Merry Christmas! Feliz Navidad!

The Basotho say that when it is raining, God is crying with happiness.

                God sure must be happy about something big right now.  I have never seen a more magnificent thunderstorm.  I could hardly pull myself away from the window to write about it.

                I was eating my humble dinner of rice and beans and tea, listening to the BBC from my crank radio at my desk, when I noticed that the lightning was flashing especially bright tonight.  My lacy white curtains were practically see-through with the commotion going on outside.  I grabbed my cup of tea and went to the windowsill to take a peek outside.

I was immediately taken back to a scene from Indianola, Iowa, when I was thirteen years old.  I was on the screened-in porch with my Mom and four siblings, listening to the rain dropping on the leaves of the trees on our acreage property and the thunder shaking the rafters of our old barn house.  After a big thunder rumble, all of us would say “Wooooaah!” in unison.  Mom was sitting at a folding chair at the table, smiling down serenely at all of us, and we had our noses pressed against the screen, taking big whiffs of the fresh scent of rain and feeling the wet dew from nearby raindrops soak through the window onto our faces. 

                So I went to the windowsill in my tiny African hut, with my cup of Sugar Plum Spice in my favorite green mug, and I stood.  I briefly thought about all of the spiders that were probably creeping out around my resting elbows (I killed one yesterday the size of my palm; so big that the guts left a stain on my bedspread!), but I just couldn’t pull myself away from watching this storm.  I even started “Woooaaah!”-ing out loud by myself.  Every time the thunder cracked, I jumped.  Of course, I expected it to be loud, every time, but it still surprised me.  It sounded like someone was smacking two big pieces of wood together directly above my head. 

                And what’s even more incredible: the lightning didn’t stop.  Ever.  I felt like I was in a nightclub with a strobe light.  I probably could have easily walked down the dirt path up the hill to my neighbor’s house without any trouble.  The entire village was lit up every five seconds.  I’m still seeing stars writing this now. 

                In times like this, it’s hard to be sad or frustrated about what I am doing here.  For those of you that I’ve spoken to, you know it’s been a rough week since I moved into my new African home.  Of course, I have made a few acquaintances that I can already tell will be close friends by the time I leave.  I have a 19-year old neighbor who stops by for a quick chat every afternoon on her way home from work.  She even invited me to the Catholic Church with her last Sunday, an offer which I gladly accepted.  I didn’t understand a damn thing the priest was saying, but I “made peace” with my neighbors at the right time and even got the Holy Communion.  Funny how things like that can be exactly the same, halfway around the globe.  On our walk home, my new friend stopped suddenly and said “OH NO!!”  I was startled as to what she was going to say.  “I forgot to introduce you to the Queen of Lesotho, and her daughter, the Princess!  They were sitting right there in the front row, didn’t you see them?!”  J

                Well, the rain has stopped now, and the crickets and frogs have come out to start their nightly routine.  Last night, a cricket somehow creeped into my room and was hanging out somewhere on the wall right above my head.  I was just beginning to question the legitimacy of hanging up my mosquito net (I actually only did it because it makes me feel like a princess in my bed J).  I’ve found a few critters clinging on to my net every morning, so I’m glad I have it.  My cricket friend last night left me alone for the most part, and just sang a little song to put me to sleep.

                Tonight, I’m treating myself to a movie in bed.  My electricity still isn’t working in my hut, so typing right now AND watching 2-hour movies is an indulgence.  I safeguard my battery life like it’s my own life.

                Missing you all and wishing you the merriest of Christmases, since I probably won’t check in until after then.  Thank God for your family and friends, and good food, and a sturdy roof under your heads.  And the ice in your glass.  The carpet under your feet.  Appreciate everything you have.  I know I never did, until now.  The Basotho that I’ve spoken to so far don’t celebrate like we do.  There aren’t gifts.  Today, I explained the concept of Santa Clause to some elementary school girls in my village, and they were blown away by the idea.  They wondered out loud why he doesn’t come here. 

I feel home

Well hello!  It’s been quite awhile since I’ve written.  I apologize.  There are lots of things to do here in Africa, you know.

I’ll start out by telling you about my new home.  My very first home, actually.  I was thinking about it the other night, and I’ve never actually owned a home by myself, let alone stayed put somewhere for more than a year.  I guess I don’t really own this new home (your tax dollars pay for it!), but it’s the closest thing to a home that I’ve ever been able to call mine.  I’m excited to finally be able to settle in somewhere for awhile… even if it’s in the middle of nowhere, Africa. 

My new village is called Mahloenyeng.  It’s situated about 30 minutes south of the capital city, Maseru.  My house is completely surrounded by a scenic view of smooth, green mountains, with a beautiful skyline of shadowy, ragged mountains to the east. 

I live in a rondavel house on the top of a hill, overlooking one of the primary schools where I’ll be teaching.  The house is gray stone on the outside, light green on the inside.  I have two comfy chairs (!), two couches (!!), electricity (!!!!!!!!!!!!!), a full-size bed, a dresser, a large wooden desk, and two small windows. 

I live with the chief of the village and her youngest daughter, who is 19.  Our property is fairly large, and a metal fence topped with curling barbed wire surrounds the entire yard.  We also have two “guard dogs”.  They seem friendly when I have food, but they aren’t trained very well.  I try to play and talk sweetly to them, but they jump and nip at my hands.  Needless to say, I feel very safe. 

Another interesting fact about my house: walking out my front door, I am about five steps away from a church.  I haven’t yet figured out why my host mother has a church in our yard.  I was there for only a week in November, to see if it was somewhere I could really live for the next two years.  I didn’t feel comfortable enough asking my host mother about the random church.  One evening, I saw a family walk in, pray for about 20 minutes, and leave.  I’ll keep you updated on what’s up with the church.

Anyway, my first day visiting my new home, I saw two of the three schools where I’ll be teaching.  The students were very excited and curious.  They sang songs and I had to deliver a short speech in Sesotho to some of the parents.  Unfortunately, of all days, I came down with a horrible case of diharrea right in the middle of visiting St. Theressa James primary.  I was sweating, my stomach was cramping, my knees were shaking…but I didn’t want to sprint off to the latrine in front of all the kids.  Once I was back in the car with my counterpart heading to the next school visit, I told her what was going on.  I don’t think she quite understood how immediate the situation was, so a few minutes into the drive, I told her I needed to get out.  Now.  So we stopped at a random house along the road (my counterpart insisted it was a friend of hers, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better) so I could use the toilet.  Most houses have outdoor pit latrines, so I didn’t feel quite so bad dropping in and pooping at a stranger’s house.  But just my luck, this house had running water (read: indoor flushing toilet). 

I couldn’t say no.  I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life, and I couldn’t find words (in Sesotho or English) to explain what was going on and how thankful I was for a toilet, any toilet.  I barely looked the guy in the eyes on my way out the door.

I pray that none of you ever has to run inside to a stranger’s toilet to go poop.  It was definitely a humbling experience, but I wouldn’t wish to repeat it. 

Other than the pooping horror story…  Last weekend, I passed my final Sesotho exam, and on Monday I was sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer!  This week I’m moving back to Mahloenyeng to start the next two years of my life.