Hiking, Hiking, Hiking…

I’m lucky to live in a country where I can wind-down, relax, and escape the occasionally “prying eyes” of village life by hiking! It’s become my new past-time, and I love exploring this gorgeous country! Ha Selomo is nestled in the Linakeng Valley, surrounded on two-sides by the Maluti Mountains… The vistas are gorgeous, the exercise is healthy, and the paths, trails, and unexplored mountains are limitless!

Here are just a few pictures of my recent hiking adventures in and around the Linakeng Valley. Enjoy!

My friend, Amanda, and I hiked to Ha Selomo Holimo (Upper Ha Selomo) on a recent weekend, and got gorgeous views of the Linakeng Valley, with the Maluti Mountain range in the distance.

Whoever said Africa didn’t have mountains, right?! Ha!

To the right of my head (in the distance) is my school, Linokong High School. To the lefthand side of the photo is my village, “lower” Ha Selomo. My host family and I live on the far outskirts of the village, along the ridgeline.

Hiking in Ha Leboea, Lesotho (a distant, neighboring village).

Zoe and I exploring! Always lots of hilarious antics, and aimless wandering when we pack up for an afternoon of exploring the Lesotho countryside!

Zoe was utterly confident that she could find our way back to the dirt road to take us back to Ha Selomo…. This was mere minutes before she nearly hiked us right of a cliff. But hey! It happens! Ha!

It was over the cliff or through the barb wire and past a hog… We chose the latter. :) It’s an adventure!

After a long day of hiking, we decided to unwind by introducing marshmallows to my Basotho host family and neighbors! They were SO excited!

Teaching ‘Me’ how to roast marshmallows! Yum!

My Basotho Host Family!
From Right to Left: ‘Me’ Mapoloko, Limpho (aka ME!), Makhoro, Lefanjane, Ntate Bereng, and a random Basotho man that I don’t know. Ha!

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.

Little Negotiations and the Complexities of Culture

One of the first things I learned as a graduate student in Medical Anthropology, is that people, in every culture, find ways to negotiate a complex web of gendered expectations, familial relationships, religious beliefs, physical needs, and medical systems. We let our families label us as "Republican" or "Feminist," even when we don't self-identify as such. We go to an acupuncturist because our best friend insists that it "worked miracles" for her. We go to see that new movie whose message we morally disagree with. We eat a burger even though we object to the meat industry, stop by for fast food on the way home from work even though it's "ruining the country," and buy cheap Walmart shoes that are made by starving children in some unidentified developing country.

Everyone draws a line in the sand somewhere. We make allowances for some things, but not others. We make decisions that sometimes fly in the face of our "soap box" values. This fact of human nature is evidence that our actions are never simple "black and white" decisions. Rather they are complicated attempts to negotiate a complex web of culture, expectations, financial constraints, and relationships.

Despite knowing this about people and culture, its sometimes difficult to acknowledge and forgive the same "grey areas" in people of a different culture. Its easier to judge, label, and stereotype. To resort to anger and frustration, rather than compassion, humility, and an open-mind. And nobody knows that more than me...
I pride myself on being a relatively well-educated, and open-minded person. I place a huge portion of my self worth on the assumption that I genuinely try to care about and love other human beings, no matter their culture, race, or religion. You could almost say that that's MY religion. However, I will be the first to admit that it isn't always easy, especially when you have as many "soap box" values as I do and you live in a culture drastically different from your own. On a day to day basis, my being "open-minded" means trying to understand the Basotho man who beats his wife or propositions me for sex while calling me a "lekhooa" (white person). It means not blindly judging the woman next door who beats her screaming toddler with a stick, the teenage girl who tries to elope with a herdboy at the age of 13, or my Ntate (host father) who is a polygamist with two wives. Its hard. Really hard. Because there are just some situations that look pretty darn "black and white" from where I'm sitting. Unfortunately, things are almost never that simple... And that's why living in Lesotho has been an everyday lesson in humility and empathy for me.

When you really get to know people, you start to realize that no one is wholly good or evil. Everyone in the world has been through something that has made them who they are.

