It is day 2 in Lesotho, and the
good news is that I’m still going strong. I woke up at about 4:15am (yeah.) to
the sounds of roosters, donkeys, and pigs out my window. I live in a pretty
central location in the village, so I can hear pretty much everything that goes
on, including the taxis (and by “taxi,” I mean more like a mini bus packed with
15+ people) whose drivers just lay on the horn until they reach capacity. This
is especially pleasant in the morning… This morning, I had several hours to
kill before I had to do anything, and, planning to do some conditioning or
something to get my body working again, I immediately abandoned that plan when
my ‘me koko-ed (when you come to someone’s
door, you don’t really knock, but instead say “koko!”) with a kettle of hot
water for me to wash with, even though I had bathed right before I went to
sleep the night before. The Basotho are very concerned with cleanliness,
whether it’s bathing multiple times a day (not everyone does this, I’ve come to
realize) or sweeping the dirt in their front yard. My side of the house has its
own entrance, so after reluctantly bathing again, I went outside and went in to
my family’s side of the house for a breakfast of lesheleshele [sorghum
porridge] and corn flakes, which I realized was standard across all the PCTs
[Peace Corps Trainees] because the host families had been given a packet
outlining basic expectations for living with an American as well as a detailed
menu of what to feed us for each meal every day. Lesheleshele is best served hot
with a heaping glob of peanut butter, some milk, and a few spoons of sugar, in
case you were wondering.
Part of the inside of my room
Our first day of training started
with Sesotho class. My language group is the bomb, and our instructor is Ntate
Sello, who is a pretty chill guy. We were like babies coming out of the womb
into the Sesotho world, learning such basics as hello [lumela- “doo-may-lah”]
and thank you [kea leboha]. I soon learned, from everyone in the village
accosting us all the time, how to say that I’m doing fine, say that my name is
Senate (Senate who?, they ask. I forgot my last name, I answer. There’s only so
much I can absorb in my brain at one time, and apparently my last name had not
yet stuck), say that I am from America, tell people where I am coming from, and
say where I am going. Everywhere I go, it’s a constant shower of “where are you
coming from? Where are you going?” Who cares? There’s just so little going on
in the village that asking us these things is probably a major form of
entertainment (these questions, by the way, are always responded to with the
exact same answers almost every time. I’m coming from school. I’m going home. Same
as every day, now shush.). Anyway, after lunch, our language group was going to
go to Lee’s house so he could get his lunch, because he hadn’t brought it to
language class. He couldn’t find his own house (and I won’t blame him; all the
little paths on the side of the hill can be confusing) so we all just sat under
a tree in some rando’s yard and had a picnic there, sharing our food.
My view out my front door looking to the side- off in the distance=fruit trees, midground=latrine, keyhole garden, thatched thing for growing mushrooms, foreground=another small garden
After our picnic, the PC bus thing
took us to our “consolidation point,” a school in a neighboring village where
we should gather should there be an emergency. There, we had to do some admin
stuff. I got two more shots from the PCMO (PC Medical Officer) for god knows
what, and we killed time (something we have become experts in) by playing with Frisbees
and rubiks cubes, taking phots, and trying not to be blinded by the dust and
sand flying everywhere. We went back on the bus, and as I was walking with
Martha to her village, we came across some crazy dudes who just wouldn’t stop blabbering
on in Sesotho, even though it’s painfully obvious that we don’t understand.
Heck, some of us don’t even remember our own Sesotho names because the language
is so strange sounding to our English brains. Some high school girls joined up
with us, and one especially sassy girl with excellent English was talking with
us. All the kids are so happy that we’re here. They also tell everyone that we
are “so beautiful.” They also want to teach us Sesotho, which is awesome. After
I dropped off Martha at her house, I went back to my own, and two of the girls
walked with me and taught me some words (and by “taught,” I mean that they
pointed at things, said the Sesotho word, I tried to repeat it, and then
promptly forgot it. These Sesotho words are so slippery, they don’t stick in my
brain). I really should write these things down so that I can learn as I go in
the real world instead of just relying on language class.
Village silhouette at sunrise
I got home and met my ‘me picking
swiss chard (called moroho here), and I then helped her make papa and moroho,
two of the most ubiquitous foods in Lesotho, with some fried, scrambled eggs on
the side. Let me tell you a little bit about papa. It is made with corn flour
and water. You boil water in a pot, add the flour, then add about four times
more flour because that sucker will suck up water like nobody’s business. You
stop adding flour when it becomes physically difficult to stir the stuff. They
have a special stick for mixing papa called a lesokoana, and there is even a
separate verb, soka, which means ‘to mix papa’. So anyway, after you soka papa
with the lesokoana, you just let it sit on the stove for eons until it dries
out a bit and hardens into something almost
inedible. The Basotho just let stuff sit on the stove forever- I don’t get it. The
greasy eggs reminded me a lot of Morocco with all the oil they used. After
dinner, my ‘me wanted to see my Sesotho notes. I showed her and my ‘ntate as my
little ausi looked on curiously. They were very interested in what I was
learning, and my ‘me sort of tried to quiz me on words I had written down. I
realized that they know more English than I had thought, and if they don’t
understand, at least they see that I am making an effort to communicate and
trying to be friendly and to learn. Overall a great first full day in this
beautiful country.
The two rondavals next to my house
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