This is the other little guy I fell head over heels for. Totally different from Relebo, but a good buddy of his.
He's super independent, going up and down Maleqatse all by himself at the ripe old age of four.
My favourite moments were when I held Lehlilika on one knee and Relebo on the other and just chattered with them in Sesenglish (a mix, obviously of Sesotho and English).
Walking home from school each day and having these two run up to me and greet me can't be beaten.
I wish they were waiting for me every day here in Ottawa to greet me. It never failed to put a huge smile on my face.
No matter how tired I was, I always mustered up the energy to scoop each one up and toss him in the air, then carry him back to my hut on my hip, or with his little hand in mine.
I tickled Lehlilika
When I was between villages, I decided with my boyfriend to sponsor Relebo and Lehlilika, so that, despite family situations (Relebo will be a double orphan soon and Lehlilika's 8 year old brother has left school to be a herd boy in order to help support the family), they will both attend school. A tiny bit of money each year will facilitate this. My friend was just in Lesotho and has a photo of the two of them in their uniforms. They started attending school half a year early, because two free meals are supplied there and they need food in their little bellies.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
My darling, darling Relebo
Relebo was almost five when I was staying at Mahlekefane.
I really really hope to get back soon, but I wonder if he'll remember me. I don't know that I have all that many memories from when I was five.
I hope he does.
Because I certainly haven't forgotten him.
He's one of those people, that, for me, has really left the cliched footprints on my heart. Totally indelibly. (Not in-edibly, in-delibly, as in un-erasable).
These are amazing toys, much better than regular balloons, as they are so sturdy. They don't break and make a mess nearly as easily.
I really really hope to get back soon, but I wonder if he'll remember me. I don't know that I have all that many memories from when I was five.
I hope he does.
Because I certainly haven't forgotten him.
He's one of those people, that, for me, has really left the cliched footprints on my heart. Totally indelibly. (Not in-edibly, in-delibly, as in un-erasable).
These are amazing toys, much better than regular balloons, as they are so sturdy. They don't break and make a mess nearly as easily.
Masefatsa and Relebo Sing in English and Sesotho
Masefatsa and Relebohile (it's a common boys' name meaning "we are grateful") spent a lot of time in my hut, playing with me, and often performing for me. They are the granddaughter and great-nephew of the principal of Mahlekefane RC (Roman Catholic) Primary, 'M'e Ratia. They were absolutely adorable and treated each other like brother and sister.
Here they are singing in the hilariously bastardized English of rural Lesotho (I don't know how they got the lyrics for this strange song)
And this is them singing in Sesotho
Here they are singing in the hilariously bastardized English of rural Lesotho (I don't know how they got the lyrics for this strange song)
And this is them singing in Sesotho
Makhumalo Laughing
My gorgeous little Basotho sister, Makhumalo, has the greatest laugh. She's six and here she's sitting on my belly as I make faces which she copies and then I tickle her.
Man, I miss these kids.
Man, I miss these kids.
Basotho Dancing - Mokhibo, Mohobelo and Richa Tetsi
I attended a feast of celebration for a local governement official, as a guest of honour. I felt kind of ridiculous and overly celebrated myself, as I got to sit in a place of prominence (under a tent) and was treated exceptionally well. I was also asked to make an impromptu speech after the hours of performances and speeches. Bear in mind, I barely speak the language, only a few words. Also, there is no electricity in the village, but members of the four surrounding villages attended, and a mic was actually hooked into the power supply from an old beat up pick-up. I demonstrated my "tricks", my Sesotho greetings and then pulled out the old stand-bys, lots of gesticulation, a huge smile and ululation (you'll hear some others ululating the background of these videos).
Here is the men's traditional Basotho dance - Mohobelo....
...And the women's - Mokhibo...
...And a not-so-traditional dance - Richa Tetsi entertaining the other kids
For some reason, Richa Tetsi reminded me of Charlie. It's probably the lankiness. And they're both pretty shy, but when they come out of their shells - look out!
He was 16 and dropped out of grade 4 halfway through my time in Mahlekefane. I was glad to see that he returned to classes.
Here is the men's traditional Basotho dance - Mohobelo....
...And the women's - Mokhibo...
...And a not-so-traditional dance - Richa Tetsi entertaining the other kids
For some reason, Richa Tetsi reminded me of Charlie. It's probably the lankiness. And they're both pretty shy, but when they come out of their shells - look out!
He was 16 and dropped out of grade 4 halfway through my time in Mahlekefane. I was glad to see that he returned to classes.
Singing in the dark
This isn't all that impressive to watch, maybe, but it is incredible singing. There was some really cool dancing as well, but clearly there wasn't enough light to capture the full effect.
I can't belive how well the people in Lesotho sing, harmonizing and complementing each other perfectly.
This was shot at Malealea, a tourist lodge where I was charged about one quarter of the usual cost because the owners said I qualified for the "Basotho" rate. I guess by the end of my trip, I'd learned enough to fit in with the locals! (Even despite my pale skin and sharp nose)
I can't belive how well the people in Lesotho sing, harmonizing and complementing each other perfectly.
This was shot at Malealea, a tourist lodge where I was charged about one quarter of the usual cost because the owners said I qualified for the "Basotho" rate. I guess by the end of my trip, I'd learned enough to fit in with the locals! (Even despite my pale skin and sharp nose)
My little abuti
I'll still spontaneously start to cry when I think about my little Relebohile. I've never fallen in love with any person as quickly as I did with this little guy.
I can't believe how much I miss him.
I think about him several times a day and wish I could have brought him home with me.
It gives me so much comfort to know that my Basotho "mother" has agreed to adopt him when his own mother dies (his father has died of AIDS and his mother is on ARVs for full-blown AIDS as well).
When I took him to an AIDS clinic to be tested (thank goodness, he is negative) he sat on my lap for the whole car ride, thrilled as could be. He'd never been in a "koloi" before.
So many times, when I am doing something interesting, or even just doing something I do every day, like climb a stair case, take an elevator, walk down a busy street, watch TV, I think about what he'd think, how excited he'd be.
I can't believe how much I miss him.
I think about him several times a day and wish I could have brought him home with me.
It gives me so much comfort to know that my Basotho "mother" has agreed to adopt him when his own mother dies (his father has died of AIDS and his mother is on ARVs for full-blown AIDS as well).
When I took him to an AIDS clinic to be tested (thank goodness, he is negative) he sat on my lap for the whole car ride, thrilled as could be. He'd never been in a "koloi" before.
