rain on a tin roof

One thing I think everyone should experience at least once in a lifetime is the sound of rain falling on a tin roof.  Considering the lack of tin roofs in America these days, I hadn’t hear of it until I got to Africa, either.  When it falls lightly and gently, it could put me straight to sleep any time of the day.  I usually lay on my bed and close my eyes and just listen.  But when it pours, I can’t even hear myself talk out loud.  And when the wind starts blowing along with it, my roof literally slams up and down as if it’s about to blow off.  It’s a piece of scrap metal held down by fifteen or so rocks on top.  Genius African architecture; houses made of dried poop and held together by rocks!

Other strange things happen on my roof that I’ve come to expect every day.  After the asshole roosters wake me up anytime around 5am, I lay in bed and listen to Joseph, the family donkey, whinny outside my window.  Then, at exactly 6:00am every morning (yes, I’ve clocked it), a bird plops down on my roof and cooes.  He starts out at a low “hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo” that gradually gets louder and louder until he’s in a full-blown “HOOuuuHOOOuuuuHOOOuuu!” for about five minutes.  Then he flies off somewhere to start his day.  I’ve tried to explain him to the other volunteers, and I can actually do an almost perfect impression of him.

            So you can imagine how happy I was the other morning when I decided to burn my trash first thing after I woke up.  Which, by the way, has become one of my favorite parts of the week.  I love the smell of burning plastic.  Did I mention this before?  I love sitting and watching my plastic bags and bottles curl up in the flames…and the smoke smells good.  It’s probably so bad for me.  For some reason, it reminds me of the smell of the roasted peppers at the Farmer’s Market that my mom and I went to every Saturday morning during Denver summers.

            Anyway, I was out burning my trash early one morning this week.  I was squatted down next to the flames, inhaling as much cancer smoke as I could, and I saw a bird fly up and land on my roof.  I immediately looked at my watch.  6:00am.  No way.  Sure enough, he started his slow, low “hoo-hoo”… his neck was bobbing up and down and his feathers got all fluffy.  He wasn’t anything special, just a little gray, fluffy guy.  But I finally saw him!  I couldn’t have been more thrilled.  He’s my favorite of the entire morning crew at my house; he lets me sleep in until 6 at least.

            I finished “practice teaching” this week.  My kids were amazing.  I am so happy to be teaching.  I especially love seeing them outside of class; I was walking through a nearby town last week when a group of kids a few yards away started yelling “Mees Hannah! Mees Hannah!”  In my fourth grade class, I had them make nametags for an “ice breaker” the first day I taught.  They folded pieces of paper into thirds and wrote their names and drew a picture of something they liked.  I chose a few unwilling volunteers randomly and made them introduce themselves to me and tell me what they liked.  The “Nike swoosh” was probably my favorite.  They speak in class so quietly; they are all shy and have their heads ducked down and their hands covering their mouths when they answer.  I’ve been told that it’s out of fear of being beaten by their teachers.  Corporal punishment is alive and well in Lesotho, although I’ve only seen it mildly.  It makes me sad, and I hope I can reach my students in a way that their Basotho teachers might not be able to.  Anyway, after our ice breaker, the kids immediately warmed up to me throughout the entire class period...all 51 of them were raising their hands and jumping out of their seats to be called on.  

The next day, I didn’t teach them but instead watched a fellow volunteer teach.  She started her class by asking them to go around the room one by one and introduce themselves.  They started fumbling around in their notebooks and shuffling papers, and several of them turned and were smiling at me.  I realized they were taking out their nametags from my class the day before and putting them on their desks!  My eyes literally filled with tears!  I think my internal motherly instinct is going to go crazy teaching primary school in Africa.  I love these kids. J

Cooking for myself has been surprisingly hard.  I know I am a good cook in America.  I wrote a food blog, for crying out loud.  It’s just hard to be creative when you don’t have a fridge to keep good food fresh, like cheese and meat and milk.  I have been eating things like pasta, beans, rice, and eggs.  I’m also having a tough time cooking (and eating) for one.  I always seem to cook just a little bit extra: too much for dinner, not enough to save for leftovers.  And it makes me sad sometimes eating alone all the time.  Food for me is such a cultural thing; it should be delicious and shared by people you love, with good conversation.  I can’t stand eating in silence, so I usually turn on BBC radio during meals.  I did get my first care package the other day from my Mom and Andy! Thank you!!! I’m trying hard to ration my candy and tea, but I’ve already blasted through half the bag of Swedish fish J.

Next week I’ll be staying at my site, alone, for five days.  Kind of like a test-run, to see if I’m actually tough enough to do the real thing for two years!  I’m sure I’ll have lots to update you on when I’m back in my training village.

I miss you all very much.  I was reading People magazine this morning (from my care package!) and saw all of the advertisements for the “holiday season”.  If you know me at all, you know what a nut I am for the holidays.  I would kill right about now for a steamy cup of peppermint hot chocolate and whipped cream, sitting curled up next to a fire and listening to Christmas music!!!

Sending my love from Africa-- Hannah