For example, I consistently struggle to understand my fellow teachers. I should start by stating that these Basotho men and women are my colleagues and friends. They welcomed and embraced me with open arms and undying patience when I was new. I LOVE coming to school and working with them everyday. Compared to some of my fellow PCVs, I consider myself incredibly lucky that I work in a place where the staff works as a team and enjoys being together. Our staff-room at Linokong High School is constantly full of laughter, music, hilarious antics, and inside jokes. They are amazing people. But when I first moved to Lesotho, I was somewhat less convinced of their positive character and uplifting personalities.
During my first few months as a teacher in Lesotho, I watched with sadness, and sometimes even horror, as my teachers beat children instead of talking to them. I saw them come to school late, leave early, and carelessly miss classes in between. I heard male teachers refer to female students and teachers as "good breeding horses," "hopelessly lazy," "unqualified," and "useless to the school" (when speaking about a pregnant woman.) I was personally harassed about my love life, told I looked "sexy" in blue jeans, and asked if I'd be willing to engage in extra-marital affairs. It would have been so easy to label them as ignorant, backwards, and uneducated.

Time, however, has shown me a different truth. The longer I live here, the more I realize that judging and presuming to understand people based the surface of their actions is naïve, unjust, and quite frankly, it's a luxury I can't afford as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The teacher who once told me that "bo-Me (women) are just lazy" is actually one of the most loved by students. He gives every single student in his classes a unique nick-name, based on their personality. He knows every one of them by name, and when they don't come to school, he notices. I've watched him pull aside troubled kids to ask if everything is alright at home. The kids trust him, and his commitment to their well-being is palpable. He has two little girls, and he tells me he hates sending them away to boarding schools but he wants them to be able to do great things with their lives.
Another of my colleagues was once a source of relentless "harassment" (by American standards) for me. I almost wrote him off as an entirely disrespectful and ignorant misogynist... But every afternoon I watch him select the poorest malnourished orphans in the school to give his extra lunch food to. Another colleague once told a female student that if she worked hard in school he'd marry her. He's already married. The moment she blushed and ran away to tell her friends about her "teenage crush come true" he and other colleagues laughed at her expense. And you know what... He's probably one of my closest Basotho friends now, and he is a truly dedicated teacher. He leads after-school clubs, student activities, and spends weekends working with HIV+ youth.

I don't always understand or agree with the actions and beliefs of my Basotho colleagues, host family, and friends, but I can't have a successful Peace Corps service from atop my "soap box." Living with humility means accepting that I don't understand everything that goes on here. I simply can't. I don't have to agree or be happy with all their actions, but it's not my place to judge a culture and belief system that I can't fully understand. People aren't simple stereotypes, and it's a rare day that I catch a glimpse of the whole story. So I have to live every day with the assumption that people are more than what they show me.

And you know what... My life in Lesotho is a lot more wonderful and fulfilling when I give people the benefit of the doubt.

With Love from Lesotho... -Mary Elizabeth

A Tale of White-Water Rafting from a "Not-So-Hard-Core" Peace Corps Volunteer

We are Peace Corps volunteers. We swat away thatch spiders like flies, fight rats at 3am, start vacations by hiking 10km out of village with overloaded packs, help butcher hogs, and get diarrhea in awkward public places. As my military father would say, we're "hard core." We laugh at the things that make lesser Americans cry... AND yet we were totally unequal to the "adventure" we got ourselves into in Swaziland.

We fancy ourselves rough and tumbly, African adventurers... So when I suggested to 3 of my PCV friends, Will, Amanda, and Zoe, that we go white water rafting in Swaziland during our first vacation over Easter Break, they eagerly jumped on board. "Absolutely! That's awesome!" they regaled. "Should we do a half day or full day trip?" I asked. "Definitely, full day" we agreed. "We're going all the way there... We might as well get our money's worth!"

Boy, did we ever get our money's worth.

I'm going to start with a little background and an observation to put our adventure in perspective: 1) While we may not be as "hard core" as we first imagined, Will, Zoe, Amanda, and I are far from pansies. We'd all been white water rafting in the U.S. multiple times, and are all experienced travelers in our own right. 2) The Swazi Trails rafting company would definitely NOT be legal in America. Seriously. No insurance agency in the U.S. would ever accept the liability for the things we did and saw that day.