So many times, when I am doing something interesting, or even just doing something I do every day, like climb a stair case, take an elevator, walk down a busy street, watch TV, I think about what he'd think, how excited he'd be.
Lots of Rhythm in my Second Village, too
In Thaba Tseka, my second village, the kids were great singers and dancers too.
Here are some snippets of their performances.
The girls made their own skirts out of paper.
This is a favourite song of the littlest ones. It has something to do with frogs, and like most Sesotho songs, has actions.
Here are some snippets of their performances.
The girls made their own skirts out of paper.
This is a favourite song of the littlest ones. It has something to do with frogs, and like most Sesotho songs, has actions.
Goodbye Ceremony
This was a wonderful day, but also one of the saddest of my life. It was my last day in Mahlekefane, and the kids, grade by grade, did performances for me.
It was incredible.
I was bawling and singing and laughing all at the same time.
I wish I'd made longer videos, but here are some snippets.
It was incredible.
I was bawling and singing and laughing all at the same time.
I wish I'd made longer videos, but here are some snippets.
The Monkey Song
I taught this song to the grade 7 students. When they sang it in the classroom, it was very reserved and shy.
On my last day in Mahlekefane, I climbed the mountain that overlooks the village (Maleqatse) with all the grade 7s.
They let loose and really sang the song with vim and vigour.
The song was written by my little brothers and their buddy, Garrett years ago.
The actions come along with it and after the Basotho kids really got to know them, they would ask to go to the bathroom by doing the "pee and poo" swivel
On my last day in Mahlekefane, I climbed the mountain that overlooks the village (Maleqatse) with all the grade 7s.
They let loose and really sang the song with vim and vigour.
The song was written by my little brothers and their buddy, Garrett years ago.
The actions come along with it and after the Basotho kids really got to know them, they would ask to go to the bathroom by doing the "pee and poo" swivel
The Concert
This is fantastic. The kids invited me to a concert and when I got there I realized it was to raise money for the school. In order to raise money, the donor chooses a song they'd like to hear and gives some change. The next donor chooses another song, interrupting the first, and makes a larger donation.
You donate and request through the coaches, who blow whistles to indicate that the song must change.
I gave them 10 Rand (about $1.20) and they all sang "Head and Shoulders".
Initiates returnining to Mahlekefane
After living in the mountains for three months, the young initiates end their secret training with circumcision and return to the village, triumphantly.
The chief of the village allowed me to take photos and video.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Lesotho National Anthem Video
At the beginning and end of every school day, the kids all join to pray, sing and hear announcements. Here is the final Lesotho national anthem on my final day in Mahlekefane. I'm very emotional and continue to video the kids as they run off towards home.
Morale Boosting Video
When the younger kids were training for sports, the older kids sang to provide "morale". You can't describe these songs.
Sunday, March 4, 2007
Lesotho Update #9
Lesotho Update #9
Friday, April 28th, 2006 6:23 p.m.
Wow! Thank you for all the wonderful e-mails, once again I was crying in the Hlotse Internet Cafe. I'm blown away. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to respond to them yet, but the internet was not working properly and I didn't have much time.
I am now (finally) in Maseru. I was unable to make it here yesterday, as it was a holiday and there were no hotel rooms in the whole city. I got here just a couple of hours ago and signed into my hotel, Lancer's Inn. Looks like I'm going to get to watch some TV tonight! I can't wait! Also, I'm going to go to a movie on Monday! I've really been missing some of the things that are so common in my regular life.
I fell in love with so many kids at Mahlekefane, but particularly with one little guy called Relebohile. He is a "single orphan" (meaning that one of his parents has passed away - a "double orphan" is what we would just call an "orphan" in Canada). The first day I met him, he and his mother and his baby sister were heading out to the fields behind my hut to pick maize (our corn). His little sister, as is custom, was strapped to the mother's back with a blanket and safety pin. He was walking along with her, in just a threadbare t-shirt and underwear. He is the most beautiful little boy, with enormous dark eyes that I spent many hours looking into and seeing my own reflection. At first, he was really shy with me, but his smile was easy and often contained his slightly protruding tongue. Over time, he became more and more comfortable with me and met me on my walk home from school. I taught him how to hold hands (which amazingly, the kids here don't know how to do with adults) and be carried on my hip. Eventually, we established a routine that my first greeting to him each day was to throw him into the air three or four times above my head much to his joy and a little bit of terror. Anytime I was inside my hut with the door closed, it was likely that Relebohile was standing outside, waiting for the door to open. And, if I went inside and left the door open, he would manoeuvre himself so that he could watch me inside. Before I left for Lesotho, Matt gave me his mini disk player (like a walkman) and several disks. I introduced Relebo to the earphones and the music pumped directly into his ears. He quickly learned how to crank up the volume and whenever he listened to music, I had to watch carefully so that I could turn it down when it was at an ear shattering level. In all the time that he and I
were friends, and like I said, we spent countless hours together, often with him snuggled quietly in my lap, he rarely spoke to me. He spoke to his older brother and sister occasionally, but only in Sesotho. Most of my little Basotho buddies liked to repeat English words, but Relebo was SOOOO quiet with me. However, one day he was listening to the mini disk player and the song “Cabron” by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers came on. If you don’t know the song, download it, it will make this story so much better. In the song, the word “Cabron” is repeated over and over and over. As Relebo was listening to his tunes, I was playing solitaire and was shocked to suddenly hear him belting out the chorus, simply “Cabron, cabron….”. I laughed aloud and he joined me, continuing to entertain me with his singing.
When I said goodbye to this little boy and tried to hug him, he wouldn’t put his head on my shoulder. Tears were silently flowing out of my eyes and he couldn’t take his eyes off of me, he was confused and perplexed to see his great buddy crying. I probably have over 100 photos of Relebo, so I’ll send them on as soon as I can (probably not until I return to Ottawa).
Tomorrow I am going on an adventure to a place called Ramabanta. I don’t know much about it other than that I am going to go “Pony Trekking” – a popular tourist activity here. A friend, Marnie Mitchel (who is a pharmacist at the Tsepong Clinic in Hlotse) is coming to pick me up and we are going for two days and one night to this hotel with two of her other friends (one of whom I think I’ve mentioned before, his name is Elliott and he’s from NYC, here for two years as a Peace Corps volunteer). I’ll be back to Maseru on Sunday evening, and I’ll hopefully be able to access e-mail then. If not, I’ll be online on Monday morning, and send details then.
