on smelly feet and hot faucets

                I’ve never before in my life wanted to buy a pair of Tevas or Chacos.  They were on the Suggested Packing List for Lesotho, and I even tried them on once in the store while shopping for other stuff for my Lesotho trip, but I thought they made me look too tree-hugger/butch. 

                I wish that I had a pair now.

                Apparently, Tevas fall into the acceptable footwear category for school, work meetings, and other Peace Corps related events.  I think only in the Peace Corps would it be acceptable to wear Tevas with your dress to work.  I brought a few pairs of dress flats instead, and I wear them almost every day.  But they’re getting to that point that shoes worn without socks often get to.  They smell so bad that at the end of every day I have to leave them outside.  And I have to wash my feet right after taking my shoes off; even I can’t stand the smell.    

                Anyway, I’m sitting here writing this blog post now, and my feet smell so bad.  The battery on my computer is dying, so I want to hurry and finish typing… I don’t have time to stop and wash my feet.  But trust me, it’s bad.

                I finished last week volunteering at another nearby primary school called Theresa James.  It’s quite a bit smaller than Mahloenyeng, and the students spoke noticeably more English.  Even the teachers went to the courtesy of speaking English in my presence in the staff room.  Things were disorganized just like the other school, but maybe I’m becoming more numb to it.  Maybe I’m slowly giving in to it.  Social Studies class at 9:20?  Meh.  There’s good gossip going on in the teachers’ lounge; the kids can wait.  Only kidding…

                I ended the week on Friday listening to the students practice singing songs for Moshoeshoe Day.  From what I understand, it’s a holiday in mid-March to honor the founding King of Lesotho.  Schools compete in traditional dances, songs, sports, and other things.  It’s a big deal.  Not like missing class is a big deal, but lots of classes are missed to practice for Moshoeshoe Day.  The students who sung for me on Friday were incredible.  They sound like a gospel choir.  And they even have little foot movements to go with every song.  I’m looking forward to March to be able to watch lots of schools competing together. 

                On my way home from Theresa James on Friday, I decided to stop by Mahloenyeng to see how the week went for my teachers there.  I was completely caught off guard upon walking into the teachers’ lounge.  Two students were sitting on benches, one girl with her arm in a sling and all of the skin missing from her shins.  A boy was next to her with his head hanging low and his arms folded across his chest.  The teachers explained to me that the boy had pushed the girl into a nearby fire pit and she had burned her legs and broken her arm badly.  They must have given her some sort of drugs, because she wasn’t crying when I arrived.

                Soon after my arrival, the mothers of both of the students came.  The teachers quickly ushered them outside of the office and closed the door, and I suddenly realized why.  The boy was getting an awful beating from his mother.  His screams were horrible.  I could hear the stick slapping down on his thighs and butt.  One teacher stayed in the lounge with me during the beating, and she must have been trying to distract me by talking about how to can peaches.  It didn’t drown out the sound of the boy’s sobbing.  The principal walked in and shut the door behind her, muttering something in Sesotho about a bad beating.  When it was all over, I was told I could come outside and we all walked home like nothing had happened. 

                One of my big accomplishments of the week was starting my running group.  It’s not an official group.  But every evening around 6pm, I meet a group of about eight or ten middle school kids next to the soccer field, and they come running with me.  They are all surprisingly very fit, given that the majority of them run without shoes and in their school khaki trousers.  We run for about 45 minutes, and we usually pick up stragglers along the road who want to join.  I’ve had interesting conversations with those old enough to understand English.  Lots of kids ask about America.  I don’t think they understand how diverse (and large) the country is.  Common questions are:  What is your staple food?  Do you live in New York or Los Angeles?  (when I explain to them that I live in between the two, they say, ‘Oh, so you can choose which to visit.’)  What are the people like?  How are the buildings?  Is it cold or hot there?

I wish I could take some of these kids back with me.  They deserve it so much.  I always tell them “Some day you will visit me!” but in most cases, I know it’s not true.  Some of them won’t even leave Lesotho.  And even if they did come to America, I wonder what it would be like for them.  Overwhelming.  If they don’t understand my English, I don’t know how they would manage in a place like New York or Los Angeles.  I don’t know how I am going to manage in such a place when I go home two years from now.  Showers?  Freeways?  Ice?  Skyscrapers?  Hot water from a faucet?  It seems just as foreign to me as it is to them. 

Back to school...

               I forgot how great after-school snacks are.  The other day, I was chatting with a teacher from the high school, and he asked me what my favorite snack was.  I couldn’t answer… I couldn’t remember the last time I had snacked.  I usually don’t have time to snack here in Lesotho, or if I do, I’m gorging on American candy from my most recent package—and I don’t really consider that a snack, more like a guilty pleasure.  At home, I’d eat chips and salsa, trail mix, leftovers in the fridge… but here, nothing.

                It wasn’t until I got home today and found myself rummaging in my food cabinet that I realized what I was doing.  I was snacking!  An after-school snack!  I came up with a piece of toast with peanut butter and a cup of tea.  It’s not what I would have usually snacked on in my days of elementary school, but now that I’m back in elementary school, I find myself craving that extra boost of energy at 3:00pm.

                My first week of school is winding down, finally.  If you didn’t already know, I am volunteering with three different schools surrounding my community.  This week, I was at Mahloenyeng Primary, which is about a 5 minute walk from my house.   Next week, I’ll be at Theressa James, and the following week, at Makeneng Primary.

                I began the week bright-eyed and bushy tailed, ready to get involved in everything and anything I could.  For the first month, I am just observing the current teachers to assess where they are succeeding and where they need help.  I showed up on Monday at 7:35 (morning assembly starts at 7:45).  I got a ride with a high school teacher, so for a few minutes I hung out in the high school’s staff room, introducing myself and chatting with teachers, building up my confidence for the day, when one of them suggested that I see if the primary school teachers had arrived. 

