Look! I wrote/edited a thing. And it got published. Check it out!

I rewrote and edited (so...I'm not taking credit for all of this) and/or completely wrote parts of this Lesotho info page for kids, which has been, or is scheduled to be, published on an online database. Pretty interesting stuff here. Have a read!

The Basotho

The earliest inhabitants of the land that is now Lesotho were hunter-gatherers. Little is known about their lives except that they migrated to the area from the north in search of good land. Eventually, they came to call themselves the Basotho. In the early 1800s, warring Zulu tribes came and raided the Basotho. Basotho leader Moshoeshoe (pronounced “mo-SHWAY-shway) the Great united his people against the Zulu attacks and founded Basutoland, which he ruled as king for the next several decades. Fun fact (or legend?): Moshoeshoe got his name when, after a successful cattle raid against an adversary, he referred to himself as a razor that shaved this adversary’s beard (meaning, being successful in the raid). In Sesotho, the onomatopoeia for a razor is a “shoe, shoe” (shway, shway) sound. So people started referring to him as Moshoeshoe.

It’s important to mention Thaba Bosiu, the most important historical landmark in Lesotho. It’s a plateau where King Moshoeshoe I established his mountain fortress during battles against various groups of peoples who were trying to take over in the early 1800s. Legend has it that Thaba Bosiu, meaning “night mountain,” grew at night, leaving enemies helpless to climb to the top if they tried to ambush the Basotho under the cover of night, and shrank back down to its usual size during the day.

Lesotho Today

King Letsie returned to the throne and promised not to interfere in politics, but government instability continued over the next several years, as different political parties and military leaders fought for power. The people rioted after election results in 1998, and neighboring South Africa sent in troops to help restore order. Today, tensions continue between government leaders and the military. There was an attempted military coup in 2014, with the military and the police forming separate allegiances The government, with the help of many international non-governmental organizations and lots of foreign aid money, is working to build up the nation’s education and healthcare systems and help Basotho find jobs and rise out of poverty.

Lesotho has an HIV rate of around 24% (depending on which study you consult), and hovers between the #1 and #4 country in the world for the highest HIV rate (again, depending on the study). This results in lots of people dying from AIDS-exacerbated illnesses, especially TB, and many orphans. However, with the relatively recent construction of many clinics across the country using money from the US’s Millenium Challenge Corporation, the Basotho are hopeful that healthcare will improve and that the HIV rate will decline. Maybe that’s a little heavy for kids, but HIV affects everyone here. They say even if you’re not infected with HIV, you’re affected. 

Land and Climate

Lesotho is the southernmost landlocked nation in the world. It is located on the southern tip of Africa and is an enclave (country completed surrounded by another country) within South Africa. Slightly smaller than Belgium or the state of Maryland, Lesotho is made up of highlands, including plateaus (high, flat areas), hills, and mountains. In fact, the majority of the country is 5,906 feet (1,800 m) above sea level. The Drakensberg Mountains run along the eastern border, while the Maluti Mountains run through the center of the country. The Senqu (Orange) River cuts through the Maluti range and runs the entire length of the country. The Mohokare (Caledon) River forms most of Lesotho’s western border. The Malibamatso and the Senqunyane are also important rivers. Lesotho gets much of its power from hydroelectricity (water-powered electricity) from these rivers and the several dams that have been constructed since 1998.

The climate of Lesotho is mostly mild. Summers are warm and wet, while winters are cool and dry. The rainy season runs from October to April, but droughts (dry periods) during the dry season (May to September) are sometimes a problem for farmers and crops. Temperatures are higher in the lowlands and cooler in the mountains. In fact, the weather can vary widely based on elevation. In the lowlands, the summers can get quite hot while winters are milder. On the other hand, in the mountains and in the highlands, the weather stays fairly cool year-round, and it can snow heavily in the winter.

Population

People from Lesotho are called Basotho (pronounced “ba-SUE-too”). One person is called a Mosotho (pronounced “mo-SUE-too”). Almost all of them belong to the Sotho ethnic group, but there are also small populations of other African ethnic groups, namely Xhosa and a smaller number of Zulu. There are also small groups of Europeans and Asians. More than half the population is under the age of 25, and the average age is 24. Most Basotho live and farm in the countryside of the western lowlands. More than half of the urban population lives in the capital city of Maseru.

Language

Sesotho and English are the official languages of Lesotho. Sesotho is also one of South Africa’s 11 official languages. It has 39 consonants and nine vowels. Sesotho also includes a click sound, indicated by the letter Q. Many Basotho speak English as their second language, and students begin studying it their first year in school. Zulu and Xhosa, are also spoken, French, and Afrikaans less so, especially by people who have lived or worked in South Africa.

Can You Say It in Sesotho?

Hello                                       Lumela                        (doo-MEL-la)

Good-bye                                Sala hantle                  (SAH-la HAN-tle )

(there are actually 2 ways to say goodbye. Sala hantle means “stay well,” and is said by the person leaving. Tsamaea hantle (tsa-MA-ya HAN-tle) means “go well,” and is said by the person staying behind.)

Please                                      Kea kopa                     (kay-ah KO-pa )

Thank you                               Kea leboha                 (kay-ah lay-BO-ha)

Yes                                          Eea                              (ee)

No                                           Che                              (chee) or “ah ee”

Religion

Most Basotho are Christian and go to church regularly each week. These include Roman Catholics, Evangelicals, and Anglicans (Church of England). A smaller percentage of the population follows traditional native African beliefs. Most Basotho practice both Christian and native beliefs together. There are also small groups of Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, and Baha’i in Lesotho. The constitution guarantees freedom of religion.

Government

Lesotho is a constitutional monarchy, meaning it has both a king and a constitution. The king has a ceremonial role, while the prime minister runs the government. The prime minister is usually the leader of the political party with the most seats in Parliament (lawmaking body). Parliament is made up of the National Assembly and the Senate. The National Assembly has 120 members who are elected to serve five-year terms. Members of the Senate also serve five-year terms and are either traditional chiefs or are nominated by the king. Each village has a chief. With a circle of counsellors, he or she looks after the safety of the village and helps conduct official business, acting as a link between the citizens and the higher levels of government. Lesotho is divided into 10 districts. The voting age is 18.

Money and Economy

Farming and raising livestock make up a large part of Lesotho’s economy. The small landlocked country does not have many natural resources, and most people are able to farm just enough to support their families. Corn, wheat, and sorghum (a type of grass), are the main crops. Lesotho has to import (buy from another country) most of its goods from South Africa. Some Basotho work in South African mines and send their money home to help support their families. There are also several diamond mines in the northern highlands of Lesotho that provide coveted jobs to many Basotho. Goods manufactured in Lesotho include diamonds, wool, clothing, and some native crafts. The government is the nation’s largest employer. Lesotho established its own national currency, the Maloti (named after Lesotho’s famous mountain range), after independence in 1966. The South African Rand is also used interchangeably with the Maloti in Lesotho, as they are tied in value.

