Let’s start with Saturday at the
orphanage. After the usual English lessons, I met Annette, and older British
woman who lives in the Netherlands but comes to Lesotho every year and a half,
accompanied by someone. This time she brought her great nephew Andrew. I found
them outside after tutoring and we all went up to the director Jill’s house for
lunch. I can always count on Jill for a really nice lunch, and today it
included a salad that I commented was “so pretty.” They laughed when I said
that, but I was really marveling at it because I’m so salad deprived here.
After eating, we had our usual visitors of boys bearing dead rats to be flushed
down Jill’s toilet. Then one of the bo-ntate house fathers came over and I
helped him make a list of kids Andrew should give extra lessons to. I think he
was a little bit overwhelmed by our conversation about all the kids and who should
be put into what group and who needs help with what. Jill’s conversations
already need a lot of subtext (and for me, translating between British and
American English), and since Andrew had just gotten thrown into Lesotho the day
before, he was looking a little glazed over.
As
usual, Jill asked me to come to church the next day, and, as usual, I told her
let’s not pretend like I’m gonna come to church, because as she knows, I’m
quite averse to organized religion. To that, she replied that it’s hardly
organized. I said, “I’ll think about it,” as my usual avoidance tactic, but
this time I actually thought about it. I figured that I needed to go to church
in my village at least once, right? Plus, I’d be able to hang out with and have
fluent English conversations with my two new acquaintances. You don’t realize how
far you’ll go (all the way to, gulp, church) for the chance to have an actual
conversation that goes beyond greetings and the weather. This is real life,
people.
So
Sunday rolls around and, after a little morning workout, I got dressed and walked
down to the orphanage for church in their big multipurpose room. All the kids
were there plus lots of other people from the village. There were two blue
beret-wearing women up front giving a talk (from what I understood) about
water, how it’s represented in the bible, etc., and probably relating it to our
drought situation in Lesotho. Then, after a song, other people from other
churches would come up to comment on the sermon. Jill’s 4 dogs also attended
church, but I chained up Bo outside so that it wouldn’t pee everywhere and jump
on everyone, a recent behavioral theme for the dog. After the service, I went
and had tea and stroopwaffles (Dutch caramel waffle cookies) with Annette and
Andrew.
The audience
Jill speaking and one of the house fathers translating into Sesotho
Beret ladies at offering time
Jill with Sam the dog
Then,
Andrew, Bo and I headed out for a hike up one of the mountains behind the
orphanage. This crazy dog wouldn’t stop jumping all over the place and getting
mud on our clothes and scattering sheep and generally being a nutcase. I’ve
never apologized for something in my care so much in my life. We got up to the
top of the ridge and found a “molisana oa rona,” or “our little herdboy” which
is a human-sized pile of rocks, which looks like a herdboy standing at the top
of the mountain if you’re looking at it from below.
The Bo Bo
The me me
[And
here, dear readers, is the beginning of the series of unfortunate events that
(spoiler alert) leads to my early Lesotho demise. Pay attention.]
The next day, at
school, my principal pulled me into her office to talk about the PC education
director’s site visit next week to look at the new house for the replacement
volunteer. He has to see it all furnished. Since the school bought the
furniture in my house for their PCVs, that same furniture needs to now be in
the new house. So what should we do about that? she asked. I gave her several
options: 1) put my furniture in there for one day and then bring it back, 2)
have the host family or neighbors put some furniture in there for once day just
for the visit, or 3) leave my furniture in my current house and he can come look
at it, trusting that it will be moved into the new house by the time the new
volunteer needs it for site visit in November. My principal’s reply was no, no,
and no. Cool. She literally had no other ideas or alternatives. I suggested asking
the education director what to do, as he probably has had to deal with this
same situation with other volunteers who aren’t being replaced in the same
house. She said not to do that, because it would make the school look “unprepared.”
Well, yeah, because you are unprepared. I was getting the feeling that she
might just want me to leave the village ASAP so I would stop being such a “burden”
to their effort to get a new volunteer, just get out of her hair. As such, I
suggested me leaving the village in the beginning of November before the new
trainees visit their sites so that they could have all the furniture there and
be ready to roll. She immediately agreed, saying something typically passive
like, “Yes, it might be best if you didn’t remain for that time.” I just want her
to spit out what she is thinking, just tell me to leave, but this culture doesn’t
allow for that kind of direct communication. So now, instead of leaving after
the end of the school year in early December, I’m cutting my stay a month
shorter. I really want to show Volunteer Jr. the ropes, though, so maybe I can
find somewhere else to stay after I move out of my house, and still be in the village
by the time they get here.
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