As promised, here is another blog update, within a few days at least.
First, a story.
My students have been writing back and forth with a school in the States for most of the year, and recently, when the school year changed in America, so did the number of American students who wanted to write letters with my students. This meant I had to go to my Form B’s as well… Honestly, I’m not sure my Form A students really understand the purpose of the letter-writing. They introduce themselves, talk about their family, their “traditional this or that” and basically say they love the American student. They have done these letters three times now, and most have been the same.
Well, I asked my Form B students if they were interested in writing as well, and, surprise surprise, they were. There weren’t enough for each student to have their own penpal, so I told them to find a partner. I gave each pair a letter and told them I wanted their responses by the end of the week.
By the end of the first week, I had maybe half of the letters I needed. The Form A letters were, as I described, innocent and basically a repeat of what they’ve written previously. The Form B letters on the other hand, were unbelievable. After reading a few, I just figured they would write good letters. Thank goodness my other teacher friends were interested enough to read through EVERY SINGLE ONE.
I read their letters in absolute disbelief at some of the things they were saying. They must have assumed I was acting as a cross-cultural dating service. A common opening line was something like, “My darling sweetheart,” and they frequently threw in words like “babe” or “dear” and several closing lines read something like, “Your handsome, loving boyfriend” or “Your beautiful new girlfriend.” Needless to say, I was stunned at their bravery. There is no way I would write a letter like that to someone I didn’t know! (Or even someone I did know!)
I had to go in to their classes the following week (no, I did NOT send those letters) and explain to them that for Americans, the appeal is only in getting to know another culture, NOT falling in love and marrying someone from that culture. Many Basotho want so much to meet and marry an American because it means they’ll be able to go to America and ultimately become a citizen… and this was painfully apparent in these letters. Several boys mentioned how experienced they were in love – which (according to them) is good, because someone in the relationship should be experienced, so they can teach the other about it. “I am a tall boy, and I am a sexy boy.” was another line… I had a lot of fun reading them and laughing, but had to return them to get a letter that I could send. (They all re-wrote their letters… and I sent them last week. Though it’s getting expensive to send 90 letters in the mail, there is something so priceless about my students’ faces when they get their letters…)
As I posted earlier, this week is now exams, but last week students were still reviewing for their exams. The week before, when I was actually teaching (or trying, in the case of one of my classes), one of my students raised his hand and asked (completely out of the blue), “Madam, what is spinach?” Me: “Um, the vegetable? Like moroho?” Him: “No, madam, the language of … ach, madam, what is spinach?”
Oh. SPANISH. “Well, it’s a language they speak in Spain and Mexico and… well, many parts of the world.”
Him: “Yes, madam. Can you… do you know spinash?”
Me: “Yes, I learned it for many years in school…
I proceeded to absolutely blow their minds by speaking in Spanish for a few minutes. They then insisted I teach them some as well. I wrote several basic phrases on the board like, “¿Hola, cómo estás?” and then they began requesting other things. Something students here say frequently (when their classmates aremaking a lot of noise) is “They are talking.” So I translated that one and gave it to them… and a few more phrases. Meanwhile, someone who had eaten too much something for lunch, passed gas in a really, really smelly way. I’m not sure where they get the word, but they refer to it as “squinching.” Maybe that’s British English, I know not… but sure enough, the next thing out of this smarty-pants’ mouth was, “Madam, how do you say, ‘Someone is squinching’ in spinasch?”
I. Almost. Died.
I explained to him that unfortunately I didn’t know that one… and that in America, we don’t usually use the word squinch. Oops. Of course they wanted to know what we DID use, so I gave him the one my parents used with my sisters as we were all growing up: toot. They thought this was hilarious… and with their little African accents, the word has never sounded so funny. Since then, I’ve not heard anyone use the few “Spinasch” phrases I taught them, but I still can’t keep a straight face when I look at this one particular individual.
