Without a doubt one of my favorite parts about living in Ha Selomo is the noise that engulfs the village around sunset every day. For me, more than any other time, this is when the village comes alive. When the heat of the day has passed, families emerge from their rondavals to savor the last few hours of daylight before the mountains finally cast their ominous shadows across the foothills. If I were ever to attempt to save of moment or memory of Lesotho, this would be it... I would bottle the sounds.
Across every hill in the distance, herd boys gather their cattle, and sheep from a day of foraging for grass in an all too dry and rocky landscape. The result of their slow passage home to the village, is a cacophony of bells that rings from every conceivable direction. It is my mothers favorite form of music, and it is quickly becoming mine.
Children pour out of rondavals everywhere... And their chatter can be heard all over the village, ever so slightly punctuated by the occasional call of a mother. And as always, where there are children, I hear my own name being beckoned, "Me' Limpho! Me' Limpho!" in the hopes of eliciting yet another smile and wave from where I sit, writing by my garden.
Now a tractor rumbles by. They are few and far between in Ha Selomo. But the maize is high in the fields this time of year, and I know that the family that owns the local Mill frequently sells out the services of their tractor to plow a fields too large to hoe by hand. For those not rich enough, however, there is the ever-present, "Thump. Thump." as a hoe meets the unwilling ground. This sound is particularly omnipresent this time of year, when villagers spend the better part of every day baking in the unrelenting sun while attempting to control their fields. It never ceases to amaze me the sheer determination and endless work required to glean some meager amount food from such rocky and mountainous terrain.
And as always with village life, there are the women. When I think of the "life force" of the village, I know it must be the women. A simple walk around Ha Selomo never fails to reveal a woman singing her way through hours of washing clothes or hauling water with a bucket balanced atop her head and a baby strapped to her back. They usher children, bargain at the shopong, cook papa and samp in large wrought iron kettles over fires in family courtyards, laugh and chat, and set off to tackle the next on a never ending list of chores that make life here in Ha Selomo possible.
I'm in love with the sounds of an African village.
Saturday, April 27, 2013
Saturday, April 6, 2013
Out of Training at Last!
After 9 weeks of intensive “Phase I” Training in “training villages” in Berea District, 3 months of “Phase II” preliminary integration at our new “sites” (ie. villages) across Lesotho, and one more week of follow-up “Phase III” Training in Berea… We are officially finished with Peace Corps Training!
We have been shaped, molded, and minted by the United States Peace Corps. We have been taught a surprising amount of Sesotho and lectured at for endless hours. We’ve each had TWO host families, TWO villages, and taught at THREE schools. We can tell you all about the merits of a thorough “community needs assessment,” the dangers of unsustainable development interventions, and the realities of HIV/AIDS stigmatization in Lesotho. We have been tested and tried. We’ve lived in places ranging from semi-urban to remote mountain villages. We have witnessed the challenges our students face, and been forced to use Sesotho to wiggle our way out of tough situations. We’ve been stranded in village by flooded bridges, lived in houses that are bed-bug ridden or mouse infested, and in one extreme case, had the roof blown off the house. We’ve experienced extreme joy, and desperate loneliness. And after it all, the only thing that I’m certain of is that I still have a LOT to learn. This is just the beginning of an amazing adventure! :)
Training has been an awesome ride! While I’m thankful training is finally behind me, I’m even more thankful for the amazing Peace Corps Lesotho Staff that helped prepare us for the inevitable challenges, and integrated us into their PCV family. They are truly special people. It was also wonderful to see my fellow PCV trainees during our last week of “Phase III” training. Being together again after the successes and challenges of our initial 3 months at site was obviously an emotional roller coaster of sorts… But we were all thankful for the chance to debrief, and get reenergized to face the next two years. For me, it was important, to once again be reminded, that I really do have an amazing support system here, in country. And while I may sometimes feel “alone” in Ha Selomo, a sympathetic ear or wise words of advice are never more than a frantic text, or a quick email away. This is definitely not a journey any of us are facing alone.
