for their brother-like companionship. Thou shall not lie, all my built in friends are pretty incredible. I do indeed have an American social life without the America setting. We work hard, but we play hard too.

Taking an awfully negative approach to demonstrate with every pro there are cons I could attempt to find the inadequacies in my built in friends. I won’t do that because I like to think I am a better person than that. My built in friends are fabulous, but they are not my friends from home. I do not need to put them down to tell you how much I miss each friend at home. As much as I love living on my own in the big wide world it has definitely been an adjustment to go from living with and amongst my best friends to isolation (or weekday isolation). Gossiping with girlfriends, intellectual conversations, and friends with common interest all seem to be a thing of the past (or at least limited to email, letters, and the occasional phone call for the present point in time). Soon but not too soon we will be reunited and it will be blissful.

No hard feelings friend. Now that you are thriving in Denver, time to pick it up an do it all again in the Big Apple. Best of luck to you!

*I am definitely not looking for any sympathy in my introduction. I am content with where my life has taken me. If you want to have sympathy for anyone, channel your compassion to the youngest member of the H clan. The original move might not have been nearly as devastating, but he is a freshman in high school and has been to eight schools (nine if you want to include preschool). This one could probably teach a brick wall how to make friends.

Food For Thought, Part Two

Over the course of 27 months I estimate I will eat 2,466 meals and consume over 1,644,000 calories. It’s about time to reiterate how much I loathe cooking. One hand tells me the limited food options are all part of the adventure (yesterdays post) while other hand is shouting go home and hire a chef, remember the multitude of options, home-cooked meals, processed food, and restaurants. Food could be the one thing that causes me to terminate my service early. That is a bit drastic (and lame), plus we all know I am far too stubborn for that. I am trying to make a point.

A point that I am sick and tired of fried rice, curried vegetables, and pasta with home-made tomato sauce (that although delicious, does not taste like either parents). Wow, you are all thinking to yourselves… the girl has learned how to cook. Do not be ridiculous! I am not cooking any of these things. These are the meals typically prepared in the company of other volunteers by other volunteers. I am not knocking their cooking at all; in fact, I am so thankful to have them around. My district is fully stocked with excellent chefs, meaning at least one cooked meal a week. When I’m alone I eat popcorn or raw vegetables. Surprisingly after consuming over 10 kg of popcorn in four months I still love it. I am not complaining about the raw vegetables because I ate tons of them even in America. I want new meals, a brand new variety of meals.

It’s clear I still do not know how to cook and will probably be the only PC volunteer to ever leave without this acquired skill. To be completely honest I have not really tried as I have decided it is something I do not take pleasure in whatsoever. That’s the understatement of the century; cooking is pure and evil torture. One, I am bored after five minutes of “sautéing” veggies. Two, creativity does not belong in the kitchen. A third disadvantage of cooking is learning how much oil, salt, badness it takes to make something delicious (a green pepper) taste even better. I prefer not knowing. Cooking would take far too much time out of my already short day, point four. Eating things raw is fast and some day might get old, but it will always be a possibility. You never have to worry about running out of ingredients when you eat your only ingredient. Convenient? I think so.

Sunday I was talking to E.J.R. on the phone and she mentioned the food I eat here is probably going to have more of an impact on me than I imagine, which is part of the reason I wrote yesterdays post first. I know she is right because it already has. Nevertheless with 21 months of service to go I already have an entire 30-day meal plan mapped out (of only my parents cooking), from fish tacos (goodbye vegetarianism, I just finished saving the world) to homemade macaroni and cheese to chicken-avocado-cheese burgers to waffles to salmon to spinach salad to blue cheese bacon filets to grilled cheese/tomato soup/milkshakes to ribs. Mom and Dad, prepared your kitchen! Then prepare your bank account because month two we are hitting up Moe’s, Panera, Fireworks, PF Changs, and Lightfoot.

Food For Thought

There are an abundance of things that make this life an adventure; one of these things is food. No, I am not eating any exotic new foods, instead I am learning so much about the food I have been consuming for years. I can’t tell you how fun it is to grow your own food and live by the season. For things I can’t find in the garden I go to town for produce shopping at least once a week and it seems like every month the choices are changing. Cabbage and pumpkin (butternut squash) this month for vegetables, while I continue to enjoy green apples and welcome oranges as my variety of fruit. It’s entertaining because you never know what you are going to get, of course, next year I will have it mapped out. I am already counting down the days till peaches and mangos come back. The only thing getting me through cabbage season is the rumor avocados are on their way! Yet, then again America is fun because you always know you can get exactly what you want, we might be paying a price (no pun intended) for that… but we probably will not ever know the exact cost in our lifetime.