This week on Friday, my students begin writing my exams. I also have two next week, Tuesday and Thursday. Yes, I will be working on Thanksgiving…
The holidays are going to be interesting. Last year, we (my volunteer class) were all together for Thanksgiving at the (Acting) Country Director’s house. It was great. Christmas was a bit different; we were left to fend for ourselves and cook our own meal at the training center… but it was really hard. This year is going to be difficult. To me, Christmas is everything family (and a little white on the ground). I don’t have any of that here… I have no idea where I’ll be for Christmas, but shortly thereafter, a friend and I will be off to Mozambique!
Not sure when I’ll next get the chance to update, but I wish you all the happiest of holidays. Thanks for your love, prayers and support – I look forward to another year of crazy African stories!
As always, all my love from Africa!
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Sunday, November 14, 2010
How do you measure a year?
Absolutely unbelievable: I have been in Lesotho over a year. Friday marked a year from the day we arrived, confused, jet-lagged but bright-eyed and ready to work. A year ago Saturday, we were visiting schools - one high school (where we would be practice teaching), one primary school, and one pre-school (where those resource teachers would be practice teaching). A year ago today, I don't remember exactly what we were doing, but I'm sure it was lots of sessions... Sesotho lessons, safety and security briefings, medical sessions (and shots to vaccinate us against just about everything here). Time continues to amaze me. Sometimes it can fly faster than I understand, and other times it seems as if I'll be in Lesotho forever. It's been interesting, this halfway thing... looking back, I find myself reflecting on all the best (and worst) times here, and how I was dealing with the cultural differences way back then. Looking forward, I see I still have a lot of work before I'll feel that I've accomplished much as a volunteer. I have a library to perfect, students to bring to said library, beautiful painted murals to re-touch, math, life-skills and maybe some english to teach... more friends to make, students to encourage, letters to write home, ultimately, there is so much more to do than I think will fit into the next year, but I guess I'll do my best.
The weather here continues to heat up. At the sun's peak, it is probably around 80 degrees, if not hotter. It cools off nicely in the evenings, but eventually we won't have that relief and it will just be hot. All the time. I got email from my parents about how they received a huge snow storm and lost power. I guess the house started getting pretty cold by the time the power kicked in again... all I could think was if they had given it a few more hours, it might be like sleeping here in the winter! No electricity, no heat, just a heck of a lot of blankets!
Let's see... what happened here within the last month?
I feel like I've developed a huge contentment with my site. I love my house, the other teachers who also stay on campus, the students who stay there and learn there (most of them, anyway!), the village... it just feels right. Yeah it's difficult washing everything you own by hand when you don't always have running water, but as I was outside on my porch the other Sunday morning, it didn't feel so strange to be stomping around in a big tub with my blankets, water and a lot of soap. I felt like I was crushing grapes for wine, and even though the students who had come for weekend studying looked at me like I was a total alien, it was really fun. (For the record, that's not how the other teachers wash their things... it's how the students who stayed at the school's housing did it... I learn from the best!)
There are still definitely things I don't do so well... for example, wait. The African "now" is usually at least an hour from now. And that's optimistic. There are times I'm able to wait patiently, without feeling like I'm waiting, but then there are times when I get very impatient and anxious. I guess I haven't been fully able to kick that part of the American in me... and that's just fine!
I finished teaching my first school year on Friday. Well, I guess the teaching part ended a week ago Friday. We spent last week reviewing for exams. I gave students all the topics that we'd covered this year and told them to start going through their books and notes to see if they had questions. It was fun to watch some of them go through the materials and try to remember everything, and some would even go so far as to explain it to several students sitting around them. Then there were other classes where I couldn't even convince them to crack open their books. They opted to dance around to music from their cell phones or play morabaraba (a popular game here sort of like chinese checkers and some other things combined)... I left their class very very frustrated that day (and then sat down to write their exam questions... oops). Remember how I said I love the teachers? They know when I'm frustrated by students and upset about poor exam/class performance, and they are always SO willing to listen to me vent and complain. Then they offer suggestions, either real or complete jokes, and we start laughing about something else and I feel better. These are the things my friends and family in America do. One of the things that has been difficult is not feeling like I really connect with people at my site, but now I'm realizing that I DO have those close bonds. It's really an incredible feeling; I love these women so much and am so thankful for their friendship and support.