On our last day of training, PC took us over the border to Ladybrand, South Africa to celebrate with an AMAZING lunch! As luck would have it, the restaurant also had a playground… And for that moment, we might as well have been kids again! For most of us, our first vacation (and freedom from the travel restrictions placed on trainees) was only a few hours away… The joy and relief was evident on all our faces!
With Love from Lesotho… –Mary E. <3
Welcome to Linokong High School!
I love my school, colleagues, and especially my students. I’m so lucky to get to come to work with such amazing people and kids every day! Here’s a quick glance around my school, Linokong High School!
My awesome, Form D (11th grade) class! I'm their class teacher (like a home-room teacher) and also teach them Physics…
They’re a great, and very smart, group of kids!
Just a few of the classroom buildings at Linokong- We have 2 Form A (8th grade) classes, 2 Form B (9th grade) classes, 2 Form C (10th grade) classes, 1 Form D (11th grade), and 1 Form E (12th grade). That’s a total of about 400 students. :)
Inside the Teachers’ Staffroom! My desk is the one in the lower photo (with the jacket draped on the chair)… It’s notably empty in these photos, but normally it’s full of my crazy, hilarious colleagues singing 90’s music and joking around. :)
Our Science Lab, from the outside. I’m incredibly lucky that my school has one!
The Form C students with their garden plots! They were so excited to get to stand by their plants for a picture! :)
GREEEN PEPPERS! So delicious! In their Agriculture Class, the students take care of the gardens, and then the food grown in them goes to help provide food for school lunches. It’s a great program! You should have seen the kids canning peaches from the orchards a few weeks ago- I’ve never seen so many jars of peaches in my life!
The fun is over… And back to class they go!
With Love from Lesotho… –Mary E.
Saturday, March 16, 2013
A Lesson from Lesotho…
For my first several months of living in Ha Selomo, my tiny rondaval was home to myself, a cat, Penny, (my predecessor's cat), and her three kittens (the female of the litter being my cat, Pina). Needless to say, the feline frenzy kept my first few weeks living in village interesting and lively... They ran about eagerly pouncing on toes, flies, and everything else that goes "bump" in the night. As it turns out, Penny was also quite the accomplished mouser! I did my fair share of complaining to PCV friends about her "extracurricular activities," but in all honesty, this is a rather desirable quality in a country cat… And boy, did she relish in it! Hardly a night went by when I didn't awake to a dead rodent on my floor. In fact, her deposits became so frequent, I quickly learned to never step out of bed without looking first! While this sounds horrifying, I rationalized that if it's going to be left at the foot of my bed while I'm sleeping, better dead than alive, right?! :)
So I had become rather adjusted to finding her proud little presents in my house... Or so I thought. You see, the thing about living in Lesotho is that just when you think you've got it under control, Peace Corps will willingly teach you another lesson in humility and the importance of a good sense of humor.
On this particular occasion, one of my PCV friends, Zoe, was visiting my village for the first time. After living at site for just over a month, I was excited to show her around, and we were both incredibly grateful for the chance to debrief, vent, and share the many successes and frustrations of our new lives in rural Lesotho. After a particularly wonderful homemade dinner (that included one precious and hoarded can of chick peas to make hummus), followed by endless hours of conversation, we both remarked that we felt emotionally recharged and ready to face the world again. "I really feel like I've learned a lot about myself over the last few weeks at site," I said. "I feel more resilient now... Confident that I can handle whatever Lesotho throws at me!" "Absolutely!" Zoe echoed positively in agreement, as we rose from the table to clear the dishes. Over the last few hours of talking, darkness had settled over the mountains, and my cozy little rondaval was now only lit by the single candle on the table. "I'll heat some water for dishes," I said as I moved toward the stove.
Suddenly, I stopped dead in my tracks. "Wait? What is that? Zoe... I think..." Beneath my foot I felt something liquid, then warm, and finally, much to my horror, hairy. It took a full second before I understood. "Oh my god!!! Zoe!!! Get the light!! OH MY GOD! Ewww ewwww ewww eww! ZOOEEEEE!" I screamed. But even before she reached the flashlight, I knew... I had stepped on Penny's latest gift: A dead rat.