Getting Around

Traffic in Lesotho moves along the left side of the road, because the nation was once a British colony. Combis (15-passenger minibuses) transport people from town to town and to most villages. Small taxis, called 4+1s (4 passengers plus 1 driver), transport people around towns. Most of the nation’s roads are unpaved, and some remote parts can only be reached on foot or on horseback, though more and more roads are being paved or smoothed out all the time. In the mountains or countryside, many people ride Basotho ponies, which are famous for their sure feet. 

Games and Sports

Bolo (soccer) is the most popular sport in Lesotho. Basotho enjoy following English, South African, and European leagues, and students love to play. In the cities (and even in rural villages), volleyball, netball (like basketball), and running are other favorite sports. Young boys and girls make up imaginary games to play like girls playing “house,” imitating adults by cooking imaginary pots of food and carrying dolls in the smalls of their backs tied on with blankets as if they are babies. Girls also love to play cheko (similar to hopscotch), liketoane (similar to jacks played with rocks), and khati (jump rope). Boys can often be seen play-fighting or playing morabaraba, (a game like tic-tac-toe.) Children in the countryside do not have very much time to play sports other than the half-day often reserved for sports practice at school. Most of their time goes to working with their families on the farm.

Holidays

Basotho remember their first king on Moshoeshoe’s Day on March 11^th, which is celebrated with running competitions between children of neighboring primary schools, singing, and dancing., They honor their current king on the King’s Birthday with horseraces, singing, traditional dancing, speeches, and military parades. The King’s birthday celebration is held in one of the ten districts of Lesotho, the host district changing every year, on July 17^th, which is the birthday of King Letsie.  Christmas and Easter are the two most popular religious holidays. People go to church to sing and pray, and often a sheep is slaughtered and cooked for a special meal. 

Food

The staple food of Lesotho is a stiff cornmeal porridge called papa. Most people eat it multiple times a day, accompanied usually by moroho, which is swiss chard or another leafy green vegetable. Other readily available vegetables are potatoes, onions, tomatoes, cabbage, butternut squash, and dried peas. People may also eat samp (soaked and cooked corn kernels which have been pounded and have lost their yellow coating), soya mince (imitation ground meat made of soy), chakalaka (spicy chopped vegetables), grated beets or carrots with mayonnaise, beans, or eggs. For breakfast, it is common to have tea with either bread, corn flakes, lesheleshele (sorghum porridge), or motoho, soured sorghum porridge. Especially in the rural areas, meat is only eaten on special occasions. During funerals or holidays, people may slaughter chickens, sheep or goats, and even cows for important festivities. In the cities, people are more likely to eat rice, pasta, and different kinds of fruits and meat. In the summer, around January, peach trees all over the country start to bear fruit, and people enjoy a few months of constant access to the sweet peaches, canning and drying the extras for later months. Common snacks include French fries, Russians (kielbasa sausages), makoenya (fried balls of bread), popcorn, corn snacks similar to Cheetos, and small candies. Lunch is the main meal of the day. Some families leave a large pot of food simmering on the stove, and whenever each member of the family is ready to eat, they go in and serve themselves. Many rural families have a big, three-legged pot that they use to cook food or boil water over a fire outside or in another small building next to the main home.

Schools

Most children start school when they turn six. There are seven levels of primary (elementary) school. If students complete all seven levels and pass a test at the end, then they can move on to secondary (high) school, which lasts for five years. More girls than boys usually go to primary school, because many boys are kept home to work on their family farms or herding animals. The government runs most primary schools, and they are free. But families must pay for their children’s schooling once they move on to secondary school. As a result, not as many students go beyond primary school. Important subjects include English, math, and science. Students typically have homework every night.

Most children walk to school, some even having to walk an hour or more to get to school when coming from remote villages. In the more urban areas, children may take a bus or a taxi to school. Each school is different, but typically in primary school, children get to school around 7:45am for morning assembly where they go over the day’s announcements, pray, and sing the national anthem. In the winter months when the days are shorter, the start time may be later so that the kids don’t have to walk to school in the dark. They are fed breakfast and lunch, provided by the World Food Programme. School lunches include papa and, depending on the day, pilchards (canned fish), hard boiled eggs, peas, or beans.

Children wear uniforms to school, each school having its own colors. Boys and girls wear button-down shirts and black shoes. Girls wear skirts or jumpers, and boys wear long pants. Both boys and girls are required to keep their hair very short (except for urban schools where girls have the option of having neat corn rows), even being sent home to shave their heads if their hair grows too long.

Schools have a common staff room where teachers have desks, and each grade has its own classroom that they have all their different classes in. In primary school, usually there is one teacher designated to each grade. In secondary or high school, the teachers specialize in different subjects and rotate through the classrooms after every class period, which lasts 40 minutes. Primary school ends shortly after lunch, around 2:30pm, and secondary schools usually end at 4:00pm. Most secondary schools have half-days on Wednesdays for sports, and some also have half-days on Fridays for the students to clean the classrooms and campus, saw trees for firewood, tend to the gardens, or fetch water. Other than sports, extracurricular activities might include scout meetings, beauty contests, or preparing for debate, drama, and poetry competitions.

In the US, a student’s final grade is usually based upon homework, projects, tests, and participation. It’s not like this in Lesotho, where a student’s final grade is based almost solely on a final exam. A passing grade is 40%. Students start learning English in grade 1, and are expected to be taught only in English by grade 5.

Life as a Kid

Life in Lesotho as a kid is simple, but requires much hard work. Girls’ chores are normally to clean, prepare food, and take care of younger children. Boys are usually in charge of looking after any animals the family may have. On weekdays, they wake up before dawn to begin preparing for the day. They put water on the stove or on a fire outside to boil, and then they sweep the house. After that, they take a bath in a large plastic washtub, since most people, except some people in towns, have no running water. Kids often live with many siblings, even other relatives like aunts or uncles, cousins, or grandparents. The older kids will help get the younger ones ready for the day. Most kids walk to school, meeting neighbors along the way to walk with. After school, they come home and may fetch firewood and water. Girls can skillfully carry heavy buckets of water on their heads from the shared water pump to their homes. Most kids will then help with the clothes washing, making sure their school uniform is clean for the next day, hanging it up on a line outside to dry. After eating dinner and doing their homework, often by candlelight or by solar-powered light if they have no electricity, they take another bath and go to bed.

When kids have free time, especially on the weekends, they find their neighbor friends and can be seen playing outside all day. They play traditional games, as mentioned in the “Games and Sports” section, and they also love to sing and dance. They aren’t closely supervised by their parents, as kids in the US are, but are more trusted not to get in too much trouble. The old saying, “It takes a village to raise a child” is definitely true in Lesotho. Kids almost belong to the whole village, being looked after by the older children and neighboring adults as well as their own parents. Since most people in rural villages don’t have electricity (except some who have small solar panels), they don’t spend their time in front of the TV or computer as kids in the US would, though most teenagers have cell phones that they use to call and text their friends. After school or on the weekends, that is also the time that boys will take the animals out to graze in the fields or otherwise help with manual labor.

