Meeting Moms

It was the morning of December 7th and we had a special assignment.  One of the most difficult and harrowing that we will likely experience while in Africa.  Parents were visiting.  My mom, Kathy Mast was arriving in Johannesburg at 4 that afternoon.  Another volunteers parents were on the same flight.  A third would be accompanying us to the airport.  But it was 7AM, and Johannesburg was a long ways away.

Our hangovers did not help matters as we tried to pack our things and get cleaned up.  A wonderful, car-owning friend was kind enough to drive us to the border post before heading to work.  The taxi was nearly full, but we scarfed a box of chips (french fries) and downed a couple of cokes for breakfast before loading up and heading off.  We were all very excited and pleased with how easily and efficiently we had got underway.  As luck would have it, we even ended up in a vehicle known as a "quantum".  Unlike the ubiquitous mini-bus taxi, or kombi, this has individual seats for each passenger and an aisle down the center.  This means that they can't cram extra people in and you don't end up squished between two large women, a box of chickens and someone's suitcase. 

We sailed along smoothly for a few hours, making a quick bathroom/gas/smoking stop.  We had made great time and would be able to make it to the airport with hours to spare.  When only about an hour outside of the city, our luck finally gave out.  In the middle of a long stretch of straight, flat highway, beneath a country-road overpass, the driver pulled to the side of the road and stopped.  He got out and popped the hood open.  There was no smoke or strange smells coming from underneath, so we weren't too worried.  However, after poking around the engine and a fruitless search in the glove box, he told everyone they can get out of the car and rest.  The car had burned through its oil and no one had thought to bring extra.  Now, with the condition of most public transportation vehicles, stopping to top off the oil on a long journey is not uncommon.  But, that requires bringing the stuff with you.

After a year of such mishaps though, we were un-phased.  As the driver tried to call his fellow drivers and figure out a plan, we crawled up under the overpass and found a nice place to sit and chat.  While the things we talked and gossiped about probably did constitute "chatting", with the traffic roaring by and the apparent love of motorcycling people had that particular day, we mostly just shouted at each other.  This went on for a good hour or two until a replacement vehicle arrived from the city to take us.  That time was sufficient for me to uncover a small mystery, but not to solve it.  There was a colony of birds that had taken up residence under the bridge.  I'm not sure what they are called, but I've seen them all over Southern Africa.  They make a sort of nest out of mud.  They collect it a mouthful at a time and form a little pocket on the underside of some surface, usually roof overhangs or things like bridges.  Anyway, there had to have been hundreds of them and the overpass was nearly solid with their dwellings.  That is, only one side of the overpass was.  The side we sat on was that of the northbound lane and not a single nest was to be seen on our side of the center line.  The southbound side, as I said, was teeming with the things.   But, the day was hot and I was tired, so I didn't think to much about it.  I'm still not sure what it was all about though.  Was it just chance?  Something with wanting shade from the embankment in the morning but sun after noon?  Or do the birds just like to crap on everyone heading away from Johannesburg?

Anyway, we eventually got underway again, though now with those extra hours we had thoroughly gone.  We finally arrived at the taxi rank in Jo-burg, but now had to find our way out to the airport.  Though time was short, one of our party insisted we find a bathroom first.  This irked me, but turned out to be the best plan for, as she wandered into the confines of a sketchy bar, I chatted with some of its patrons.  Each having made his way through several quarts by this, the early afternoon, they were more than friendly and eager to chat.  After talking a bit they learned where we were headed and very kindly told us the cheapest way to get to the airport which ended up saving us some R300!

Following their directions, we made our way through the crowded taxi rank and found the one that took us to the airport.  Once at the airport, we grabbed a couple pizzas to chow on since it was by now around half past three and none of us had eaten since breakfast.  I can't describe the eagerness with which we waited.  As soon as the big board indicated the flight was disembarking, we were amongst the crowd peering in anticipation at the set of doors through which they would come.  We each held signs (crudely fashioned from our pizza box lids) welcoming our respective family members to the continent.

As I waited for what seemed ages, a thousand paranoid thoughts flit through my head.  What if she missed the flight and no one felt like telling me?  What if she had been arrested by customs for trying to bring in too much cheese or too many knives?  What if she made it here, but has emerged through some secret, hidden exit that leads not into the airport lobby, but via extensive underground caverns, to some massive, dangerous Johannesburg slum?  What if she made it here and had already come out, but we had both changed so much in a year that neither would recognize the other?  Oddly enough, none of these things happened.  After a few moments she came strolling out of the correct doors, without police escort, and looking much the same as I remembered.

Waving my sign madly, I pushed my way through the crowd and welcomed her to the continent with a big hug!  Some how I thought that her being here would be strange.  Its a whole different place and culture and everything and figured seeing her dropped into the midst of this new life I have would feel odd.  However, after a few minutes I realized how strangely normal it was to be with her.  The land and the people, the transport, the weather, everything else was vastly different, but our relationship was the same as always, and in a short time it seemed, in some way, as though she had always been here.

End of my first school year

My first school year in Lesotho ended in a flurry of activity.  There were tests to make and administer and cheaters to catch.  Then, a mountain of papers to grade.  In this respect I am fortunate to be teaching math and science, which I have to imagine, are MUCH easier and more straightforward to mark than something like English. 