I've also grown close to the students, not necessarily always my students either. The older students (many of whom are actually my "age-mates" or older than me) are a lot of fun. There were several staying in the housing the school has, and these boys especially mean a lot to me. When my dad sent me beautiful new soccer balls, they would come and knock on my door as soon as their exams were finished and then return the ball again as soon as the sun had set enough so they couldn't see. Eventually, they stopped bringing the ball back at night, and all I could do was smile. There was just an unspoken agreement that the ball, though technically mine, belonged to them... and boy, did they use it. When Itumeleng (Form E student who stayed at the school) returned the ball last Sunday because he and the rest of the boys were moving out, I had to fight back tears until he had left. I know I'll see them again, but it's hard knowing that they're not just up near the staff office. They're all back in their villages with their parents and siblings... and I miss having them there more than I realized I would. In the evenings, four or five of them would go down by their classroom and sing famo songs (the music that everyone here seems to love), Itumeleng as lead, and everyone else in this sort of tight harmony right beneath his voice. Whenever they sang, I'd go out on my porch, look at the stars and just relax. For some reason, it never occurred to me that it wouldn't be there for my whole service; I'm going to miss it.
Several weekends ago, I attended church again. It was the baptism of 'M'e Motselisi's son (she is the school secretary), who is about 6 months old now. It seemed like everyone else was leaving that weekend, her husband wasn't home, and so I told her I'd go, partly selfishly wanting to see a baptism in Lesotho. It ended up also being the weekend that the church was celebrating the harvest... meaning the service was around 4 hours long.
Compared to the baptisms I've attended in America, it was incredibly simple, though all the symbolism was there. They did indeed pour water on his head, make the cross and seal it with oil. (I joked with her prior to the service about how they would baptize anyone if there wasn't any water in the village but I'm not sure she really appreciated it.) There was one other person at the altar with 'M'e Motselisi, helping to hold the baby while she held the candle. No cameras, no videocameras, just a very attentive audience ready to sing to welcome the baby into the family of God. In that sense, it was really beautiful... the focus was on the right thing, not on getting everything on film. (I don't deny that capturing such moments are important, but I do think that sometimes the photographer or camera-person loses touch with the actual moment.)
At the end of the service, there was a sort of feast. Everyone had brought food items to celebrate their harvest: maize, bread, vegetables, nyekoe (sorghum and beans cooked together - delicious), and the chief had made joala, the famous sesotho beer. I'd never tried it, though I've been curious since they warned us in training that sometimes the shadier places will put battery acid in it (to wear away your stomach lining so you get drunk faster... also ultimately usually making your stomach bleed if you drink too much or if the brewers use too much). I got the guarantee that the chief had not added such ingredients and so when the cup was shoved in my face (by the pastor, who is also a teacher's husband, so I knew him), I took a sip. Now, I vaguely remember trying beer for the first time; I think I remember tasting wine for the first time (Confirmation), but I will NEVER FORGET tasting joala for the first time. I could not get the awful taste out of my mouth for a solid hour, even though I ate bread and drank juice. It was yeasty and... eesh, I don't even know how to describe the taste. The joala is a sort of cloudy, milky white color, and it is not smooth. It is chunky and gritty. I've tasted it, and will not taste more.
Several other important days also came and went - my birthday and Halloween. It was interesting being in a foreign country (alone) for my birthday. I've always been with family or friends, and I guess looking back, I was with both. I decided to try and look nice on my birthday; I even went as far as to wear my contacts instead of glasses (which was completely lost on my students, "Madam, you forgot your spectacles today!")
Basotho tradition has it that on somebody's birthday, you pour water on them, to help them grow. After I ran and showered (and looked decent), my teachers came at me with small buckets of water. Thankfully, many summers of water fights at the cabin have prepared me for such attacks and I was able to dodge one attempt and completely turn the other one around and soak the dump-er. After that, nobody tried anything. I'm not sure if Basotho culture says anything about how receptive you have to be to said water-dumping, but I didn't really want to have to change my clothes.