Unfortunately, due to the high rate of AIDS in the country, many children are orphans. Most of these live with other family members or neighbors who volunteer to take them in. Once they get old enough to think about their futures, the AIDS epidemic is one thing that young people hope to change for the better once they get older. Children dream of securing good jobs to support their families, often in the government, and some even want to go to South Africa to find jobs there. Children are seen as adults once they reach their late teen years. With boys, this change is defined when they go to lebollo, or initiation school. They go into the mountains with their age mates for a few weeks, what exactly they do there being a closely-guarded secret from those who haven’t been initiated, and when they come back, they are seen as men.

Cultural Note

Perhaps nowhere else in the world do people live like Basotho shepherds do. Also called herd boys (or balisana in Sesotho), these shepherd boys are in charge of a herd or flock of animals. Since most people in Lesotho farm and keep livestock, being a shepherd is a very common job for boys. They may care for their own family’s animals, or may be hired by another family to care for theirs. Every day, they take the animals out to the fields so they can graze, walking in the mountains from dawn to dusk before returning the animals to the corral. They can be seen dotting the mountainsides with their sheep, goats, or cows. You might hear them whistling or calling to each other, their voices echoing across the valley. You can recognize a herd boy by what he wears. In any weather, he will wear rubber boots and a long kobo (blanket) pinned or tied over one shoulder. In his hand, he is always carrying a mulamu, (large stick), and on his head, he wears a balaclava (a kind of knit hat that covers most of your face). These shepherds have excellent aim throwing rocks toward one side of an animal or another to make them move in a certain direction. Sometimes they ride a horse or donkey alongside their animals if they’re traveling a long distance.

Being a herd boy can be lonely and boring, so many learn unique skills to keep them occupied. They can weave grass into hats and they know how to knit, maybe using strings from their blankets to make small bags. They even know how to do many special whistles that they train their animals to respond to, like one that sounds like a bird call. They also entertain themselves by playing traditional instruments like the mamokhorong, which is a one-stringed instrument played with a small bow. For several months out of the year when the lower fields get bare, they will go high into the mountains so the animals can graze on fresh grasses. They live in a motebo, which is a crudely-constructed hut made of rocks with a grass roof. Several shepherd boys might share one hut, sleeping on sheep skins, and guarded by their trusty dogs. It is a hard life during these months, with only a large sack of corn meal to last them through the cold days and nights. They must also know how to fight off potential livestock thieves, and can be quite dangerous when they need to be. If they lose a sheep, for example, the owner of the flock will be very mad, and might take it out of their pay. Herd boys can also be very superstitious, and will do things like wear a piece of rubber around their neck to protect themselves from lightning. Herding animals in the mountains is definitely not easy work, but having animals is seen as a status symbol in Lesotho, so it’s an important job.

19-20 May 2016: Small happenings

                School has been progressing as per usual, except that yesterday, that one important ‘me on the school board (whose name/role I still don’t know…) came to talk about where one of the teachers has been. He has missed a bunch of school lately and no one knows why. Strangely, though, no one has actually called him to ask where he is. This problem can be solved in 5 seconds, people.

                It’s getting to that point where I can’t control my classes and the kids who don’t shut up. Again. Maybe I’m just getting lazy and impatient with my discipline techniques. The kids tell me to beat the noise makers, but know I won’t. Managing a class is a case in constant vigilance, which I often forget.

                I went to the orphanage on Tuesday and found a small group of my-age-ish white girls (Irish, it turns out) with their enormous new iPhones taking photos with selfie sticks with the little nuggets that normally hang around outside the building where I tutor English. They were wearing so much makeup and had straightened hair, and it just made me gag a little bit. It felt a little bit like orphanage tourism to me, which is not ok. They were with their dads (maybe?) who were building some stuff for the orphanage like a completely unnecessary roofed walkway from one building to another, a quite necessary donkey heater (a kind of water heater), and putting in Plexiglass in the kitchen windows where the was only cracked plastic sheeting before. Several times a year, a group from some church will come to the orphanage and either just visit or do some sort of project.

                Happy birthday, Dad! You survived to 60. 3 score. Go you.

                After almost no sleep or food, I ran for a solid 30 minutes (really good for me) with absolutely no trouble this morning. So weird. It was just easy. Go me.

                I was left alone with the circus that is my school after the one other teacher left on a hitch. What? You think I can handle this mess alone? After lunch, I just gave the keys to a Form B, the choir leader, and told him to give them back to the lady who cooks when they finished choir practice. I sent all the other students home. They were hanging around because even if they have absolutely nothing to do, they normally have to stay until 4pm. Be free.

                My new favorite comedian is Trevor Noah, a South African. I know he now does one of those late night shows, but I’ve never seen it. I watched two of his stand up shows this week. I tried watching one of these may months ago, but I just didn’t understand all his references, but now I do, and it’s hilarious. He is so on point with his impressions and accents. He did a bit about getting tacos at a taco truck and the taco guy offering him a napkin (a napkin is a diaper in SA) and I just about lost it.

                T-minus 5 days until I get out of here. My tolerance for my village has slipped way down. Then it’s off to Swaziland for the Bushfire music festival. But if it were up to me, I’d just rename it the Bushfire corny dog festival. That’s half the reason I’m going, honestly. So pumped.

                I brought the form C girls into the library for a solid self-defense session. I have been asked to teach self-defense at a GLOW (girls leading our world) camp that some Mohale’s Hoek volunteers are planning in July, and I want to bring two of my girls to act as my counterparts, helping to teach and translate at the camp. Normally, when one has a counterpart for some project here, it’s an adult, but I figure the other teachers won’t really benefit nearly as much as if I gave this opportunity to my students (who, most days, I like way better than the other teachers, anyway). A bunch of them seemed really excited to go, but I can only take two. Decisions, decisions.

                Hopefully after a good run like I had this morning, I’ll be able to sleep well tonight. I’ve slept like a rock for a year and a half, and now suddenly I can’t sleep. I’m too antsy and my brain just doesn’t turn off. Ugh.

17 May 2016: Murder Mystery

                This past weekend was just the escape I needed. I left my village and got a quiet hitch up to Mohale’s Hoek. Then I did the usual MHoek things: showered, chickened, and taxied up to Mafeteng, the next town north. I stopped at Shoprite, the big grocery store, and picked up some grilled cheese ingredients before I headed off to my friend Anthony’s house. He had been nice enough to host me as I made my way north to Maseru. On the bus to his site, I was sitting next to a guy who looked unassuming enough, but once we got talking, it was clear he knew everything about world/news current events. I could not keep up. It was quite impressive. When I got to Anthony’s house, we jammed to the new Beyoncé album and Anderson Paak (listen to Come Down. I’m obsessed.) as we made guacamole grilled cheeses. So good. Then we watched Concussion, a surprisingly good movie with Will Smith about football players and the permanent brain damage they sustain due to smashing their heads all the time.

