I woke up early, packed, cleaned, gave my buckets/stove/propane back to the PC, and walked to the school with a ginormous bag of peaches that my ‘Me gave me. We all waited around for our rides to arrive. Colleen and I, since our sites are in the same district, would ride in a Ministry of Education pickup truck together. Other people either were being picked up by ministry trucks or by their supervisors or counterparts. Since Colleen’s and my sites are way out there and it would take a long time to get to Quthing, we were kind of concerned, as it was nearing noon. Soon enough, our truck came and we jammed all our stuff into the back and left for Maseru. There, we stopped at the ministry to switch drivers and pick up some other lady who was also going to Quthing. While we were waiting around the Ministry of Education building, I saw a sign promoting the rights of left-handed people in schools. Interesting. Anyway, we were soon enough on our way again. Many hours later, we arrived in the Quthing camptown, also called Moyeni (don’t ask me why it has two names). My principal and her husband were there. Colleen would take the Ministry truck to her site and my principal would take me to my site. We crammed all my stuff into my principal’s tiny VW, and she, her husband, and I drove for about an hour to the next town, Mount Moorosi. It was so crowded in that clown car with all the stuff, that my legs were curled up on the seat and there was a mop resting against my head. In Mount Moorosi, we bought some more basins/buckets and a big plastic bathtub. Then my principal told me that her tiny car couldn’t make it all the way on the rocky road to the village, and that we would have to take a taxi. I was internally freaking out because taxis are normally a squish fest of big bo’me, all their crap, and blaring Famu music. How was I going to endure this AND fit all my stuff in there? Soon enough I realized it would be ok because my principal had asked for a “special,” which is where you just pay for the whole taxi and you can have it to yourself. Phew. The driver flew that van to my village in only an hour, probably because of the significantly lighter weight than normal. We got to my village, Ha Makoae, and we had to wait for another taxi that could handle the even more rugged “road” to my house. This made the total come to four vehicles that my stuff had been hauled around in that day. By this time, it was getting pretty dark, and the new taxi bumped its way down the excuse for a road. It started to rain when we arrived at my rondaval, and in the mad rush, my food box spilled and got sorghum flour all over everything, and in the dumping of bags and buckets from the taxi to my house, a mystery duffle bag that wasn’t mine also ended up in my house. We later realized it was the driver’s.
The next day, in the morning, I rearranged all my furniture, hung up things on the wall with nails, and hung up my Texas flag, which I have taken everywhere that I have lived since I got it. I can do so much with this rondaval. I have many small projects in mind that I need to make- hanging shelves, a little bookshelf, decorations on the walls, etc. And I need to do something about these grandma curtains that are making me gag every time I look at them. They are flowery and they have bows and ugh. The rest of the day was spent conspiring with people to get a gas cylinder, because this glorified hot plate of a stove isn’t doing anyone any favors. My family ended up having an extra cylinder (this after I wandered all over the village looking for one), but it was empty. I took the empty (but still really heavy) cylinder and the (also heavy) duffle bag in a wheelbarrow all the way to the store. One of my ausis and her friend went with me. We went on the path up and down rocky and muddy hills, and across two big streams and several large puddles. One of those puddles I accidentally dumped the duffle bag into as I was trying unsuccessfully to cross it. Oops. Now having wet shoes, I just took them off and walked the rest of the way barefoot. It might be obvious that my feet were pretty sore.
I dropped the tank off at the store, then I went to school and schemed the first quarter with the other math teacher. Scheming is so dumb. You copy exactly what’s on the syllabus into this special scheme book, then write down next to each topic the teaching methods, resources, and evaluation, all of which is exactly the same for every topic, so this is equally as pointless. I thought France was bad about form over content, but Lesotho may be giving them a run for their money. During practice teaching a few weeks ago, we were arguing with the Ministry of Education ladies about the form of the lesson plans. They wanted them to be exactly one way, and unnecessarily detailed. Waste of time.
Back at the store, I picked up a new, full tank of propane and some food. The only fresh produce in there were some old onions and squishy tomatoes. Sigh. I got some canned beans and vegetables in any case. I wheeled the tank all the way back across the streams and rocks and hills to my house. My shoes were dry by this point, so my feet were ok, but by the time I got back to my house my arms and back were really feeling it. Real life sandal camp right there. Phew, what a day.
No comments:
Post a Comment