The rondaval erupted in chaos as cats and humans alike scrambled to escape... I took two steps in an effort to leave my very foot behind, only to find my other foot in a puddle of something wet and chunky. "OH MY GOD!!! You have GOT to be kidding me!!! Zoe, HELP!!!" By this time, there was no point trying to escape the mortification and overwhelming grossness of the moment. Suddenly the light didn't matter... I knew that one foot was covered in mouse guts, and the other in cat vomit. Lesotho's lesson was complete. There was only one thing left to do: I succumbed to gut-wrenching, tear-stained laughter.
For the next 10 minutes we stood there, laughing and crying so hard we could hardly breath. I was too exhausted, overwhelmed, and disgusted to move. It was as if every emotion I'd held in for the last month came tearing out of me in final surrender to this crazy, beautiful, unpredictable, and priceless reality that was my life now. There was no escaping it, Lesotho had won again. We thought we finally had it under control, but this experience is not about feeling safe, comfortable, or "in-control"... It's about tossing it all to the wind and leaping anyway; confident that the journey is worth the bumps and bruises along the way.
In 20 years, when I look back on my time in Peace Corps, I know that these are the moments I'll remember with laughter... Because my life here is not always perfect, pretty, or postcard worthy. In fact, most days Peace Corps looks nothing like I had imagined. I'm not "saving the world" or doing anything brave or noteworthy... I'm just the girl, in her rondaval, covered in dead rat, wondering how in the world I got here. And in a way, there's something much more priceless and meaningful about that.
With Love from Lesotho- Mary E. <3
Thursday, March 7, 2013
The face of HIV.
As an academic and anthropologist, I was never really intrigued by HIV/AIDS, as a physiological disease, cultural experience, or epidemic. It sounds callous and elitist in retrospect, to knowingly decide to be uninterested in a disease that affects the lives of millions, but that's the honest truth. We'd come to HIV in my "Anthropology of Disease" course in graduate school, and I'd let out an exasperated sigh and think, "Here we go again." It just seemed over-studied, and over- analyzed. "There are so many forms of suffering that go completely unnoticed," I told myself, "and HIV already has more than it's fair share of advocates screaming for attention. Let someone else worry about it." And then I moved to Lesotho...
It's easy to ignore the magnitude of a disease like HIV/AIDS, when you can reduce it to a collection of shiny graphs or bullet points on a power-point slide. It is a whole other thing to have it stare back at you in the middle of your Math Class in the form of an orphaned 17 year old, or a 14 year old, who's literally wasting away to skin and bones in front of your eyes. And with one of the highest per-population HIV infection rates in the world, that's exactly what I stand up and face in my high school classes every single day. This is my new reality... And the face of HIV is a grim one.
Last week, Lesotho's Ministry of Education sent out a survey of students that each school in the country had to complete. Linokong High School was no exception, and as the class teacher (essentially the "home room" teacher) for Form D (11th grade), I was asked to complete the survey for the students in my class. There were a range of questions, asking about students' ages (it's worth noting that I am younger than some of my students), how many students were "repeaters," and about their families. Yet despite all the ways that HIV has already crept into my life here in Lesotho, I was still surprised when I reached the end of the survey and there were two pages of questions asking about the number of orphans in my class. "Okay," I thought, "This is fine... I always knew there were orphans in my classes. It's bound to only be a few." I went in to complete the survey with my students, prepared to face the chilling reality of HIV... Or so I thought.
There are 49 students (and counting, as the number seems to rise daily!) in my Form D class. When I asked everyone who had lost only their mothers (their fathers are still living) to stand up, I nearly lost my breath for a moment. No less than 12 students timidly came to their feet. I was stunned. My class, previously full of laughter and whispers as students had announced their ages, was now grimly silent. Eyes were downcast; embarassed to acknowledge the obvious truth. I recollected myself and moved on, "Stand if you have lost your father, but your mother is still living" I announced. Another 8 students came to their feet. I nearly groaned with dread, as I read out the final question... "Stand if neither of your parents are living." Six more students/orphans shyly admitted defeat and rose to their feet... Including the quiet little boy that sits near the front of my class. He is undeniably smart, but his tattered school uniform tells the story of a much harder reality at home. Suddenly, he made a little more sense to me.