                The next morning, I walked to the road to find a ride back to Mafeteng town. It took forever for me to find any kind of ride, but eventually a 4+1 taxi, closely followed by a combi (15-passenger taxi), stopped for me. I only started to say, “Ke ea mafe-“ I’m going to mafe-, when he cut me off, and he was like,”Fast! Get in!” I was like woah, woah, ok, and I hopped in. He sped off, saying that he couldn’t let the combi catch up because the driver would get mad that he was stealing his customers. He said that he wasn’t supposed to be driving on this road. (little 4+1 taxis are only allowed in certain areas unless they’ve specifically been hired out as “specials”). He said that he was coming back from one of these specials. If the cops stopped him, he very carefully instructed me to say that I had called him for a special to Morija (a town between Maf and Maseru), that his surname was _____ but he’d never told me his first name, that I knew to call him because of his sister named _____ who I worked with at _____ school. I tried to remember all this to go along with his elaborate scheme, but the cops didn’t end up stopping us. That is, until he got onto the main road (where he was allowed to be) where this one cop was giving him a hard time at a routine traffic stop. This cop and the driver were enemies because the cop “tried to be in love with” the driver’s wife, and the cop said he would use all his police powers to give this driver a hard time or something. As such, the driver explained that he tries to keep everything with his car scrupulously up to date so that this cop can’t catch him and won’t earn any bribe money from him.

We emerged from the traffic stop without a scratch, then the driver starts asking me about whoever I was staying with, which is pretty normal. Like an idiot, I revealed that it was a guy, not a girl, who I was staying with. After he asked some more invasive questions, I convinced him that we were only friends. As I’ve already explained many times here, in Lesotho, platonic friendships between males and females do not exist, so he was completely incredulous that I could just innocently stay at a guy’s house. He said that if a girl stayed at his house if his wife was home, it’d all be very sterile, that he’d say good night to her at night and then greet her again in the morning. But if his wife wasn’t home, it’d be a different story. Sometimes these bontate disgust me. I tried to explain that unlike a lot of Basotho men, most American men have a different set of ethical standards in which they respect women enough not to come onto them at every chance. I’m so tired of having this conversation.

Once we got to town, I was happy to pay him and get out of his taxi, then I went to the hitch spot where I quickly got into a super fast pickup going to Masianokeng, a town where the highway junctions off to the east near Maseru. I didn’t even have to talk to the two guys in the front seat because the famu music playing was too loud. A trade off I’ll gladly take. They dropped me off, and not ten seconds later, I spotted the PC SUV driving by and waved my arms for them to stop. There were 2 staff members inside who I don’t interact very much with, but they happily picked me up. I’m not sure if they a) didn’t know I’m not technically in PC anymore, or b) did know but didn’t care because staff still likes me, but hey, I’ll definitely take it. I got out at the PC office where we parted ways. Now my task would be to get to the US embassy to pick up my new personal passport. I walked there, and when I arrived, I had fun talking to the employees in Sesotho. They were asking me about my village and about what I was doing at my school, and they were shocked at the price I had to pay for a gas cylinder in a rural village. Then I picked up my new (big mama 52-pager) passport and they hole punched my old one. Cool beans. Now I’m good to travel.

My next task would be to walk to Pioneer mall for some Pick and Pay groceries and to the pharmacy downstairs to get some malaria pills for my upcoming trip to Mozambique and Malawi. I got the sketchy anti-malarials that Aline (previously a Liberia volunteer) said make you crazy and make your hair fall out, etc., but they were 1/5 the price of the ones I had taken before, the ones I got from PC medical. But now that I’m on my own, I have to pay for my own medicine and such. So I got the cheap ones. But Aline said it would be ok because I wouldn’t be taking them for very long, only a few weeks. We’ll see what happens…

That night, I was supposed to go back to Morija to Lisa and Ryan’s house, as the next day they were hosting the murder mystery party that Jen had been writing/planning. But suddenly, I got some bad news. Lisa was suddenly being medevaced and Ryan would be going with her. Sucks for her, and also sucks for us because we had lost our venue. Jen was a champ, though, and quickly convinced Taylor to let us have the party at his big house. My overnight plan also changed to staying in Mhoek with Jen, and I went to the taxi rank to get a taxi to her stop. My favorite thing about her (tiny) house is the fact that it is sort of sloth themed. She has a sloth calendar where every month, there is a new adorable photo of a sloth to seduce you. She also has a stuffed animal sloth and even sloth socks. Sloths are becoming the new trendy thing, apparently. Goodbye mustaches, hello slothies.

The next day, Saturday, was murder mystery day. And it was a glorious day indeed. After a morning run from the hotel through the field where they give driving lessons and back, and some obligatory chicken and makoenyas, we all chilled at the public bar for a bit before Jen and I headed to Taylor’s house to set up the clues, make name tags, and get into character. I would be Sush Bot, the robot butler. I borrowed one of Taylor’s seshoeshoe bow ties to go with my white button-down shirt and black pants. With my hair pulled back into a neat bun, Jen said I looked like I belonged in a hotel catering company.

Jen had written an awesome script with many characters, and as each guest arrived, I gave them their character name tags. As the butler, I was essentially Jen’s assistant/stage manager. I had to make sure that the characters were following the story as they should be, operate the light switches, dole out fake blood, and I was also in charge of playing sound effects from an app on her phone (thunder, crows, gunshots, etc.). All the people came dressed in character- from the investigator to ‘me and ntate Mosotho to Bro PCV to overenthusiastic PCV to specific PC staff members and individual departed PCVs. As the story progressed, lots of characters died, lots of fake blood was smeared on necks and faces, and the acting was superb. We couldn’t have asked for more enthusiasm from anyone involved. It was so much fun.

The next morning, after we all emerged from Taylor’s spare room where we’d piled in with our sleeping bags for the night, we tag teamed cleaning his house, then I promptly got out of there to go back home. I was stupid, thinking that getting a taxi out of MHoek would be fine for once. Wrong. I got on one taxi that shoveled the passengers onto another taxi, then onto a different taxi, which turned around and went back to town to troll for more passengers. Ugh. This just convinced me that it’s the hitch life all the way for me. That day, I reached my Basotho quota way too early, with squawking “Hi!”s and “Lekhooa!”s and some (drunk?) old ntate rambling to me about whatever the heck he was talking about in whatever language he was trying to speak. It was neither Sesotho nor isiXhosa (the languages spoken here), so maybe this was what he thought was English? I told him off in Sesotho, telling him that he wasn’t saying anything, what kind of mess are you trying to pull here? Ke eng, joale, ntate? What the heck is this, ntate? The taxis back home were sleepy and long, but I was glad to get back and take a nap. It was a crazy long weekend, but so worth it.

