My first full day here in Ha Makoae- It is one of the last days of school here, so I got to school and helped some other teachers mark some science tests, and after invigilating (That means proctoring. No, I’m not running around trying to instill superhero justice around here), a test and doing some more grading and organizing, I met Lauren, the current PCV who lives across the valley in Pulane. She told me that the south get a lot of flak from the north for having the worst schools and that we have a reputation for being antisocial. It’s true that we are more spread out in the south, so we don’t get together as often, but she also said that PC puts the more self-reliant people in the south because there are often less resources like the big grocery stores that you might find in the north. She works with this British woman who runs an orphanage here, tutoring English on the weekend. After talking with her for a bit, we all went outside for a kind of welcoming party for me. They even gave out printed programs of a sort that said “’Me Senate’s Welcome.” I’m really lucky to have a school with electricity and a printer. If I were at a school without a printer, I would have to write tests up on the board and have the kids copy them onto pieces of paper as they worked out the problems. The school proprietor made a speech, as well as the principal, the history teacher, Lauren, and a student who lives near me. Then I had to stand up and BS a speech using my baby Sesotho, with which I was obviously unable to adequately express my gratitude and excitement to start living and teaching here. The school choir then sang several songs, complete with effortless multi-part harmony and dancing, like always. Then three of the girls did a traditional dance (I’ll find the name someday) where they wore short grass skirts with strings of bottlecaps underneath to make noise when they pop their hips back to the beat of a whistle. The other girls lined up behind them so that the boys wouldn’t see. Apparently, boys aren’t supposed to watch that dance. Then came the barbecue! Chicken and sausages on the grill, and papa and beans inside. We danced to house music (Basotho absolutely love crappy house music) and I showed the teachers how to do different dances like the robot and the electric slide. It started to get dark, so two of the teachers walked with me back to my house. Thank goodness they did, because I would have definitely gotten lost in the daylight, much less in the dark.
The next day, we marked exams like crazy and calculated the students’ final grades. Most of them failed almost all their classes (failing meaning below 40%). The standards here are so much lower than in the US, so most students just aim to pass, and if they do, it’s a godsend. The next day, I packed up all my stuff to get ready to leave after the parents’ meeting that they wanted me to stay for. One of the teachers told me that I should come early, and that the parents would probably show up about 20-30 minutes late. I was a bit suspicious of this, knowing how Basotho are with time, but I showed up a little early anyway. The meeting was supposed to start at 8, and by 8:30, there were like 7 parents in the room. I knew it. There were some who trickled in 1, 2, even 2 and a half hours late like it’s no big whoop. And here, it’s really not. I introduced myself at the beginning to the few parents who showed up only a little bit late and explained about myself and my situation in Lesotho. Mind you, I was speaking in Sesotho, and there were several confused/blank faces in the small crowd, so I don’t know how much of it actually made it across. After that, the next 3 hours of the meeting were a dull blur of Sesotho. I understood things here and there, but overall not much. My counterpart later told me that when they were talking about me, my principal told them to accept me and protect me in the village, and that they should not ask me for money or candy (everyone thinks all white people carry tons of candy on them at all times, I’ve learned) because I have no money as a volunteer. I do appreciate the effort my teachers are making to help me become part of the community.
Then the 6 teachers, one baby, the van owner, his wife, and I all squeezed into a van with all our crap. Like tons of bags and things. We drove the 2ish hours on the rocky road to Mt. Moorosi (tiny town), then took a sprinter (a small bus thing) to Quthing town. My principal wanted to get her hair did before she went home, so I sat there in the salon shack underneath tons of fake hair hanging on the walls. I was thinking to myself, what if I got one of these purple weaves or dreads when my hair gets long enough, haha. So my principal and I took a small taxi to her house near the camptown where I would spend the night. Then we all piled into my principal’s husband’s truck and drove to see her mom in Qomoqomong. I love saying that- two clicks. It was about a 30 minute drive away on a super bumpy road. When we arrived, my principal’s mom was very surprised to see me. I spoke a little Sesotho with her, and she was so shocked at this that she gave me this big jar of peaches. Sesotho saves the day once again. We drove back to my principal’s house where we had an awesome dinner. Her son said that I should come over for dinner more often because they don’t normally have this good of food. The next morning, I woke up early and rode to town to get a taxi back to the training village. I’m so excited to move to site permanently in a few weeks!
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