Dear readers: please remember that I’m horribly
late posting these blogs. Note the date in the title of each post. Even though
my life seemed bleak when I first wrote these, just know that everything did
indeed work out. Carry on!
This week I was not
in the best mood, obviously. A few days ago, I went to school to teach, then
decided to go right home afterward instead of waiting for lunch. I didn’t feel
like hanging around for papa and cabbage. I walked up to the shop through a big
crowd of old people waiting around, lining up to get their pensions. Along the
way, I got called ntate once again, and I just went with it. Somehow I think
I’m going to miss being called ntate, as annoying as it is, because it’s just
so unique to Lesotho. Nowhere else that I’ve experienced has gender norms so
established that the lack of me wearing a blanket skirt automatically gets me
greeted as a man. At the shop, I asked the shop guy for some boxes so I could
put my stuff in something while I cleaned out my furniture. He very happily
showed me to the back room and told me to choose some. I got a couple big ones
and walked back to my house with them. I had been told that my furniture would
be picked up some time that day, so I hung around my house waiting. Then I
messaged my principal asking when the truck would come. “Tomorrow morning, my
dear,” she replied. Well ok then. For all the fuss about being ready for PC
staff when they visit, we’re being very nonchalant about all this, aren’t we?
The
next morning, I explained to my host ‘me that I would be living in my house for
about two more weeks until the end of the month, then I would probably move to the
orphanage. She seemed pretty sad to hear that, which made me even sadder at the
thought of having to leave earlier than I planned.
The
usual crew of neighbor girls came in to say hi, get homework help, buy Mpesa
(money transferred via phone to buy things like airtime and electricity), etc.
They saw my empty furniture all moved together against the wall and looked
confused. It was impossible to try to explain my situation in English, much
less in Lesotho why I’m moving the furniture out but staying there for a couple
more weeks, how I’ll sleep without a bed, then when I’ll be leaving the
village.
‘Tomorrow
morning, my dear” rolled around where I, again, waited around my house for this
mysterious truck to come get my furniture. I decided to go for a run with the
dog to kill some time. My ausi asked me if I was afraid of dogs while I ran. I
said no, because I had my dog with me. Honestly, having Bo probably causes more
dogs to bark and snarl as I run by, but somehow I do feel better when it comes
along with me.
Soon
enough, some dude came with his truck into my front yard. One of the other
teachers and some older boys came along to load up and tie down my furniture,
everything except my two school desks and chairs because the principal said
that I “would need them.” What, and I wouldn’t need, say, my bed? Whatever. I
was sick of trying to figure out the things that happen around here.
I
swept and mopped my then quite empty house as a crew of three neighborhood
toddlers wandered in to talk to me. Even though I can never understand 80% of
what they say, they’re always very persistent in trying to keep communicating. That’s
one difference between kids and adults: adults lose patience for these kinds of
things where kids are more persistent. One of them came in with a big chunk of Styrofoam,
which I didn’t really see as too weird because kids play with all kinds of
weird trash items around here. So I’m mopping away and I glance over and notice
that she’s eating the Styrofoam. “No, ausi, don’t eat that. It’s not food. You’ll
be sick,” I explain in Sesotho. That may look like a nice hunk of papa, but
really it’s not food.
I
finish mopping and sweeping up little Styrofoam crumbs and I see my middle
ausi, nicely dressed, leaving to go to a celebration being held at the school
and church for the different schools in the area to celebrate their
achievements. Sadly, none of the students at my school were actually getting
any awards, but the ceremony was still held at my school, with the other
schools coming for the day. My task for the day, furniture moving supervision,
being over, I got dressed and headed to school in the hopes that I would
intercept PC staff on their way to visit the new house. I didn’t pass them on
the road, so I thought they might be coming later.
At school, some boys
and some other men were setting up a yellow and red tent on the netball ground.
One of my Form C boys had caught a rabbit and put it in his school bag, which
was providing additional entertainment for the kids, and, when it was released,
for my dog. I swear, these kids always have some animal or other held captive.
I was hanging out in one of the classrooms taking photos with the students
waiting for the celebration to start. The tent wasn’t working at all because it
was half a tornado outside, so everyone moved into the church. I caught up with
my principal on the way and she said that PC had already come and gone. Dang, I
missed them! I really wanted to talk to them. Oh well. I guess I’ll ask them
later what they thought of the new house and, more interestingly, what they
thought about my whole situation now that I left PC but was still staying in my
village.
After stepping into
the immensely sardine-packed church, my I-don’t-need-to-actually-sit-through-this-BS-ometer
started going off, so I used that beautiful white lie, “I’ll be right back,”
and escaped. I finally got home and was able to eat some of the fruit I bought
from the shop in relative peace, with the nugget crew outside still trying to
talk to me through my door after I’d already shooed them away. I finished that
adventure by taking a long nap on my new bed: a yoga mat with a nest of
blankets, sleeping bag, and pillows on top. It’s certainly not the most cushy
thing in the world, but it’ll do.
Here’s
a little anecdote to lighten the mood: I’ve noticed that my dog and I have
reversed roles compared to a normal American dog/owner relationship. I always
get home while my dog is still busy wandering around the village, then instead
of the stereotypical dog being super excited when the owner gets home, I’m
always super excited when my dog finally gets home.
No comments:
Post a Comment