8 May 2016: 5 weeks

                Today marks 19 months I’ve been in Lesotho. I’m not meticulously counting, nor do I have a website saved in my favorites that tells me how many days until the last day of school or anything. Lies. I totally do.

                Yesterday I got back to my village after spending 3 much-needed days away in Mohale’s Hoek with Jen. We were supposed to go to Qacha’s Nek (the town on the end of the line way to the east, about 5 hours away from Quthing), but everyone who lives there was either gonna be away or they were sick. And then when I arrived in Mohale’s Hoek, I realized that no one we normally hang out with there would be there either. So Jen and I just hung out, and that was perfectly fine. I was quite happy to be there after a record 5 weeks in my village. That doesn’t really sound like a lot, but trust me, it is. Try to stay only in your neighborhood for 5 weeks, and the only talking you do is with a few neighbors about how they are, the weather, and your dog, and when you walk to the neighborhood corner store, the only fresh food they have on hand is onions. Then tell me how you feel. Anyway, I got all the “town foods,” including chicken, pizza, chocolate, an ice cream bar, and these new twisty makoenyas (little fried breads) with some kind of sugar glaze. Amazing. We even found a little shop where they sold Lesotho- and Mohale’s Hoek-themed screen printed shirts. We wanted to get Leja Ntja (dog eater) shirts, which is the name of this district’s soccer team, but they only had tiny sizes. Oh well. We’ll check back later.

                In several burst of small news, 1) My big hard drive is KIA, so I have to figure out how to fix it. Until then, this shared drive will be out of commission for everyone in the area who relies on it for movies and such. 2) Dog food is heavy. 3) I’m waiting on my new driver’s license to come in the mail so a few friends and I can rent a car to drive to Swaziland soon. I’m afraid it might come too late, but in that case we’ll just have another one of us rent it, and they’ll have to just take an extra precious vacation day. 

27 April 2016: Village chillin’

                For the past 4 weeks, I’ve been surprised/proud of the fact that I’m not going stir crazy in my village due to my new resolve to be here and do stuff without PC. This week, it’s been harder to wake up, and I’m more tired earlier because the sun (all of a sudden) decided to go down like 2 hours earlier than normal. BAM, WINTER HAS ARRIVED, it says maniacally. This lethargy also points to the fact that I’m starting to get antsy being here for so long. I can feel it mostly in my jaw and my temples- a tingling in my skull bones that indicates that I’m ready to get out of here soon. I’ve almost run out of dog food and Mpesa (money in a sort of phone bank account); that’s how long I’ve been here. And adding to this is the fact that school is starting to drive me a tiny bit bananas by cancelling classes so that the netball and soccer teams can practice. And one of the other teachers whacked the stuffing out of the form As today for failing their science test. They showed me the swollen welts on their hands. Good thing the alternatives to corporal punishment pamphlet is coming.

                The girls’ club is going well. I’ve introduced secondary targets in the third class, and my bread is a big hit. Every week, I experiment a little differently (eggs make it drier, etc).

                English at the orphanage is still going strong. With the older group, we’ve been practicing describing what people are wearing. They had a workbook we were going through, but it’s gotten a bit too hard/obscure for them. Having to explain what every other thing (how do you explain a circus to kids who have never left a rural village?) is.

                I’ve worked it out, and out of the 7 weeks of school left, I have only 27 days of school days, as I’m missing a bunch for future long-weekend adventures like going to Maseru to get my new passport, a murder mystery party, and Bushfire, a music festival in Swaziland. That’s not even countin the unforetold days off for sports, snow, and days I won’t be giving exams at the end of the semester.

                The tall grass is a beautiful golden purple, and some pieces whack me in the eye, it’s so tall. The spiky-seeded plants are also releasing their spiky seeds, resulting in an always-covered Bo with these long, thin seed pods. And my shoes and pants are also constantly covered with these things

                My new method of noise control is to write down kids’ names who won’t shut up in class and keep them inside for lunch detention, which means that they have to eat their lunch in silence in the staff room while I keep watch. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s an experiment in progress.

16 April 2016: Saturday extracurriculars

                I just came back from Saturday English lessons at the orphanage, and I am currently sitting on my bed, wondering why It’s gotten so hot again after a week of coldness. The first thing I do after hiking up the hill to my house every day is liberate my legs by immediately changing into running shorts. This only confirms my belief that I need to live somewhere where I never have to wear pants.

                This week, school was good and I wasn’t stressing about anything. Since I started hanging out in the computer lab with the 2 male teachers instead of in the staff room with the other female teachers, I’ve been much less stressed, mostly because I have fewer awkward, small-talk interactions which I always hate.

                To incentivize my girls to come to a Saturday girls’ club meeting, I told them I’d bring breakfast, which will entail a big loaf of bread. Yesterday, I made a trial run of baking a loaf of yeast bread in a small pot, then promptly ate it all, as I was very hungry after running (as I do most Fridays) and then picking my way through a slimy plate of samp for school lunch. They switched from samp once a week to twice a week to replace one day of having papa with lunch, supposedly because it’s cheaper than papa flour, which has doubled in price from M200/50kg to M400/50kg. Thanks, drought. But samp is also corn and hasn’t gone up in price, so I don’t know what that’s all about.

                Jeez, what miserable animals donkeys are…

                This morning, I woke up well before dawn and made a big loaf of bread for my girls. 8 out of 10 showed up- not bad. They did show up 45 minutes late, however. The class went ok. I taught about the importance of yelling and simply running away if you can get away, then how to get out of a single arm grab. We started on the disabling moves a little bit, mainly the eye gouge. Most of them still need to find their voices, but a lot of them have been able to produce that confident voice I’m looking for. Those girls encourage the shy ones, which is great to see.

                Then I popped down to the orphanage and taught English, then went to the director Jill’s house for a very much one-sided conversation of current events (aka, her informing my oblivious self about world news) and a sandwich.

                It’s almost been a year and people still want me to give them my dog. Guess it’ll never stop…

10 April 2016: My life improves. Good vibes abound. / PC policy clustermess

                Right now, I’m sitting on half a cinderblock in front of my house as Bo lays in my shadow, kind of on top of my feet, and is chewing on what I’m guessing is a sheep bone. Adorableness.

                Well, it’s been a week and a half since I got back to my village, and things are going quite well. I’m not going crazy, mostly because before (when I would normally be going crazy in my village by now), I had absolutely nothing here to keep me busy or to look forward to. School’s been better; I’ve been hanging out and just talking with the form Cs more, which instantly puts me in a good mood. I think I ‘ve gotten the hang of controlling the noise level in my classes, which is quite good.

