It’s peach season in Lesotho. In line with the culture of instant gratification, the people here eat their peaches firm, so they crunch like apples. The other day, a high school student brought me a big bag full of peaches from his yard. I’m waiting for them to soften, like the peaches we used to eat from Palisade at the end of Colorado summers. I’m already brainstorming what I can do with all these peaches. I promised a Basotho friend to make a peach cobbler. I’m wondering if I could somehow (safely) can some peaches for the winter? Mom taught me how to can salsa and spaghetti sauce, but it seemed like a long, grueling process, and if the water temperature isn’t just right, or the cans don’t get boiled just long enough, it will spoil.
For the first time in a long time, or maybe just since arriving in Lesotho, I’m busy. I have plans every day. Maybe, it’s because I have friends. (!!!). Now, I’m walking all over the village with my new Basotho friends, watching movies, eating peaches, listening to techno music… Funny how having a translator next to me all day changes the way I understand how people perceive me here in village. Usually when I’m walking alone through the village, people will shout random things to me in Sesotho. I have no idea what they say, so I wave back and smile and say “Hello!”, and they just laugh at me. The other day, walking with my host sister, much of the same happened. Only this time, I asked her what everyone was saying to me. One man was singing and clapping his hands, saying the white person is bringing more jobs to the village. One woman yelled from her porch for me to come tie up the pig. A taxi driver said I need to get married and become a citizen. A group of kids jumped out of their bath bucket to yell “Whitey! Whitey!”. All of these things are being said to me every day, and I’ve been responding with a jolly “Hello!”
Yesterday, I met a woman named Maneo (“Mother of Neo”). Coincidentally, my Sesotho name is Neo. She took this to mean that we were best friends, and (although I think she was drunk) she wouldn’t leave me alone. I swear I saw this woman three times in the course of a couple of hours, wandering through the village. The Basotho people tend to shake hands for an uncomfortably long time, holding onto your hand for up to a few minutes, and Maneo was the same. I was walking along with friends, and she would come stumbling towards me to hold my hand and breathe all over my face. She insisted on putting her number into my phone and told me to come for a visit today to meet her family.
Next week, school is starting, and I couldn’t be more thrilled. I’ll be rotating between three schools: Mahloenyeng Primary, Saint Theressa James Primary, and Makeneng Primary, week-by-week. I’ll be co-teaching grades 6 and 7 English, and I’m hoping to teach a Life Skills class at Mahloenyeng High School, which is right next to the primary school. Since the primary English teaching program is new to the Peace Corps this year, we’re playing it by ear as to how my daily activities will go. For now, I’m taking the “co-teaching” to mean that I’ll be helping the teachers more than conducting classes on my own. I’ll look at their lesson plans, help them think of other ways to manage their classroom than using corporal punishment, and occasionally teach the class if they don’t understand a topic in the syllabus. To be honest, I am a bit disappointed that I won’t have my own class to teach. But I am excited to be able to work with so many different schools in the area.
Well, I am off to start my day—I’ve been working out every morning, lifting weights. With what, you might ask? I have a weight room in the corner of my rondavel, with different sized stones for different weights. I’ve taken to walking circles around my rondavel, doing squats and holding rocks in my hands. Haven’t gone on a run yet—if I’m pestered while walking to the shop, I can’t imagine the ways they'll bother me while I’m on a run…
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