On my second last day at Mahlekefane, I finally got to climb the mountain that is the main feature of the village. It’s the highest peak around and the main part of the village (including the school and my own hut) are right at the bottom of it. Since my first day there, I knew I wanted to get to the top of the mountain, but the teacher who was supposed to accompany me was often out of the village – visiting his home or working on the census (which just ended after 2 ½ weeks). Monday, my second last day, was gorgeous. The sky was a bright blue with NO clouds and the sun was out, warming the cool air. As there were no adults to guide me at this point, my Basotho mother (the grade 2 teacher) suggested that I get two of the grade 7 boys to come up with me. I asked the principal if she thought it would be alright for me to take the entire grade 7 class with me. Since their teacher was away, and they all knew me well, she agreed. I had played a lot of “Hangman” with the students and they loved the game, so I put the mystery message on the board and had them solve it. After guessing all the letters, together they read aloud, “Today there is no class, we will all climb Maleqatse”. Upon reading it, they erupted in a cheer. We trouped out of the classroom and towards the shop, to buy “Simba” (ketchup flavoured cheesies) and apples. I bought one of each for each of the students and myself because I didn’t know how long the climb would take and wanted to make sure they all had a little snack. The climb ended up taking 3 hours to get up the mountain. Already in the highlands, I really struggled with my breathing as we climbed higher and higher. And when I say climbed, I mean it literally. We climbed up the centre of the mountain, I thought we’d be taking a hike, but we went directly up for over 2 hours of the climb. The hill was literally at a 45 degree angle and each step felt like the equivalent of about three stairs. As I was huffing and puffing and pushing myself up with all my might, the fit kids in their awful torn shoes were literally running up the mountain, some on all fours like little cats, wrestling with each other, cartwheeling, singing and dancing. They thought it was funny to see me struggle so much, but they were extremely supportive, taking turns holding the hands of “Madam” (they either call me “’M’e Shauna” or “Madam”, which cracks me up). Even the little boys gently took my hands and patiently helped me along, teaching me that “going like a snake” was easier. This was the technique whereby I crossed the mountain on more of a horizontal line and then turned back, almost retracing my steps, but going a little higher each time. Much slower, but in fact, much easier. After many children taking turns with Madam, and happily carrying my “kit” (backpack), we reached the summit. It was stunningly gorgeous, an absolutely perfect day for looking around 360 degrees, surrounded by beautiful blue mountains, none of which was higher than we were. The kids excitedly pointed out other villages, schools, herds of cattle and sheep to me. We sang several songs (including “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”, which they adore), ate our snacks and played “Broken Telephone”. Then, we went around the circle and had each child say something that was making them happy. (Note: Most of them said that they were happy to have eaten the apples and Simba I picked up before the trek!) It was beautiful to hear all the different things and to hear how proud they all were to be at the top of the mountain that casts a shadow over their school at sunset. Most of them had never climbed Maleqatse and were happy to have done it. They found porcupine quills under a rock towards the top of the mountain and many were wearing them in their short hair – looking like spiky warriors. They told me the quills were birds’ feathers and this led to a discussion of things that were more and less aerodynamic. I had no idea there were porcupines here, and none of them did either, but the dozens of quills were very exciting. Our peaceful talk was disturbed when two mangy dogs appeared over the crag of a rock and began barking viscously. The dogs here are NOT pets and are VERY scary. The kids jumped to their feet, screaming, and in the melee, knocked me over. After a shepherd called the dogs and they left, I was given much care and many apologies! We continued our games and ended with some photos and a few more songs. We then headed down the mountain. The wild, reckless children rolled, somersaulted and ran full tilt over rocks and steep mountain. I was constantly calling for them to “BE CAREFUL!” Not a single one was hurt in the least. They are amazingly fit and resilient kids. Turns out there is a much easier way to get up and down Maleqatse, you can walk on a gentle incline on the side of the mountain, over smaller peaks. This is the route we took down and I asked the kids WHY they took me straight up the middle of the mountain. They said they liked it better. I think they felt bad for Madam, and brought me down an easier, more careful route after seeing my struggle! When we got back down to the outskirts of the village, we were met with people of all ages, singing and ululating at our return. We were a pretty funny sight to them, I guess. Twenty-nine students in the middle of the afternoon, sweating, smiling and singing, being led down their mountain by the funny foreigner. They couldn’t understand the REASON for our climbing the mountain. People go places with a purpose, they don’t walk around or hike for exercise, fresh air or the view like we do. The kids told me just to tell them we were looking for a jackal. It was probably my favourite day so far, so fun and rewarding for us all to go as a group. I was hurting like crazy the next day – especially my bottom, which further entertained the students, who were still bouncing around and eager to run and play soccer and net ball.
I’ve had literally dozens of marriage proposals here, either from the men themselves or their family members. For a long time, I was polite, telling them thank you but I’m perfectly happy with my boyfriend in Canada. To this, most responded that I needed a boyfriend in Lesotho. I tried to just laugh this response off, but often the proposer would often continue to press. I have now begun to tell men the conditions of marriage to me in order to more quickly dissuade them. In Lesotho, in order to marry a woman, the man’s family must pay a bride price (“lobola”) to the family of the intended wife. I have begun to demand a lobola of either one hundred head of cattle (it’s usually 3-7), delivered to my parents in Canada. When they tell me they don’t have that, I offer the alternative lobola of the skin of the Kholumolumo, a mythical Basotho beast whose name means “Big Mouth”. This is met with laughter and the subject of marriage is dropped much faster than my previous method of reasoning.
Please keep the e-mails coming, I was surprised to hear that Prince Harry is here in Lesotho. He’s opening an orphanage right now and maybe I’ll run into him!
Friday, April 28th, 2006 6:23 p.m.
Wow! Thank you for all the wonderful e-mails, once again I was crying in the Hlotse Internet Cafe. I'm blown away. I'm sorry I haven't had a chance to respond to them yet, but the internet was not working properly and I didn't have much time.
I am now (finally) in Maseru. I was unable to make it here yesterday, as it was a holiday and there were no hotel rooms in the whole city. I got here just a couple of hours ago and signed into my hotel, Lancer's Inn. Looks like I'm going to get to watch some TV tonight! I can't wait! Also, I'm going to go to a movie on Monday! I've really been missing some of the things that are so common in my regular life.