But the best news is that I held the first meeting of the girls’ club, which we’re calling “Banana Ba Matla” which translates to Girls are Strong/Girl Power. It’s with the 10 form C girls that I teach. The purpose of this club is to promote female empowerment and assertiveness, then to teach basic self-defense moves. I started them off with teaching about the difference between passive and assertive body language, then followed with some simple phrases to fend off a creep. I wanted this to be a joint effort between me and the girls, so I suggested some English phrases, then they helped me translate them into Sesotho. Then, the girls practiced dealing with me as I pretended to be a creepy dude and got all up in their faces. They were awesome- even the shy ones. I felt so energized by their enthusiasm! Great stuff.

One day this past week, I brought my camera to school at Jen’s request for photos of students for the alternatives to corporal punishment pamphlet. Some of the form Cs posed for photos like they were happily studying together or just sitting and raising their hands as if they were answering a question in class. We just wanted to represent some happy, non-beaten students for the pamphlet. There was a PC Life Skills workshop this past weekend, and Jen said that her session on alternatives to corporal punishment went really well. I couldn’t go, because it was a PC workshop and I’m not about that life anymore, but she emphasized that I was a big part in helping her with the pamphlet and the session she presented.

I went back to PCC, the orphanage, to teach English yesterday, which went well, especially when we put away the workbook and I just started asking them simple questions that they had to answer aloud. I have a group of grade 6s and 7s who I do more advanced drills with, and then I have a group of 2^nd to 4^th graders who are still doing phonics and learning to read.

I’ve been spending all my waking (and some sleeping) hours watching Friends. It’s so weird; since I go through about a season a day (this is real life, people), it’s amazing how fast 1) their hair grows, and 2) their relationships start, progress, and end.

And lastly, the latest PC BS “du jour,” as Colleen put it, is that until the end of the month, our country director is giving amnesty to people who come clean with extra, unreported vacation days they tacked on to their trips. If they confess now and some issue comes up in the future, they won’t be penalized. But that email was extremely cryptic and it was not clear what message they were trying to send to the PCVs. It was screaming, “Read between the lines, people!” I wasn’t really mad at PC before, but now I’m starting to be because they’re kind of inhumanely dragging people around in these mind games, making them guess at reading staff members ’minds about what exactly will happen to them for any given situation. PC policy has just turned so unpredictable and no one knows what to make of it or what to expect.  After randomly separating so many people in my group, no one knows if their next move will have the same consequence. People were demanding that something be done to change the policies, and this is what they come up with. I think it’s a really bad compromise, as it doesn’t even solve the main issue at hand, which is people with completely unreported vacation (not just extra days tacked onto an already reported vacation). I feel like they’ve totally lost control, and this is their scrambling attempt to pretend like they have some grasp on their own program. They’re saying that this month of amnesty is the only time where honesty is the right policy. All other times, if you’re honest about breaking policy, you’ll get punished. The system is fundamentally flawed. Truthfully, now I’m sure in my relief to be out. I am glad I can continue to work in my same capacity and use the connections I’ve already made while a PCV, and at the same time stand aside, away from this utter nonsense that has become PC policy. I have more to rant about on this topic, but I’ll spare y’all.

31 March 2016: Easter break hike in Butha Buthe

                Almost two weeks ago, I left my village for Mohale’s Hoek (but what else is new…?) I met up with Jen and we got some good work done on a pamphlet on alternatives to corporal punishment. I may not be a PCV anymore, but I’m still keeping good on my previous commitments to other PCVs.

It was hard to look up stuff, though, because the internet was really slow due to a ton of people at the hotel at a two-week-long workshop on how to conduct the census that will happen next month. This year, they’re going to use tablets (donated by the US government apparently) to gather information, so the process of tabulating data should be much faster.

                That evening, Lea and Katie returned from Cape Town. I was really happy to see Lea, as I hadn’t seen him since he went crazy and went home. He was back for a short vacation with his mom that they had been planning for a while now. He had a rental car, so we all drove back to his house, and we (read: I, as my Sesotho is the best) had some somewhat awkward conversations with his host family about the fact that he wouldn’t be coming back once he left again in a few days.

                The next adventure, after we picked up Emily on the way, would take us to Maseru where I went to the embassy to turn in my application for a new passport. Since I had to return my PC passport and my personal passport is nearly full, I decided that a new one would be in order, since I planned to do a lot of traveling. Then we headed to the fancy Lesotho Sun/Avani hotel and ate at the Chinese restaurant inside. Then we headed up to John Lee’s house outside of Maputsoe, a town-between-camptowns north of Maseru. Lea was thinking about spending the night there, but he really wanted to get back to Mohale’s Hoek, so he left. After some great fried rice and sleepily watching Forrest Gump, I promptly crashed. The next morning, we left his village of Fobane by Venture (converted SUV with sideways seats in the back that face each other) and arrived at the Maputsoe junction. The taxi rank there is one of the most vicious ranks in the country, with guys that will literally fight over you to get you in their taxi. We just put our heads down and walked straight out of that warzone, blinders up. We quickly got a hitch straight to Butha Buthe (2 towns north), which was pretty lucky, considering there were 3 of us. Emily kept going north, but John Lee and I waited at the PCV hangout, the Crocodile Inn, for Kyle and Chelsea to arrive from a hike out of their very remote village. Finally, the hiking gang was all together.

                The 4 of us got a taxi to Ha Molumo/Tsime, a village that would start us off on the right direction on our planned hiking route. The road was pretty gnarly, and the driver was mere centimeters from hitting a cow and having to slam on the brakes no less than three separate times. At the end of the road, we got out and asked directions to the first destination of the day. The guy we asked said (in English), “Let’s have a talk. My name is _____. I live in Lesotho.” Well, duh, but way to get the most out of all your English phrases. We started climbing and climbing. We got the usual surprised whistles that come from very rural Basotho seeing white people. There were sprawling fields of pink and white flowers blooming everywhere, which not only enhanced the beauty of the hike, but enhanced my sneezing. Seasonal allergies are real life, people.

Oh the walk, Chelsea was telling me about an RPCV from Lesotho doing anthropological research about birth and other sexual issues. She is interviewing women in Kyle and Chelsea’s village. Chelsea told me about what this RPCV has found so far, and it’s scary how normalized rape and violence against women is here. As the sun started to set, we set up camp on this little “balcony” poking out of the mountainside. We talked to a few passing herdboys as we made a fire and cooked ramen noodles for dinner.

The next morning, at about 4:30am, our wake-up call came in the form of a herdboy yelling down to us (in English), “It’s time to wake up! It’s time to continue on your journey!” And after meeting another 2 mountain boys who dressed up for us to take their photos, we did just that. Our destination for the day would be Solane Falls, a short, wide waterfall with a pool at the bottom. On the way, we were surprised to meet a woman walking in the mountains. None of us had ever seen that; it’s normally exclusively men and boys that take these long journeys to walk from remote villages to towns, as she was doing. We also saw a man on an upper peak singing and waving his stick in the air, his blanket blowing in the wind and his voice echoing off the valley walls. He looked like a wizard. At the end of a tiring afternoon, we found Solane Falls where we swam in the freezing water. Fishing was attempted, but not successful. A little herdboy wandered through with his cows, and he performed his best bird whistle for us. It’s still so amazing to me how talented these boys are with whistling.