Yet the day before Easter, we showed up "wide eyed and bushy tailed" on the bank of the Usutu River in central Swaziland! After all, the website said "beginners welcomed" and there was a completely clueless Irish family of 4 in our rafting group... How bad could this be, right?! We'd only been there 10 minutes, however, when we came to a startling realization- "Oh. Okay. Those AREN'T 6 man rafts... Two people per raft? But where does the guide go?" we all nervously chuckled as the Safety Briefing started. "It's fine!" Amanda and I (my rafting partner for the day) told each other, "We've got this!"

Our rafting guide for the day was a tall, incredibly muscled, and hilariously outspoken, black Swazi man named Beke... And his light, laid back attitude and affable nature, immediately put us at ease. His safety briefing (to people who, remember, were all assumed to be "beginners") went something like this:

Beke: "So this is a paddle. You put THIS end in the water." *Cue the nervous laughter* "The person in the back of the boat steers, and is likely to get launched into the rapids... So you should put your feet in these straps." *Nervous glance between Amanda and I*
ME: "Well crap," I think. "Which one of us wants to go swimming."
Beke: "We really do want you to TRY to stay in the raft, if possible. But if you do fall out, get back into the boat as fast as possible... Oh, and watch out for crocodiles."
ME: "Holy hell... What am I doing here?!"
Beke: "Before some of the larger falls, we'll ask you to pull to the side of the river, so we can assess the rapid and discuss your point of entry."
ME: "Whoa, there buddy! What's so complicated or dangerous that it needs a pre-rehearsed 'plan of attack'?!"
Beke: "Okay, great! So grab your partner and let's go!"
ME: "WAIT just a second there, hot shot!... I think you might've missed a few steps??" *Gulp*

Amanda and I exchanged nervous glances- "Its fine! Were Peace Corps Volunteers! We've got this!" In retrospect, we said that to ourselves a lot that day. But we reassured ourselves it would be fine, and after a little discussion we decided that Amanda, who had had a total of one rafting trip more experience than me, would start in the "hot seat" position at the back of the boat steering. "We'll just try it and see how it goes," I told her. "I'll take over and try, if it doesn't work."

Guess what? It didn't work.

Not 15 minutes into our day trip we pulled over to inspect the first set of "falls," a 5 meter drop over a damn wall. By this time, Beke had jokingly named Amanda and I his "Special Ed" group, a label we readily owned up to. So as such, we were one of the last rafts to traverse the damn... Over we went with an exhilarating plunge! On the other side, I shouted in triumph, "Whoohoo! We did it!" But my excitement was short lived. In front of me, I saw Beke frantically waving. "TURN AROUND!" he screamed. "What?" I thought as I turned to look behind me. Surprise, surprise... The second half of my two man rafting team was flailing for help in the rapids behind me. "Just great," I thought.

After Amanda's first dunk in the Usutu, we quickly came to the conclusion that I, the heavier of the two of us, had to be in the rear. Otherwise, poor Amanda was going to go sailing at every bump. So, in the words of my dad again, I "manned up." I climbed in the dreaded "hot seat" and hunkered down to face the next 15 km of river.

If Amanda and I were the "Special Ed" group, then Will and Zoe were the over achieving, "Accelerated Learners." With Will expertly steering their raft, they were the first through nearly every rapid... Laughing at the lurches Amanda and I seemed to get into around every corner. Now, while I was no "Will" at guiding our raft, we survived about 5km of rapids with no more major accidents... And by the end of the morning, we were having a great time and really getting the hang of it! Until we came to the "big one."

Just before lunch, our guides asked us to pull to the side so that we could inspect our last rapid of the morning. We pulled to the side, happy for a short break from paddling, and climbed ahead about 50 meters to look at the rapid. "Oh, crap... They have got to be kidding!" I thought the instant the falls came into view. We were standing looking at a massive bottle-necked drop in the river. The fall that started the relatively short, but incredibly ferocious length of water, was about a 5 to 10 meter drop. At the base of that fall, the tight corners between the towering rock walls on either side, created a series of about 3 massive, churning waves that seemed to move the water violently from one wall to the other in a zig-zag pattern. They said it was a Class 4 rapid. "Like heck, that's a class 4!" I thought. "I've been down a class 4 rapid before, and it was NOTHING like this!"