Let me clue you in on a few of the things I have learned about food, mainly produce, throughout my stay thus far. Those of you who know me really well know I will not touch, peel, or look at a banana with a brown spec on it. I have gone to such extremes as hiding bananas while babysitting because looking at rotten bananas makes me want to scream and the thought of someone consuming that fruit fly infested fruit makes me want to vomit. That has all changed! The bananas I eat here can be completely brown on the outside and unharmed on the inside. It took me four months to give in and check it out for myself, boy am I glad I did! Similar to the durable banana peel, oranges have a mighty thick rind making them incredibly tough to peel. Now J.L.W. you might be thinking you have had difficulty peeling oranges in the states, well you have no idea. I have fond memories watching you spend your entire lunch period peeling an American orange, granted you are a meticulous peeler. These memories add laughter to my life here each and every time I choose to eat an orange. I am now the one who spends me entire lunch period peeling, you would be peeling all day! As for my favorite apple, the Granny Smith, they’re actually not normally as humongous as they appear in American produce section. In reality, they are just as small as the other breeds. And when stored with other fruits and vegetables they release a potent gas (ethylene, I think but should know) that causes other fruits and vegetables to rot faster.

Shall we move on to veggies? Cabbage can be cooked with anything and lasts for decades. I am on my second head of cabbage now and can officially declare my dislike. Luckily, it won’t go bad for over five weeks. I will continue to force myself to choke down a leaf a day until it is gone, forever. It’s hard to turn down a head (much bigger than mine, which is quite large) of cabbage when it cost less than a dollar, provides over 15 meals, and I’m on a PC salary. Peppers have a very short shelf life and mold from the inside out (tricky). The biggest shock has be carrots, which are actually flexible when pulled straight from the garden and much like my dear friend the green pepper they do not last long at all! Leafy greens, a gem when found, have an increased life expectancy when left soaking in water until use.

On to my newest fascination: eggs! I have heard people in the states claim certain eggs are delicious, and we are not talking about the way they are prepared. I am talking about the egg itself. I never understood until I started buying eggs from my family the day they are laid. These eggs are scrumptious! While they are best the day they are laid, unrefrigerated they last over a month. I said I would never eat meat after watching that first sheep go down, but lately the lack of iron in my body is taking a toll on me. I have not given in yet but each day breaks me down a little more. As far as meat observations go I have learned chickens actually have incredibly thin, almost transparent, skin. It is no surprise we have thick skinned chickens in the good ole’ U S of A, after all our turkeys are so genetically modified they can’t reproduce on their own.

My newfound knowledge on food has me a little hesitant to come back to the states where preservatives, pesticides, bigger and brighter are always better are the norms.

Advice Column #1

Dear Replacement Volunteer,

Thus far I have truly enjoyed my time living and working here in Thaba Tseka. Overall, the experience has been nothing but positive. You are living with one of the most progressive host mothers in the entire country; she has tons of love to share! I imagine she will impact all of your decisions here as much as she has my own. I have made many friends I hope you will soon adopt, especially my dear friend, the puppy-making machine, Spads. I am sure in no time at all the community will embrace you as much as they have me.

I have several questions I wish I could ask the volunteer before me and therefore I have decided to keep an “advice column” for you throughout my stay. I taught math and science to eighth and ninth grade, and I assume you will be doing the same. You will notice within a week of teaching how challenging it is to teach students who lack the fundamentals in math or any note taking/study habits that would be beneficial in science, not to mention there is a major the language barrier. T.T.G.H.S. is an English-medium school so you do get to teach in English, however, it’s the students second language and they are far from fluent. The rest of the teachers have the advantage of being able to translate misunderstandings/confusion to Sesotho, the native language. Be patient and laugh often. You might offer yourself up as an immediate aid, a tutor perhaps, as I did. I highly recommend serving as a tutor and should you choose this path my first piece of advice is to set ground rules and tread lightly.

I am a little over six months into my service and I am tutoring six children regularly, three of them are family members. The semester is rapidly coming to an end and I feel totally burn out, not a good feeling with 21 months of service remaining. I tutor two hours a night, six nights a week. It’s too much, at least for me, after teaching a full day at school during the week. My schedule is strict and leaves me feeling guilty when I want to travel on the weekends or simply have alone time.

For the most part tutoring has been the most encouraging part of the experience. Working one-on-one with these students has allowed to visually track their progress (keeping me motivated) which I have been unable to do with my own students as there are only two recorded grades a quarter. It is significantly easier to work with one student and focus on their struggles as opposed to a class of 60 plus on all different levels. I have been able to build into the lives of these students and allowed them to build into my own. On lonely nights their company is welcome. They teach me just about as much as I teach them. It’s just those few off nights that remind me I am only human.

Next semester I am having tutoring hours, twice a week, two hours each night. It is going to force the students to share their time but it is going to give me weekends, freedom to breath, and optimistically give me more energy for each session (less answer giving, more thought provoking). I’ll be sure to let you know how that works out.

For all I know you will not tutor at all or you will be a machine and tackle the entire school. This is my humble advice; use your own digression. Best of luck during your service!

Sincerely, Ausi Relebohile

Update on Ma-ta-ta

It’s another African miracle. She is back to her old self again: eating, barking, and causing havoc. I cleaned off all the blood to with any luck avoid infection. Then I wired her mouth shut in order to hold her jaw in place, hopefully allowing it to heal quickly. Call me cruel, but she wasn’t eating or barking anyways! She disappeared for two days, and I was most certain she was dead. She reappeared, wireless, with papa (human and dog staple food) all over her face. Ever since then she has been steadily gaining weight and busy helping me prepare her next meal (the litter of puppies due any day now).

