Contracting a Chronic Case of Guilt

I caught the flu a few weeks ago, complete with a 104 degree fever, vomiting, cold symptoms, and light-headedness. It left me helplessly bed-ridden for 5 straight days, and by the end of it, I finally understood the term "cabin fever." I was miserable.

Predictably, news of my temporary illness spread quickly around my little mountain village... Within 24 hours of getting sick, my once peaceful rondaval had been transformed into a gathering place for my Basotho students, friends, neighbors, and church-goers. I received more visitors as I was trying not to vomit into a bucket by my bed, than when I was perfectly healthy and full of energy. My Ntate, previously busy with winter butchering (and thus notably absent from our family compound in the previous weeks), miraculously reappeared to check on me 3-4 times a day. My 'Me' (who lives in a neighboring village) stayed in Ha Selomo for the week, and graciously washed my clothes. My friend, Phepheng, came over to sit with me for several hours. The village kids came by to draw me water and fetch oranges from the shopong. The out-pouring of love I received was absolutely amazing, and in retrospect, it made me realize how lucky I am to be so loved by my community. At the time, however, I didn't exactly see it that way.

While all the help and concern I received was endearing, at the time all I really wanted was to retreat into solitude, darkness, and silence to sleep away my misery ALONE. As a sick American 8000 miles from home, the constant ko-koing at my door was absolutely horrifying. When one of my favorite students, showed up at my door to visit me for the second day in a row, I didn't feel grateful. I felt angry.

"Lumela, ausi! I didn't think I'd see you again today. Shouldn't you be at church?"

Translation: What in the world are you doing here? AGAIN.

"As you can see, I'm really not feeling very well still."

Translation: The room is spinning, and if you don't leave, I'm going to vomit on your shoes.

."I'm sorry, but I don't think you should come in... I don't want to get you sick."

Translation: I DO NOT want to talk to you. GO AWAY!

"Maybe I can help you with math homework tomorrow instead... Would that be okay?"

Translation: Please, dear God... Don't knock on my door again until I don't feel like killing myself to end my misery.

I turned her away at the door for the second day in a row, knowing full well that she would be back again tomorrow. And as I dragged myself back to bed, fighting waves of nausea, I only felt one thing: Guilt.

While I may have been fighting off a bad case of the flu, I also have a much more serious, untreatable, and chronic condition, otherwise known as "Peace Corps Guilt." I contracted it the moment I walked into 'Me' Malehlohonolo's house to eat dinner with my new host family on my very first night in Lesotho: She served me a meager dinner of beans and papa (boiled maize meal)... I sat on the only chair in the house, and she and my host siblings shared a single bowl of papa with their hands on the dirty, fly-ridden floor of their sweltering, tin-roofed house. The guilt has stayed with me nearly every day since... And contrary to what you're probably thinking, it's not a guilt of "wealth" or "affluence." Yes, I am a "rich, white, American" who owns a personal laptop when most people in my village have never even seen a computer. But that guilt, for me, is unavoidable and fades with time. I can't help that I was born rich, and it's my hope that I'm using my wealth, as much as possible, to the advantage of the Basotho people. The more penetrating and lasting guilt I experience from living here has to do with my time, energy, and gifts.

I am a Peace Corps Volunteer. The US Government pays my salary, and I am here at the invitation of the Lesotho Government. My being here means another person cannot be. My being here is only possible because of hard-working American tax-payers. My being here means my impoverished school has to pay my rent, and my host family has to provide a private latrine and other amenities for me. My being here means my parent's didn't get to have me home at Christmas, my brother didn't have his sister at his college graduation, my little sister won't get my help when she moves into her first college dorm in August, and my best friend won't have me at her wedding in November. My being here is a sacrifice for others. So my end of the bargain is to try to accomplish as much as possible during the next 2 years to help better the community of Ha Selomo... I want to make the sacrifices of others worth it. So I teach Math, English, Science, and Life Skills. I help kids with homework, tell my neighbors about American culture, and engage the village kids in fun activities to help them practice everything from reading to multiplication tables. I spend weekends at youth conferences leading HIV/AIDS workshops. I teach winter classes, and lead tutoring session for senior students. I help lead the "Young Women's Group," English Club, and Math and Science Club at my school.

And every single moment that I take for myself, is a moment that I'm not giving to my kids. Like I said... Guilt.