And apparently this was a rapid that did require a pre-discussed plan of attack:
Beke: "Okay, Mary Beth- So the water's a little high today, but no big deal! Here's all you have to do... Give it lots of speed going in, but you HAVE to hit that 'v' in the water straight on. You go over side ways and it's all over" he said, with a much-too-nonchalant laugh.
ME: "Wait a second! WHAT's all over???" I thought.
Beke: "As soon as you hit the top of the fall, you want to hard stroke on the left, otherwide you're gonna crash straight into that rock face. Okay?"
ME: "Oh my god. Seriously?! I take it back... I'm really not that hard-core. I was afraid of little spiders until I joined Peace Corps!"
Beke: "So after you're down the fall, give it two or three good strokes on your right, because there's a large rock the water's flowing over there," he said, pointing to some vague, yet crucial, spot of non-descript water. "Okay- And that's really all there is to it!"
ME: "I am DEFINITELY not qualified to do this."

Now I have to give Amanda credit... Up until the moment we hit that fall, she had been the picture of positive energy and encouragement. "You can do this!" she reassured me as we paddled out into position. "We're Peace Corps Volunteers, right?!"

The next 30 seconds are a blur of furious paddling, crashing waves, and frantic praying. We plunged over the fall, and over the entire raft flipped with a startling amount of force. Before I could process what had happened, I was being tossed about helplessly beneath ferocious waves of white-water. I remember the panic that set in the moment I realized, "Oh my god- I don't know which direction to swim in!" The swirling water made it impossible to tell which way was up. A second later, I felt something hard and heavy pushing my head under, with each violent wave- The overturned raft was on top of me, preventing my access to much needed air.  I finally wrestled myself free of it, and managed to find the surface, after a few terrifying seconds that felt like an eternity. "Remember- Keep your feet up and lie on your back" I told myself, assuming the safety position Beke had lectured us on. As oxygen slowly returned conscious thought to my brain, I whipped around in search of Amanda. Much to my relief, I saw that she was already being pulled ashore up-river by a guide. I, on the other hand, was quickly being sucked down-river, all the while fighting the pressing weight of the overturned raft at my side. Before I knew it, a guide was at my side in a kayak. "Get back in your raft NOW." he said with urgency. "Okay... Okay" I thought irritated. "Give me two seconds to catch my breath, will you?!" I began to flip the raft, and attempt the strenuous process of hauling myself back in. Now these two things were no easy task when I had a partner and was floating in calm water- But here, alone, breathless, and in churning water, they were nearly impossible. "You HAVE to get in NOW." the guide said again with insistence. "I'm trying!" I yelled, aggravated. "I don't think you understand..." He said, with a touch of fear in his voice. "You NEED to get in that raft NOW!" He moved his kayak to help pull me into the raft, but before I had even righted myself enough to grab my paddle and think, he was urging me to action again. "Hurry!" He yelled. "You have to get to shore NOW! There's a waterfall!!!"

"A WHAT?!" I gasped. "I am so not hard core enough for this," I thought. "You're being sucked in by a waterfall 100m down river! You have to get to that bank!" he yelled. I paddled frantically, but exhaustion and strong currents made my efforts to maneveur the large raft by myself, nearly pointless. I barely missed the embankment where Will and Zoe had pulled up their raft, and were anxiously watching this terrifying series of events unfold. "There's a waterfall!!!" the guide continued to scream. "Thank you, jerk! So I've been told!... You're REALLY not helping the situation!!" I thought, as my terror transformed into anger. At the last second Will, anchored only by placing his feet firmly in his own raft, launched out to grab my arm. As he pulled against the immense force of the water sucking me towards the waterfall, I started to come out of my seat. It was a split second decision- Either let the raft go, or go with it. I chose to let the raft go.

Into the water I went, yet again, as Will hauled me up onto a rocky embankment. In retrospect, Zoe and I laugh at the hilarity of the situation- The guide screaming "Waterfall! Waterfall!" uselessly in the background, and me being forcefully dragged ashore like a beached whale. Ha! Some kind of "hard core" PCVs we are, right?!

