After photographing
all over the village, I went back to school and found one of my Form Cs who I’d
been conspiring with. I walked up to him, half smirking, and unslung my
backpack and took out my ponytail. Yes, readers, the ponytail that had been cut
off my head two years ago. I kept it. This student and I had been talking about
how I might go about selling the thing, as I heard that I could get some decent
cash money for my ponytail of lekhooa (white person) hair. This being one of
the last days I’d be in the village, I decided that I would just sell it to
him, who could then turn around and sell it to this ‘me he knows who is a
traditional doctor. He only had R12 on him, which he gladly gave me, because he
said he could probably get at least 50, if not several hundred rand for my
hair. Does this count as an income-generating activity for my village?
The
day before I left the village, I prepared by packing, burning yet more trash,
giving away more things I wouldn’t need and giving the cherished orphanage
staff members American flag pins and thanking them for everything. One of the
bo-‘me who works in the kitchen, and who was also my neighbor next to my host
family’s house, was especially sad. She was the one who had given me my puppy,
was always so kind to me, and was eager to feed me any time I came to the
orphanage to do English lessons. I went to give her a hug, but she kind of
pushed me off because Basotho don’t really do hugs, and I think she was
embarrassed that she was starting to cry. I’m gonna miss her so much!
On
my last day, I gave the key to the visitor’s house to this same ‘me, who was in
the kitchen giving peanut butter-smeared papatas to the kids for breakfast. She
dug around in the pile for an especially good-looking one and gave it to me as
I left. I walked across the ridge and over to the taxi stop for the last time.
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