Any extra time I may have gained, however, was put to good use.  I had been working on a rudimentary grade report program for our school.  In the final days before the reports had to be made, I certainly had my hands full working out last minute bugs in the program and helping my fellow teachers learn how to use it.  We pushed things to the wire but managed to get everyones reports made and printed in time for the big parents meeting, held at the end of every year.

The next day I left my village for what would be a a multi-part journey.  This first day was spent at my camp town with fellow volunteers from my district, as well as a couple from the lowlands, having a belated Thanksgiving party.  Those must be very good friends indeed to have made such an unpleasant journey just to sit around and drink wine with us in the mountains for a day!

The next morning I was off again.  I was taking a dozen of my students down to Maseru (Lesotho's capitol, pronounced something like "Mah-sare-oo") for a 3-day life skills camp put on by a group called "Phela".  In Sesotho, "phela" is a verb meaning "to live".  A common greeting here is "U phela joang?", meaning, "How are you living?", or "How are you?"  The group Phela works here to promote healthy lifestyles among youth.  They are funded heavily by Ireland and the UK and, in addition to putting on these camps, produce and distribute a series of full color magazines, talking about everything from self-esteem and decision making to HIV/AIDS and contraception use.

Phela totally funded the whole thing, sending buses to ever district in the country to pick up over 1000 kids from dozens of schools and bring them to the capitol.  They provided a place to sleep and meals for the entire time.  This camp was a wonderful opportunity for my students, a few of whom had never been to Maseru.  Our bus was full of very excited kids from 6 school in Mokhotlong.  The sound track to the journey was the students singing Basotho songs and hymns, occasionally punctuated with the excited cry of "Maseru!"

Maseru is not a big city.  You can stroll from one end of downtown to the other in about 30 minutes.  It is, however, the largest city (and probably the only place I would give the rank of "city") in this country of 2 million people.  As we made our way through the afternoon traffic towards our destination, I literally saw jaws drop.  One of my students leapt from his seat and cried out upon seeing a junkyard with a hundred or so cars in it.  They about hit the ceiling when we drove past the large (and rather nice) soccer stadium where they have countless times watched their favorite teams playing on television.  I'm sure we looked quite a site from the outside, with everyone standing up, peering and pointing out the windows at almost everything we passed!  We made a quick stop so the students could grab some food and, after an initial scare at having lost 2 students only 15 minutes after arriving, continued on to Moshoeshoe II High School, where the camp was to be held.

There were some initial logistical hang-ups with providing bedding for 1000 kids, but despite the spartan lodgings, everyone was cheery and excited.  The next couple days were pretty fun for everyone.  I met a bunch of cool teachers from all over the country and the students all made lots of new friends.  There were debates and games with topics on HIV/AIDS and self confidence.  They even had one of those gruesome STI slide shows that do a decent job of scaring everyone away from sex.  A couple schools also put on dramas addressing relationship issues.  On the last day we all took a long hike to the top of a nearby mountain where we enjoyed a beautiful view over some of the lowlands including the King's Residence.  We had a quick lunch up there and then scurried down and back to the school as a massive afternoon thunderstorm rolled in.  The final night was all fun with dance competitions and rap battles.  My students were easily identified as a bunch of shy country kids, but even I was surprised at how outgoing and self-confident many of the lowlands kids were.  They weren't afraid to get up in front of 1000 other kids and sing or dance or do whatever.

The next morning students were loaded up on the buses again and headed back home.  As a treat for their good behavior during the camp, the bus from my district took the kids to the Pioneer Mall for an hour before departing.  This, naturally, was the first mall many of the kids had ever been to.  More than once I saw astonished students looking at the expensive clothes displayed in storefronts and sneaking a picture or two with their camera-phones.  I ordered a big cappuccino (at one of the few places in Lesotho where one can get real coffee) and chuckled to myself as high school students from the mountains took the escalators up and down like some sort of carnival ride.

All too soon, their hour was up and they boarded the bus and headed back to the mountains.  I stayed behind, as I had another part of my journey to embark on.

A little home project

Before school had started, I used some of my free time on this little project.  It's a set of shelves made from a tree I cut down in a donga.

Fancy Phones

Bring to mind your stock image of a Peace Corps Volunteer. Reading this blog, maybe it's a kid from Wisconsin, somewhere in Africa. Its a hot afternoon and he is relaxing in the shade of the grass roof of his stone house. About the small room can be found the expected scant furnishings; a table and chairs, a small stove and a bed. A beat-up old guitar in one corner and a backpack lying on the floor. But lo! Where there should be stacks of beat-up novels and worn out old books, we find, of all things, a kindle! And our subject is found reposing in his bed, furiously typing away on a Blackberry! Come night time, he will munch away on his simple dinner of samp and beans while watching the latest episodes of “How I Met Your Mother” on his laptop.

This social, cultural, and technological concoction is the common stew of Africa today, and the PCV is but an extreme example of this norm. We get our water from taps (or even hand pumps) and bathe from a bucket while listening to an iPod. Transplanted Americans are not the exception here, and even the dirtiest, blanket clad herd boy is usually equipped with a cell phone with which he can text his buddies or wirelessly transfer money to his family. It's not an uncommon sight to find a bush-taxi driver at the local internet cafe, cruising websites in search of good deals for his next vehicle.