That day was especially fun because one of the other teachers had become a father, just that morning. I share a birthday with (what I'm told is) a very handsome baby boy named Neo (meaning gift). Basotho culture also has some interesting rituals for the birth of babies. The father is not there with the mother when she is giving birth. Then, apparently she contacts one of his friends first, not him. This friend then alerts other friends. If it is a girl, women are supposed to dump water on the new father. If it is a boy, men are supposed to beat him senseless with sticks. For obvious reasons, Ntate Ts'epo didn't want us all to know that his wife had given birth, but I'm friends with the teachers and they wanted to see what I would do, so they told me to go get him with a stick. I have NEVER used a stick to beat ANYONE before, but this seemed like fun. I wanted to wait outside his classroom and run after him (he is FAST) with the stick, but I had to teach, so I had to wait. When I finally did get to congratulate him, I had no stick so I just used my hands for the two seconds before he realized what was happening and ran away. That whole day, he beamed and seemed very happy that we shared a birthday.
Halloween was another story. I decided to throw a (huge) party. I have a pretty big house, and I got the go-ahead from my principal to let people sleep in the reading room and to cook in the school's kitchen. Friday night, there were 11 of us and we all fit just fine in my house. It was a sort of potluck so people brought various dishes (most were pasta or bread, so we carbo-overloaded for the soccer games the next day), and we all just relaxed with a bonfire. Saturday was a massive vat of scrambled (chicken-fresh) eggs, mexican food prep, soccer games with my students, water-balloon tosses on the soccer field, and some fun costumes. The mexican food turned out really well (all 120-some tortillas people made, a vat of beans, a vat of rice, and huge bowls of salsa, guac, cheese and some spicy peppers), and there was enough for firsts, seconds, midnight thirds and leftover breakfast of rice and beans. Soccer with my students was an awesomely fun rematch from the last time I'd hosted friends, which was the World Cup final weekend. We played Lesotho vs. America (though we had to borrow some of the students) and guess what! USA won! We played half-field with small goals because the pitch is SO fast (no grass), and it was so much fun to see my students and friends getting along so well. We were obviously the talk of the village because one white person is standard, two is an occasion, but 30 of us? Absolutely unheard of... and there were 30 (31 if you count me).
I was fairly occupied most of the evening with various hosting duties, but I'm told everyone had a great time. Eleven slept in my house, twenty slept in the reading room and they were all up and out by 9am Sunday, leaving me with the mess of a lifetime! I spent several solid hours cleaning: sweeping, mopping (yes, mopping), throwing away, airing out, washing... and finally I could sleep the afternoon away. (Except people kept coming to buy eggs or because they needed keys for something... so I really didn't get a chance to sleep). Halloween was a great time, much thanks to all who sent me decorations and candy (as much as it tastes like wax, candy-corn is definitely a tradition and it was a treat)!
The next weekend, I needed to go to town to get some groceries, check prices on water tanks, and check my mail. I opted to go on Saturday morning with Palesa (she runs the school's shop) and another teacher, 'M'e Ntsetsana (a good friend). We walked the 45 minutes to the junction and joked and laughed the whole way. Both women had to have their hair done, so I went along to each of the salons and while Ntsetsana and I were waiting for her appointment, she came with me to the hardware store to get prices for the water tanks (I want to help the school get water tanks to collect rain water so when there's only a little metsi in the village, at least there will be something to do wash and take a bath) and pvc pipe so I can make a Ladder Golf (BOLA!) set for my school. She was a tremendous help with the translating. Even though most of the people who work at the hardware store know SOME English, Sesotho is definitely their language of choice. Duh.
I did my shopping and mail-checking, and then went back to where Palesa was having her hair braided. When I arrived, they were maybe 50% done with the braids, though at the time I thought it was closer to 80%. So I sat around and waited. It was actually a lot of fun just being in a room full of women who were into beauty - hair, nails, clothes... definitely a different crowd, but they were intrigued by me, my hair (so silky and slippery!) and my time in Lesotho. Hours later, she was finished and beautiful, and we headed back home.