In the end, I was lucky to make it out with only a couple of cuts and scrapes, and a few lovely "black and blue" bruises. It was definitely not the worst injury of the day- One guy in our group walked away with a bloodied face and nose. Of the 4 of us PCVs, Zoe was the only one who managed to stay in the raft through that set of rapids. And as we later hauled our rafts down river, around the "waterfall", we understood the guide's panic and fear: It was a legitimate WATERFALL. I'm not sure of the height, but as an example, several of the guides went "cliff jumping" off of it later that day! And I almost went right over it... Raft and all.

We breaked for lunch right after "the big one," and Amanda and I were in desperate need of a few minutes to pull ourselves together, and calm our shaky hands. To put it lightly, our nerves were shot... And we still had 7 to 10 more km of river to survive! YET while we definitely weren't as "hard core" as we'd imagined, we are still Peace Corps Volunteers. And we are nothing, if not resilient. Despite our massive trepidation and exhaustion, Amanda and I suited back up and got back into that raft.

I wish I could say that the rest of the trip was a piece of cake, but it wouldn't be a true adventure without some more drama! Ha! Not 20 minutes after getting back on the river, I yet again found myself being launched into the rapids. That time, I think it shook poor Amanda up more than me. My head bobbed up, gasping for air in the overwhelming waves, just long enough to see her panic-stricken and helpless face screaming for me from the raft. Needless to say, we were both at our wits end by the time I dragged myself back into the boat. So at some point after that, we got smart and did some rearranging so that both Amanda and I could take a turn in the front of Will's, expertly maneuvered raft. We needed a break. The moment I finally relinquished the "hot seat" to a very apprehensive Zoe, was the happiest moment of my whole day! Ha! Poor Will managed to endure our shaken nerves with patience and incredible calm. "Mary Beth- Just STOP paddling" he urged me while laughing. "Seriously- You're not helping. I've got it." And he was totally right. That man got us through km after km of rapids with almost no help. Having had his job as "navigator" for the past 6 hours, I was in awe at how easy he made it look! "Sooo maybe ONE of us IS hard core, after all." I laughed.

Together, the four of us finished our trek down the Usutu River, in one piece. It was an amazing bonding experience, and I know we'll remember it for years to come! At the end of the trip, the rafting company had a cooler full of much needed and appreciated beers... I don't think anything has ever tasted so good! The next day we were all unable to move thanks to bruised and over-worked muscles, but I honestly wouldn't have changed a thing. It was an occasionally exhilarating, totally nerve-wracking, and absolutely memorable adventure in Swaziland!

With love from Lesotho- Mary E.

The Lesson in a Line

I'm accustomed to waiting in Lesotho. It's simply a reality of living with "Africa time:" I do a lot of waiting. And the interesting thing is, it doesn't even really bother me, a Type-A, workaholic who's perpetually 10 minutes early to everything, anymore. It's just the way life works in Lesotho. I go to catch a taxi, and end up standing on a dirt road for an hour. I show up to meet my teachers in town, and find out 8am actually meant 10:30am. I go to a village pitso (meeting) at 9am, and around 11am the Morena (Chief) finally decides to show up. I go to the pump, and there's no water. I want to wash my clothes, and have to wait for a sunny day to dry them. My life revolves around forces that are out of my control. You either learn to relax and live with it, or suffer in constant misery.

So given my relatively healthy adjustment to this kind of lifestyle, you'd think that I'd take a small change to my local taxis in stride, right? Wrong. Here's what happened: While I was away on vacation in Swaziland a month ago, the local "Taxi- Drivers Association" for the Linakeng Valley region  (where my village is located) met, and apparently decided they weren't making enough money. The problem, they determined, was that there were TOO MANY taxis running the approx 40-50km dirt-road mountain loop, that my village lies on. So they made the brilliant decision to assign 2-3 taxis to each day. Simple solution, right?

The problem is, the result for villagers, like myself, has been MASSIVE lines at the taxi rank in Butha-Buthe camptown. Almost every evening of the week my once peaceful taxi rank becomes a frenzy of temporarily stranded bo-Me, school children, and bo-ntate all trying to get back out to their villages. It's essentially created a "rush hour" for my little mountain valley in Butha-Buthe. And it's driving me INSANE.

