Saturday, January 30, 2010

January 30, 2010
Greetings!
I had a pretty good second week of school, though there was much less teaching than I had expected. Turns out when it rains too hard, we don't teach. When there is something going on, we don't teach. Basically, teaching is... well, secondary? to a lot of these people? It's been frustrating, but I'm still trying to learn my surroundings.
My Wednesday was very interesting... After the students' assembly in the morning, the principal went to the podium and told all of the students who were not wearing the correct uniform to go home and change. Within moments, half of the school (if not more) had walked back out through the gates to change their clothes. Ridiculous. I was pretty upset as I had just lost half of my first period class. I cooled down just fine and taught a good lesson, and then with three hours of free time, I had a lovely run.
On Wednesday evening, my counterpart (Abiola) and I played soccer with some of the guys from the community. African soccer is something else. It's so much about control, so the field we used was incredibly small, not to mention rocky, uneven and not very grassy. I was winded after moments, and thankful when Abiola gracefully bowed out and invited me to dinner. It was very nice to chat with him about school, America and life in general.
Thursday morning brought news of the External Examination results from last year, and cause for huge celebration -- all of the students from last year passed, and one achieved one of the top ten positions in the nation! So Thursday we had no school. The day was meant initially to celebrate one teacher leaving Sekameng, but it turned into a combined celebration of exam results and Ntate Khaile's career. There was a very nice ceremony with speeches, poems and even some dances by students, teachers and the principal... followed, of course, by a feast.
Thursday evening, as I was coming back from my run, several children came sprinting out of their house to run with me. We ran up and down the road a little bit, and eventually stopped (I was exhausted). I dashed into my house, grabbed crayons and paper, and soon the crowd had grown to almost a dozen little kids, all writing their names and surnames, and cute little sentences about themselves; "My name is Thabo. My surname is Khalele. I am a boy." Very, very cute. I know at least four of their names, though they all expect me to know their names since they know mine.
It was hard to get the focus back on Friday morning, since Thursday had essentially been a free-for-all, but my students did pretty well. My last class of the day was cancelled because all of the teachers had to go pay a visit to one of the women who cooks for the school, who lost a son. This was one of the most difficult things I have experienced here so far. We arrived at her home, were let in by her daughter or other family member, sister perhaps? And ushered into a smallish room where 'M'e Maalina was laying on a bed, covered in heaps of blankets, and absolutely weeping. She did not speak much, and I couldn't understand all of what her sister and the principal were saying (as it was all in Sesotho), but there was a lot of "We're sorry, very much 'M'e." Not the most positive way to end my day, and I'm not sure about all the mourning/funeral traditions here (yet) but I'll pass that along once I get the chance.
For now, it's time to grocery shop and head back to my school. We had a great sleepover at Melissa's (who lives in the camptown with electricity and running water!) but I should get home to get some actual sleep (sleepovers don't really change as we age).
Happy almost February...
All my love from Africa!

January 26

(From January 26, 2010)

The secretary of education was supposed to be coming to our school today, to check on something, though I’m not sure what. True to Basotho time, he/she was supposed to come at 7:30am (which I found out at 7:29am) and we were all supposed to be awaiting his/her arrival. Needless to say, it is past 9am now, and we have no visitor. I should also mention, however, that the weather has not been very conducive to travel in any way, shape or form. It has rained so much recently, I really am surprised we’re not swimming. The past few days we’ve had a thunderstorm in the early morning changing into decent rain until school starts up around 7:15 or so. Then in the afternoon, the thunder and lightning come back… yesterday it was towards the end of lunch. I put on my rain coat and left my house to go back to the staff room, gather my materials and go to my afternoon lesson: a double block of mathematics with the A students. I made it back to the staffroom in my jacket and started getting ready when the rain came even harder. I figured, “Oh, what the heck, the kids have to learn, I’ll suck it up and get wet, no big deal.” After all, this is Africa. The other teachers would not let me out the door. “M’e Katie, you should just wait. I have a class now too but it is too much raining to go teach now.” I’ve heard of snow days. I’ve heard of days that are too cold for any living thing to be outside, but rain? Hmm… I didn’t argue too much though, I literally would have been soaked through, even with my 50 foot walk to the classroom; I figured it would pass soon… 40 minutes later, I finally got to the second half of my class and we managed to hear each other over the rain a little bit. Their energy was high, and mine was low (after having already taught 5 lessons that day) and so at first things were a little stressful. After I finished lecturing and they were working on practice problems, the real magic happened. I got some of those precious teacher moments, when you can totally and completely see the light go on for the student. It made the whole school day worthwhile, and was the best possible note to end on. (Then, needless to say, I got drenched on my way back to the staff room and even moreso on my way home, but it was so worth it.)

Thanks to the rain, I couldn’t run. Sad day. I’ve been absolutely terrible about running or training for this half-marathon. I guess my biggest consolation is that it will be in South Africa where (I think) the elevation is considerably lower, so I’ll at least be able to breathe, even if my legs are killing me. Instead of running, I took to decorating. I have finally begun to hang some of my beloved pictures up around my house. I also have numerous magazine clippings from that first week at Sekameng when I was bored out of my mind for so many days. It definitely feels more like home. It looks as though I will finish the photo-hanging this afternoon since the sky is as grey as ever and it has been sprinkling since the morning rain let up. I would venture a guess that the rainy season is upon us.