It was such a nice way to go to town. I relaxed, took my time doing things, talked to people when they seemed to want to talk, and really enjoyed my day. It was so nice having someone to walk around with and ultimately ride home on the taxi with. Again, I have some great friends here.
Not sure if I wrote about my garden recently or not, but I HAVE AN AWESOME GARDEN! Several weeks ago, after a nice rainstorm, I buckled down and planted. I now have little baby green things poking their heads out! I’m soon going to have spinach, carrots, basil, onions, spicy peppers, lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers! As soon as I can get another wave of ambition, I have seeds for broccoli, cauliflower, peas and green beans. Can't wait for them to be ready to harvest; I'm going to have some wicked garden salads, pesto and gazpacho!
I think it's time to go for a run now, even though I have many more stories to tell... they'll have to wait for tomorrow... or the next day... I miss and love America but am still doing well here.
All my love from Africa,
-Katie
The weather here continues to heat up. At the sun's peak, it is probably around 80 degrees, if not hotter. It cools off nicely in the evenings, but eventually we won't have that relief and it will just be hot. All the time. I got email from my parents about how they received a huge snow storm and lost power. I guess the house started getting pretty cold by the time the power kicked in again... all I could think was if they had given it a few more hours, it might be like sleeping here in the winter! No electricity, no heat, just a heck of a lot of blankets!
Let's see... what happened here within the last month?
I feel like I've developed a huge contentment with my site. I love my house, the other teachers who also stay on campus, the students who stay there and learn there (most of them, anyway!), the village... it just feels right. Yeah it's difficult washing everything you own by hand when you don't always have running water, but as I was outside on my porch the other Sunday morning, it didn't feel so strange to be stomping around in a big tub with my blankets, water and a lot of soap. I felt like I was crushing grapes for wine, and even though the students who had come for weekend studying looked at me like I was a total alien, it was really fun. (For the record, that's not how the other teachers wash their things... it's how the students who stayed at the school's housing did it... I learn from the best!)
There are still definitely things I don't do so well... for example, wait. The African "now" is usually at least an hour from now. And that's optimistic. There are times I'm able to wait patiently, without feeling like I'm waiting, but then there are times when I get very impatient and anxious. I guess I haven't been fully able to kick that part of the American in me... and that's just fine!
I finished teaching my first school year on Friday. Well, I guess the teaching part ended a week ago Friday. We spent last week reviewing for exams. I gave students all the topics that we'd covered this year and told them to start going through their books and notes to see if they had questions. It was fun to watch some of them go through the materials and try to remember everything, and some would even go so far as to explain it to several students sitting around them. Then there were other classes where I couldn't even convince them to crack open their books. They opted to dance around to music from their cell phones or play morabaraba (a popular game here sort of like chinese checkers and some other things combined)... I left their class very very frustrated that day (and then sat down to write their exam questions... oops). Remember how I said I love the teachers? They know when I'm frustrated by students and upset about poor exam/class performance, and they are always SO willing to listen to me vent and complain. Then they offer suggestions, either real or complete jokes, and we start laughing about something else and I feel better. These are the things my friends and family in America do. One of the things that has been difficult is not feeling like I really connect with people at my site, but now I'm realizing that I DO have those close bonds. It's really an incredible feeling; I love these women so much and am so thankful for their friendship and support.
I've also grown close to the students, not necessarily always my students either. The older students (many of whom are actually my "age-mates" or older than me) are a lot of fun. There were several staying in the housing the school has, and these boys especially mean a lot to me. When my dad sent me beautiful new soccer balls, they would come and knock on my door as soon as their exams were finished and then return the ball again as soon as the sun had set enough so they couldn't see. Eventually, they stopped bringing the ball back at night, and all I could do was smile. There was just an unspoken agreement that the ball, though technically mine, belonged to them... and boy, did they use it. When Itumeleng (Form E student who stayed at the school) returned the ball last Sunday because he and the rest of the boys were moving out, I had to fight back tears until he had left. I know I'll see them again, but it's hard knowing that they're not just up near the staff office. They're all back in their villages with their parents and siblings... and I miss having them there more than I realized I would. In the evenings, four or five of them would go down by their classroom and sing famo songs (the music that everyone here seems to love), Itumeleng as lead, and everyone else in this sort of tight harmony right beneath his voice. Whenever they sang, I'd go out on my porch, look at the stars and just relax. For some reason, it never occurred to me that it wouldn't be there for my whole service; I'm going to miss it.