I fell in love with so many kids at Mahlekefane, but particularly with one little guy called Relebohile. He is a "single orphan" (meaning that one of his parents has passed away - a "double orphan" is what we would just call an "orphan" in Canada). The first day I met him, he and his mother and his baby sister were heading out to the fields behind my hut to pick maize (our corn). His little sister, as is custom, was strapped to the mother's back with a blanket and safety pin. He was walking along with her, in just a threadbare t-shirt and underwear. He is the most beautiful little boy, with enormous dark eyes that I spent many hours looking into and seeing my own reflection. At first, he was really shy with me, but his smile was easy and often contained his slightly protruding tongue. Over time, he became more and more comfortable with me and met me on my walk home from school. I taught him how to hold hands (which amazingly, the kids here don't know how to do with adults) and be carried on my hip. Eventually, we established a routine that my first greeting to him each day was to throw him into the air three or four times above my head much to his joy and a little bit of terror. Anytime I was inside my hut with the door closed, it was likely that Relebohile was standing outside, waiting for the door to open. And, if I went inside and left the door open, he would manoeuvre himself so that he could watch me inside. Before I left for Lesotho, Matt gave me his mini disk player (like a walkman) and several disks. I introduced Relebo to the earphones and the music pumped directly into his ears. He quickly learned how to crank up the volume and whenever he listened to music, I had to watch carefully so that I could turn it down when it was at an ear shattering level. In all the time that he and I
were friends, and like I said, we spent countless hours together, often with him snuggled quietly in my lap, he rarely spoke to me. He spoke to his older brother and sister occasionally, but only in Sesotho. Most of my little Basotho buddies liked to repeat English words, but Relebo was SOOOO quiet with me. However, one day he was listening to the mini disk player and the song “Cabron” by the Red Hot Chilli Peppers came on. If you don’t know the song, download it, it will make this story so much better. In the song, the word “Cabron” is repeated over and over and over. As Relebo was listening to his tunes, I was playing solitaire and was shocked to suddenly hear him belting out the chorus, simply “Cabron, cabron….”. I laughed aloud and he joined me, continuing to entertain me with his singing.When I said goodbye to this little boy and tried to hug him, he wouldn’t put his head on my shoulder. Tears were silently flowing out of my eyes and he couldn’t take his eyes off of me, he was confused and perplexed to see his great buddy crying. I probably have over 100 photos of Relebo, so I’ll send them on as soon as I can (probably not until I return to Ottawa).
Tomorrow I am going on an adventure to a place called Ramabanta. I don’t know much about it other than that I am going to go “Pony Trekking” – a popular tourist activity here. A friend, Marnie Mitchel (who is a pharmacist at the Tsepong Clinic in Hlotse) is coming to pick me up and we are going for two days and one night to this hotel with two of her other friends (one of whom I think I’ve mentioned before, his name is Elliott and he’s from NYC, here for two years as a Peace Corps volunteer). I’ll be back to Maseru on Sunday evening, and I’ll hopefully be able to access e-mail then. If not, I’ll be online on Monday morning, and send details then.
On my second last day at Mahlekefane, I finally got to climb the mountain that is the main feature of the village. It’s the highest peak around and the main part of the village (including the school and my own hut) are right at the bottom of it. Since my first day there, I knew I wanted to get to the top of the mountain, but the teacher who was supposed to accompany me was often out of the village – visiting his home or working on the census (which just ended after 2 ½ weeks). Monday, my second last day, was gorgeous. The sky was a bright blue with NO clouds and the sun was out, warming the cool air. As there were no adults to guide me at this point, my Basotho mother (the grade 2 teacher) suggested that I get two of the grade 7 boys to come up with me. I asked the principal if she thought it would be alright for me to take the entire grade 7 class with me. Since their teacher was away, and they all knew me well, she agreed. I had played a lot of “Hangman” with the students and they loved the game, so I put the mystery message on the board and had them solve it. After guessing all the letters, together they read aloud, “Today there is no class, we will all climb Maleqatse”. Upon reading it, they erupted in a cheer. We trouped out of the classroom and towards the shop, to buy “Simba” (ketchup flavoured cheesies) and apples. I bought one of each for each of the students and myself because I didn’t know how long the climb would take and wanted to make sure they all had a little snack. The climb ended up taking 3 hours to get up the mountain. Already in the highlands, I really struggled with my breathing as we climbed higher and higher. And when I say climbed, I mean it literally. We climbed up the centre of the mountain, I thought we’d be taking a hike, but we went directly up for over 2 hours of the climb. The hill was literally at a 45 degree angle and each step felt like the equivalent of about three stairs. As I was huffing and puffing and pushing myself up with all my might, the fit kids in their awful torn shoes were literally running up the mountain, some on all fours like little cats, wrestling with each other, cartwheeling, singing and dancing. They thought it was funny to see me struggle so much, but they were extremely supportive, taking turns holding the hands of “Madam” (they either call me “’M’e Shauna” or “Madam”, which cracks me up). Even the little boys gently took my hands and patiently helped me along, teaching me that “going like a snake” was easier. This was the technique whereby I crossed the mountain on more of a horizontal line and then turned back, almost retracing my steps, but going a little higher each time. Much slower, but in fact, much easier. After many children taking turns with Madam, and happily carrying my “kit” (backpack), we reached the summit. It was stunningly gorgeous, an absolutely perfect day for looking around 360 degrees, surrounded by beautiful blue mountains, none of which was higher than we were. The kids excitedly pointed out other villages, schools, herds of cattle and sheep to me. We sang several songs (including “The Lion Sleeps Tonight”, which they adore), ate our snacks and played “Broken Telephone”. Then, we went around the circle and had each child say something that was making them happy. (Note: Most of them said that they were happy to have eaten the apples and Simba I picked up before the trek!) It was beautiful to hear all the different things and to hear how proud they all were to be at the top of the mountain that casts a shadow over their school at sunset. Most of them had never climbed Maleqatse and were happy to have done it. They found porcupine quills under a rock towards the top of the mountain and many were wearing them in their short hair – looking like spiky warriors. They told me the quills were birds’ feathers and this led to a discussion of things that were more and less aerodynamic. I had no idea there were porcupines here, and none of them did either, but the dozens of quills were very exciting. Our peaceful talk was disturbed when two mangy dogs appeared over the crag of a rock and began barking viscously. The dogs here are NOT pets and are VERY scary. The kids jumped to their feet, screaming, and in the melee, knocked me over. After a shepherd called the dogs and they left, I was given much care and many apologies! We continued our games and ended with some photos and a few more songs. We then headed down the mountain. The wild, reckless children rolled, somersaulted and ran full tilt over rocks and steep mountain. I was constantly calling for them to “BE CAREFUL!” Not a single one was hurt in the least. They are amazingly fit and resilient kids. Turns out there is a much easier way to get up and down Maleqatse, you can walk on a gentle incline on the side of the mountain, over smaller peaks. This is the route we took down and I asked the kids WHY they took me straight up the middle of the mountain. They said they liked it better. I think they felt bad for Madam, and brought me down an easier, more careful route after seeing my struggle! When we got back down to the outskirts of the village, we were met with people of all ages, singing and ululating at our return. We were a pretty funny sight to them, I guess. Twenty-nine students in the middle of the afternoon, sweating, smiling and singing, being led down their mountain by the funny foreigner. They couldn’t understand the REASON for our climbing the mountain. People go places with a purpose, they don’t walk around or hike for exercise, fresh air or the view like we do. The kids told me just to tell them we were looking for a jackal. It was probably my favourite day so far, so fun and rewarding for us all to go as a group. I was hurting like crazy the next day – especially my bottom, which further entertained the students, who were still bouncing around and eager to run and play soccer and net ball.