My weekend was pretty lazy. I saw friends on Friday, went to town on Saturday, and basically went to sleep on Saturday evening around 5pm. I woke up several times, only to change location from my couch to my bed or lock my door, but otherwise I slept until 8 the next day. On Sunday, my run brought me to another nearby village where one of the teachers from Sekameng lives, and apparently another PCV too (I still need to get in touch with her and let her know I know where she lives!). It also marks the first time I’ve done laundry all on my own (meaning no washer/dryer/help-from-my-host-mom… no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you very much), and my first bath in five days. Yep, you read that right: five days. Not necessarily a fact I’m proud of as I’ve always been the kind of person who very much enjoys showers (right Mom and Dad?!) … but honestly… well, there is no excuse for me not bathing in so many days. Lucky for me, people here just don’t care. I’m told that once winter really hits, I’ll be going weeks at a time, just washing one limb at a time. Interesting… In any case, it is nice to have clean clothes again (even though I will re-wear mostly the same things I wore last week), and especially clean hair!

This week we started on the official timetable, so I have a crazy hectic Monday, not-so-busy Tuesday, and moderately heavy Weds-Fri. Honestly, the teaching makes the time pass so much quicker than sitting in the staffroom listening to the other teachers speaking in Sesotho, but the downtime is nice for processing, writing, lesson-planning and being on my computer when the generator is running (now for example – I’m not using any power of my own battery! Sweet!)

So while the generator is turned on, all the other teachers usually come in to charge their phones. Mine has been plugged in for a while now (my ears perk up at the first sound of the engine starting), probably almost complete, and so as they trickle in, they see me on my computer and ask what I’m doing. I just showed two of them photos for almost half an hour! They love to see what my home looks like, as well as what my life has been like in Lesotho so far! I will have to compile a better photo list for them… (which means you should email me small photos and I can show them off… or just print them and send them!)

I really like most of the teachers with whom I am working here at Sekameng, but there is one who is especially wonderful. She asked me (within ten minutes of meeting me) if I liked to exercise. I responded in the affirmative, naturally, and she told me she wanted to lose her tummy, which she hates (haha, don’t we all). I hesitantly offered my running company (not thinking she would actually follow through with it) and she enthusiastically accepted. The next day, she came running with me. Every time I have run since then (granted, this is all of twice), she has been tagging along behind, usually quite far behind because she is just getting into shape, but still, even her presence has been very motivational.

I think I’ve always known that it is the small things in life that make each day worthwhile, but I’m learning it more and more here. After the first day of teaching, she offered to take me to the big shop, the one that is farther away from campus. I was thrilled and jumped at the chance to mingle more with the other teachers. We had nice conversation on our way over and back, and jokingly agreed to cook for each other sometime. As we were walking back, she mentioned the clinic and her friends there, and I told her I would also like to meet them (part of our assignments for the first few months at site are getting to know everything about your village). The next day after we ran, she said, “Let’s go to the clinic so you can meet my friends.” Talk about follow through!

We walked the 10 minutes to the clinic in town and were met at their door with only smiles and warm welcomes. I greeted them in Sesotho and they laughed at me, not your typical response. We began talking and I discovered that they were in fact Kenyans (hence the laughter at my Sesotho), and they have been working here for some years now. ‘M’e Mamosala (the teacher I’m befriending) and I talked with Henry while Mercy bustled about the kitchen, preparing tea, collecting water and doing dishes. She asked how much sugar I took in my tea, and brought over the most delicious (cream and sugar-filled) tea I have tasted in months. Next came a plate boasting a lovely pancake, rolled up with a fork stuck in it. Truthfully, I did not recognize it as a pancake at first, but when she said it was called a pancake, I felt pretty foolish for even asking. It was delicious.

Mercy and Henry were truly a breath of fresh air. We talked about everything, from Peace Corps to the village to the country’s political system to political systems around Africa, as well as education here and in the rest of Africa, and differences between Lesotho and South Africa. Wow, I could’ve cried; talking to them made me so happy. The four of us talked well into the darkness of the evening, so around 7:45pm, we began to wrap up our chat. They both gathered their coats and a flashlight to walk us back to Sekameng, assuring me that their door was always open and that they were very pleased to have met me, As we parted, Henry even told me, “I believe that we meet people for a purpose; you have not come into our lives for no reason” (I know it almost sounds cheesy, but it was music to my homesick ears). Henry is also a pastor at a church in Maseru somewhere (still developing at this point), but he assured me services were held in English and they cater primarily to an international community (hey, that’s me!). I will go with them sometime, and I look forward to it.

Two nights ago (on Sunday), as I was starting to think about what my dinner would be, ‘M’e Mamosala came by, just to say hello, let me know that she was back from her weekend and inquire about mine. She mentioned that she was going to cook papa and cabbage and I chuckled and said that I was also going to have cabbage, but in a soup. I showed her the recipe, and she said, “Yes, I think we can cook this; it looks quite nice.” Just like that, I had a dinner date. We arranged who would supply what (I offered my cabbage, carrots and spices; she provided onions, tomatoes and papa), and I walked over to cook with her. It turned into quite the dinner party! Mamosala is very social, so anyone who passed her open door was practically trapped into eating something with us, but it was a great time. The next day, I brought the former PCV’s cookbook in to the staffroom and every other (female) teacher there told me she wanted to make copies of it so she could learn to cook better, and “not be so fat.”

Last night we finished the soup and added some eggs to the meal. It was very nice, but I think my favorite was teaching her to play solitaire, with a real deck of cards rather than on a computer. Some of the rules escaped her, I think… at one point, we had 10 different piles, because she kept finding kings. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that you could only move a king onto a new pile if that pile is one of the seven and it is empty. I tried to teach her Gin, but she loved the solitaire – I don’t think I’ve ever won so many consecutive rounds!

In other news, some friends and I have put in our bids for the World Cup 2010 ticket lottery. We find out early February (and our credit cards are charged). Cross your fingers that one of us gets lucky and will be able to see some great soccer! (Do not worry; I am going regardless, it’s just a matter of whether or not I’ll be in a stadium, or in town somewhere.)

Well, it seems a waste to pack the computer up when I have two hours until my next class and the generator is still running, but I think it’s time. Give someone a hug for me!