Little Leo

As long as the mice continue to reside in my hut I will be sure to update you on our ever so tense relationship. The cat finally arrived, only he/she (I haven’t checked the sex as he/she is a pain to catch) isn’t quite a cat yet. In typical Basotho fashion Leo was taken from his/her mother far too early. His/her current size rivals that of my mice, and it doesn’t help that he/she is severely outnumbered. Leo and I are on the same terms I am with the mice. He/she has been around for a week but has only spent a total of two nights ridding my hut of mice. That does not make any sense to those of you who have been anxiously awaiting Leo’s arrival.

Here is why: On night one everything went according to plan, or so I thought. I slept and I am not sure what Leo did. If he/she did nothing his/her scent at least kept the mice to a minimum. Rise, shine, and itch. My back and legs were on fire. Bed bugs? You can’t be serious, it’s winter and I have had about all I can take in the houseguest department. Turns out, Leo has fleas which in turn meant I had fleas, or flea bites anyways. Mice win.

A week and a bath later I welcomed Leo back into my hut for round two. If kittens could talk Leo probably would have been upfront with me and politely declined my invitation to stay the night. He/she cried the entire night; there was not a second of silence at any point during the night. At about two I wanted to let her out, but that was not an option because Ma-ta-ta patrols the compound at night leaving no safe haven for Leo. Mice win.

These mice may be winning all the battles. They will not win the war.

The rest of my life

This life is great (although you might not define life as “great” after the last three posts), nevertheless my job here is not permanent. Perhaps these two years of life/job might be a bridge to grad school, a potential job, or simply change who I am (hopefully for the better)? For several years I have known I am decent with children. I have this ability to bond with them that I have been in denial about, till I got here. My “ability” became even more apparent listening to other volunteers continuously complain about how annoying the children of Lesotho are. We all have our complaints, the children are the last thing I would complain about. It's definitely frustrating to constantly be asked for money and candy, their children though, children who have been brainwashed to think all white people come carrying money and candy. All they need is five seconds of your time and a lot of your love. In my opinion they are innocent.

Children demand a ton of patience and even more energy. At the same time they are always offering new perspectives on everything. They are adorable curious sponges for knowledge who love laughing and making total fools of themselves. Each one of them touches me in a different way, from I.J.S. (the all boy, lets dig for worms to feed to turtles a two mile bike ride from home, bundle of energy) to A.L.R.L. (the all girl, brush the sand off my feet before I get in the car, knows exactly what she wants).

Before I left America I was dead set on the public health side of environmental engineering and not having children of my own. Well I am still dead set on not having children of my own. Why? Having my own children will most definitely ruin children for me. I like the fun part—the chasing each other in circles for hours, the laughing until you wet your pants, the cuddle up and read a book. I am getting off track, big surprise. Onwards. Environmental engineering plus no children of my own will mean little to no children in my life on a regular basis, and I need at least one dose of child a day. Thursday was a sign, a blaringly obvious sign that I am supposed to work with children in some way, shape, or form. I realize I change my mind like every day but the rest of my life is a mega deal, not a decision someone who likes to be spontaneous can make over night… or over the course of four college years.

The way I see it pediatric nursing is the career for me. The pros: no sitting behind a desk, no five day work weeks, lots of travel, a regular dose of child, I will be able to live comfortably, and John Hopkins has an accelerated nursing program through Peace Corps Partnerships. The cons: blood and I without a doubt do not get along (BUT because children and I get along so well maybe I can tackle this tiny obstacle) and I unquestionably do not want to go to John Hopkins (I was thinking more along the lines of Wisconsin or Oregon, of course, I could spend two years at John Hopkins in Baltimore, close to my parents and then go live real life in Wisconsin or Oregon).

I’ll let you know tomorrows plans, well tomorrow.

Keeping it all in Perspective

Back to school blues. One would think all that lying in bed on Monday and Tuesday would have me energized for today despite all of yesterdays travels. It didn’t. Five minutes into my walk to school my host mother’s driver picked me up and drove me 30 minutes of the walk. Sweet. I was extra early to school, in time for the morning beatings. Welcome back. I bonded with the night watchman until assembly, where I found out there was no formal school today. That is exactly what I wanted to hear! I love that about this country. It requires you to be incredibly flexible. You might be reading this and thinking to yourself you haven’t exactly been present at school that much this week. You might have been prepared for this had you shown up. Nope, you’re wrong. I promise you nothing is announced until it’s time for them happen, unless they require money and even then you get about a days notice. I am so fond of spontaneity. There is a list of 453 things that are going to annoy me when I get home, people trying to plan things is number three on the list.

Today, we would be going on a “fun walk” instead. That idea of a “fun walk” makes me laugh. The Basotho hate walking, probably because they walk so much. We walked five kilometers to the starting point where all the camptown schools gathered for a six kilometer walk to the playground (no swings, no slides, just a dirt track). Side note: thank goodness I got a ride to school today. My heart goes out to all those students that walked a minimum of two kilometers to school. When we finally arrived at the playground at half past 10 the “Education for All” program started, only two hours behind schedule. I missed the first part of the program because my school sent me home to gather my camera, another four kilometers logged. There were speeches, singing, dancing, and dramas galore when I returned. At one I called it a day, a spectacular day. I spent the majority of the time with middle sister and her best friend. Side note two: she has known her best friend for three years and today was the first time she has been to her house. At their age (well their school age, juniors) my best friend had practically moved into my parent’s house. We spent every waking moment together. It’s no wonder most of my students are suffering from a stress disease called hysteria (more on this later).