Several weekends ago, I attended church again. It was the baptism of 'M'e Motselisi's son (she is the school secretary), who is about 6 months old now. It seemed like everyone else was leaving that weekend, her husband wasn't home, and so I told her I'd go, partly selfishly wanting to see a baptism in Lesotho. It ended up also being the weekend that the church was celebrating the harvest... meaning the service was around 4 hours long.
Compared to the baptisms I've attended in America, it was incredibly simple, though all the symbolism was there. They did indeed pour water on his head, make the cross and seal it with oil. (I joked with her prior to the service about how they would baptize anyone if there wasn't any water in the village but I'm not sure she really appreciated it.) There was one other person at the altar with 'M'e Motselisi, helping to hold the baby while she held the candle. No cameras, no videocameras, just a very attentive audience ready to sing to welcome the baby into the family of God. In that sense, it was really beautiful... the focus was on the right thing, not on getting everything on film. (I don't deny that capturing such moments are important, but I do think that sometimes the photographer or camera-person loses touch with the actual moment.)
At the end of the service, there was a sort of feast. Everyone had brought food items to celebrate their harvest: maize, bread, vegetables, nyekoe (sorghum and beans cooked together - delicious), and the chief had made joala, the famous sesotho beer. I'd never tried it, though I've been curious since they warned us in training that sometimes the shadier places will put battery acid in it (to wear away your stomach lining so you get drunk faster... also ultimately usually making your stomach bleed if you drink too much or if the brewers use too much). I got the guarantee that the chief had not added such ingredients and so when the cup was shoved in my face (by the pastor, who is also a teacher's husband, so I knew him), I took a sip. Now, I vaguely remember trying beer for the first time; I think I remember tasting wine for the first time (Confirmation), but I will NEVER FORGET tasting joala for the first time. I could not get the awful taste out of my mouth for a solid hour, even though I ate bread and drank juice. It was yeasty and... eesh, I don't even know how to describe the taste. The joala is a sort of cloudy, milky white color, and it is not smooth. It is chunky and gritty. I've tasted it, and will not taste more.
Several other important days also came and went - my birthday and Halloween. It was interesting being in a foreign country (alone) for my birthday. I've always been with family or friends, and I guess looking back, I was with both. I decided to try and look nice on my birthday; I even went as far as to wear my contacts instead of glasses (which was completely lost on my students, "Madam, you forgot your spectacles today!")
Basotho tradition has it that on somebody's birthday, you pour water on them, to help them grow. After I ran and showered (and looked decent), my teachers came at me with small buckets of water. Thankfully, many summers of water fights at the cabin have prepared me for such attacks and I was able to dodge one attempt and completely turn the other one around and soak the dump-er. After that, nobody tried anything. I'm not sure if Basotho culture says anything about how receptive you have to be to said water-dumping, but I didn't really want to have to change my clothes.
That day was especially fun because one of the other teachers had become a father, just that morning. I share a birthday with (what I'm told is) a very handsome baby boy named Neo (meaning gift). Basotho culture also has some interesting rituals for the birth of babies. The father is not there with the mother when she is giving birth. Then, apparently she contacts one of his friends first, not him. This friend then alerts other friends. If it is a girl, women are supposed to dump water on the new father. If it is a boy, men are supposed to beat him senseless with sticks. For obvious reasons, Ntate Ts'epo didn't want us all to know that his wife had given birth, but I'm friends with the teachers and they wanted to see what I would do, so they told me to go get him with a stick. I have NEVER used a stick to beat ANYONE before, but this seemed like fun. I wanted to wait outside his classroom and run after him (he is FAST) with the stick, but I had to teach, so I had to wait. When I finally did get to congratulate him, I had no stick so I just used my hands for the two seconds before he realized what was happening and ran away. That whole day, he beamed and seemed very happy that we shared a birthday.