All in all, over half of the students in my class have lost a parent or both. It's a jarring reality to witness. These kids go home to houses where a key figure in their lives is notably absent. They have known true loss at such young ages... And here in Lesotho, to loose a parent seems more common than to have both still living. I do not know how these students lost their parents. There are obviously multiple common causes of death in Lesotho. But none so common, for this age group (adults in their prime), as HIV/AIDS. It is literally ravishing the adult population of Lesotho. And it's effects are everywhere.
Over the last two weeks, I have been lucky enough to get to know one of my Form E (12th grade) students, Thato (or Naomi), well. Thato first approached me several weeks ago for extra help preparing for her COSC Math exam (she, like many students here, struggles in Math)... And her exemplary English skills, quickly allowed us to become friends. She wants to be a nurse, and her determination is absolutely admirable.
You see, this is not Thato's first attempt at the COSC exam. She sat for it, and failed her Math exam two years ago. After a slew of rejections for the very limited and coveted slots at one of Lesotho's universities, she returned to high school to retake her entire Form E year. She lives in "upper Ha Selomo," my "sister" village just over the mountain from my house, with her little brother, Boitumelo (one of my Form A students) and her elderly grandfather.
Every morning, Thato wakes at 4am to get ready for the day, get Boitumelo up, and make the hour long walk across the mountain to school (And her commute is not even close to the longest that some of my students make). Students are required to be at school by 7am for study; Thato is there every morning at 6am. "Its too noisy when the other students are there," she tells me. "I have to work hard if I want to become a nurse." When school ends at 3:45pm, she and Boitumelo walk over the mountain again, and she starts the household chores of cooking and cleaning- A woman's work, and her home is noticeably absent of any maternal figures to help her.
She showed me her and Boitumelo's few priceless family photos, when I visited her home this past weekend... Pictures of her mother, father, grandmother, and aunts filled the pages. They aren't here anymore to fill her grandfather's house with their support, help, and guidance though. She and Boitumelo are all that's left of the full and happy family that is memorialized in that tattered old photo album. And yet, they are both so smart with bright futures ahead of them. They are making wise choices in the face of overwhelming odds, and they are the perfect example of what "hope" looks like in my rural corner of Butha-Buthe, Lesotho.
I'd be remiss if I were to only illuminate the tragedy of stories, like Thato's... Because her story is so much more than that. For me, she is a shining example that, in the midst of so much loss, people still rise to the overwhelming challenges presented by the HIV/AIDS epidemic in this country. Take my colleague and friend, Chris Morake, for example. Every month, Chris, a married, busy, full-time high school teacher and English Club coach, takes his natural rapport and easy confidence with kids, out of the classroom and into the hospital. There, he leads a monthly support group for orphans and children with HIV. In the midst of games, jokes, and his now famous outbreaks into "song and dance," (which he constantly graces us with in the staffroom at my school- Seriously, the man has got rhythmn! Ha!) he provides these victims of HIV/AIDS with a safe place to express their sadness, shame, and anger. You see, HIV in Lesotho is still very much stigmatized, despite it's obvious prevalence. To other Basotho, these kids are walking time-bombs... Lepers who are liable to infect anyone they touch. To Chris, they are just kids. Kids who have been given a heavy burden at an incredibly young age. His willingness to give these youth a "safe haven" and role model, is beyond inspirational. This is what fighting HIV/AIDS really looks like... Real people, making little steps in the right direction, and changing one life at a time.
I'm learning a LOT more about what this disease really means sitting right here at Linokong High School, than I ever did in a classroom at University. It's a hard lesson, but one full of patience, strength, and undeniable hope. With Love from Lesotho... Mary E.