Following the “Education for All” program I met up with a closest girl volunteer and we enjoyed an American afternoon. We got a plate (French fries, spinach, and beets—lunch of champions) at the expensive store and went “shopping” in all the stores we have yet to explore. I managed to gather the remaining supplies for the shelves I am building while she picked up some things to prepare her for the winter (tights and blankets). We decided it would have been awesome if there were a book store where we could sip on coffee and browse through books. As an alternative we settled on a game of snooker and wine. I am back on top (assuming I make it through my first real four hour washing session tomorrow morning).

Highest Highs

I am definitely not winning any volunteer of the year award, especially after this week, not that I was aiming for that anyways. Today I took another day off school. Yesterday went well, why did I need another day off? I am not sure but I did. The rule: I was not allowed to stay in bed. World Food Programme (WFP) was going to Ha Popa and I decided to join them. I met them at the ministry at half past seven and we departed. This was hands down my favorite day since arriving in country. Talk about a roller coaster. We drove two hours to Mansonyane and then went two hours further on these awful roads. While WFP was busy working I was busy meeting new friends. I interrupted classes to “motivate” students (not my idea). I held a baby while her mother swept dirt (when will this make sense?). I gathered ideas from the agriculture teacher on how to start a school garden. I was starting to fall in love with this place. This is what I thought Peace Corps would be. These children were roughing it. This village had a (that is ONE) 4-wheel pick-up truck that towed people to the closest town (Mansonyane) once a day as the only means of public transportation, there was no electricity, running water, or satellite dishes anywhere. The town had one shop that sold a total of 10 items. Peace Corps has a slogan, “life is calling, how far will you go?” That is how far I thought I was going. How ironic that I just wrote about how easy the general living part of life is here? There were no chalk boards at this school, one window per classroom, and dirt floors. I want to move. In Ha Popa I feel like I could make a difference. Everything I feel like I am capable of accomplishing at my school has already been done.

The day gets better. We continued nine kilometers on this road. It took us an hour! The roads (if you can call them roads) were terrible. We landed at Thabang Primary and here is where I actually fell in love. WFP hopped out of the car and got to work. I got out and immediately started playing with the children. We sang, we danced, and we bonded. They gave me a tour of their school. It was a one-room (10 by four meters) schoolhouse supporting seven classes and a pre-school. All 130 children crammed into this single classroom learning simultaneously. Each window was cracked and the doors were a foot off the ground. There were no floors, no books, no chairs, no desks, and no chalkboards. There was nothing besides a lot of dirt. Every single thing about this village, the students, and this school broke my heart but called me at the same time.

I am confident I impacted these students more in 20 minutes then I have my students in four months. I gave each one of them a high-five, taught them all the hokey-pokey, and sang to them the ABCs. I did not want to leave at all. As much as I feel I touched the lives of these 130 children, they will always be a part of me. I can’t get their adorable smiling faces or shoeless feet out of my head. There is no public transportation from their village. They will probably live in that bubble the rest of their lives. Imagine a place so full of tradition education is second. Slightly over a week ago I said education is the key to success and I still stand firm on that. At the same time there is something unique about the fact it is 2010 and there are places left in the world where once you learn to write your name you are considered educated.

We ventured another six kilometers further into the depths of Thaba Tseka, Lesotho. This time it only took 30 minutes. We came to another primary school where this woman has inspired the entire community to support the school. They are in the middle of nowhere and she has two beautiful school rooms. She applied and received funding to build the classrooms all on her own. Then motivated the students and community members to gather rocks for the kitchen from over a kilometer away, and has people carry water half a kilometer up to the school garden. My school does not have a kitchen but their living conditions are worlds better. This is rough. Growing up adults always tell you they walked to school 15 miles in the snow uphill both ways, well here that expression stands here. Children really do that, on empty stomachs.

I got back to my place at 10:30 PM on Thursday night. I was in a car moving less than 15 kilometers an hour for most of the day. I really do love my school, my family, and my village. Although in actuality I thought I would be living in a place similar to the ones I visited today. A location I felt truly needed and had something to work for each day. That is not exactly the case where I am. Again, don’t get me wrong. There are things to do, many of these things are unfortunately out of my reach. I finally got to really experience the forgotten third world Africa and I loved every second of it. I suppose the grass is always greener on the other side. I am sure that life would be significantly more difficult and I probably would miss all my apples and electricity. I appreciate what I have here in the camptown and will continue to make the most of my situation. I will not forget about those children, and I hope that was not the last time I will see those adorable smiling faces at Thabang Primary.