When I'm tired and a student ko-ko's at my door for help with homework, I sometimes ask them to come back tomorrow. Then I feel guilty. People in village assault me with questions after I've been disappointed by not being able to talk on the phone with my mom, and I just want to tell everyone to "Leave. Me. Alone." Then I feel guilty. My Ntate ko-ko's at my door at 5am to ask for a match, and I am grumpy, tired, half-asleep, and angry. Then I feel guilty. My host mother shows up with a starving, filthy kitten that gets in my house and eats all MY cat's foods, and I have to run around trying to beat it out with a broom. Then I feel guilty. I go out of town to visit my friends for a weekend, and later find out that the teacher on duty didn't show up for "Saturday Study" at the school. Then I feel guilty. Bo-ntate play football next to my house every Sunday, stare endlessly, and shout obnoxious comments at me as I'm washing my clothes, and I want to scream "Do you REALLY have to intrude on my ONLY safe space in this ENTIRE country?!" Then I feel guilty. Kids ko-ko, and ko-ko, and ko-ko at my door, at all hours of the day on all days of the week, and I get frustrated, angry, and upset. Then I feel guilty. I want to lay around in my pajamas on Saturday morning reading and drinking coffee, but when I do my Ntate makes unending comments about how I sleep too much. It makes me furious. But then I feel guilty. My colleagues make japes about how young I am in the same breath as telling me I need to marry so I'll have a man to take care of me, and I want to tell them I have a Master's Degree, have lived in 3 different countries by myself since I graduated University, have owned a car, have paid taxes, and most recently moved myself 8000 miles away from my family ON MY OWN. Then I feel guilty.

I often feel like my weaknesses and faults here, come at the expense of my students and the reputation of Americans. So I bite my tongue, do my best to give 110% all the time, and when I fall short of perfection... I succumb to feeling guilty. As Peace Corps Volunteers, we tell ourselves that "you can only do what you can do," that "we're doing the best we can with what we have," that "we have to take care of ourselves, before we can take care of others," but all these attempts at comfort are just salves for a chronic condition that has no cure...

I've contracted a chronic case of guilt.

With Love from Lesotho... -Mary E.

What I Know Now, That I Didn't Know Then

Just a little acquired wisdom from my life in Lesotho... Enjoy!

Diesel helps degrade latrines and works miracles on flies.

A dutch oven is just as good as a real one, as long as you put tuna cans in the bottom to equalize the heat.

How to wash dishes with less than 1L of water.

Hot water bottles are heaven.

Any animal will eat boiled maize meal, if it's hungry enough.

One egg a day is my minimum protein requirement to avoids aches and exhaustion.

A good, clean pee bucket is a PCV's best friend!

How to dry cow manure for fire fuel.

To avoid bloody fingers, always turn your thumbs out when hand-washing clothes.

A stern "mom face" is universal for "DON'T do that."

The key to a good, straight haircut is sharp scissors.

You can grow a vegetable garden through the entire winter, if you know what to plant when.

It's worth spending the extra money to buy better quality candles.

Uncovered water left near your house attracts witches. 

Not all rat poisons are created equal.

How to properly trim a kerosene lamp wick.

Milk, plus a teaspoon of lemon juice, is a good substitute for buttermilk.

Curry powder is a great seasoning for almost anything.

Cabbage bags sewn together are perfect for keeping chickens out of a garden.

Sitting on the "stoop" or in the doorway of your house can remove the "anti-witch" charms from your house.

How to safely replace an empty propane gas canister.

It is possible to make a soup with an onion and half a carrot.

A solar panel, Blackberry phone, and a good headlamp are all the electronics I need to live happily.

Not everyone in the world can afford a pencil/pen.

It's easiest to de-feather a chicken if you blanche it in boiling water first.

Cabbage is the most versatile vegetables ever.

The proper technique for grinding dried corn into maize meal on a flat stone.

When resealing a mud-walled rondval, the secret ingredient is rehydrated cow manure.

How to bathe with less than 4L of water.

It's easiest to hitch with only two people.

Yogurt, cheese, eggs, and mayonaise don't need to be refrigerated.

If America was a food, it would be peanut butter.

Americans are stubborn- Why do we call it "soccer" when 95% of the world calls it "football?"

I'll take a thatch roof over a tin one ANY day of the week.

Popcorn can be (and often is) dinner.

The best way to discard of extra hair is to burn it... Witches steal hair to put curses on people.

Thatch spiders are proof that bigger bugs aren't always the ones you need to worry about.

Lightning is truly terrifying when you live under a flamable roof on a mountain with no trees.

The worst part of butchering a hog is the noise.

Peppermint tea fends off rats.

Scorpions look scarier than they are.

Chickens really do flap around after you cut off their heads.

A razor sharp knife is a HUGE luxury.

The most important part of your body to care for is your feet.


With Love From Lesotho... -Mary E.

Service By Another Name

Memorial Day has always been a cause for celebration in my family. It's a day for fried chicken, a keg in the creek, bonfires, fireworks, and croquet on the lawn... Because in my "all-American" family serving your country is more than a quaint anecdote or a postcard-worthy quote. It's the flag in the yard that flies year-round, rain or shine. It's the "Service Star" hung proudly in the window, and the tearful farewells as our father marched off to war. Its the sacrifice made, not by some proud stranger on a CNN tribute, but by our own.