I'm accustomed to waiting... But waiting in town, in a 3-4 hour line (that more resembles a pushing mob of people yelling in Sesotho than an organized system of waiting) just plucks EVERY nerve in my control-freak body. For one, town is not my "safety zone." In America, no big deal. But remember that here I stand out like, well... Like a white person in rural Africa! I attract nonstop attention from the moment I step into the jumbled not-so-linear line. I'm accustomed to the staring, but I also get propositioned, touched, approached by the local "BB homeless crazy man," asked a million questions, offered alocholic drinks, and talked about in Sesotho (Its a curse that I know just enough Sesotho to know when I'm the topic, but not enough to understand the conversation! Ha!). I'm a self-admitted introvert (and proud of it!) and non-confrontational to the core... To put it bluntly, standing in that line is my worst nightmare. Normally, I combat uncomfortable social situations, unwanted attention, and crowds by walking quickly, keeping my eyes down, and moving forward through it- Just. Don't. Stop. In that taxi rank line, though, I'm stuck. I have to stand there in agony for HOURS. Its my own personal version of hell and discomfort in Lesotho.

But as with everything in Peace Corps, there's a lesson. The thing I dread most about that line is also what I'm coming to appreciate about it... It forces me to STOP. Yes. It's uncomfortable agony for me, but it's also necessary. When I get in that line, I'm not going ANYWHERE. Seriously. I'm not moving for hours. And that sudden act of hitting the "pause button" on my life, forces me to look around, take a deep breath, and engage with the people around me. And the truth is, once I relax and accept that I can't change it... I meet the most amazing people.

On my first taxi-rank line experience coming home from Swaziland, I was exhausted and the line was ferocious! Seriously. It was chaos, and mean, and pushing, and loud... A nightmare. I sat there for hours being tossed around in a mob scene while everyone tried to physically fight their way into the taxi, that only showed up every 1.5 hours or so. But I am nothing if not stubborn. It only took about 2 hours before I consciously decided that I didn't care if I sat here ALL night! I WOULD NOT cave to pushing little old bo-okhono (grandmothers) over to get back to village. "Live with grace, Live with grace, Live with grace" I told myself forcefully, as I planted my feet and resisted the fighting mass around me. And then, just when I thought I was going to cry from exhaustion, these 3 little old bo-okhono noticed I wasn't pushing and shoving, even though I'd been at the front of the line for hours. They stepped in, looped arms with me, and gave a death glare to anyone who dared to step in our way. And when the four of us finally got a seat in a taxi, sometime after dark, we all just nearly died laughing. "Me! Taxi e matata haholo! (These taxis are a problem)Whew!" I yelled. "Eye, ausi! Matata!" They chorused, laughing. It was a miserable afternoon, but I finally reached home late that night with a smile on my face because of their generosity and companionship.

That taxi-rank situation has been repeated, much to my displeasure, at least 5 times in the past month. But now I make a concerted effort to look around me and try to embrace my "stranded state" as a priceless opportunity to engage with people in my community. A few weeks ago I befriended the 'Me' who owns the fruit stand next to my taxi- She has the most adorable baby girl (which, of course, I love!), and as it turns out, she lives in Sekubu (a neighboring village) and is the niece of my Supervisor! So now, everytime she sees me she asks me when I'm going to come visit her in Sekubu- And you know what? I think that, one day, I will!

On a different day, I got stuck in freezing rain, and the 'Me' in front of me in line shared her umbrella with me while we waited... She told me all about working in the Nike factories in Maputsoe, and how difficult it is to find work in Lesotho. Just this past Sunday, I got in line at the taxi rank, and had only been there 10 minutes before I heard a group of my students yelling, "Madam!'M'e Limpho! Lumela!" Before I knew it, I was surrounded by 6 bubbly teenage girls, gushing and giggling about their boyfriends and asking me about America. And then there's the little old lady I met today, who is now a chemist (pharmacist) at a local BB shop, but who worked as a nurse for 28 years and told me all about the local health system.

So while I still hate and dread my taxi rank line, I do know that there's a valuable lesson in it... And I really try to focus on that. I've learned more about what its like to be Basotho and live in Lesotho from people I've met standing in that line, then from potentially any other single experience during my Peace Corps service. I'm often in such a hurry to rush through errands and return to my village/comfort zone, that I miss out on those potential friendships, stories, and opportunities to share cultures. Who would've thought?

There's a lesson in a line.

With love from Lesotho- Mary E