Halloween was another story. I decided to throw a (huge) party. I have a pretty big house, and I got the go-ahead from my principal to let people sleep in the reading room and to cook in the school's kitchen. Friday night, there were 11 of us and we all fit just fine in my house. It was a sort of potluck so people brought various dishes (most were pasta or bread, so we carbo-overloaded for the soccer games the next day), and we all just relaxed with a bonfire. Saturday was a massive vat of scrambled (chicken-fresh) eggs, mexican food prep, soccer games with my students, water-balloon tosses on the soccer field, and some fun costumes. The mexican food turned out really well (all 120-some tortillas people made, a vat of beans, a vat of rice, and huge bowls of salsa, guac, cheese and some spicy peppers), and there was enough for firsts, seconds, midnight thirds and leftover breakfast of rice and beans. Soccer with my students was an awesomely fun rematch from the last time I'd hosted friends, which was the World Cup final weekend. We played Lesotho vs. America (though we had to borrow some of the students) and guess what! USA won! We played half-field with small goals because the pitch is SO fast (no grass), and it was so much fun to see my students and friends getting along so well. We were obviously the talk of the village because one white person is standard, two is an occasion, but 30 of us? Absolutely unheard of... and there were 30 (31 if you count me).
I was fairly occupied most of the evening with various hosting duties, but I'm told everyone had a great time. Eleven slept in my house, twenty slept in the reading room and they were all up and out by 9am Sunday, leaving me with the mess of a lifetime! I spent several solid hours cleaning: sweeping, mopping (yes, mopping), throwing away, airing out, washing... and finally I could sleep the afternoon away. (Except people kept coming to buy eggs or because they needed keys for something... so I really didn't get a chance to sleep). Halloween was a great time, much thanks to all who sent me decorations and candy (as much as it tastes like wax, candy-corn is definitely a tradition and it was a treat)!
The next weekend, I needed to go to town to get some groceries, check prices on water tanks, and check my mail. I opted to go on Saturday morning with Palesa (she runs the school's shop) and another teacher, 'M'e Ntsetsana (a good friend). We walked the 45 minutes to the junction and joked and laughed the whole way. Both women had to have their hair done, so I went along to each of the salons and while Ntsetsana and I were waiting for her appointment, she came with me to the hardware store to get prices for the water tanks (I want to help the school get water tanks to collect rain water so when there's only a little metsi in the village, at least there will be something to do wash and take a bath) and pvc pipe so I can make a Ladder Golf (BOLA!) set for my school. She was a tremendous help with the translating. Even though most of the people who work at the hardware store know SOME English, Sesotho is definitely their language of choice. Duh.
I did my shopping and mail-checking, and then went back to where Palesa was having her hair braided. When I arrived, they were maybe 50% done with the braids, though at the time I thought it was closer to 80%. So I sat around and waited. It was actually a lot of fun just being in a room full of women who were into beauty - hair, nails, clothes... definitely a different crowd, but they were intrigued by me, my hair (so silky and slippery!) and my time in Lesotho. Hours later, she was finished and beautiful, and we headed back home.
It was such a nice way to go to town. I relaxed, took my time doing things, talked to people when they seemed to want to talk, and really enjoyed my day. It was so nice having someone to walk around with and ultimately ride home on the taxi with. Again, I have some great friends here.
Not sure if I wrote about my garden recently or not, but I HAVE AN AWESOME GARDEN! Several weeks ago, after a nice rainstorm, I buckled down and planted. I now have little baby green things poking their heads out! I’m soon going to have spinach, carrots, basil, onions, spicy peppers, lettuce, tomatoes and cucumbers! As soon as I can get another wave of ambition, I have seeds for broccoli, cauliflower, peas and green beans. Can't wait for them to be ready to harvest; I'm going to have some wicked garden salads, pesto and gazpacho!
I think it's time to go for a run now, even though I have many more stories to tell... they'll have to wait for tomorrow... or the next day... I miss and love America but am still doing well here.
All my love from Africa,
-Katie
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