Hump Day

I arrived at school at my normal time, which was the only thing normal about my arrival. Everyone (the teachers, the night watchman, and the students) stopped in his or her tracks. They were so excited to see me. It was incredible, only uncomprehendable! I am just a white girl with a black dog. There is nothing amazing about me. I go to class and teach just like the rest of the teachers. I might act like a clown (climbing on desks, screaming song lyrics at the top of my lungs to get their attention, and dancing for my students like no one is watching), but I am not special. I’m me. I do what it takes to drive home points (whether it be calculating the area of irregular polygons or solubility) and I fight for causes I deem worthy.

Miraculously, despite being gone for a week there simply was not a lot of work for me to do on this particular day so I took the time to talk to my teachers. Generally I am pretty honest with them, not as honest as I was this day. One of my teachers wanted to know why I was here. I told him pointblank I wanted to go on an adventure but that lately I was unsure if I made the right decision.

This lead into a lengthy discussion on the wonders of America. It makes no sense for me to quit and go home, besides pure laziness. I have nothing to go home to. Trust me, I would kill to see friends and family, but there will always family and friends. And unless things get really bad I do not think chips and salsa are going anywhere. When I say I have nothing to go home to I mean I have not been accepted to grad school and I do not have a job lined up. I filled my teachers in on how much nannies, maids, and fast food workers make in America. I dropped a lot of American knowledge on them. We had quite an insightful discussion comparing and contrasting our countries.

Taking time to truly engage in conversation with my teachers made me realize I am trying to do too much. I literally teach and grade notebooks all day, even during my one-hour lunch break. I spend about an average of four minutes interacting with the teachers each day. A lot of times they get on my nerves because I feel like they have so much potential but are inhibited by their bad attitudes. Day after day I am there offering assistance, serving as a role model, observing their classes and N-O-T-H-I-N-G changes. I might only bond four minutes as day with my teachers on an average but I have good relationships with most of them (thanks to staff meetings, sports, and field trips) for four months in. I realize I have said this over and over on my blog but I am going to have to keep digging. Keep learning Sesotho, keep teaching English, crack them open, force them to think (and act on those thoughts) if I want anything to change.

I have spent hours, countless hours learning the names of each of my eight grade students, along with the number of children in their families, their favorite sport, and what village they are from (my school serves 50 plus villages, holy complicated names). This is time spent outside the classroom. I can definitely see the difference it has made in motivating my students, gaining their respect, and the overall performance in class. Wednesday continued to be an above average day because two of my three classes went well. I was warned the impact I made here I might never see. I did not think it would bother me until it was fraction of the tornado that hit me hard this week. A good number of days I still feel like I am filling a position and that is tough. One breath at a time, I’ll make it. On the outside looking in it might look like I am here to save the world, on the inside looking out it is a bumpy emotional voyage.

Lowest Lows

It could not be more appropriate that last Wednesday I wrote about Lesotho (Africa) Lite. I knew all of Lesotho could not be as well off as my village. I have been on an emotional rollercoaster ride since then. I will try to catch you up to speed. Buckle up. Despite having two back-to-back three days weeks (thank you sports, thank you spread out high schools) the past two weeks have been painstakingly long. The seconds could not possibly move any slower than they seemed to be moving. Following the long short week Thursday I was off to Katse for a birthday celebration. The day started at 3 AM when I woke up sweating and anxious. I could not tell if I was excited for the weekend as I was going to get to see volunteers I had not seen since Easter or if my body was totally exhausted signally me to stay home and spend the next four days in bed. At five I got a two hour phone call from R.D.S. and that seemed to rejuvenate me. I threw some things in a bag and headed to the taxi rank. As luck would have it I was strolling up and the kombi was pulling away. I was not in any mood to go back home and hang around for the two o’clock bus. Hitching it was. In six hours with three different rides I managed to make it to Katse (2.5 hours north of me). I have hitched before, never alone and never the entire distance. Two-in one, money saved, an impressed self.

Katse was fun, nothing extraordinary. Lots of delicious food, I won lots of snooker, good company, and late nights/early mornings. On Sunday I was more than ready to get home. I was dirty, exhausted, and did not feel that great. Lesotho transport was not having that. This happened to be one of those Sundays were there simply was no transportation heading back to town. We (at this point J.W.M. and R.E.R. were with me) could have waited around for a hitch, but we were not in the mood. That meant another night at T.C.M.’s house, not what the doctor ordered. Plus, we ran him out of electricity during the four day weekend so movies on laptops were limited and everything was going to be done by candlelight.

Monday we got up at 4:30 AM to catch the 5:00 AM bus home, except now that it is winter the bus did not come until 6:00 AM (they only run in light). That was convenient considering it was FREEZING outside. I was back in town at 8:15 AM, meaning I could have made it to school by nine. Only that is the LAST place I wanted to be. I could not tell you why. Part of me felt guilty, lame, and weak for not wanting to go to school, but at the same time, the other part of me felt nothing. Walking in the direction of school made me nauseous so with slight convincing from J.W.M. I turned around and walked home. Both J.W.M. and R.E.R. accompanied me that way. Immediately upon arriving at my hut I crawled in bed and I did not get out until half past three. Together we watched District Nine, Happy Potter Two, Four Christmases. R.E.R. left. J.W.M. and I proceeded to watch 13 episodes of Will & Grace. My brain and body were dead to the world.

