Last week on Thursday and Friday, I was supposed to go to Butha Buthe (way north) and to Maseru (middle) with the school for their “educational trip.” I thought it was assumed that I would go but when I talked to the teacher in charge on Thursday to talk about some details, he was like, “Oh, I didn’t know you wanted to come. The cars are all full. There is no space.” At first I was slightly disappointed, but then I almost immediately became super excited because I could have a super long weekend. It actually turned out really well for me, though, that I didn’t go, because the drivers took them to Butha Buthe to see whatever kind of historical things they were supposed to see there, then refused to take the students to their other scheduled places near Maseru because they demanded more money. These kids don’t get to do anything outside the village, so it really sucks for them that this happened. The cars had been booked for months and the price had been agreed upon way in advance. Such a shame. The best thing for these students would be to get them out into the bigger towns and let them see what else is out there besides a life of herding.
Another bullet I dodged was that driving to Butha Buthe would take about 8 hours, so in order to be at their scheduled place in the morning, they had to leave Wednesday late at night. I was thinking about 8 hours in a taxi trying to get some sleep among a dozen students who were not about to try to get any sleep. Shudder. In order to accommodate for their 11pm departure, classes “knocked off,” as the teachers say, after break (11:00) instead of after lunch (13:00), with the excuse that the kids who lived far away needed 12 hours instead of 10 to walk home, pack up, and walk back to school. Ridiculous. I really hate when my classes are cancelled, especially if I’m told about it as I’m walking out of the staff room with a pocket full of chalk and pens ready to go teach.
But another opportunity for the weekend had also come up- a meeting of the HIV committee in TY (the town just to the north of Maseru). I decided to go to it because 1) I had time, and 2) I wanted to be involved in something else besides teaching. So I left Thursday morning to go to the hotel in Mohale’s Hoek and take a shower, one of the few luxuries I so often miss at my site, and grab something akin to chicken nuggets at this great chicken place. I met up with my partner in crime Lee and we decided to hitch to Maseru. We found a ride with one guy who had actually picked up Cassie before, which was weird. We did some serious shopping damage at the grocery stores at the mall and got some Indian food at the top of this building shaped like a Basotho hat. Ah, food with flavor, I had missed you so. Lee went back home and I continued northward to TY, meeting up with Hillary and going to her house. It was a 4+1 (small taxi) ride and about an hour walk away. By the end, it was getting dark, and we were guided to her house by the light of an occasional lightning strike. The next day, we both headed to the hotel for the committee meeting. The meeting was just so that we could try to get the committee started again since it had kind of dissolved in past years- which is weird, because Lesotho is consistently in the top 3 countries for HIV rate worldwide (It’s about 23% of the population).We also started to plan what kinds of events we can do, like testing events or weekend camps for kids. I had planned to start heading home after the meeting, seeing as it was so very far to Quthing. But the meeting ran later than I expected, and I picked up a new errand of needing to go to the Peace Corps office in Maseru. So going home wouldn’t be happening that day. The next day, Sunday, I made it as far as Mohale’s Hoek and then caught a car to Quthing from there on Monday morning.
In Mount Moorosi, where I normally stop for groceries before the taxi ride to my village, I was shopping in this one store when this one dude was trying to tell me something in Sesotho. I told him I didn’t understand him, so he ran to the back of the store and grabbed a lotion bottle, the brand of which was “Girl Friend.” I shut that down so fast. I was also really not happy about the fact that he was calling me “’Me Lakhooa.” The guy at the register commented that my Sesotho had gotten better, hearing the conversation. I had whipped out my trusty “I refuse” and finished it off with a “you’re crazy.” Ain’t no creepy rando getting away with anything around here.
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