All my love from Africa :)

January 26

(From January 26, 2010)

The secretary of education was supposed to be coming to our school today, to check on something, though I’m not sure what. True to Basotho time, he/she was supposed to come at 7:30am (which I found out at 7:29am) and we were all supposed to be awaiting his/her arrival. Needless to say, it is past 9am now, and we have no visitor. I should also mention, however, that the weather has not been very conducive to travel in any way, shape or form. It has rained so much recently, I really am surprised we’re not swimming. The past few days we’ve had a thunderstorm in the early morning changing into decent rain until school starts up around 7:15 or so. Then in the afternoon, the thunder and lightning come back… yesterday it was towards the end of lunch. I put on my rain coat and left my house to go back to the staff room, gather my materials and go to my afternoon lesson: a double block of mathematics with the A students. I made it back to the staffroom in my jacket and started getting ready when the rain came even harder. I figured, “Oh, what the heck, the kids have to learn, I’ll suck it up and get wet, no big deal.” After all, this is Africa. The other teachers would not let me out the door. “M’e Katie, you should just wait. I have a class now too but it is too much raining to go teach now.” I’ve heard of snow days. I’ve heard of days that are too cold for any living thing to be outside, but rain? Hmm… I didn’t argue too much though, I literally would have been soaked through, even with my 50 foot walk to the classroom; I figured it would pass soon… 40 minutes later, I finally got to the second half of my class and we managed to hear each other over the rain a little bit. Their energy was high, and mine was low (after having already taught 5 lessons that day) and so at first things were a little stressful. After I finished lecturing and they were working on practice problems, the real magic happened. I got some of those precious teacher moments, when you can totally and completely see the light go on for the student. It made the whole school day worthwhile, and was the best possible note to end on. (Then, needless to say, I got drenched on my way back to the staff room and even moreso on my way home, but it was so worth it.)

Thanks to the rain, I couldn’t run. Sad day. I’ve been absolutely terrible about running or training for this half-marathon. I guess my biggest consolation is that it will be in South Africa where (I think) the elevation is considerably lower, so I’ll at least be able to breathe, even if my legs are killing me. Instead of running, I took to decorating. I have finally begun to hang some of my beloved pictures up around my house. I also have numerous magazine clippings from that first week at Sekameng when I was bored out of my mind for so many days. It definitely feels more like home. It looks as though I will finish the photo-hanging this afternoon since the sky is as grey as ever and it has been sprinkling since the morning rain let up. I would venture a guess that the rainy season is upon us.

My weekend was pretty lazy. I saw friends on Friday, went to town on Saturday, and basically went to sleep on Saturday evening around 5pm. I woke up several times, only to change location from my couch to my bed or lock my door, but otherwise I slept until 8 the next day. On Sunday, my run brought me to another nearby village where one of the teachers from Sekameng lives, and apparently another PCV too (I still need to get in touch with her and let her know I know where she lives!). It also marks the first time I’ve done laundry all on my own (meaning no washer/dryer/help-from-my-host-mom… no comments from the peanut gallery, thank you very much), and my first bath in five days. Yep, you read that right: five days. Not necessarily a fact I’m proud of as I’ve always been the kind of person who very much enjoys showers (right Mom and Dad?!) … but honestly… well, there is no excuse for me not bathing in so many days. Lucky for me, people here just don’t care. I’m told that once winter really hits, I’ll be going weeks at a time, just washing one limb at a time. Interesting… In any case, it is nice to have clean clothes again (even though I will re-wear mostly the same things I wore last week), and especially clean hair!

This week we started on the official timetable, so I have a crazy hectic Monday, not-so-busy Tuesday, and moderately heavy Weds-Fri. Honestly, the teaching makes the time pass so much quicker than sitting in the staffroom listening to the other teachers speaking in Sesotho, but the downtime is nice for processing, writing, lesson-planning and being on my computer when the generator is running (now for example – I’m not using any power of my own battery! Sweet!)

So while the generator is turned on, all the other teachers usually come in to charge their phones. Mine has been plugged in for a while now (my ears perk up at the first sound of the engine starting), probably almost complete, and so as they trickle in, they see me on my computer and ask what I’m doing. I just showed two of them photos for almost half an hour! They love to see what my home looks like, as well as what my life has been like in Lesotho so far! I will have to compile a better photo list for them… (which means you should email me small photos and I can show them off… or just print them and send them!)

I really like most of the teachers with whom I am working here at Sekameng, but there is one who is especially wonderful. She asked me (within ten minutes of meeting me) if I liked to exercise. I responded in the affirmative, naturally, and she told me she wanted to lose her tummy, which she hates (haha, don’t we all). I hesitantly offered my running company (not thinking she would actually follow through with it) and she enthusiastically accepted. The next day, she came running with me. Every time I have run since then (granted, this is all of twice), she has been tagging along behind, usually quite far behind because she is just getting into shape, but still, even her presence has been very motivational.

I think I’ve always known that it is the small things in life that make each day worthwhile, but I’m learning it more and more here. After the first day of teaching, she offered to take me to the big shop, the one that is farther away from campus. I was thrilled and jumped at the chance to mingle more with the other teachers. We had nice conversation on our way over and back, and jokingly agreed to cook for each other sometime. As we were walking back, she mentioned the clinic and her friends there, and I told her I would also like to meet them (part of our assignments for the first few months at site are getting to know everything about your village). The next day after we ran, she said, “Let’s go to the clinic so you can meet my friends.” Talk about follow through!