It's easy to ignore the magnitude of a disease like HIV/AIDS, when you can reduce it to a collection of shiny graphs or bullet points on a power-point slide. It is a whole other thing to have it stare back at you in the middle of your Math Class in the form of an orphaned 17 year old, or a 14 year old, who's literally wasting away to skin and bones in front of your eyes. And with one of the highest per-population HIV infection rates in the world, that's exactly what I stand up and face in my high school classes every single day. This is my new reality... And the face of HIV is a grim one.
Last week, Lesotho's Ministry of Education sent out a survey of students that each school in the country had to complete. Linokong High School was no exception, and as the class teacher (essentially the "home room" teacher) for Form D (11th grade), I was asked to complete the survey for the students in my class. There were a range of questions, asking about students' ages (it's worth noting that I am younger than some of my students), how many students were "repeaters," and about their families. Yet despite all the ways that HIV has already crept into my life here in Lesotho, I was still surprised when I reached the end of the survey and there were two pages of questions asking about the number of orphans in my class. "Okay," I thought, "This is fine... I always knew there were orphans in my classes. It's bound to only be a few." I went in to complete the survey with my students, prepared to face the chilling reality of HIV... Or so I thought.
There are 49 students (and counting, as the number seems to rise daily!) in my Form D class. When I asked everyone who had lost only their mothers (their fathers are still living) to stand up, I nearly lost my breath for a moment. No less than 12 students timidly came to their feet. I was stunned. My class, previously full of laughter and whispers as students had announced their ages, was now grimly silent. Eyes were downcast; embarassed to acknowledge the obvious truth. I recollected myself and moved on, "Stand if you have lost your father, but your mother is still living" I announced. Another 8 students came to their feet. I nearly groaned with dread, as I read out the final question... "Stand if neither of your parents are living." Six more students/orphans shyly admitted defeat and rose to their feet... Including the quiet little boy that sits near the front of my class. He is undeniably smart, but his tattered school uniform tells the story of a much harder reality at home. Suddenly, he made a little more sense to me.
All in all, over half of the students in my class have lost a parent or both. It's a jarring reality to witness. These kids go home to houses where a key figure in their lives is notably absent. They have known true loss at such young ages... And here in Lesotho, to loose a parent seems more common than to have both still living. I do not know how these students lost their parents. There are obviously multiple common causes of death in Lesotho. But none so common, for this age group (adults in their prime), as HIV/AIDS. It is literally ravishing the adult population of Lesotho. And it's effects are everywhere.
Over the last two weeks, I have been lucky enough to get to know one of my Form E (12th grade) students, Thato (or Naomi), well. Thato first approached me several weeks ago for extra help preparing for her COSC Math exam (she, like many students here, struggles in Math)... And her exemplary English skills, quickly allowed us to become friends. She wants to be a nurse, and her determination is absolutely admirable.
You see, this is not Thato's first attempt at the COSC exam. She sat for it, and failed her Math exam two years ago. After a slew of rejections for the very limited and coveted slots at one of Lesotho's universities, she returned to high school to retake her entire Form E year. She lives in "upper Ha Selomo," my "sister" village just over the mountain from my house, with her little brother, Boitumelo (one of my Form A students) and her elderly grandfather.
Every morning, Thato wakes at 4am to get ready for the day, get Boitumelo up, and make the hour long walk across the mountain to school (And her commute is not even close to the longest that some of my students make). Students are required to be at school by 7am for study; Thato is there every morning at 6am. "Its too noisy when the other students are there," she tells me. "I have to work hard if I want to become a nurse." When school ends at 3:45pm, she and Boitumelo walk over the mountain again, and she starts the household chores of cooking and cleaning- A woman's work, and her home is noticeably absent of any maternal figures to help her.
She showed me her and Boitumelo's few priceless family photos, when I visited her home this past weekend... Pictures of her mother, father, grandmother, and aunts filled the pages. They aren't here anymore to fill her grandfather's house with their support, help, and guidance though. She and Boitumelo are all that's left of the full and happy family that is memorialized in that tattered old photo album. And yet, they are both so smart with bright futures ahead of them. They are making wise choices in the face of overwhelming odds, and they are the perfect example of what "hope" looks like in my rural corner of Butha-Buthe, Lesotho.