I had all intention of going to school on Tuesday but I could not force myself to go. I was beginning to feel super guilty, totally lame, and exceptionally weak. Had I hit rock bottom? Was I depressed? Was it time to quit? Thankfully J.W.M. was here to cook some home-made food and keep me company because otherwise I would be on a plane ride home. For the most part I am relatively emotionless (well at least a lot of my friends think so) but the past two days I have undergone a tornado of fully mixed emotions. I could not deal with the stress of this life anymore. How can I be on top of the world one day and drowning in emotions the next? Am I too young for this? Maybe if I knew the problem I could fix it. I am sure it is a combination of lots of things, things that will not stop beating me up.

I have never been good at sitting still, which only had me more worried about my Monday of bed rest. Usually when I am stressed it helps to clean. Tuesday I scrubbed my entire hut (although nothing is really ever clean without cleaning supplies) from top to bottom and then got back in bed and watched 11 more episodes of Will & Grace. We went for a walk and then J.W.M. left. I tried to pull myself together, except there was still no way I going to school on Wednesday.

Middle sister knocked on my door around six. I was already in bed, that is how pathetic I had become. I ignored the knocking but the door was unlocked so she came in anyways. Her nose was raw and running out of control, her eyes were watering like a fountain. She did not feel good. She looked really sick, she was really sick. As if I did not feel guilty enough about my mental health days, my sick sister was all it took. She was miserable but she was still here for her tutoring session. I called off tutoring for the night, gave her a brownie, and we talked. We talked about an assortment of things but it was her comment about how much everyone at school missed me that really struck a cord with me. “I know you do not feel better and your family missed you but we love you and need you here when you are lonely (direct quote),” she said. Stab. Deeper. And deeper. I definitely feel loved here, then again I do not feel needed. After an hour she had me feeling like and new person and even managed to convince me to go to school on Wednesday. She battled my emotions and won… a witch doctor, perchance?

Africa Lite

One of my favorite teachers, ‘M’e A, is very concerned about how Americans perceive Lesotho. I have kindly informed her most Americans have never even heard of Lesotho and as a result they have no opinions on Lesotho. I have had discussions with her about how I am a bridge between America and Lesotho and explained part of why I am here is for the cultural exchange. Of course, she wants to know exactly what I tell all of you; the funny stories about school field trips, the tales of my very pregnant dog and me, the way the school works, and general information about my family. All this pleased her, however, she wants me to encourage you not to undermine Lesotho. This is where cultures collide.

In a lot of ways, ‘M’e A is right, “Lesotho is moving up.” When I signed up for Peace Corps I never dreamed I would have electricity, internet every week or so, or a phone that allows me to talk to those back home. My school has running water and a toilet. They have electricity and the set up for gas (sadly, no gas) in the science lab. I had no idea how easy it would be to find granny smith apples and a variety of at least two other fruits and vegetables, depending on the season. There are gravel roads being paved every time I turn my head. A few families in my village even have satellite dishes and TVs. This country has more than one would expect (or at least I expected) from a third world forgotten African country.

Now you are probably wondering why life is so tough. After adjusting, general living is not so bad. (I am still quite thankful it is only temporary!) I might spend a good portion of my day cooking food that could be made instantly with processed American goodness, the entire weekend washing clothes by hand, pass urine in a bucket after dark, gather water from a very unreliable tap a 100 meters from my house, and rely on public transportation (or my own two feet) to get from point A to B. I’ve determined the living is not what makes life rough.

Is Lesotho moving up? No and Yes. Volunteer me often wonders why I am here. I hate to report that I there is very little hope for this country. That sounds pessimistic and awful, it’s honest. Everything (education, health, politics, the environment, foreign aid) seems to operate on a one step forward nine steps backwards pattern. The country just can’t seem to catch a break! My own host organization (Peace Corps) has been here for over 40 years and nothing has changed. Sure we all influence one or two people throughout our service. I have definitely mastered the village friend role, for the idealist “changing” one (two, three, or four) people is not enough.

Education definitely plays a large role in the future success of any country. When your education system is failing your country is failing. To a degree this is happening in America right now. Their high school diploma is only valid in their own country as South African universities view their education worthless. Families might have satellite dishes and TVs even though their children do not get fed at night. I want to remain positive but it’s hard for me to negate the facts and statistics against this country: Lesotho now has the lowest life expectancy (yay, new discouraging statistics!), the highest HIV/AIDS rate (recently surpassing Botswana), AND Lesotho is the only country with a rising HIV/AIDS rate in the world. It’s the general hopelessness for this country and my inability to help out that makes living here a challenge.

When material possessions (clothes, cars, cell phones) are the only things that determine your status in the world then Lesotho is moving up. I remember pre-departure being extremely excited about escaping materialistic America. We might take materialism to the extreme in America; sadly I have discovered “wanting/needing” materials must be human instinct. There is a lot of heart here, there is a lot of good here, and there are plenty who are trying to improve the country. People are generally happy and full of life. I continue to learn so much by living among the Basotho and anticipate coming home to America taking life in stride the way Basotho do, even when everything seems to be working against me. Some days are easy, others are hard. On occasion I make progress on one of my projects, most days I am holding on for dear life.

I signed up for life (Six Month Reflections)!