I’ve had literally dozens of marriage proposals here, either from the men themselves or their family members. For a long time, I was polite, telling them thank you but I’m perfectly happy with my boyfriend in Canada. To this, most responded that I needed a boyfriend in Lesotho. I tried to just laugh this response off, but often the proposer would often continue to press. I have now begun to tell men the conditions of marriage to me in order to more quickly dissuade them. In Lesotho, in order to marry a woman, the man’s family must pay a bride price (“lobola”) to the family of the intended wife. I have begun to demand a lobola of either one hundred head of cattle (it’s usually 3-7), delivered to my parents in Canada. When they tell me they don’t have that, I offer the alternative lobola of the skin of the Kholumolumo, a mythical Basotho beast whose name means “Big Mouth”. This is met with laughter and the subject of marriage is dropped much faster than my previous method of reasoning.
Please keep the e-mails coming, I was surprised to hear that Prince Harry is here in Lesotho. He’s opening an orphanage right now and maybe I’ll run into him!
Lesotho Update #8
Lesotho Update #8
Thursday, April 27th, 2006 10:31 a.m. Lesotho time
Atch! Where to start? I have been entirely out of contact for just under a month and it’s wonderfully bizarre to be in a town with electricity, plumbing, running water, tarred roads, strangers and people who speak English.
I don’t even know where to begin, so much has happened since my last update last month. To everyone’s amazement, I stayed in the tiny village of Mahlekefane (it’s not on maps – but it’s between the towns of Ha Lejone and Kow in the Maluti Mountains of Lesotho) for four straight weeks. I came down in my stay there only once, that was the last time I sent an update, when I was here in Hlotse to buy gifts for the teacher’s families. After that, I lived in the community, and became integrated with these fascinating, smiling, laughing, warm people so that I’m already homesick for Mahlekefane and I’ve been gone for only twenty-four hours. Even this morning, waking up in the Help Lesotho office in Hlotse (also called Leribe), I looked around for the familiar surroundings of my beloved, cozy mud and dung hut. My heart fell when I saw the electrical outlets, light switch and light bulbs.
I took more than 2000 photos in Mahlekefane and could have easily taken double that, just in trying to capture my unbelievable life there, the breathtaking beauty of the surrounding mountains (which you really cannot capture in a photo) and the gorgeous children (who, fortunately, proved extremely photogenic, so I was able to capture them in a tiny way, to bring home!)
The people there get water out of a spring that they cover with a large flat stone so that the grazing cows and sheep do not dirty it. Surrounding the spring is thick dark clay. There is one grandmother in the village who makes handcrafted pots and fires them, literally, in the fire, this turns the clay much harder and changes it to an orange-brown colour. The children use the clay too. The little girls make small homes that look identical to the mud huts of the wealthier people in the village (those with furniture). The little boys make herds of cattle and dogs to guard them. Everything is done in intricate miniature, and I often, after a rain, when the clay is the best, watched with amazement as they built. After I was living there for about three weeks, the boys and girls alike began to make new toys out of clay. They began to appear, walking around the village, carrying homemade cameras, calling “Say cheese” to everyone they saw. My camera is the first one that many have seen, and they quickly learned how I used it. In imitation of my frequent shutterbugging, they built their own with shards of glass as lenses and flash. They even used dry grass to make straps to keep cameras safe on their wrists.
I have stopped eating meat (“nama”) because I cannot deal with looking at the animal and then having it appear on my plate. When I first arrived, I could not stomach the mutton intestines of the sheep that had been presented to me to pet and look at. During the time I spent at Mahlekefane, I was given four chickens as gifts and could only take the smallest bites of these birds who had been tied by their ankles in the yard of my Basotho family, awaiting slaughter and being chased around by my delighted Basotho sister, Makhumalo. The worst part of this is that the people giving me these generous gifts are not in possession of many things, especially not possessing many chickens. These gifts were truly heart-wrenching, as they represented such generousity of people with so little. I managed not to be insulting by being extremely grateful (“relebohile”) and offering them to share in the meat. The people at Mahlekefane rarely eat meat because of the expense, so they were always happy to share in the feasting. The teachers at the school think it is hilarious that I can eat meat from a shop in Canada but not from the animal in Lesotho. I am able to convince myself that the packet of chicken in Canada is just “meat”, but I cannot separate the chicken leg that appears on my plate from the orange punk-harried chicken that awoke me every morning, crowing loudly. This vegetarianism happened once before when I travelled, when I spent time in France in grade eight, and couldn’t bear to eat meat after seeing cows on their way to a slaughterhouse (one looked pleadingly, right into my eyes) and piglets squealing sadly in the blood of their recently slaughtered mother. That vegetarianism lasted almost five years. I don’t know how long this one will. I am craving a McDonald’s cheeseburger.
As I look back at this e-mail, I am laughing to myself as the news I am giving is not really news, just stream of consciousness, inconsequential tidbits. Like I said, I am overwhelmed. I have been out of contact with everyone I know for so long that I am having difficulty communicating effectively.
