Mud, Manure, and the Curious Case of Cultural Integration. (Part 1)

I never would've thought my most significant experience of "cultural integration" thus far in Lesotho would've come while I was elbow deep in manure and mud. As it turns out, however, getting "down and dirty" with the locals requires just that- Getting down on the floor and VERY dirty.

I was returning from an afternoon trip into town to pick up a package at the post office yesterday, when I passed a group of bo-Me' working on an old house near the village setopong (taxi stop). I greeted them in Sesotho, as is customary and polite, and was quickly ushered over to inspect what they were doing. On this occasion, I was lucky- One of the bo-Me spoke English! They told me they were recoating the house, inside and out, with a new layer of mobu (mud). When I was offered a giant, sloppy basin full of smelly manure mud, one look at their excited expectant faces said that it would be just criminal to turn down this opportunity to do away with some of their cultural stereotypes about Americans. So I grabbed a giant handful, much to their delight and laughter, and began to learn the fine art of smearing mobu. :)

I think they all expected me to wimp out or "get tired" and leave after the first handful (for some unknown reason, all the villagers seem to think that my light skin makes me constantly tired and averse to work) ... But one handful turned into a dozen... And to be honest, I was thrilled to finally be a part of a group of women and a community project! So when we finished with the outer walls, we moved inside to smear the floors with a fresh layer!

Now to all you who imagine that smearing mud sounds like child's play, you could not be more mistaken. Even after smearing mobu for 2 or 3 hours, I had not mastered the technique for the keeping the floor and walls perfectly even and hole-free, that the okhoona (grandmother) beside me made look so easy. Its a skill Basotho women have mastered, and as someone who lives in a mobu-walled rondaval, I more than understand what a valuable building method it is. For one, building materials, such as wood or other "processed materials," like bricks, are hard to come by or very expensive. What Lesotho does have, however, is rocks and dirt! And my rondaval combines the best of both to yield a home that is low-cost, warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. So I'm just here to tell you, don't judge it til you’ve lived in it! My little house might look "primitive" to some Americans, but I absolutely love it!

Another important note about life in a African village, is that word travels FAST... And boy did it ever, when the news was that Me' Limpho (ie. me) was covered in mobu, resmearing the floors of an old house. I swear that every villager for a mile turned up to poke their head through the window, and laugh hysterically while rambling excitedly a Sesotho, "She is a Mosotho now!" And as always, they wanted to take endless pictures of me (as if everything I do is unbelievably entertaining.) In fact, it is entirely likely that every camera phone in Ha Selomo now has a picture on it of me in a considerable state of mud-covered filth. :)

The other, slightly more unfortunate, consequence of my new status as "expert Mosotho mobu smearer" was in the romance department. I assure you it was quite unintentional on my manure-covered part, but apparently my foray in Mosotho house chores was quite the statement of my suitability as a wife. And let me tell you, more than a few bo-Ntate in the village stopped by to "try their luck" (most for the umpteenth time) with the makhooa, now turned Mosotho. I believe I received 6 confessions of love in the span of 3 hours. Now, needless to say, my dream proposal of marriage/love has never, in theory, included manure and mud... So alas, they all left disappointed. Yet, in the future, I shall have to remember to avoid such "turn on's" as covering myself in cow manure. :)

Despite the unwanted attention, the afternoon was absolutely wonderful. It's the kind of opportunity for "cultural integration" that every PC volunteer waits and hopes for... The moment when you really feel embraced by your community. Not because you are an American, or rich, or even because you are actually good at smearing mobu on an old house, but because they (and you, for that matter) realize that for better or worse you are there with them, making it work, one day at a time. It's not always glamorous; it may be something filthy like getting covered in manure to help restore a neighbors' house, complaining with the other bo-Me' about a broken water pump that you all have to endure every day, or suffering through sweltering heat in a tin-roofed classroom with your students... But you are invested in making the community a better place with them, because it's YOUR community now, too. And that unspoken understanding was what I finally reached that afternoon... Mud, manure, and all.

With Love from Lesotho – Mary E.