From my house, the immediate view is of stone rondavols with thatch roofs and a few cinder-block dwelling sporting corrugated metal roofing. As you raise your eyes, the fields, freshly plowed by oxen or donkey teams, give way to mountains and a jagged brown horizon. The distant gleam of aluminum pit-latrines betray far-away villages which would otherwise blend into the rocky mountains from which they are constructed. Finally, to both the east and west, one can see the omnipresent cell phone towers. Though no one in sight has indoor plumbing, only a small number of families will be found lacking a cell phone or two.

This is Africa. A land, to the outsider, chock-full of seeming paradoxes and frustrations. Though still quite the outsider myself, I have learned that things really do have an order and reason to them. The problem is the very culture and context in which everything exists is just so very different from anything I am used to. This important underlying structure is not always, at least to me, transparent, accessible, or easy to grasp.

Some thing are now clear to me: with Africa's generally rural and decentralized layouts, things like land-line phone systems never made any sense and were thus generally passed over in the progress of communication technologies here. However, other things, like the accepted use of perpetually crowded, unreliable, and unscheduled minibus taxis as a primary mode of transportation, will probably win over my Americanized logic.

First Funeral...

Today I attended my first funeral in Lesotho. I was one of the few people in my group who still hadn't been to one in this, our first year in country. The funeral was for one of my students and, in a land of rampant HIV/AIDS, poverty, disease, etc., was particularly tragic in that the boy had thus far been fortunate enough to avoid these common fates only to meet his end, at the age of 24, in the rushing waters of the, now swollen, Senqu River. Though there were no witnesses and the poor boy's body was not found for over a week, the assumption is that, while watching his cattle on horseback, he tried to cross the river when he fell in and was drowned.

Now, funerals in Lesotho are always held on Saturday. Accordingly, this morning, I accompanied some of my fellow teachers to the home of the boy's family, where the service was held. The ceremony was not wholly unlike those we hold in the States. Some Bible verses were read and different friends and family got up before the group to share memories of the boy or to do a little preaching. There was a whole lot more singing than I am used to, though probably no more than at the mass of any of the more musical religions.

There were a couple of things that did stand out to me as being a little different from what I am used to. Firstly, I had heard the dress code at such things was formal or semi-formal, but it turned out this was very open to interpretation with everything present, from full suits and black dresses to jeans and bright T-shirts. Next, being held outside at the family's home, all manner of chickens, pigs, and other such farm animals managed to keep up a small racket throughout the entire proceedings. A few of the local ragged dogs also kept wandering through the midst of everything. However, no one seemed to find this odd nor did they let it take away from the solemnity of the occasion. Another interesting thing was that the mother of the deceased was afforded a special spot in the front of the group where, upon a pile of blankets and pillows, she lay on the ground. The idea being, I was told, that the mother is supposed to be so grieved that she is weak and faint is thus given this setup where she could be seen laying and weeping for the duration of the ceremony. She was also always attended by two other women who were on either side of her to physically support her.

After everyone spoke their turn, the group walked in a procession with the casket at front, to a small plot nearby with five or six other graves. The casket was placed in the grave, some more verses were read, and then each person took a turn at tossing some soil into the grave. The men would each take up a shovel and heave a few loads in, while the women would each take a handful and drop it onto the casket. Eventually this was done and, a couple of small, rough stones being placed for a headstone, we returned to the family's place where everyone was fed a good meal of of beef, samp, and potatoes.

It was difficult to bury one of my students, but the whole ceremony was very nice and as good a way as any to say goodbye.

Back at School

So first off, yes; I'm getting increasingly bad at keeping this thing up to date. Part of it, I suspect, is that the longer I'm here, the less certain things surprise me, so that something that would have seemed shocking months ago (like the school kitchen blowing away the other day) now gets relegated to the lowly life of a facebook post. But, this is no excuse for leaving you, dear reader (readers?) out of the loop. So, here comes another quick round of updates from my life in the Kingdom in the Sky.

The day-to-day life at school is much the same as before. My math and physics students are doing well, though we are now a few weeks behind schedule due to some out of the blue snow days at the beginning of August. Recently, we have sent those students home who, to date, have yet to pay their school fees in full. This resulted in my class sizes dropping from 50-60 kids per class to 20-30. Teaching with all those empty desks in the room is a little sad. Knowing that those students (most of whom are very clever and hard working) are missing out on part of their education because of money issues is a little sobering. However, with such great student-teacher ratios, I am able to address everyone's questions and spend individual time with almost every student each class period! So I guess my current strategy is to simply focus on doing the best I can for those kids who are still here and hope that those others find their way back to school soon.

Winter Vacation

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After waffling back and forth between going to the Dolphin Coast near Durban, the Cape Town Wine Route, or up to Mozambique, Sarah and I decided to spend her last week here traveling to the warmer beaches of Mozambique via Swaziland. Due to our combined inability to make solid decisions or plans, (too) early one morning we headed to the border post at Ficksburg. We had been hoping to catch a direct ride to Swaziland from Lesotho, but found that the only public transport route was via Johannesburg. This was not unanticipated, but did make the journey to Swaziland's capitol, Mbabane, a dawn to dusk affair, ending with a thrilling/teeth-grinding kombi ride to our hostel, as the driver tried to drop us off before he raced back to the border before it closed for the day. We never did find out if he made it, but bless that guy for hauling us all over the place in search of an elusive hostel and putting himself at risk of sleeping in his taxi all night, stuck in Swaziland!