Expecting no Help Lesotho staff to be here in Hlotse now, I was pleasantly surprised to find my friends Mel, Cliff and Maseeiso all hard at work at the office when I arrived yesterday evening. I talked at an incredible rate for two full hours, jumping (literally and figuratively) all over the place. They just watched me with wide eyes. It has been so long since I’ve spoken ordinary English and not the Sesotho-English that I adapted while living in the mountains among people with little to no English.
I have had the most wonderful experience living at Mahlekefane. After the initial novelty of my skin colour wore off, I was accepted with open hearts, arms and homes to the community. Occasionally, I would meet another new child to whom I was the first ever “lakhoa” (white person) they had seen. Their reactions were alternately amazement and horror. So long as I took a while to come physically close, they were alright. Anytime I approached one of the fearful young ones, I was met with screams of terror from the child and screams of laughter from the parent. I became a part of the community, living, working, laughing and crying alongside them. I am so very fortunate to have been given this opportunity and so grateful that my experience was filled with so much joy.
During my five and a half weeks at Mahlekefane, there was a two week vacation for Easter and the Census that is currently finishing in Lesotho. Because I only had a limited time in the village, I wanted to make the best use of this time, so I operated a camp/school for the Standard Sevens for these two weeks. Standard Seven is roughly equivalent to our Grade Seven, but is the last year of Free Primary Education. Those students who come from families with lots of money or who manage to find generous donors (VERY few), and who have achieved high marks in Standard Seven (even fewer) may continue on to high school. They must board at high school, as there is not a school within walking distance of Mahlekefane.
Here I will stop and explain walking distance. In Canada, kids might walk up o a kilometre on sidewalks or at least paved roads to come to school. Most of the children attending Mahlekefane walk for at least 45 minutes to school. There are many who walk up to two or two and a half hours each way, each day. This walk is not an easy one, as it is up and down mountains on rocky paths or extremely narrow dirt roads. Adding to all this are the astoundingly bad quality of their shoes, they wear them until they literally fall off their feet, and then they leave them where they lie. Often, I would be walking around and find one lonely sole-less shoe lying one the road or in the fields.
Working with the Standard Sevens, I had to be very creative, as there are so few resources available at the school itself and the students’ level of English is very low. Over time, we worked out a wonderful system of games, stories, dancing, singing and hand gestures to communicate and I was happy to see the small but meaningful improvements in their spoken and written English over the time I spent with them.
I love them with all my heart and my departure was absolutely horrendous. The day before I left, the teachers had arranged for each of the seven grades to serenade me in turn. I was laughing and singing through the songs and dances that the Standard ones through six presented. Then, my Sevens took to the stage (facing me as I sat on a wooden bench). They sang a song that I love that they often sing at concerts or celebrations. I was fine, dancing and singing along. Then, they sang a song I had never heard. It was a Sesotho song, but my rudimentary knowledge of the language allowed me to translate the important parts. They sang, “Shauna, Shauna, Don’t forget Mahlekefane, Don’t forget M’e’ Ratia, Don’t forget ‘M’e Letata” and on and on, singing all the names of the teachers, with my name in between. I began to get misty eyed. Next, they sang, “Go in peace, Thank you, Thank you, Go well” (also in Sesotho). Many more tears. The other teachers all began to cry too. Then, to cap it all off, they sang “The Monkey Song”, a song made up by my brothers and that I taught to the Standard Sevens early and that they absolutely loved. There are actions and everything and they sang me that hilarious, happy song as I BAWLED. Then the principal serenaded me by herself on behalf of the teachers and made a speech in Sesotho that I caught enough words to continue crying. The kids sang the national anthem and I made a speech through my tears. Looking out at the 316 beautiful faces, there were many who were perplexed to see the “Mother of Joy” so upset. Then, their own tears started and I was given hundreds of wonderful, tearful hugs. My Standard Seven girls were sobbing and howling loudly, egging each others’ sorrow on, while a few of my tough little guys gave me blurry eyed hugs.
It was a difficult departure only because it had been such an easy stay. At Mahlekefane, I was met with consistent “pula, nala, khotso” (the national motto, meaning “rain, plenty, peace). I had an amazing experience, being accepted into this underdeveloped community where the people meet challenge and hardship with incredible strength, heartiness and find joy in anything and everything. The village itself was beautiful, but the people captured my heart, on new and exciting levels each day. I am in love with those people and will never, ever forget them or my time there. I had a totally unique experience, living among them and becoming one of them (the school motto is “Together as one – NO problems”) so much that I was absolutely at home there. They have sent their love to my loved ones. Family and friends in Canada are sent peace and happiness from my new family and friends in the mountains of Lesotho.
Returning to Hlotse, I was met with wonderful e-mails and even some packages that made me so joyful. Thank you for continuing to have interest in my adventures. Knowing that there are people supporting me at home makes me able to have the strength to get through being so far away, so out of touch and in such a totally different world.
I am on a five day break before I move to Thaba Tseka and Paray Primary School, my next position. I have to go to the capital city, Maseru to get my visitor’s Visa extended and am going to do some sightseeing around there as a break before I fall in love with a new village and new children.
I’ll be in touch each of those days, I have so much to tell, so much to wrap my head around that I’ll probably send more rambling messages.
Please, if you have any specific questions, e-mail me and I’ll focus on those things in my next e-mails. There is so much to tell , that it’s difficult to pick out just a few stories to tell.
Please keep the e-mails coming, they mean so much to me.
Thursday, April 27th, 2006 10:31 a.m. Lesotho time
Atch! Where to start? I have been entirely out of contact for just under a month and it’s wonderfully bizarre to be in a town with electricity, plumbing, running water, tarred roads, strangers and people who speak English.
I don’t even know where to begin, so much has happened since my last update last month. To everyone’s amazement, I stayed in the tiny village of Mahlekefane (it’s not on maps – but it’s between the towns of Ha Lejone and Kow in the Maluti Mountains of Lesotho) for four straight weeks. I came down in my stay there only once, that was the last time I sent an update, when I was here in Hlotse to buy gifts for the teacher’s families. After that, I lived in the community, and became integrated with these fascinating, smiling, laughing, warm people so that I’m already homesick for Mahlekefane and I’ve been gone for only twenty-four hours. Even this morning, waking up in the Help Lesotho office in Hlotse (also called Leribe), I looked around for the familiar surroundings of my beloved, cozy mud and dung hut. My heart fell when I saw the electrical outlets, light switch and light bulbs.