                At the primary school, we do not have a staff room.  We have the principal’s office, and if we have “off periods”, or during lunch, we drag in a bench from one of the classrooms.  So I meandered over to our “room” to see if we were ready to begin assembly.  I found two of eight teachers waiting outside the room.  The principal, who had the keys, had not yet arrived.  Alright, I thought, it’s the first day, transport is unreliable… give them a chance…

                We began classes at 8:30 instead of 8.  Students filed into their rooms and sat in their desks alone.  All of the teachers came outside to sit under a tree and welcome me.  We sat and chatted, then we walked into the teachers’ room and chatted, then, oops! break time, and the students ran outside to play for 20 minutes.  One more 40-minute class before lunch.  Most of the teachers went, some did not.  All of the teachers came to lunch afterwards.

                Somehow it was mutually agreed upon that classes would not continue into the afternoon.  I’m not sure if the message was communicated to the students, because they didn’t go home early.  Instead, they had an extended recess from 11-2:40pm.  And the teachers spend the afternoon allocating classes (who teaches what and when).  4:00 rolled around, and we finally went home.

                The rest of the week went much the same.  Tuesday there were only three of eight teachers.  The principal did not come, either.  I was asked to teach a Health class, a Math class (I politely declined), and an English class.  Wednesday, seven of the eight came.  Today, seven of the eight again.  When a teacher doesn’t come, there are no substitutes.  I was asked to teach a 6^th grade English class today, because the regular teacher needed to fill in for a science class given at the same time.  

                For the second time since I’ve gotten to Lesotho, I cried yesterday.  I don’t know where to begin helping these schools.  I feel completely overwhelmed and helpless.

                However.  95% of the students are at school every day, lining up for assembly (around) 7:45.  98% of them have uniforms.  100% of them have school supplies.  They are coming to school, and all of them want to learn.  They are happy to be at school.  I can tell because when I enter a classroom without a teacher and start making up lessons to teach them, they are having fun.  (On Tuesday, I had to fill in for a 5^th grade Health class.  The syllabus said to do “chest and waist stretches”.  I had the entire class in the courtyard doing pelvic thrusts with their hands on their hips, yelling “WAIST! WAIST! WAIST!”  Needless to say, I think we distracted the entire school for about 10 minutes…)  When they answer a question correctly, you can just tell from the beaming smile on their faces that they are happy to be smart and to be learning. 

Also, to be honest, it's not all hopeless.  I’ve seen those breakthrough moments in a few classes that I’ve observed this week, where the teacher has taken the time to make a lesson plan the night before, or comes up with a creative way to teach a boring lesson, or compliments a student for answering correctly.  I've seen students with learning disabilities approach me after school, whipping out all of the English that they can remember.  I talked to a boy last week who said he was going to cry when I left, and that he was sad that he didn't have a gift to give me now, but that he promised he would have a parting gift to give in the next two years. 

Peaches in January

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…

2012

Here’s to the start of my first year in Africa!  Happy New Year! 

I started the year off right by celebrating with my dear friend and neighbor, Heather.  She shuttled over here from her village, about two hours away, and we spend the last two days holed up in my hut, watching episodes of Glee and eating American candy.  I worried that I might bore her; there’s not much to do in my village.  We downed a few beers at a nearby lodge on New Year’s Eve and barely made it awake by midnight that evening.  We made a big show of slowly dropping a wasabi coated pea to the ground, in honor of the “big ball drop” in New York City. 

Yesterday, we watched a bug crawl its way across my carpet for about 30 minutes.  Heather took my photo with him, too.  For a while, we were genuinely worried about him and his journey.  Where was he going?  How would he get food for energy?  If he crawled up the side of the table and fell, would he die from the impact?  Does he have muscles, and do they get cramped from walking for so long?  I cried from laughing so hard; the things that we do for entertainment these days continually amaze me.

Heather traveled back to her village this morning around 8am.  And so, here I am left alone once again, pondering what I am doing with my life here in Africa, what I am going to cook for dinner tonight, and the price of tea in China.  I’ve already taken a nap, swept the floor (a backbreaking task, actually, with just a small hand broom for the entire room), washed the dishes, done the laundry, eaten lunch, and watered my plants.  I’m still waiting for my “groupies” from the village to come over and harass me.  A group of about 7 or 8 young girls has taken to dropping by a few times every day to ask for food or braid my hair.  I don’t mind, but they are too young to speak any English, so they’re usually just barking orders at me in Sesotho to do a cartwheel or show them my belly button ring.

                Last week, I made a life-long dream of mine come true.  I planted my very own vegetable garden.  I have mustard greens, snap peas, kale, and green beans growing in the yard.  Inside, potted in a cut-up water bottle and an empty coffee can, are lavender and basil.  The basil is already sprouting like mad, and the lavender has a few promising leaves pushing through the dirt.  None of the plants outside have started to sprout, yet.  My host sister came outside to watch while I was pressing the seeds into the dirt. “Do you actually like to do that?”  she asked.

                I’m thrilled that school is starting in just a few weeks.  It’s hard to imagine that last summer, I was nervous to get in front of a classroom and start teaching.  Now, that’s the only thing that I want to do.  Knowing that I’ll be doing that soon is the only thing keeping me here.  Right now, I have TOO much free time.  I’m still not integrated into the village enough yet to have close friends that I can visit.  My school principal is away for winter vacation, and so are most of the teachers.  Many of my neighbors don’t speak English, and my Sesotho can only go so far in a conversation.  I’ve found myself already preoccupied with life after Peace Corps.  I’ve come to find that living the slow life is much easier said than done.