The next day, super jello-legged, we headed out to Kyle and Chelsea’s village of Motete, first stopping at Ha Lejone to visit one of the remote schools Kyle and Chelsea taught English and life skills at occasionally. We peeked in, and there was no furniture whatsoever, and only a broken piece of blackboard resting on the floor. Apparently, all these remote schools have to go with donkeys to Chelsea’s school in Motete to collect food from the World Food Programme, which provides the food for all the primary schools here in Lesotho. Kyle ran up the hill to visit this boy they had met who had polio and is handicapped. They recently brought him some crutches they had found in Maseru so he could get around better, and Kyle wanted to check up on him. Then, after walking on the road alongside two herdboys (one on a horse, one on foot) and their pack of dogs, we reached Motete with plenty of daylight to spare.

The next day was Easter, so the taxis were on a weird schedule, so we just hung around Motete. The other three went on another fishing attempt as I took a nap and un-jello-fied my legs a little bit with some much-needed rest. After they got back empty handed, we saw a gathering of people who we later learned were apprehending a horse thief, who they would later make parade around the village in shame before they would probably beat the crap out of him.

John Lee and I headed out the next morning. We weren’t trying to make the 6 hour journey on the taxi to Hlotse and pay M100, so we only took the taxi M20 worth to the Kao junction where there was a big mine, where we walked for a long time waiting for a hitch to take us to the main paved road. We didn’t foresee that the previous day being Easter, there would be no one going out from the mine, as no one was probably working there yesterday, and it was still morning so no one would be leaving work for the day. Eventually, we got 2 hitches to the road: one with a mine worker in a little, squat truck going a short way down the road followed by two bulldozers to work on something, then one with a Chinese guy who passed us earlier that morning going the other way, had a meeting, then was driving back (that’s how long we were walking) and picked us up. After a very bumpy few hours in the back of his truck (John Lee rode in the cab), we made it to the highway. We flagged down a truck going our way and convinced the driver to let crouch among the crates of beer bottles and bags of peaches. After a few stops to cool down an overheated engine, we made it to Butha Buthe and got some plate food. We happened to be sitting next to our friend Adrian’s principal, who recognized John Lee from a workshop and drove us to Maputsoe. John Lee headed off for his village, and I got a ride with an old guy who stopped for eggs at an egg farm. It was amazing- 1200 chickens in one warehouse stuffed into rows and rows of little cages. The worker there filled up 2 trays by picking up eggs that had recently been laid and that had rolled into a little collecting trough. Let me reiterate that life is always more interesting when you hitch. Then, I got another ride in a big, nice truck, first having to explain to a confused ‘me (when she asked what to call me) that people call me ausi, abuti, ntate, and ‘me, but I’m in fact ausi (sister). Then she got out and it was just me, the driver, and one guy sitting with me in the back seat. This self-professed “drunkard” was popping the bottle caps off of his quarts of Maluti with his teeth, and turned out to be a harmless criminal investigator cop. He asked me for advice on how he could date a white girl. I started off by suggesting that he move to a country with more white girls. They dropped me off just south of Maseru at the Masianokeng junction, and I quickly found a sprinter and paid M10 to get to Morija, where I would be staying with Lisa and Ryan for the night. Total cost for the day: M30. Not too shabby!

The next night, I stayed with Colleen in Mohale’s Hoek, then the next morning I got a mini 4+1 taxi to my usual hitching spot. I waved down a guy in a DSTV truck (remember this for later) who kept driving when I said I didn’t want to pay for a ride. But, fortunately, I was quickly picked up by a nice guy delivering cooking oil to a big store in Quthing. I took my usual taxis to my village, and guess what? I saw that same DSTV truck at my next door neighbor’s house! The same guy was installing a satellite dish there! I went up to him and was like, “Hey, I saw you in Mohale’s Hoek. Remember me?” and his only response was “Mphe ntja.” Give me your dog. I’ll save the expletives, but I thought that was quite rude of him. I was actually glad he didn’t pick me up anyway. He was being paid to deliver a satellite dish and still wanted money to drive me? Some people are just awful humans.

On the plus side, I came back home to find about 3 surprise green beans in my garden! I love it when stuff like that happens. Looking back on it, I’m so happy I was able to do this hike, exactly a year after we had done a different hike that led us to Kyle and Chelsea’s village last Easter. It’s really the best way to explore the beautiful mountain landscape that is the crown jewel of this country.

18 March 2016: Sesotho quirks

                Greetings. Greetings, as you probably know by now, are insanely important in Basotho culture. If I don’t greet someone in my village, they will probably get offended and say, “ha u lumelise hobaneng?” Why don’t you greet me? To which I can’t help but think, if it was that important, why didn’t you greet me? Anyway, there are many different variations to greet, including:

           Lumela = Hello (literally believe)

           Khotso = Hello (literally peace)

U phela joang/Ke phela hantle = How are you?/I’m fine (literally You live how?/I live well)

U phetse joang/Ke phetse hantle = How have you lived?/I’ve lived well

Ua phela?/Kea phela = Do you live?/I live

Le kae/Ke teng = Where are you? (plural you is used, even if it is directed toward one person, as it is meant to refer to you as well as your family)/I’m there (as in I’m here or present)

Ho joang?/Ho sharp = How is it?/It’s cool (more informal slang and used by kids a lot)

Ke sefe? = what’s up? (literally it’s what? Super informal slang)

But the cool thing is that you can mix and match the question with the response.

Ho joang?/Kea phela. = How is it?/I live.

U phela joang?/Ke teng. = How do you live?/I’m there.

Another fun quirk is that people will start off with “I’m fine,” then ask you how you are.

                Ke phela hantle, u phela joang? = I’m fine, how are you?

Then your only response is “ke phela hantle,” I’m fine, and you don’t have to ask back because they’ve already told you that they’re fine, and the exchange is over in two speaking turns instead of three. Efficiency! It’s cool because everyone knows what this stock conversation is going to be, so they just get to the point faster. Perhaps this is the only thing Basotho are efficient at…

                Negative questions. People answer negative questions in the affirmative, coming from Sesotho where you literally answer the exact question asked, whereas native English speakers would answer negative questions as if they were asked in the affirmative.

                Example) You haven’t eaten yet?

                Basotho response: If you haven’t eaten, “yes” (Yes, I haven’t eaten)

                                                      If you have eaten, “no” (No, I’ve eaten)

                English response: if you haven’t eaten, “no” (No, I haven’t eaten)

                                                   If you have eaten, “yes” (Yes, I’ve eaten)

This may be terribly confusing to read, as it’s even a little confusing to explain, but I still thought I should elaborate on these unique Sesotho tidbits.