This is real life, or as real as I imagine life can get, and I love it. I wish so badly I could convey to you how much I adore this country. There are challenges and nothing ever make sense. In spite of this, all you have to do is live; it should always be this way. We rise with the sun (about 6:30 AM these winter days), eat what the earth has in stock, go to work and work hard, come home to spend time with the family during a gardening, laundry, or sweeping session, and finally rest (5:30 PM!!!) when the suns goes down. I walk or ride my newly acquired bike wherever I need to be. Life here is happy.

I am learning life is not about our accomplishments, where we are, or what we have but instead it is about our attitude, who we are with, and how we chose to respond to the situations we are in. We spend a lot of time whining and complaining in America, but I promise this country has a lot more legitimate issues to mutter about. Every single day I see HIV/AIDS destroying families (scheduled to wipe out the entire population by 2045), students literally wasting away because they have no food to eat (meaning they gorge on every test I return, yummy ink and paper!), poverty leaving people (especially orphaned children) homeless, and uneducated adults (due to lack of family finances or the poor education system). The Basotho never complain about anything. It’s incredible to me how happy these people are. I want to so badly ask if they ever get tired of the hour plus long walk to school or eating papa and spinach every day for every meal (if they are that lucky). If they do, they would never let you know it. Being an American I could complain for days about washing laundry, doing dishes, or bathing without running water (running HOT water) when it is below 40 degrees. Every one of these tasks is indescribably difficult.

There are lots of problems in the world and there always with be, but all in all it is a nice place (in the words of K.F.A.). I live with the nicest, most generous, caring people I have ever met. The harvest was bad this year, and they were only able to collect 15 ears of corn for a family of eight. It does not matter. They still bring me a piece. It is so hard for me to accept the small gifts they bring me because while right now I might be living on there level I still have way more than they do… although most days I am not sure I do.

My dad used to have a pin sitting on his desk that said, “kindness is contagious.” I know you have all heard it before. It took 22 years of life and six months in this country for me to believe it. I feel kindness and happiness go hand in hand. I still do not like teaching one bit, though I have concluded it is really the science I dislike (a tangent for another day). So sad, poor me! At the same time spending time in the classroom with my students, really getting to know them, even if it has to be through adding decimal numbers, is one of the best parts of the experience. They light up when I call their name in class and talk about contagious, their smiles could make anyone happy. I give them stickers for getting perfect marks on their homework and the whole class claps for them. It’s brilliant. At 13 plus (like 10) years of age I definitely could have cared less about a sticker. To them, it is opposite. A sticker symbolizes how hard they worked. It is the only thing tangible they will probably ever have to display. I am all about seeing the bigger picture, about results, about making changes, but my students and several other villagers have stopped me in my tracks. I am starting to appreciate the little pieces of life.

The past few post have been about the recent hurdles facing me here in Lesotho consequently I thought it appropriate to convey that regardless of the challenges all is well. The best part about all the curve balls is the motivation they give me to work harder. Nothing makes sense, so be it, I have always loved puzzles. I got a letter from my aunt today and she wrote that love has no bounds. It’s so true. I have also decided people can never be too happy. If I (we) have to go an extra mile to get shoes to our runners, books to the school, or food to an imaginary kitchen it will be worth it in the end.

I wish I could pinpoint why I am so happy here or at least put it into words. There is lots to love, yet at the same time there is also lots to hate. Perhaps too often we focus on the negative (I am a pro at this) in life and there is none of here (which has been incredible lesson for me). I have wanted to write about my happiness in this foreign land for quite sometime, but I have been postponing my thoughts, waiting for some grand conclusion on what makes life here so great. I decided it is a multitude of pieces, not one exact puzzle piece, nothing that can be captured with my lack of writing skills.

The madness that makes up this country makes me laugh harder than I ever knew possible. I have never laughed as frequently as I do here in my life. I laugh by myself, I laugh with complete strangers, I laugh with other volunteers. I can have fun with myself or in large crowds of host country nationals. As much as I want to travel to all the corners of southern Africa I really enjoy living in a fish bowl here in Thaba Tseka. Things are by no means prefect, however everything is manageable. I will continue trying to be the best person I know how to be and if I impact a few students life it will be better than no lives at all. We all have the power to make the world a better place. Do not be too mislead I miss my family and friends more with each passing day. Happy simple living until next time!

21 Months... but who is counting?

The 11 things I miss the most (besides all of you, of course):

1. Sports.
2. Couches.
3. The colors of fall.
4. Driving.
5. Showers.
6. Milk.
7. The Nightly News/The Today Show
8. Talking on the phone/unlimited texting
9. Music (new music, live music).
10. My kayak.
11. Moes.

Don't all jump at once!

Thanks to an awesome program I have the chance to help sponsor five children at my school. That’s great, isn’t it? In theory it is! Unfortunately my school is road blocking the endeavor. On March 10th I found out about the Tuition Assistance Program and immediately informed my counterpart and supervisor. They both seemed as eager and interested as I was. Well here it is May 5th and absolutely nothing has been done despite my asking for school records every single day since March 10th (minus March 21 through April 7th while I was away). The applications are due May 7th and when I informed my counterpart today that I was not going to be able to sponsor the students he seemed surprised and told me not to give up. Had I not been totally annoyed I might have believed that there was a way we could still get these applications completed and down to Maseru by four on Friday.

