being a superhero

Two nights ago, I had a dream.  I was back in Argentina on a bright, sunny winter day.  I was sitting in the Plaza de Mayo watching some sort of celebration for Bicentenario.  I remember seeing some beautiful Argentine women with long, tangled brown hair that fell down to their waists, and I was jealous. 

Then I stood up and started looking at everything around me.  I looked at the shiny metal skyscrapers surrounding the plaza, and the people smoking and speaking Spanish and rushing up and down the dirty sidewalks, and the loud traffic blocking the main avenue, and then up at the clear blue sky.  And I wondered what the sky was looking down on in Lesotho.  And suddenly, I really missed Lesotho and the peacefulness of it all.  I missed sitting outside my rondavel playing with puppies, and gossiping with my host sister late at night, and hanging my laundry outside on the line, and all of the little things that go unnoticed until you think about losing them. 

And then I woke up.  It was 5am, and there was a donkey outside my window.

As often as I complain about my life in Lesotho (which I admit, I do a lot), I would miss it here if I had to leave.  I guess I should say, when I have to leave.  Work is hard and frustrating, and being alone is… lonely.  I came to Peace Corps thinking that I could change the world.  But sometimes, I feel like my work here is useless.  I’m going to leave, and nothing will be changed. 

My students will still be denied their education because they don’t have the proper shoes.

 

But there are tiny changes.  So tiny that I hardly ever notice them.  And they are things that I never before would have thought “important” changes. 

For example, my host sister used to run with me every evening after school.  She was pretty bad, and she usually held me back on days when I wanted to push hard.  But we would sing together while we ran, and we would turn around and run backwards to encourage the other on a tough hill, and afterwards we’d collapse in a ditch and talk about how good it felt to be finished. 

Now I’m not running as much as I used to.  I don’t know why.  It’s cold, and I’m lazy.  But my host sister always pesters me in the afternoons when she knows we aren’t going to run.  She calls me lazy and tells me I will be fat, which is true.  At least she cares.  At least she knows how important exercise is to living healthy.  I’ve even seen a couple of girls her age in our village, running alone along the road in the evening, just like we used to. 

Also, as a primary school teacher, most of the kids I work with every day don’t speak English.  They know how to say “good morning!” which they will happily repeat to me at any time of the day.  Then they’ll usually spit something out in rapid-fire Sesotho, and I proceed to say “speak English”!  They of course can’t speak English, so they just repeat whatever I say.

 Now, anytime I see my small friends (they usually come over in the afternoons and sit outside my house with coloring books), they say “speak English!” when someone is speaking Sesotho, and then they’ll immediately look over at me  and smile, like it’s some sort of inside joke.

I had a good, long talk this morning with my counterpart teacher at Mahloenyeng.  He was watching me fill out a Peace Corps report that’s required every three months.  I was explaining to him how it worked, and he casually pointed out how it seemed that I’d done a lot more work at my other primary school.

He was right.  I’ve already conducted two workshops with my teachers at Theressa James.  We have a pen pal program between our seventh graders and my sister’s school in America.  The teachers all seem really enthusiastic that I’m there to work and excited about our prospects for the future. 

I apologized to my counterpart and explained that I thought each school had different things it needed to focus on for improvement.  At Mahloenyeng, we’re working on more “structural” improvements, like getting doors and windows for our classrooms.  It’s hard to start with materials production workshops when we can’t even use materials in our classrooms, because they’ll get stolen at night.

I must have clearly expressed that I was stressed about my role in development here.  I know that my counterpart is also frustrated with the circumstances (and the people) of our school.  He said that the hardest thing to change in the world is people.

But he also said that out of ten teachers, even if there is one, sole teacher who is on my side and rooting for me and our school and ready to bring changes, my service has been a success.  All it takes is one person. 

A lot of times, Peace Corps volunteers will leave their countries without having seen any tangible improvements in their communities or their schools or their projects.  But years from now, if you’ve changed at least one person , you’ve made a difference.  Maybe it’s giving a condom to that one high school girl and keeping her from getting pregnant, so she can actually graduate and have a chance at getting a job.  Maybe it’s showing that special education student how to write his own name.  Maybe it’s buying a tray of eggs once a month from that orphan, so she can provide for her siblings at home.

Of course, I have huge dreams of building this beautiful library at my school and getting thousands of books donated from America and teaching all of my students how to love reading.  I think that’s every volunteer’s dream.   Some people actually manage to pull it off within two years.

But if I’ve learned anything from Peace Corps, it’s to think small.  And don’t be upset about failing.  I’ve already failed at projects so many times, and I’ve hardly been here.  I’ve come to terms with the fact that I won’t change the world like I wanted to.  It would take a lot more than two years of Peace Corps service to change anything around here. 

But I know I’ve changed my host sister’s life.  And that girl I gave the condom to.  And my 5^th grade special education student who writes his first name all over his papers now.  And that orphan in high school who is the head of her household.  And those little kids who play for hours outside my house every day.  

For now, that’s good enough for me.