We spent a couple of days in Swaziland, checking out the markets and wandering around. We really only spent time near the bigger cities, and I was impressed with the quality of their infrastructure. It is a country that has been made easily accesible to tourists.  The roads were all well marked and maintained. I'm not sure if that is also the case in more rural parts of the country however. Swaziland has the highest HIV prevalence of any country in the world and it is the last absolute monarchy in Africa. The HIV epidemic may not have an end in sight (though it hasn't worsened considerably either) but we got the sense that the Royalty are in for some trouble. I was surprised to find how vocal many of the citizens were about their dislike for the current government and the abuses of power they saw. A copy of the daily paper in Manzini, one of the larger cities, was almost entirely filled with stories of government ministers and departments making off with absurd amounts of money and giving each other raises, while the people's basic needs go unmet. 

The paper didn't have much direct criticism of the King himself, but the displeasure with him was apparent. A couple taxi drivers we talked with had no qualms about bashing “His Majesty.” King Mswati III has something like 9 wives (he can take any woman he wants, married or otherwise for his wife) and draws silly amounts of money from the public coffers for his family and friends. Meanwhile teachers and factory workers have been striking for better pay, workers rights, and such things. The country was actually closed to visiting Peace Corps Volunteers a few months back during a large factor worker strike. Rubber bullets and teargassing seem to have become the normal police and military reaction to the protests. With tales of officials absconding with large sums of money, my general impression was that many people see the inevitable change and are getting away with as much as they can while they still can. Let me reiterate that this blog represents my personal views and in no way reflects the stance of the Peace Corps or the U.S. government. That being said, I would not be surprised if this last monarchy sees it's end before I return to the States. The transition seems inevitable with about 1 million unhappy citizens, lets just hope it happens peacefully. I have confidence that it will, especially since Swaziland has such good examples in it's neighbors, South Africa, Lesotho, and Mozambique.

A cold week in the mountains

After the workshop in the lowlands, Sarah and I were planning on returning to my site in Mokhotlong for a couple weeks before going to Swaziland and Mozambique for some warm weather vacationing. However, the day we were set to leave, a storm came through the mountains and all the roads to Mokhotlong and Thaba-Tseka were snowed under. Now, coming from Wisconsin, my first reaction is that this must be one hell of a snowstorm, otherwise people would just drive right through it, or they would plow the road. But, this isn't Wisconsin. Although almost every year these places get snowed in for a week or more, the country does not own a snow plow, and everyone just sits tight till it melts. We ended up waiting only 4 days for it to clear, which wasn't the worst thing in the world. For one, we go to stay at the hotel for a while at Peace Corps expense! We also got to spend more time hanging out with volunteers in Leribe and Butha-Buthe districts, who we don't always get to see a lot of, even though they are the nearest ones to Mokhotlong. Sarah wasn't loving the sudden change from chilling on the beach in Kenya to looking for cheap winter coats in Lesotho, so this also gave her a little time to adjust in the relatively warmer lowlands before heading into the highlands. Despite some initial grumblings at the chilly climes (who can blame her?) she acclimated remarkably well to our frigid land, and did so faster and with less complaining than I'm sure I could manage.

Once the snow subsided a bit, the folks at Letseng Diamond mine, near the snowed under pass, brought out their grader and some other big machines, to clear the road and make it at least somewhat passable by minibus taxis. The next day we piled into one and took the ever-so-long trip back to Mokhotlong, which was made even longer by the precarious driving along icy and snowy mountain roads. The next week was fine but not very eventful. Mostly we just tried to stay warm.  Sarah met my host family and everyone got along fine. My host mother even lent Sarah one of her blankets that the women wear around their legs to keep warm. I had always been a little skeptical of how much good they do, since they are worn like a skirt with the bottom open, but she was an instant convert and didn't take the thing off until we left for vacation. Since we had been snowed out for some time, we only had a week or so to spend there and most of it was spent reading, cooking, and huddling by the heater. Speaking of which, we are all provided with these little propane powered heaters by the Peace Corps. They are an essential in this country, but not the best designed things. You open the gas and push the starter till it lights and what results is like a gas grill on it's side, spitting blue flames out at you. This startup procedure has already claimed it's fair share of eyebrows. Now, there are three settings, the lowest of which would indeed be hot enough to cook up some good burgers with. The problem is that, at the rate it burns gas, you can easily go through your whole month's supply in a week. The pain and cost of replacing the gas cylinders has led me to become incredibly stingy with the thing. I kept myself to only 30 minutes or so each at morning and night, during which time I can just hear my money burning away. Despite my draconian heating policy, Sarah stayed strong and survived her time in the mountains.