It’s so frustrating because I know there are way more than five children at my school who could use the support. If these grants covered tuition maybe there would be money for them to eat. I feel like my school basically turned away free money. The students were going to be responsible for everything on the application. ALL someone at my school had to do was open a filing cabinet and determine which “needy” student finished in the top 33% percent of their class in the 2009 fiscal year. How hard could that have possible been? No matter how disorganized the cabinet was I can’t imagine this task would have taken longer than an hour. Normally I have nothing except positive things to say about the Basotho, not today. The laziness put me in a sour mood. I can only do so much or nothing at all without any assistance.

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!

Sports Weekend

I do not know why I still insist on showing up on time. Maybe it has something to do with they fact I spent 22 years in America prior to the five months I have been here in Lesotho. Even more unbelievable than the fact I am still on time for everything is the fact I agreed to accompany the school on another field trip. There is no way more could go wrong on this trip, despite the reality that this one would be four times longer. I am becoming an eternal optimist. Insert chuckle here.

We packed our bags and by that I mean I packed my school backpack while each student who was going packed more than I brought to Lesotho. Incredible! I was in awe of how much they needed for this four-day adventure, but how little they need on a daily basis. It can’t be explained.

I will stop pretending to be a fantastic volunteer and clue you in on the real reason I chose to attend sports weekend. I was going to get to spend four days with T.C.M. as his school was hosting the event. Forget him, I really just wanted to take advantage of his running HOT water (kidding, sort of). My students, all 240 who could afford to go, and teachers were planning on staying at the high school. Have I mentioned it’s freezing? That did not sound appeasing at all. I will never be half as hard-core as them… and slowly I am coming to terms with it.

There I was at three in the afternoon sitting alone outside school with Spads (she has a lot of nerve) waiting for others. At four, departure time, they (the students and teachers) started strolling in. By five the kombis had arrived and around six we determined an additional kombi would be needed for stuff alone. Half past six (the time T.C.M. was expecting me) we were on the road. I thought to my phoneless self, this is going to be quite interesting. In spite of the fact my kombi driver was drinking for the last half of the trip we made it safely to Katse around nine. T.C.M. was waiting for me with J.W.M. (another volunteer) at the local bar. I must tell you the bar was well placed, eyesight of the bus stop. We hung out and played a few rounds of snooker (alternative pool) before hitting the sack.

Thursday I got up and went for a run while the boys kept sleeping. Then I took the hottest bath of my life. I wish I had words to describe what this felt like. Those of you with running water probably understand, five months and I have clearly forgotten. The boys prepared breakfast with Starbucks coffee (oh America), and as always, their food was delicious! Sports were supposed to start at nine sharp but things were just getting underway when we rolled in at 11AM.

Throughout Thursday and Friday I spent a lot less time watching sports than I intended. T.C.M.’s couch, reliable electricity (movies and tv shows on laptops galore), running HOT water (in case you missed it the first time), and the companionship of other Americans made sports less then appealing (for the first time in my life). The afternoon on Thursday and late afternoon Friday and I had about all the unorganized chaos I could handle. Similar to the last field trip I really just enjoyed being around my students out of the school atmosphere despite the commotion. I take pleasure in watching them engage in sports on the field, hanging out with their friends, and watching them be teenagers (sneaking in the bar or off to smoke, ha).

We made an executive decision to leave Katse on Saturday morning for Bobete to catch the district going away party for O.L.S., who completes his service May 8th. This is not before T.C.M. and I hosted a brai for all of our teachers who attended sports day. T.C.M. goes all out for everything so, of course, the boys insisted on slaughtering a sheep on Thursday night for the occasion Friday. For those of you counting that’s four sheep for me, and no, slaughtering does not get easier with time. Meat is a rarity for Basotho subsequently our teachers indulged themselves. I can’t tell you how much entertaining it was to hang out with my teachers outside of school and away from the students. The school is as a result rural we are all spread out, translation, I never see them on the weekends. We danced, sang, spoke broken Sesotho, drank, and ate the night away. At 2:30 AM T.C.M. and I were forcing them out of the house!

We would have ended the party a lot earlier had we known knocking on the door was going to wake us up at 6:00 AM (sharp). Not cool. We lounged around in bed and finally decided to get up and start cleaning (oh there was so much cleaning to be done) around eight. After cleaning we hit the road. A lot a bit of walking, the best hitch ever, and a kombi ride later we made it to O.L.S. around five with empty stomachs. Turns out, O.L.S. had no gas at his place, meaning no food. I suppose that is what I have to look forward to at the end of my service. Liquid diet fae-la (only) Saturday night. Another extremely late (3:30 AM) bed time and up the next day at seven to catch the 7:30 bus out of town. With 32 Maluti between J.W.M. and I for a ride that cost 40 Maluti total we managed to make it back to Thaba Tseka in one piece. I’ll consider that a discount thanks to a broken ATM (the only ATM in the entire district). It was a whirlwind long weekend and I definitely paid for it today but if I could do it again I would, without hesitation.