I took more than 2000 photos in Mahlekefane and could have easily taken double that, just in trying to capture my unbelievable life there, the breathtaking beauty of the surrounding mountains (which you really cannot capture in a photo) and the gorgeous children (who, fortunately, proved extremely photogenic, so I was able to capture them in a tiny way, to bring home!)The people there get water out of a spring that they cover with a large flat stone so that the grazing cows and sheep do not dirty it. Surrounding the spring is thick dark clay. There is one grandmother in the village who makes handcrafted pots and fires them, literally, in the fire, this turns the clay much harder and changes it to an orange-brown colour. The children use the clay too. The little girls make small homes that look identical to the mud huts of the wealthier people in the village (those with furniture). The little boys make herds of cattle and dogs to guard them. Everything is done in intricate miniature, and I often, after a rain, when the clay is the best, watched with amazement as they built. After I was living there for about three weeks, the boys and girls alike began to make new toys out of clay. They began to appear, walking around the village, carrying homemade cameras, calling “Say cheese” to everyone they saw. My camera is the first one that many have seen, and they quickly learned how I used it. In imitation of my frequent shutterbugging, they built their own with shards of glass as lenses and flash. They even used dry grass to make straps to keep cameras safe on their wrists.
I have stopped eating meat (“nama”) because I cannot deal with looking at the animal and then having it appear on my plate. When I first arrived, I could not stomach the mutton intestines of the sheep that had been presented to me to pet and look at. During the time I spent at Mahlekefane, I was given four chickens as gifts and could only take the smallest bites of these birds who had been tied by their ankles in the yard of my Basotho family, awaiting slaughter and being chased around by my delighted Basotho sister, Makhumalo. The worst part of this is that the people giving me these generous gifts are not in possession of many things, especially not possessing many chickens. These gifts were truly heart-wrenching, as they represented such generousity of people with so little. I managed not to be insulting by being extremely grateful (“relebohile”) and offering them to share in the meat. The people at Mahlekefane rarely eat meat because of the expense, so they were always happy to share in the feasting. The teachers at the school think it is hilarious that I can eat meat from a shop in Canada but not from the animal in Lesotho. I am able to convince myself that the packet of chicken in Canada is just “meat”, but I cannot separate the chicken leg that appears on my plate from the orange punk-harried chicken that awoke me every morning, crowing loudly. This vegetarianism happened once before when I travelled, when I spent time in France in grade eight, and couldn’t bear to eat meat after seeing cows on their way to a slaughterhouse (one looked pleadingly, right into my eyes) and piglets squealing sadly in the blood of their recently slaughtered mother. That vegetarianism lasted almost five years. I don’t know how long this one will. I am craving a McDonald’s cheeseburger.
As I look back at this e-mail, I am laughing to myself as the news I am giving is not really news, just stream of consciousness, inconsequential tidbits. Like I said, I am overwhelmed. I have been out of contact with everyone I know for so long that I am having difficulty communicating effectively.
Expecting no Help Lesotho staff to be here in Hlotse now, I was pleasantly surprised to find my friends Mel, Cliff and Maseeiso all hard at work at the office when I arrived yesterday evening. I talked at an incredible rate for two full hours, jumping (literally and figuratively) all over the place. They just watched me with wide eyes. It has been so long since I’ve spoken ordinary English and not the Sesotho-English that I adapted while living in the mountains among people with little to no English.
I have had the most wonderful experience living at Mahlekefane. After the initial novelty of my skin colour wore off, I was accepted with open hearts, arms and homes to the community. Occasionally, I would meet another new child to whom I was the first ever “lakhoa” (white person) they had seen. Their reactions were alternately amazement and horror. So long as I took a while to come physically close, they were alright. Anytime I approached one of the fearful young ones, I was met with screams of terror from the child and screams of laughter from the parent. I became a part of the community, living, working, laughing and crying alongside them. I am so very fortunate to have been given this opportunity and so grateful that my experience was filled with so much joy.
During my five and a half weeks at Mahlekefane, there was a two week vacation for Easter and the Census that is currently finishing in Lesotho. Because I only had a limited time in the village, I wanted to make the best use of this time, so I operated a camp/school for the Standard Sevens for these two weeks. Standard Seven is roughly equivalent to our Grade Seven, but is the last year of Free Primary Education. Those students who come from families with lots of money or who manage to find generous donors (VERY few), and who have achieved high marks in Standard Seven (even fewer) may continue on to high school. They must board at high school, as there is not a school within walking distance of Mahlekefane.
Here I will stop and explain walking distance. In Canada, kids might walk up o a kilometre on sidewalks or at least paved roads to come to school. Most of the children attending Mahlekefane walk for at least 45 minutes to school. There are many who walk up to two or two and a half hours each way, each day. This walk is not an easy one, as it is up and down mountains on rocky paths or extremely narrow dirt roads. Adding to all this are the astoundingly bad quality of their shoes, they wear them until they literally fall off their feet, and then they leave them where they lie. Often, I would be walking around and find one lonely sole-less shoe lying one the road or in the fields.
Working with the Standard Sevens, I had to be very creative, as there are so few resources available at the school itself and the students’ level of English is very low. Over time, we worked out a wonderful system of games, stories, dancing, singing and hand gestures to communicate and I was happy to see the small but meaningful improvements in their spoken and written English over the time I spent with them.
I love them with all my heart and my departure was absolutely horrendous. The day before I left, the teachers had arranged for each of the seven grades to serenade me in turn. I was laughing and singing through the songs and dances that the Standard ones through six presented. Then, my Sevens took to the stage (facing me as I sat on a wooden bench). They sang a song that I love that they often sing at concerts or celebrations. I was fine, dancing and singing along. Then, they sang a song I had never heard. It was a Sesotho song, but my rudimentary knowledge of the language allowed me to translate the important parts. They sang, “Shauna, Shauna, Don’t forget Mahlekefane, Don’t forget M’e’ Ratia, Don’t forget ‘M’e Letata” and on and on, singing all the names of the teachers, with my name in between. I began to get misty eyed. Next, they sang, “Go in peace, Thank you, Thank you, Go well” (also in Sesotho). Many more tears. The other teachers all began to cry too. Then, to cap it all off, they sang “The Monkey Song”, a song made up by my brothers and that I taught to the Standard Sevens early and that they absolutely loved. There are actions and everything and they sang me that hilarious, happy song as I BAWLED. Then the principal serenaded me by herself on behalf of the teachers and made a speech in Sesotho that I caught enough words to continue crying. The kids sang the national anthem and I made a speech through my tears. Looking out at the 316 beautiful faces, there were many who were perplexed to see the “Mother of Joy” so upset. Then, their own tears started and I was given hundreds of wonderful, tearful hugs. My Standard Seven girls were sobbing and howling loudly, egging each others’ sorrow on, while a few of my tough little guys gave me blurry eyed hugs.