Not only did she endure, she helped pull me out of a bit of a slump. When I first came to my site, last summer, I had a lot of time on my hands before school began. I used that time wisely; cooking good food, exercising, and reading. With the daily toil of school and the increasingly cold weather, I had slowly but surely cut out those first two items. Instead of the homemade bread, lentil burgers, and stir fries with lots of running and working out, I had fallen into a trap of lethargy and making massive pots of samp and beans every week. Now, I know the stuff tastes like cardboard, but when it's just me eating, I tend to not consider things like taste and nutrition. Lucky for both of us, Sarah would have no such nonsense. Even though the produce selection is limited here, (the shop had cauliflower one week, but the guy working there had to ask Caitlin how you use it) we took the time to make a fine selection of meals, from vegetable samosas to pizza. At the time of writing this, she has left for home, and although I'm not committing myself to the complex, two-cook meals that we made together, I do take the time and mess to cook up a pizza or chapatti now and then. This made not just us happy, but my host brother as well, who is only too pleased devouring any extras I end up making. It may or may not improve my quality of life as well, but I would never openly admit that!

Lowland workshop and a welcome guest

Before I left for Peace Corps, my girlfriend, Sarah, had gone on her own adventure to Kenya.  She was studying abroad in Nairobi for the fall semester, and then stayed in country until June, doing everything from helping to edit World Bank grant proposals for the government, to volunteering at a home for rehabilitating street kids.  I was somehow able to convince her to leave the equatorial weather of Kenya to come visit me in one of the coldest places in Africa during winter.  After an adventurous journey, she met me in the lowlands of Lesotho.  She was able to stay around for about a month, but unfortunately the beginning of her time here coincided with a week-long Peace Corps workshop I was attending.  We got to spend some time together during it, but mostly she wandered around exploring the town each day while I was in the meeting.
    The workshop itself was probably one of the best and most useful we have had to date.  It involved our entire group of Education volunteers and each of us brought a Basotho counterpart.  This could be a colleague, supervisor, or community member, but someone who would be willing to work with us on community projects.  The first few days were all about designing and managing what Peace Corps calls “secondary projects.”  This can be anything from starting a support group to ringing electricity to your village, namely anything you do that is not your primary assignment (teaching high school).  We were given a ton of great ideas for such projects, as well as many of the tools for making sure they will be and remain successful even after our departure.  A few of the possible ideas for my community that myself and my principal came up with were building a fence for our school grounds to prevent overgrazing on that land, and a project he had tried in the past whereby paper from the school is recycled into dense little bricks that can be used as a fuel source for cooking fires.  Though these both seem like cool ideas to me, we learned at the workshop that a major reason that projects fail is lack of community involvement or sense of ownership.  So, before we start to put any such plan into effect, we will need to make time to sit down with members of the community and hash out what it is they really want, need, and will support.
    The second half of the workshop focused on educating us and our counterparts further on HIV and AIDS, specifically in Lesotho.  We learned more about the disease itself and it's history in this country.  We also found out about many of the organizations working in our particular districts to combat the epidemic.  Considering that around 24% of all adults in Lesotho are HIV positive and that the country has the 3rd highest HIV prevalence rate in the world (topped only by Botswana and Swaziland), this was an immensely important set of meetings.  It was also interesting to hear our counterparts' viewpoints and questions on the topic, with them having grown up as the disease spread in a culture where sex just isn't discussed openly.  All in all the workshop, as I said, was very valuable and informative.  It also didn't hurt that we got fed and had a place to take an honest-to-goodness shower for a week!

It's June in Mokhotlong.  The temperature has definitely begun it's downward trek into winter.  Pretty much every morning I have no psyche myself up to make that startling leap out of my warm covers with hot water bottle to the bracing air and cold floor.  This is followed by a quick dance across the cold floor to put on my hiking boots and jacket.  Yes, before I even get out of my pajamas, I'm into my boots.

The walks to school are as good of a wake up as the instant coffee here(I suspect the spoonfuls of sugar I add to make it bearable account for most of its short-lived invigoration).  Being amidst the mountains, I don't get to see the sun itself until well after I arrive at school, usually when classes are starting.  We have yet to get any snow here, but any shady rock is covered in ice for much of the day.

While Wisconsin had (imho) a rather disappointing election, the national elections were held in Lesotho this past month.  In place of TV ads or debates, it seemed to me the sole medium of political advertisement and support building was large groups of people packed into the back of open trucks(usually something massive, not unlike a deuce-and-a-half) or buses, carrying their party's flag and driving around singing and screaming their heads off.  Not sure if it is effective and was at times a little obnoxious, but I do prefer this method to the mud-slinging political ads in the States.  Anyhow, after about a month of this, the elections were held on May 26th.  It took another 4 days until the votes were all counted, and even then we did not find out who the new government would consist of.  Lesotho has a parliamentary system, with a certain majority of the MPs being necessary to create a government, but none of the 3-4 major parties had enough seats to do so.  So, it took a bunch of political deal brokering, but yesterday 3 of the parties announced they were forming a coalition to get the majority.  They announced that the new Prime Minister will be Tom Thabang, leader of the ABC(All Basotho Convention) though we still don't know if the government itself will be a coalition government or what.  It was all very interesting to an American with a very poor grasp of such political systems.  The good news is that, unlike the elections in 1997, everything has gone down with no major incidents of violence.  Peace Corps was justifiably concerned about this possibility, and so, kept us on alert until it was clear that things would proceed without trouble.

In other news, the school term has come to an end.  The last 3 weeks were taken up by a 'revision' week and two weeks of tests.  I was surprised to find that lots of sports and little studying happens during revision week.  That that does occur appears to me to be rather misguided.  The students spend most of their time memorizing questions from previous tests instead of working problems, making flash cards, etc.  Learning how to study is an essential skill and, after seeing this, I think I will put some serious effort into teaching my students HOW to learn.  Not surprisingly, the end of term tests were very disappointing for all but a handful of my students.  However, now I know better what the impediments to their learning and my teaching are, so hopefully I can tackle things next term with a more effective approach and attitude!