16 March 2016: Your daily screw up report

             Well hello there. It’s your daily screw up report. Our chief reporter this evening, Sushi. Sush, how’s it lookin’ out there? Well, not too good, honestly. It seems as though I can’t seem to bounce back into the swing of things. I am having enough trouble with my school being passive aggressive at me, and on top of that I’m not eating well, I’m not working out, etc. So it’s all just kind of a downward vicious cycle. It’s times like this that I really miss the conveniences of the first world: organized exercise, constant access to healthy/fresh foods, and daily conversation with Americans. If it weren’t for my awesome students (who, with Lisa and Ryan’s help, I’m managing much better now), I would have no motivation to stay here. But if I were me (and I am), I’d tell my sorry self to look on the bright side: My principal OKed the girls’club, I’m going to Mohale’s Hoek and Maseru in a few days, where I’ll be able to see my friends including Lea who’s coming back with his mom for a few days, my students are great, my dog is awesome, and I’m getting tons of sleep.

                So don’t fret too much, dear readers. Life goes on and I think it’s about to get much better.

15 March 2016: In my culture...

                I’m in a weird mood again, probably because I have the feeling that I’m not wanted by my school, but that everyone else in my community still loves me. It’s just hard to figure out when people are being genuine and when they’re being two-faced. I’m I that kind of mood where I’m constantly checking the calendar again and again, searching for something to look forward to, hoping the mess I’m dealing with is worth it. Ahhhhhh. Anyway…

                This past weekend, it was Moshoeshoe [“Mo-shway-shway”] Day, a holiday to celebrate the founder of the Basotho nation. I got out of my village and found Jen in Mohale’s Hoek. We got some quality hitches up to Morija, a town just south of Maseru, to Lisa and Ryan’s house. We are in the middle of making a pamphlet about alternatives to corporal punishment to distribute to PCVs so they can share them with their respective schools. Lisa and Ryan, or as I like to refer to them collectively, Lyan, are in the newest Education group, and they are the poshest of the posh corps volunteers I’ve encountered here. They have dream schools, stellar students, a beautiful location, and a huge, multi-roomed house. Master chef Ran made his famous pizzas, and I thoroughly gorged myself on them. So delish. And I made their cat (also named Bo, but this time for Bohobe ba metsi, or boiled bread) love me because I kept feeding it random things like French fries. Having been teachers in the Bronx, NY, they’ve had to deal with some crazy stuff, and they have some great insight into discipline and classroom management. They were such a great help in getting this pamphlet off the ground.

                In Weird Basotho Encounter News, at the Mohale’s Hoek hotel, I was sitting outside working on my computer when some girl walked by and quietly said, “hi,” then kept walking through the door that went inside. I briefly looked up at her, half-smiled, then continued typing away. About an hour later, when I crossed paths with her inside, she stopped me and said, “In my culture, when someone says hi, it’s very rude not to say hi back,” speaking all condescendingly and talking down to me. Ummm, excuse me? She also looked like she was younger than me, so I just could not take her seriously. Do you know how many times a day anyone and everyone say hi to me, just because I’m white? They’re not doing this to other Basotho- just me. Ignoring this has become second nature to me by now. If I said hi and had a conversation back with everyone who tried to engage me, I’d spend 99% of my daily waking hours just having pointless conversations with random strangers I’m never gonna see again. Sure, if I know you or can vaguely recognize you, or even with anyone in my village, I’ll gladly say hi to you and maybe exchange some of those pleasantries. But if you’re just a random person, I’ll probably do what I did- smile at you in acknowledgement, then move on. So don’t get all butthurt about it. And don’t give me all that “in my culture” nonsense. I’m not a tourist. By now, this culture has become my (temporary) culture too. So yes, I understand the importance of greeting people. But I also understand that in villages it’s much more common than in towns, where I have the right and frankly the pleasure of not greeting everyone I see. Should I have explained that in my culture, people that are probably younger than you don’t berate other people like that lest they’re cruisin for a bruising? How rude. End of rant.

                Well as for now, it’s a long Tuesday morning. I’m feeling too cruddy to work out as I normally do. When I get to school, I’ll ask about starting the girls’assertiveness/empowerment/self-defense club I’ve been wanting to start. At least something might to right today.

10 March 2016: A good day that quickly turned bad

           Could I run into any more BS-filled 18 wheelers head-on? Today, I was rudely pulled out of form C math in the middle of teaching matrices to go to a school board meeting. It was me, my principal, another teacher, 2 parents, and some other important ‘me who I still don’t know what she does, exactly. Between Sesotho <-> English translations, my principal said that, despite her earlier assuring that she would support me in my decision to stay and teach independently, the school board decided that it wasn’t a good idea that I stay because of “security reasons.” When I asked what exact security issues I might run into here, they couldn’t give me a straight answer. They were just afraid that, as the fragile little white girl that I am, I would need to go running back to mommy America to solve my every problem. And now that the PC isn’t behind me, I would surely perish. I asked why I couldn’t just solve any potential problem just like anyone else in the village does, and they just responded with something that wasn’t translated to me, but was peppered with the English word “exception.” When I pushed for more of an explanation and they were still being really vague, I got frustrated. The other teacher said that I was seeing things too simply. OK, I said, trying to keep my composure, explain what I’m missing and help me understand the complexity. Again, I only got vague responses. Visibly upset and on the verge of frustrated tears, I was being told again that me staying was a bad idea from a security perspective. The other bo’me (other than my principal and the other teacher) were showing sympathy for my upsetness, saying something in Sesotho like the situation was being made difficult for me, that I was helping, etc. and obviously felt really bad for me. Then they had me explain why I wanted to stay, and the other bo’me were sending even more love my way, whereas my principal and the teacher looked like they couldn’t care less about my distress.

                I just felt like, due to my principal’s earlier statements about her willingness to support me, and now her utter apathy, there was something they weren’t telling me. But, again, due to the passive-aggressiveness so prevalent in this culture, she would never come right out and tell me what I was doing wrong or what issue she had with me. Was she holding a grudge against me for having to cancel the PC-funded grant we were working on? Was it still because of the schedule changing? Because obviously all the people in the village love me- they tell me constantly. It’s just the teachers who don’t, minus a select few. Despite them, I’m staying for my students. They rock (most of the time). I’m just so sick of other people interrupting/redirecting  my plans. On a daily basis- a class being cancelled for some reason or other, and now on a larger scale- trying to make me think that I can’t make it on my own and continue to do my job. I’m not saying I like it, but I’ve stopped caring too much about the little daily interruptions. But if you tell me to up and move out of the place I’ve made my home, that’s a different story. If I decided on my own terms to leave, that would be different.