I'd be remiss if I were to only illuminate the tragedy of stories, like Thato's... Because her story is so much more than that. For me, she is a shining example that, in the midst of so much loss, people still rise to the overwhelming challenges presented by the HIV/AIDS epidemic in this country. Take my colleague and friend, Chris Morake, for example. Every month, Chris, a married, busy, full-time high school teacher and English Club coach, takes his natural rapport and easy confidence with kids, out of the classroom and into the hospital. There, he leads a monthly support group for orphans and children with HIV. In the midst of games, jokes, and his now famous outbreaks into "song and dance," (which he constantly graces us with in the staffroom at my school- Seriously, the man has got rhythmn! Ha!) he provides these victims of HIV/AIDS with a safe place to express their sadness, shame, and anger. You see, HIV in Lesotho is still very much stigmatized, despite it's obvious prevalence. To other Basotho, these kids are walking time-bombs... Lepers who are liable to infect anyone they touch. To Chris, they are just kids. Kids who have been given a heavy burden at an incredibly young age. His willingness to give these youth a "safe haven" and role model, is beyond inspirational. This is what fighting HIV/AIDS really looks like... Real people, making little steps in the right direction, and changing one life at a time.
I'm learning a LOT more about what this disease really means sitting right here at Linokong High School, than I ever did in a classroom at University. It's a hard lesson, but one full of patience, strength, and undeniable hope. With Love from Lesotho... Mary E.
Saturday, March 2, 2013
An Update from ‘Me’ Limpho’s jarateng!
A few quick pictures from my garden, which I LOVE. Planting a garden in Lesotho was the best decision yet… Now that we’re approaching the end of summer, I am literally buried under more spinach (morroho), lettuce, and cucumbers than I can eat. I’ve been unburdening them onto my fellow PCVs and host family. Yum! I also have baby watermelon that, fingers crossed, I’ll be able to break into before summer’s end! Yay!
My mother would LOVE it!
Exploring “Upper” Ha Selomo
When opportunity knocks in Lesotho- You should ALWAYS take it. That’s what I’ve learned over the past few months living in Ha Selomo. So when one of my Form E students, ausi Thato, came up to me yesterday as I was leaving school, and asked me if I was going to come and visit her family in “upper” Ha Selomo today- I said, “Why not!” Sure, I had a massive amount of laundry waiting for me at home, but it was a gorgeous day… And after a long week, an afternoon of hiking sounded like a good idea.
My village, Ha Selomo, is actually made up of multiple smaller villages that cover a VERY large area in the surrounding mountains. The largest and most prominent part of the village, called “lower” Ha Selomo, has the main road in the region running through it (don’t get too excited, it’s still a dirt road ridden with potholes, ditches, and the like). This is also where I live (luckily enough!), with my host family. Lower Ha Selomo sits on a ridge line with the Maluti Mountain range as a backdrop… But just across the ridge that looms over lower Ha Selomo, lies “upper” Ha Selomo. As it turns out, there is a LOT more to Ha Selomo than I ever knew. My village extends from “my” ridge to the mountain behind/next to it!
Thato and I took off hiking, and along the way found some amazing vistas and outlooks over lower Ha Selomo (my part of the village), and the surrounding villages! Everywhere we went, I bumped into more of my students. They were all SO excited to show me their villages, homes, and families! The entire outing gave me a huge appreciation for how far some of my students walk to/from school everyday.
Thato, with the Maluti mountains in the background!
Lesotho is such an gorgeous country! For those of you who thought there weren’t mountains in Africa- I live in them! :)
Basotho man, with his house and son in the background.
As it turns out, our beautiful day turned into an afternoon of MUCH NEEDED rain. It honestly didn’t matter though… Thato and her cousin, Lerato, made us a delicious dinner, and on the way home we acquired a hoard of my students who joined us on the 1.5 hour walk back to lower Ha Selomo. :) It was a lot of fun, and I loved getting to know Thato and my other students better!
With Love from Lesotho… –M.E.
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