We walked the 10 minutes to the clinic in town and were met at their door with only smiles and warm welcomes. I greeted them in Sesotho and they laughed at me, not your typical response. We began talking and I discovered that they were in fact Kenyans (hence the laughter at my Sesotho), and they have been working here for some years now. ‘M’e Mamosala (the teacher I’m befriending) and I talked with Henry while Mercy bustled about the kitchen, preparing tea, collecting water and doing dishes. She asked how much sugar I took in my tea, and brought over the most delicious (cream and sugar-filled) tea I have tasted in months. Next came a plate boasting a lovely pancake, rolled up with a fork stuck in it. Truthfully, I did not recognize it as a pancake at first, but when she said it was called a pancake, I felt pretty foolish for even asking. It was delicious.

Mercy and Henry were truly a breath of fresh air. We talked about everything, from Peace Corps to the village to the country’s political system to political systems around Africa, as well as education here and in the rest of Africa, and differences between Lesotho and South Africa. Wow, I could’ve cried; talking to them made me so happy. The four of us talked well into the darkness of the evening, so around 7:45pm, we began to wrap up our chat. They both gathered their coats and a flashlight to walk us back to Sekameng, assuring me that their door was always open and that they were very pleased to have met me, As we parted, Henry even told me, “I believe that we meet people for a purpose; you have not come into our lives for no reason” (I know it almost sounds cheesy, but it was music to my homesick ears). Henry is also a pastor at a church in Maseru somewhere (still developing at this point), but he assured me services were held in English and they cater primarily to an international community (hey, that’s me!). I will go with them sometime, and I look forward to it.

Two nights ago (on Sunday), as I was starting to think about what my dinner would be, ‘M’e Mamosala came by, just to say hello, let me know that she was back from her weekend and inquire about mine. She mentioned that she was going to cook papa and cabbage and I chuckled and said that I was also going to have cabbage, but in a soup. I showed her the recipe, and she said, “Yes, I think we can cook this; it looks quite nice.” Just like that, I had a dinner date. We arranged who would supply what (I offered my cabbage, carrots and spices; she provided onions, tomatoes and papa), and I walked over to cook with her. It turned into quite the dinner party! Mamosala is very social, so anyone who passed her open door was practically trapped into eating something with us, but it was a great time. The next day, I brought the former PCV’s cookbook in to the staffroom and every other (female) teacher there told me she wanted to make copies of it so she could learn to cook better, and “not be so fat.”

Last night we finished the soup and added some eggs to the meal. It was very nice, but I think my favorite was teaching her to play solitaire, with a real deck of cards rather than on a computer. Some of the rules escaped her, I think… at one point, we had 10 different piles, because she kept finding kings. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that you could only move a king onto a new pile if that pile is one of the seven and it is empty. I tried to teach her Gin, but she loved the solitaire – I don’t think I’ve ever won so many consecutive rounds!

In other news, some friends and I have put in our bids for the World Cup 2010 ticket lottery. We find out early February (and our credit cards are charged). Cross your fingers that one of us gets lucky and will be able to see some great soccer! (Do not worry; I am going regardless, it’s just a matter of whether or not I’ll be in a stadium, or in town somewhere.)

Well, it seems a waste to pack the computer up when I have two hours until my next class and the generator is still running, but I think it’s time. Give someone a hug for me!

All my love from Africa :)

January 20

(From January 20, 2010)

Since Thursday, much has happened. I went in to Mafeteng camptown, had a lovely tour with Melissa, Joey and Nathan, and then Joey and Nathan came back to Sekameng with me. We cooked a delicious dinner together and chatted into the wee hours of the morning, looking at the awesome stars and laughing about life. Water pressure dropped sometime around Friday or Saturday, and (what I thought was) my toilet began to smell really bad. I tried to be patient and flush it clear every time I could, but there was just no getting rid of the smell.

This stench progressed into my bedroom, where it lingered, and I concluded that it was not actually my bathroom, but rather the dead mouse that I had poisoned days before. Two to three days was probably about the right amount of time for that poison to kick in, so it had probably died in my ceiling where it was living. I found the situation both amusing and slightly depressing. Amusing because honestly, how dumb do I have to be? I poisoned an animal that lives in my ceiling; of course it’s going to go there to die. Then I have to deal with the smell for however long it takes a mouse corpse to decompose? Great. And slightly depressing because, well, I would have to deal with the smell for however long that is.

I told my counterpart and the secretary at school about it but tried to laugh it off – I did not want them worrying about it or trying to have the roof disassembled just to get the dead mouse out of there. They seemed only minorly concerned, and (thankfully) laughed at me (which I needed and deserved), especially because I inherited this cat, who should be killing any mice in my house, or at least scaring them away with cat-smell. In the meantime, I tried to ignore the stench of rotting carcass (which only seemed to be in my bedroom) when I went to sleep or needed to change clothes, and I avoided my room as much as possible.

School started on Monday. And by “started” I do not mean started as you or I might think of school starting. I mean some students showed up ready for class to begin, some came rather to register for classes, and even more simply did not come at all. Furthermore, the teachers did not even know who would be teaching what classes. So really, school did not actually start on Monday.

After several teachers’ meetings (and a whole lot of Sesotho), it was determined that I would be teaching Math(s) and Physics to Form A students, and Physics to Form B’s. I guess this suits me just fine. It totals 20 class hours per week as both A and B will be split into A1 and A2, B1 and B2. I had requested to only teach Math and Physics (if science at all, though I will say, it is nice for a balance), so that is what I got.

I will never forget walking into the classroom for the first time, those Form A students’ reactions to seeing my face at the door instead of a Basotho teacher were priceless. Lots of “OOOOOOOHHH”s and “OHWAAAUUUUWWWW”s (spelled phonetically, of course). Not long after I came into the classroom and set my things down on the small desk at the front of the classroom, all fifty plus students were dead silent. “Good morning, class,” is the typical greeting, so I said it and smiled. They all rushed to stand (as they are taught in primary school I think) and respond “Good morning, Madam!” “How are you today, class?” “We are fine, Madam, how are you?” Wow. It was that simple. Or at least I hoped so…

I spent the first few minutes going over expectations (a new word for many of them I believe). I expect things of them and I want them to expect things of me. For example, I expect them to respect each other, to try their hardest, to ask questions if/when they have them… all sorts of things taking classes means to me. I want them to expect me to show up to class (many Basotho teachers simply opt not to go to class if they feel so inclined), to answer their questions to the best of my ability, to mark their papers on time, etc. I’m truly not sure how much of what I was saying (very, very clearly) actually clicked in their heads, but hopefully something stuck.