Well, that's all on my mind for now.  Hopefully with school out, I will find myself less lazy about updating this blog and will have some more adventures about Lesotho and Southern Africa to report on!

Durban and back again

Africa is a strange place sometimes.  I traveled to Durban, on the South African coast, to spend Easter break.  It was wonderful; great food, good times with friends, and shorts-and-tee-shirt-weather the whole time.  Then I return to Mokhotlong, about an inch away on our wall map of Africa, and I find frost across the fields in the morning.

I was surprised to find how big a town Durban is.  Part of it way be that I've been confined to one of the more sparsely populated places on one of the world's smallest countries, but really I think it was because Durban was the largest city in Africa that I have spent time in.  It really is a beautiful place, with rolling hills ebbing up against the vast Indian Ocean.  It is the home of some great Indian food and, I'm told, the largest Indian population outside of India.  On Durban's infamous Florida Street one can find fancy clubs where sandals or shorts have the potential to earn you a disapproving look from the bouncer and an early and sober walk home.

Despite the relative modernity of this city on the sea, a drive along the highway outside of Durban offers a stark reminder of South Africa's recent apartheid past.  Coming from Lesotho, I was still mesmerized by the up-scale homes that we could see along the roadside.  I had quite forgotten how big and opulent houses could be, and was still processing the idea that, not only did many people there own cars, they also had special buildings attached to the house just to keep the car in!  But, just as I was getting readjusted to such things, I would look to the other side of the highway and see a row of pathetic, tin and cardboard shacks.  These were also someones' dwelling places, and it doesn't take much to figure out who's servant and who's master.  A few other things that stuck in my mind are the images of black cleaning ladies at the hostels and an unexpected encounter with a troupe of very white kids riding bikes and roller skating down the road attended by their black nanny/maid.  I already knew these sort of social realities are commonplace across much of South Africa, but it was really startling to see it incarnate and in such stark relief.
   
I also got a small sense of what the Basotho must feel when they see me for the first time, walking through their village or around town.  After months spent in my community among the Basotho and only a few Peace Corps compatriots, when we got to Durban I caught myself, time and time again, staring at all the white people!  I'm sure that I haven't seen so many together in one spot since leaving the states.  I'm not sure if I know exactly why, but such large numbers of white people just going about their days was somehow very interesting to me.
   
Finally, I spotted a few new animals the trip.  On the drive to Durban, I saw non-human primates for the first time in Africa.  Several times we passed groups of gibbons(?) hanging out near the road.  We also saw herds of grazing ibex/okapi things on this drive.  At our first hostel, we found a few small, lemur-like monkeys playing around in the trees.  And, lastly, on one late night/early morning trip to the beach, we discovered the shoreline was covered with thousands of translucent slugs slugs, with blue belies.  You could see right through them and they looked like they were made of glycerin.  Although we were in a group of 8 or so, and even the soberest amongst us claims these snails were real, I have yet to find any documented evidence of their existence, leading me to conclude that they were an elaborate collective hallucination.
   
We had traveled to Durban as a large group which allowed us to hire entire kombis by ourselves.  However, going back to Lesotho we went our separate routes to our own districts.  Unfortunately this meant hours and hours crammed in overcrowded kombis blasting famu music through your entire being.  Welcome home!  Really though, I was glad to return back to my little hut in the mountains.  The vacation was great, but I was broke and missed my bed, which I now am convinced is the most comfortable in the world.  When I returned home, my host Mme reminded me why I love it here; as soon as I got in my door and set my pack down, she came in, put the second half of her six-pack of hard cider (the hardest stuff she drinks) down on my table and said, “Drink this, you have traveled far, now you need to rest.”  So, back to the life of a Mosotho Math teacher for now.  I am excited to get back to school and to finish up this semester strong.  Winter is fast approaching here though, so stay tuned to see if a Wisconsin boy can hack the snowy season in the land of mountains, cows, and blankets!

A few minutes to kill before dark

The silence here is different from that I have known elsewhere. The only thing I can compare it to is that great quiet found deep in the woods, early in the morning. But even that is something different. On a perfectly still day, when the birds are silent and those rowdy chipmunks are absent, the woods are silent, but it is somehow a closed silence. You are in the middle of something, you are surrounded by trees and plants that help to muffle any small sounds there are. In Mokhotlong there is an open silence. It is the quiet of empty space, cold air, and hard stone. It isn't quiet because the sounds can't be heard, it is silent because the sounds aren't there! However, that absence of sound doesn't quite give the feeling of lack that is does other places. It's not that sounds are missing, it's sort of like the quiet in a great cathedral: that silence has a sort of fullness and richness all it's own.