I am a proud Army Brat. My family has fought in every single American war since we first settled in the Shenandoah Valley as Presbyterian immigrants from Ireland in the 1600's. We helped found the United States of America with our blood, sweat, and tears, and we still defend that land today with such sacrifices. So I understand "sacrifice for country" more than most.  It's my family's legacy, and I lived it every day of my childhood that I spent praying for my own father to come home alive. So as a child, I always knew two things: I would serve my country one day, but I would never be capable of doing it with a weapon in-hand. I get teary eyed at the sound of the star-spangled banner, but war was never destined to be MY contribution to humanity. I simply don't have it in me. Yet as I sit in the mountains of Lesotho this Memorial Day, I know now that "sacrifice for country" comes in many forms.

It probably sounds ridiculous to many people, but the same values that drove my father to leave the comfort of his home and family year-after-year to defend his country, are the same values that brought me to this little corner of southern Africa. Its a connection I struggled to explain to my sometimes skeptical family and friends, when asked why I had decided to join Peace Corps. I'm not dodging bullets or fighting terrorism (on a daily basis, the scariest thing I fight is thatch spiders, rats, and scorpions. Ha!), but my work here is no less important to national security or American prosperity.

Many Americans label us as "tree-huggers," liberal "bleeding hearts," or naïve dreamers. They are wrong. I know the military. The brave Americans serving, in places like Lesotho, demonstrate a resilience, sense of service, incredible personal sacrifice, and pride of country that easily matches that of the toughest soldiers under my father's command in the US Army. We come from all walks of life: Young, old, white, hispanic, black, asian, heterosexual, homosexual, sons and daughters, grandparent's, Christian, Jewish, Agnostic, rich, poor, Republicans, and Democrats. We don't all agree politically, and we grew up under vastly different socio-economic conditions. We're not all friends. But we all share a common belief that peace-building and national security benefit the world, and that such conditions don't happen miraculously. They take decades of work in the form of a million tiny, seemingly insignificant steps in the right direction by teachers, nurses, and engineers.

As Peace Corps Volunteers, we don't fight people but we do fight. We battle poverty, HIV/AIDS, malaria, starvation, indifference, and ignorance on "front-lines" around the world. We live with and amongst the people we serve because we know that you can't fix a problem you don't understand and experience. Our daily presence is a reminder to the people we live with that the US government is a force of good and justice in the world. When I travel around Lesotho, I get the opportunity to meet Basotho from all walks of life- From impoverished villagers on public taxis to the Lesotho Secretary of Education that gave me  a hitch last weekend. Eight times out of 10, they tell me childhood stories about the Peace Corps(PC) teacher who taught them to read English 20 years ago, or the PC Health Volunteer who helped them dream of a future outside of their tiny, mountain village. They thank me for my service and for the kindness of my country. They speak proudly of the friendship of Americans, and tell me they dream of the kind of prosperity and wealth we have created. It is possible that one day the 163 children that I teach everyday at Linokong High School, will defend Americans and combat myths of American greed, violence, and world domination. They'll do it because they knew me, 'Me' Limpho. I am the face of America to every Basotho villager in Ha Selomo, Lesotho. I AM America in this tiny corner of the world. My daily actions defend my country to these people.


Anyone who thinks that this kind of generosity and friendship between nations comes free, has no understanding of the price that has been paid by Peace Corps Volunteers around the world. Since 1961, when President John F. Kennedy first created the United States Peace Corps, more than 280 Americans have given their lives in service to their country. That's more American lives lost in the US Peace Corps than in the entire history of the Central Intelligence Agency. Over 200,000 Peace Corps Volunteers, over the past 5 decades, have left their families and country behind. We move thousands of miles away from everything we know to live and work in foreign cultures and potentially hostile environments. Much like the military, we go where our country calls us to serve. We do so without complaints or conditions. We suffer illlnesses, accidents, and violence. We work tirelessly day and night, through overwhelming financial and physical hardships, and often in extreme isolation (in corners of the world even my "hard core" father wouldn't want to visit.) Just a few years ago, Peace Corps Lesotho lost one of our own. Tom was a health volunteer in his mid-20's. He was shot and killed on a street in Maseru (the capital city) that I now frequently walk down. Since then, two young female PCVs in Lesotho have also been victims of violent rapes. It's a risk we all assume when we join the Peace Corps. It's a reminder that this is a dangerous job. At any time it could demand the "ultimate sacrifice" from any one of us.

My mother used to tell me that no one wishes for peace more than a military family... However disparate our methods may be, the US Peace Corps and the US Military are "fighting" for the same things. We both want peace, safety, security, and prosperity for our country and the world. On a daily basis, I may be fighting teenagers to do their math homework rather than fighting terrorism, but I share a common legacy and sense of purpose with my brother, father, mother, uncle, grandfathers, and great-grandfathers.

Service to country comes in many forms. This Memorial Day, I'm thankful for ALL who serve and have served. 

With Love From Lesotho... -Mary E.