I should mention that primary school runs grades 1 through 7, then High School has forms A through E (Sometimes they will do secondary school which is A-C, and then High School for D and E, but Sekameng is A-E). Primary school is taught only in Sesotho, though they do learn English. Once they get to Secondary level, all classes (except Sesotho, of course) are held in English. This can be a challenge, even for Basotho teachers. When you then add to the mix my accent (an American-taught American English accent), things can get very confusing.

Today was quite an exciting day in and of itself. During the last period of the day, several students came by the staff room where I was talking with some of the other teachers. They asked us if Indian people were considered black or white; apparently one of the other teachers wanted to know (maybe teaching development studies we think?). This raised a very interesting discussion. One teacher said they are white (I think her line of reasoning was that they are not black, so they must be white). Most teachers did not know, but the one who most strongly voiced his opinion believed that they were black. He then asked me what I though and I said, “Sometimes people in America call them brown; I do not think they are black or white; they are just Indian.” He went on to try to convince me that because of the shape of their nose and their hair color that they were black. An interesting perspective, to be sure. I did not want to argue too much in the first week of school but I can tell, there will definitely be a good amount of mutual learning here.

After our discussions, I went home (slightly disappointed I would not be able to run due to the thunder) and began writing, finishing up a letter. Jackie (the cat) came in (as usual whenever the door is open even the slightest bit) and began to make his way around, checking first if any food had been left out. I’m beginning to trust Jackie more, bit by bit, though I must say it helps to have a squirt bottle handy. I continued my writing and after a while with no sound from the cat, I decided to go make sure he wasn’t causing trouble. I heard a crunching sound and figured the rascal was in the kitchen eating something he shouldn’t. Armed with my spray bottle, I walked into the kitchen, sure I would find him digging around in my food. No cat. I was perplexed. I turned around and checked the rest of my house – there on the floor of my bedroom by the foot of my bed was Jackie, crunching on the head of a dead mouse while maggots crawled around all over my floor! EWW!

As it turns out, the mouse I had poisoned did not live in the ceiling. It lived under my bed, so it died under my bed. The stench I had smelled was not coming from ten feet above me; it was coming from two feet below me. The cat had gone into my room and dug the rotting carcass out from under my bed – a nice afternoon snack!

I threw on my sandals and dashed out the door to try to find someone to help me clean up the mess (looking back, I do not know why I needed someone to help me sweep it up, but I was flipping out). My counterpart had left for Maseru for the evening, so I went next to the principal who has, on numerous occasions, offered to help in any way he can. He, naturally, was out of his office at the moment. I burst into the staff room where the other male teachers were, but they were busy talking to a group of students. They asked what I needed; I told them; they assured me they would be there soon (Basotho time). On my way back home, I saw the principal’s secretary and her assistant coming towards the office. They saw how distraught I was and asked what was going on. When I explained the situation, ‘M’e Motselisi simply said. “’M’e, we are coming.” With that, they followed me home, kicked the cat off my sofa, grabbed my broom and swept all the nasty maggots from the floor. She then pulled my bed all the way out, swept the rest of my floor and dumped the garbage outside, well away from my home. Just that simple.

I told her she rescued me and she just laughed and said “Okay ‘M’e Katie, we will see you tomorrow.” And that was that.

(From January 14, 2010)

Happy New Year!

I am officially a Peace Corps VOLUNTEER (not just trainee anymore), and it is SO nice to have the PCV after my name instead of the PCT.

Our swearing in ceremony was very nice. It started promptly when the program said it would start (which is a big thing in Lesotho) and ended on time if not earlier than scheduled. There were a few speeches, our acting country director, the training coordinator, some other Basotho, the Charge d’Affaires (fancy French title) and then two of our own training class: one in English and one in Sesotho. All the speeches were very nice, saying how our “class” is one of the best (take that Ed’09! no, I kid). They were motivational, inspirational, and very good, especially in Sesotho.

Immediately following the ceremony, they started popping open bottles of (what we thought were) champagne. Unfortunately, we had forgotten the no alcohol rule for staff, so it was just bubbling grape juice. Still, we toasted to everything we could think of, and especially that all 29 of us had made it through to swearing in.

Afterwards, we had a big lunch with all of the guests and then we were free!

The All-Volunteer Conference (All-Vol for short) started that night with dinner and a talent show. It was really great to get to meet all (or most of) the other volunteers and see more of what it’s all about. The talent show consisted mostly of musical acts, though there were some exceptions (Rubik’s Cube solving in record time, speech writing and delivering in record time, a free-style rap-off).

The next two days (Friday and Saturday) were full of sessions about policies and projects and grants and funding… all very useful but the sessions were pretty dull. We found ways to entertain ourselves until dinner-time rolled around, and then the fun started. There was an epic softball game one night, and dance parties all three nights. I wouldn’t say any of us really are spectacular dancers, but we all enjoyed it.

Sunday morning brought lots of packing and lots of goodbyes, probably one of the hardest things for me. All the new volunteers left the training center for longer than we’ve been in country, not to return to Maseru until late March. In this time, we are to start integrating into our communities and we begin teaching on Monday the 18th.