It is that great time between late afternoon and early evening, it is not bright out anymore, but it still a half hour before twilight. My most vivid memories of childhood summers are at this time. Running around and playing with friends during those final minutes of the day when you can feel and see the world around you changing. After a whole day in which each minute seems the same as the next, being outside during this time brings me back into meaningful contact with this slowly turning pile of rock. It is that slow and perpetual motion manifest; when you can watch that orange globe climb down behind the horizon. You know it was moving just like that all day, but somehow those last minutes seem more important. On a bad day it comes with a sigh of relief and a sense of closure. All that nastiness that was this day, you are reassured, is almost out of the way and there's really no more time to fit anything else bad in. On a good day it can be that sigh of satisfaction like after a good meal. That time where you sit at the table, unconcerned with the dirty dishes, the chores to attend to to clean up after today and get ready for tomorrow. When you just sit there content and look over the results of your good fortune and hard work and are happy simply appreciating how good all that was!

The little peaceful world outside my door grows dim, and my face is lit by the glow of this computer screen. Somehow my perceptions have begun to shift, and nowadays this polarized electric glow now seems more eerie and out-of-place than candlelight. The silence is not complete, the great thing about this kind of quiet is that you can hear for farther than one ever thought possible. I can hear the chatter and murmur of kids playing, somewhere. They could be talking and laughing anywhere within a half-mile of me, and I can hear them. It makes it a little magical, disembodied voices and sounds of play. You know the voices have owners, but it makes it much easier to reminisce, half imagining those as the sounds of you and your own playmates, just now floating down to murmur over you from over the mountains and across twenty years, like a little stream, washing and rippling past your bare feet, full of water that made it's slow journey through river and cloud and mountain only to be there just when you need it, to rinse the dirt from between your toes.

Up to the Top

The other day we had to wait 2 hours for our 12 seater taxi to fill with 15 people before we would leave. Half-way through this, a grandmother from church got out to bust a move to the famu music blasting from the taxi. She wanted to show the teenage girls she could still out-dance them! This is Lesotho.

It's been some time since I last posted here. School has remained about the same, and much of it has become routine. For example, I don't find it odd to walk to school through cornfields, herds of cows and goats, and through dongas. Getting up at 5:30 to boil my bath water and bathe by lamp-light seems totally reasonable (though still not fun).

I just gave my first physics test and second math test. I am still trying to get used to the idea of having 40% as the pass mark and still failing about half the class. I'm lucky enough to have a few really bright kids who usually grasp the topics and come to me with questions they have, but for every one of those, there are 4 more who don't understand what I say, don't get the material, and won't dare tell me so. This makes teaching a little frustrating: I think everyone is with me and getting everything, then I grade the tests and find out the reality of the situation once it's too late.

Apparently knowing how to create a gmail account makes me some sort of technology god here, so now anyone within 50 miles with computer trouble will show up at my door or ask me in a bar in town for help. I am also waging a battle with the 3 computers my school has. I am still confounded as to how a computer with NO INTERNET ACCESS can get more viruses than I've ever seen on one machine!

We Mokhotlong PCV's (i.e. Katie, Caitlin, and myself) took a trip up to Sani Pass and the purported 'Highest Pub in Africa' this past weekend. This is a mountain pass on Lesotho's eastern border with South Africa. As our luck goes, we arrived at the taxi rank at 7am only to find the first taxi full and heading out. At first we thought a taxi filling that quickly meant the second one would be full and leaving soon. 3 hours later we knew better. After we were packed in the taxi with two babies and the token loud, drunk Ntate, we began the somewhat perilous 2 ½ hour journey to the pass. Naturally, the road was not paved and pretty treacherous for walking on, let alone driving a mini-bus full of people over.

The experience of a ride like this is difficult to describe, but it was something like squeezing into a Rubbermaid bin that is on the slowest, jerkiest roller coaster ever, which is aboard an 8 passenger plane flying through a storm. Also there is accordian/rap (Famu music) blasting so you have to yell to the person next to you, and drunk men are arguing with screechy voiced ladies. The babies alternately howl and wave to you, so they at least balance out. At first you try and stay upbeat, that will get you through an hour or so. Then you attempt to turn off your sensory organs, try to ignore the pulsing beat of a song you've already heard twice on the trip, try to dismiss the pain in your knees crammed into the seat in front of you, quit wondering where the padding on both your seat and your butt have gone, stop thinking about the eggs you ate that morning sloshing around your stomach with two cups of instant coffee. Maybe you delude yourself and think you can just pass out from exhaustion, but thats pretty much impossible unless you've put down a fifth of booze or a fistful of sleeping pills. The final stage is acceptance. You realize you are not getting of this thing anytime soon. You will probably not die or even throw up, but when you get out, you won't be able to walk properly, sit comfortably, or have a conversation without complaining for a few hours.

That's the border crossing in the background.  No one sneaks across!

After overcoming the psychological and physical challenges of Lesotho transportation, we arrived at the Sani Top Chalet. There's not a lot to the place, just a little, cozy bar and a few tables to eat at, but it was totally worth the trip. They had great food and fancy drinks and, although my text describing the trip is much lengthier, this little enclave of familiar comforts justified the whole thing. The chalet and border post (a metal gate nest to the small customs office) are pretty much the only things in the town besides a dozen crumbling rondavols and a pool hall. I won't describe the harrowing journey back down the mountain, but suffice to say it was nearly foiled by packed trucks, absent taxis, and a corpse wrapped in a tarp!

We did all manage to make it back home. Although I loved the chalet and, now that it's over, I have some good stories to tell about the journey, I was glad to finally stagger back to my rondavol, laden with a week's worth of groceries, to see my host parents sitting on the stoop, enjoying the last rays of late-summer sun.