My school, Sekameng Diocesan High School, is located in the village of Sekameng, in the Mafeteng District of Lesotho. Mafeteng is one district south of Maseru, so I don’t (in theory) have too long a commute from the capital. I’m fortunate enough to have a fairly large apartment – I guess it’s a duplex? – with my counterpart (another science teacher) as my neighbor. I have a main room with a table, small desk thing, several chairs and a small sofa (that smells like cat). Then there is my kitchen. Definitely not what I’m used to at home, but I think it will do quite nicely. My only complaint about the kitchen so far is lack of counter space, but I’ll make do. I have a small bathroom with a bathtub, sink and toilet. I have a bedroom with a large-ish desk and bookshelf, as well as a wardrobe where my clothes live. There is another room, which I plan on using for laundry purposes and general storage, and to host guests if I ever have any friends come visit me. I should say straight away that even though I have a toilet and sink, the water is definitely not “running” … more of a dribble. I think it probably takes my toilet’s tank 20 minutes to fill completely, so too many guests could be trouble. There is a constant puddle of water on the floor near the toilet, which makes trips to the bathroom after dark a little interesting, to say the least. Water trickles out of the sink, which makes brushing teeth and washing face an interesting task, and it barely comes out of the tap in the tub… so I think, alas, I will indeed be bucket bathing for the next two years. I just need to figure out how, exactly.

Along with this wonderful house (and I do love it), came a cat. I can hear you already, “Oh, how nice! A friendly companion, someone to snuggle with in the winter and another presence in an otherwise very large house!” Well, yeah, sort of. This cat has ticks, larger than I have ever wanted to see, embedded in its neck and ears (anywhere it can’t reach with its tongue to clean) and then some loose ticks, just crawling around its fur. Chances are pretty good that it also has fleas. Okay, so it’s not so cute… and it won’t leave me alone. It thinks it owns the place. If I let it in, it goes straight to the kitchen and yowls because it is hungry. If there is food on the counter or anywhere within smell, it jumps all around until it finds it, and then tries to eat it (one time I thought it was behaving, but no, it was licking my pots). Here’s the kicker, folks: Lesotho is hot in the summer (now). Like 85-95 degree Fahrenheit hot. I like to open my doors and windows to try to cool the place down a little, but if they’re open wider than a cat’s head, my little feline friend finds a way in. I’m working on my relation with this cat; we’re setting boundaries with a squirt bottle and more kicking and picking up and throwing than I might like, but not much else works.

When I arrived back to Sekameng after the New Year, I found everything much the same. The cat was still there, yowling loud as ever for food and love, but it seemed I had also been visited by smaller animals… there was mouse poop all over my kitchen, and in some other places as well. GROSS. I have never had to deal with mice in my home before, so naturally, now that I’m completely alone and have to deal with things one hundred percent independently, they arrive. Thankfully, the previous PCV left some poison, so I set that out before bed each night. One night, however, I set it out too early. I let the cat in for a little while before I was going to cook dinner, and when I walked into the kitchen, the cat was just sitting by where the poison had been, looking slightly unhappy. Naturally, I freaked out. OH MY GOSH I POISONED THE CAT I DON’T EVEN WANT! I guess it would be a solution to one problem, but then what if the mice came back? The cat wouldn’t be any help at all if it were dead! And then I’d have guilt… and what would the village think? “The new Peace Corps Teacher killed her cat!” Great.

I kicked the cat out of the house, cooked my dinner, cleaned up and went to bed (after setting out another hefty dose of poison for those little buggers).

The next day when I woke up, the poison was gone (this time I know the mice ate it) and the cat was nowhere to be found. I made a lot of noise around the house so it might hear me and I could verify whether or not I was actually a murderer, and eventually took off on my run. Upon my return, it did not greet me as normal… in fact it was not until some hours later that I saw the cat again. Whew! What a relief – I had not, in fact, killed “my” cat. It yowled as loud as ever and begged just as hard as before for food. Since then, I have been extra careful with when I put out the poison, and always keep one eye on the cat when it is in my house.

Another good adventure worth telling and laughing about is my dinner adventure the other night. One of my favorite foods is popcorn, and I decided to make some to have with the soup-ish thing I concocted. As many of my pots were dirty and I only wanted a little popcorn, I decided to use the smallest pot I had. But I overestimated on the kernels… so it started popping the top off. Before I could get to the pot, some had spilled onto the burner (probably at least a handfull’s worth) and one such kernel had caught on fire. Oh perfect. I’m going to burn the place down. Thankfully I was thinking enough to remove the pot from the heat and turn the gas off… and then, naturally, dump water on the fire. I really lucked out that there was no grease or anything more dangerous burning. The fire did indeed go out right away, and I was left with a pile of soggy popcorn on my burner. Lesson learned. Just wash the bigger pot and use it.

Otherwise things have been eerily quiet. Few students have come in to register before classes start on Monday, so I’ve been writing a lot of letters, journaling a fair amount, solving sudoku and crossword puzzles like it’s my job, and running when I get the motivation. I find out what classes I’ll actually be teaching on Monday (cleaning and organization day) and then begin officially teaching on Tuesday. I’m told that life will pick up considerably after this weekend (how could it be any deader?!), and I must admit, I’m looking forward to it. I’m sure teaching will present its challenges (like learning to speak English so the students can understand) but also its rewards. I’m thrilled that my school already has a library and am very much hoping to be able to help out so the students can access the books. I also learned today that there is a math/science club (woo-hoo! just like my high school!) so I can help with that… My counterpart also planted the idea-seed of starting a sort of gym – using one of the empty rooms and creating weights and equipment. Awesome.

It seems there is no lack of things to do here; I just need to learn to be more patient.

HI! WELCOME TO MY BLOG!

I waited a long time to start this only because when I was in Italy, I simply sent emails home to update friends. I think this time I like this way better, I hope you do too! Please feel free to contact me (kashepard7@gmail.com), but know that it may be a week or more before I can get back to you!