I probably give the impression that things here are pretty crappy with all the complaining I do. In truth the good and the bad pretty much even out. I think it's just easier and more therapeutic to rant about the bad stuff! The lows can be many, subtle, and pervasive, but the heights you reach are spectacular!

A couple final thoughts:

It is normal here for two men, who are good friends, to hold hands when walking or talking, yet homosexuality is taboo and almost unheard of where I live.

You will spend 3 hours waiting for the 15^th person to be crammed into your 12 seater taxi, sit there with the engine idling and everyone inside while the driver chats with someone for 10 minutes, and leave the taxi rank, only to stop for gas a block later.

A package will get from the capitol city to Mokhotlong in 2 days while a letter takes 2 weeks.

You will talk to university educated science teachers who are totally on board with evolution and global climate change, but swear that witches cause lightning.

And finally, the beer comes in quarts, but it only costs R10 ($1.25)!

Back to school (but as a teacher this time!)

Because this was once a British colony, they call chalkboard erasers 'dusters' and because this is Lesotho, mine is a piece of sheep hide. I have just completed my third week as a high school teacher in Lesotho.

Sekonyela High School

My school consists of a smattering of buildings clustered on a hill above the Senqu River, at the base of the mountain, Thaba Popa. The horizon in every direction is formed by the jagged peaks of Lesotho's Maloti mountain range. Every morning the students gather for outside assembly in a sort of courtyard, where they sing hymns and the national anthem and say the Lord's Prayer. After hearing the day's announcements, the students all go to their classes. Each grade has their own room, which they stay in all day while the teachers move from room to room. There are 6 classrooms in 2 buildings, but there are 7 classes of kids. So right now one class is in the assembly hall. There will also be one more class in a week or so, but I'm not sure where they are going to fit. The classes range in size from 30 to around 60 students.

When the teacher enters the room, all of the 'learners' usually stand and say, “good morning sir.” This is a little off-putting at first, but one gets used to being addressed as 'sir' pretty quickly! During class, the students are usually quite well behaved. No one has yet to talk back or be rude in any way. The most disobedience I get are kids who don't pay attention or don't take notes. This deference and subdued behavior are likely due to the use of corporal punishment at school. The tradition of caning students persists here, though it is regulated by the government. They have rules set out for the size and weight of sticks used as well as how and why a student may be hit. As stated, this makes for polite and well-behaved students, but it also causes them to be very cautious in class and often reluctant to answer questions. Personally, it is also very difficult to stand by as the kids are beaten.

The students must purchase their own books and materials. After school fees, uniform fees, and buying notebooks and pencils, many students do not have money left for books. Because of this, teachers must write everything on the board; all notes, assignments, everything the student needs to read. This makes teaching math and physics a little cumbersome, as one can't assign book problems or reading, but it must be a nightmare in English and Sesotho literature classes.

We do have a science laboratory, stocked with a scant assortment of physics and chemistry equipment. Science demos are very difficult to acquire here. There is one such company in the country, located in the capital city. One must travel there to purchase what items they happen to have in stock. I have a few physics demos I would like to do over the year and will probably have to take a few trips to the local hardware stores to build them from scratch.

I am lucky enough to be at a relatively new school, built in 2005. I also have one of the few staff rooms witch not only electricity, but a few computers to boot! These old PC's have loads of viruses among other problems, but at least they give me a little project here and there. Other than teaching and lesson planning, the bulk of teachers' time is spent in the staff room gossiping or watching movies, which isn't a bad existence at all.

So far I like my job here a lot. The kids seem to like me and are quite nice to teach to. By this point they are also becoming less nervous and will stop me to ask questions if they don't understand something. I also like my little village up here in the mountains. It's peaceful and quiet and gives a person time and space to think. There is also the camp town near enough, so I an always stop in for a little bit of excitement and a cold beer. Oh, and that sheep-skin chalkboard eraser I mentioned earlier, it works way better than any eraser I've used in my life! Hopefully things stay this good through the cold, long winter here!

Part of my walk home from school

First couple weeks at site

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It's been a while since I last posted here, so this is what's new. On December 12 we officially swore in as volunteers. After that we all moved out from our training villages in Berea district to our permanent sites all across the country. I relocated to Mokhotlong district, up in the mountains in eastern Lesotho. With the exception of a wonderful 4 days off at Christmastime, I have been hanging around my new village meeting people and awaiting the beginning of the school year on January 16.  Here is a couple images of my new place from the outside and inside as well as the view out my font door.

I am living on the chief's compound in my new village. Here is a picture of my new family.

The dad, Mokotjo, is the chief, but he is also a farmer and spends most of his time working in the three large fields he has. The mother, Manthatisi, is a government representative for the surrounding area. She helps local villages voice their concerns an needs to the national government in the capitol. Being a government official, she also has lots of work in writing out and notarizing documents like passport applications, death certificates, and pretty much anything official for the folks I the surrounding area. The son and my brother, Sekonyela, attends high school in the area, which he boards at. The grandmother, Mme Mamokotjo (literally mother of Mokotjo) is also pictured. 

Right now all the schools are on summer break, so he is living at home for the time being. I like my village a lot and all the people are very friendly. My only complaint is that, without school, there really isn't a whole lot to do here. But, at least I've gotten tons of reading and cooking done!