(This post is technically from quite a while ago -- December 27th?)

It is only fair to warn you that Lesotho is full of contradictions. With that in mind, I will describe (to the best of my ability) my life in Lesotho.

Up until this point, all twenty-nine of the trainees have been primarily living in the Peace Corps Training Center located in Maseru, the capital city. A tall brick wall topped with barbed wire surrounds the compound, and it is patrolled 24 hours a day by a guard who makes rounds approximately every fifteen minutes. It has running water and electricity as well as a washer and dryer.

There is a wonderful kitchen staff that cooks three meals a day for us and bakes delicious corn muffins for our two tea breaks everyday. They’ve been pretty good about accommodating the vegetarians in the group (E for effort, at least) with various tuna dishes (I’m not a fan of tuna), breaded-and-deep-fried-veggie-burger-things, and the occasional lentil dishes (my favorite, by far).

Otherwise, meals typically consist of some type of starch, usually papa (ground meal that is cooked to the consistency of thick mashed potatoes) or rice or pasta; moroho (the blanket term for vegetables that have been cooked with way too much salt and exorbitant amounts of oil), nama (some sort of interesting meat, I don’t eat it but I’m told it’s commonly mutton or chicken), and occasionally some type of coleslaw or fruit (from a can) in jello/pudding/custard… mishmash… thing. I’ve been eating fine, usually way too much in fact. Once I move to my site and am able to cook for myself, eggs and lentils will be staple protein sources in my diet. Vegetables may not be fresh, but there are options. Fruits so far have been mostly apples (yellow delicious, granny smith on a good day, red delicious on a bad day), some bananas, an occasional apricot, as well as more exotic fruits, depending on how much one is willing to spend at the grocery store. Though peach trees abound, children are generally so hungry that they pick them long before they are ripe, so any peaches are shipped in from South Africa.

Water has not been an issue since they have provided for us very well, but the village in which we lived for Community Based Training had to have water specially pumped in because we were to be staying there. Village pumps do sometimes run dry, which is a concept both very foreign and absolutely terrifying to me. To run out of something so basic and elemental for life makes me beyond thankful for all I have at home, and disgusted because in the simple flush of a toilet in America wastes up to five gallons of water, an amount that would give me more than enough bath water for a week at site (depending on how dirty I get and how frequently I choose to bucket-bathe).

Before we drink any water, we are (very strongly) encouraged to boil it for three minutes and let it pass through the filter that the Peace Corps Medical Office provides. If all goes correctly, we won’t have any floaties – after all, nobody likes chunky water.

We’ve gotten numerous immunizations from the Medical office (they take pretty good care of us) including Yellow Fever, Typhoid, Tetanus, two (if not all three) of the Hepatitis strains, and probably some others that I’m forgetting. Malaria is not a problem here since Lesotho is both so far south and so high in elevation that it would take too much time for any malaria-bearing mosquitoes to get here from the more northern parts. Though we’re safe in Lesotho, if we go on vacation, even to South Africa, we do need to take anti-malarial medicine.

For the first few weeks of our training, we attended four sessions a day about every aspect of life here including technical training, medical information, Sesotho language, culture, safety and security, and simple practical, logistical things. For example, one time we took a transportation fieldtrip, which involved partnering up with a fellow trainee and one of the trainers, walking into town, taking a taxi from the ShopRite to the taxi rank, walking around the (unbelievably intimidating) taxi rank, taking a taxi back to the ShopRite, and walking home. Simple enough, right? For how acclimated we were to the culture at that point in training, it was actually a pretty big and very scary step.

Our language classes were divided based on ability and learning style and consisted of two or three students, which was a great way to learn. It was very different from any other formal language training I’ve received, since most of it was verbal only, rather than written.

Technical training sessions included scheming, lesson planning and practice teaching. We also learned about the history of the educational system in Lesotho, as well as a brief historical overview (but brief and pretty broad because as volunteers, we are prohibited from involving ourselves in any way, shape or form with the political system here).

One of the sessions that stands out most was one in which we learned about the corporal punishment here. It was a panel of teachers (several Basotho and one PCV) and the president of the board of principals in Lesotho. All of the teachers (who were female) said how wrong it was to corporally punish a child and how Lesotho is trying to make steps away from using CP in schools. As many of us were about to doze off, it came time for the principal to speak. He was very much in favor of using CP and was doing all he could to convince us it was the only way to discipline students who may be misbehaving. The atmosphere in the room was absolutely electric, and many of us became very uncomfortable. It was absolutely chilling to hear someone speak of beating children like it was as natural as breathing, and what made it worse was the way that the women in the panel (and our trainers) dealt with it. As far as I could tell, their way of coping with being uncomfortable is laughing, whether or not it is actually funny. There was obviously nothing amusing in this instance, which did not ease the tension at all. We had a sort of debriefing session later in the evening to voice our concerns and learn what to actually expect from the current volunteers – CP is very much a reality in Lesotho, but we are not allowed to use it (no surprise there, only relief), something our principals will definitely also know, a huge relief.

Maseru is about the size of Des Moines, IA in terms of population, but it is definitely more sprawled out.

Transportation:

Though Lesotho is roughly the size of Maryland (?) in the States, it can take over ten hours to travel from Maseru (on the far western corner of the country) to some places in Mokhotlong (the eastern-most district). This is largely due to the incredibly mountainous geography, but there is only one main freeway road in the entire country (which might contribute as well). It runs in the shape of a C and most other roads are very rocky or gravelly and difficult to travel. Further, if one is taking public transportation, a 30-kilometer taxi ride can last several hours, depending on the driver. A “taxi” can entail anything from a standard taxi in the states (referred to here as a four-plus-one – four passengers and one driver) to a fifteen-passenger van (usually full to somewhere closer to twenty people plus luggage plus children) up to a much larger van. Waiting for a taxi is always quite the experience. If one is leaving from a town, one must go to the taxi rank, which is basically the biggest mess of confusing taxis departing for various destinations, peddlers selling fruits, Simbas (think nasty, mostly broken, strangely-flavored cheetos), air-time for cell phones, crushed rocks to treat acid indigestion, shoes, belts, haircuts, chicken feet and a million other really random objects. The taxi rank in Maseru has at least three main areas – one for local four-plus-ones, one for regional shuttles, and one for further journeys. As soon as a taxi arrives, it jumps in the back of the line for the taxis departing to the town it just came from and everyone jumps out. If a taxi is first in line, it will wait until it is completely full before it will pull away, and I mean completely. This is mostly a matter of luck: if you arrive to an empty taxi, it could take hours before it is full, but if you’re one of the later ones aboard, you definitely timed it right. Then the driver and conductor have to chat with people they pass on the road on the way out of town… sometimes they know a lot of people, sometimes only a few. Eventually, you will be on your way to wherever it is you’re going… and then you must be prepared to be uncomfortable and to be in that position for a while. You may be asked to hold onto luggage, groceries, and sometimes even small children. One of my favorite taxi rides involved an older lady absolutely pounding a very large plastic water bottle that did absolutely not contain water… and dancing a lot. Oh yeah, the music… can be anything from trashy pop from the States (think the newest Akon CD) to singing in Sesotho accompanied by accordion, tambourine and drums (which sound like buckets). The volume is most likely turned up to eleven. Basotho do not like the windows rolled down (or over, I guess, since technically they’re usually sliding windows) at anything above a crawl since they believe evil things will come in through the windows (one misconception is that you can catch HIV from the air that comes in through an open taxi window). Passengers will get on and off the taxi as you drive and sometimes the driver just feels like pausing for an unbelievably long amount of time by the side of the road for seemingly no reason.

The main thing to understand about transportation here is that it depends on a lot and you really have to just let go and accept that you have little control. You will get wherever it is you’re going, but it will most likely not be when you wish to get there. Oh, and they drive on the wrong side of the road; the driver is on the wrong side of the car, and nobody is afraid to pass anybody else, no matter how fast the oncoming traffic is driving. (Barb – you would be so anxious riding in any sort of vehicle here; I frequently find myself thinking of you as I tense up as our vehicle passes another car but only barely before the oncoming traffic comes)

Basotho Time (BT):

Another recurring theme that you should probably understand about life here is that the vast majority of Basotho operate on Basotho time (what I will commonly abbreviate as BT). This is basically the general understanding that there is no such thing as “on time,” and consequently no such thing as “late.” This means that if you are holding a workshop that is scheduled to start at 9, chances are that maybe a third of the attendees will arrive around 9:20, but you should probably just be thankful if they’re all there by noon. People do not arrive on time, nor do they apologize for being late, and that is just a fact of life. They operate on BT, and they’re perfectly content with that.

Along with BT comes the promise of “I will” which actually means something along the lines of “Maybe later, if I feel like it…” For example, when my principal’s secretary told me she would come by my new house to check on me and show me around, it meant she dropped by as she was on her way out of the school compound for the day only to pick up the pots that the previous volunteer had left (to put it into better perspective, I had been waiting for her all day and getting sort of depressed for the lack of things to do; I was less than thrilled).

Community Based Training (CBT):

Part of our training involved living in a village with a Basotho family. We were split up into several villages based on what our formal assignment area is, so science teachers were in Berea, primary resource teachers were in Ha Mabekenyane, and early childhood care/development, English and math teachers were all in Maqhaka (it should be noted here that the “q” represents a click, so we all had extra work in simply learning the correct pronunciation of our village, especially since if you just said Ma-ka-ka, it means something along the lines of poop, in a worse form). We were all paired with a family who had expressed interest in hosting someone, and had the means to do so. Peace Corps also paid them a small amount for the use of their house and for them to fetch us water and cook for us for a week, but I am sure they did it mostly out of the goodness of their hearts. It was interesting to be separate from everyone after having been in such close quarters for such a long time… nice to be on our own and unpack all of our things and make a space our own (instead of a bunk room with six girls and all their luggage), but at the same time, it could be incredibly lonely. The Peace Corps had set up a program for the family to take us through which included such things as sweeping (it really is an art here), bread-baking, washing clothes, making papa (aka stirring really thick goopy white stuff), making lesheleshele (a very interesting-consistency flavorless porridge they eat for breakfast), chopping and grating vegetables, and adding copious amounts of oil and salt to things in order to make them taste… like oil and salt (I say some of this with a hint of sarcasm only because I do know how to cook and clean and do laundry, something that surprised many of the Basotho, especially my host mother).

My family consisted of ‘M’e Nthabiseng (mother), Nkhono Manthanbiseng (grandmother), and three bo-ausi: Rorisang, Tsepiso and Alina (sisters). I felt right at home with three younger sisters, though that’s really the end of the familial comparisons I’m going to draw. For example, my host ‘M’e was very short and squat (her biceps were about the size of my thighs, and I have put on weight), about the furthest thing from my own mother at home. Both she and my nkhono were very loving and generous; they were proud of just about everything I did, whether or not it merited it. I was Sesotho-named “Seithati,” which they frequently reminded me. If there was a moment too much of silence, there was no doubt a very high and nasally “Ausi Seithatiiiii!” on the way (cute at first, almost endearing, but by the end of the day, I would’ve killed to hear my real name).

We left CBT just before Christmas, went back to the Training Center to celebrate together (we cooked a TON of food), since most of Lesotho is completely drunk (and dangerous) around the Christmas holidays. On December 27th, we will leave with all of our belongings from the training center to our new homes! (More to come on that later…)