It was a difficult departure only because it had been such an easy stay. At Mahlekefane, I was met with consistent “pula, nala, khotso” (the national motto, meaning “rain, plenty, peace). I had an amazing experience, being accepted into this underdeveloped community where the people meet challenge and hardship with incredible strength, heartiness and find joy in anything and everything. The village itself was beautiful, but the people captured my heart, on new and exciting levels each day. I am in love with those people and will never, ever forget them or my time there. I had a totally unique experience, living among them and becoming one of them (the school motto is “Together as one – NO problems”) so much that I was absolutely at home there. They have sent their love to my loved ones. Family and friends in Canada are sent peace and happiness from my new family and friends in the mountains of Lesotho.
Returning to Hlotse, I was met with wonderful e-mails and even some packages that made me so joyful. Thank you for continuing to have interest in my adventures. Knowing that there are people supporting me at home makes me able to have the strength to get through being so far away, so out of touch and in such a totally different world.
I am on a five day break before I move to Thaba Tseka and Paray Primary School, my next position. I have to go to the capital city, Maseru to get my visitor’s Visa extended and am going to do some sightseeing around there as a break before I fall in love with a new village and new children.
I’ll be in touch each of those days, I have so much to tell, so much to wrap my head around that I’ll probably send more rambling messages.
Please, if you have any specific questions, e-mail me and I’ll focus on those things in my next e-mails. There is so much to tell , that it’s difficult to pick out just a few stories to tell.
Please keep the e-mails coming, they mean so much to me.
Lesotho Update #7
Friday, March 31st, 2006
Good morning! It's 9:49 a.m. here - you're all snoozing at 2:49 a.m., safe and warm in your beds in your heated (or perhaps by now, air conditioned homes!)
I will be leaving for Mahlekefane shortly. I have two huge bags of boots and coats for the teachers' kids and am so excited to see them in their new warm coats. It was difficult to find cozy warm things here - they don't have many warm North American style coats, because people dress in layers and top everything off with their heavy Basotho blankets, often worn as though they were capes.
I am spending four uninterrupted weeks in Mahlekefane and am thrilled. The two days I've been away, I've been missing the people there and the clean, clear air and absolutely breathtaking view of the mountains. It is totally indescribable, the beauty of the mountains (that is rivalled by the beauty of the people). The village where I live is on the edge of a mountain - agriculture is done on plateaus up the mountain. If you walk towards the school, you approach a steep slope down to a river that leads to the Katse Dam (the freshwater dam in Lesotho that belongs to the government of South Africa. The South Africans pay the Basotho $21 million a month for the dam...none of this filters down to anyone who needs it in this country). If you walk away from the school, towards my hut, you head into higher mountains, like the one I will be climbing tomorrow - the pyramid shaped Maleqatse (q is a click). I'm excited to get back to the village and see faces that have already become familiar and dear.
Last night, I was able to find supplies for makeshift S'Mores that we shared with our Basotho friends around a campfire. I have been staying with two wonderful Ottawa girls who are interns for a closely associated CIDA sponsored project called Youth Against HIV/AIDS. Donna and Mel have been wonderful support and I'm crazy about them. It was the three of us along with 'M'e Mahlmpho (the office neighbour and an incredible single mother of 3 living on an 800 Rand a month teachers' salary - her boys are very bright and succeed in school, but high school is crazily expensive, so she struggles) and her boys Matekoa, Mpho and Hlmpho. There were other friends there as well, a friend of the boys named Thabo (which you will recognize as part of my Sesotho name, 'M'e Mathabo!) and a woman who works at the nearby Leribe Craft Centre.
The Leribe Craft Centre is in the same compound as the Help Lesotho office and was a project created by 'M'e Mojaje (of long ago computer lessons - we actually had another this morning!) to create a livelihood for disabled women from nearby villages. They make beautiful mohair scarves (in wildly bright colours) with mohair collected from goats in the mountains at Ha Lejone (20 minutes from Mahlekefane). The women clean, dye, spin and weave the wool into gorgeous crafts. All of them are physically disabled and energetic, lovely and friendly. At the fire last night was one of the women - she is profoundly deaf and speaks in sign language only. She was delighted the entire night. As the maize roast progressed, we were joined by more neighbours (all the women who work at the Craft Centre live on the compound and wanted to join the fun).
We had a blast, singing songs, playing games, wishing on stars, learning sign language, eating roasted corn and S'Mores (the night watchman even stopped by for a treat!) and laughing at 'M'e Regina who told us stories of witches. This week, there has been a much discussed news item - a woman who reporters are claiming is a witch was found sitting in a taxi one morning, locked inside in only her "panties and petticoat". I don't know what this has to do with witchcraft, because she could have easily locked the door behind her after entering the parked car, but for some reason, her being inside the locked car, and barely dressed has made her a witch. There are some strange superstitions about witches that 'M'e Regina told us all about.
Mpho was waving a stick in the air after roasting marshmallows - the stick had a bit of burning ember at the tip. 'M'e Regina made him stop right away, as it was beckoning witches. There are all sorts of things you cannot do after dark - waving burning sticks is just one. If you leave out your laundry, cut your nails or your hair after the sun goes down, a witch will pick up your clothes, nail or hair clippings, sniff them and know that they are yours and will come and do terrible things to you (never specified). Before we went to bed, Donna took down all her laundry. 'M'e Regina's stories were hilarious, she is a gifted storyteller and uses her whole body and face to tell a story. She is hard of hearing and was teaching us signs by the fire. We laughed so hard. It was a wonderful night for me to be in town, the first time I have been outside after dark here!
Thanks once again for all the wonderful e-mails, the support and the news from home. I'm sorry I have been unable to respond to all individually, but I have read all messages and really appreciate them. It's only that the internet is so slow and expensive here that I don't get a chance to write lots of personal messages. When I get home, I promise to make up for it! Do know that your messages are being read and absorbed. I feel so energized and empowered from all the love and appreciation I have recieved from you. Thank you for that. You have helped so much in charging up my batteries for the remainder of my time here.
This break has been great, refocusing me and reminding me what I am doing here and I return to the mountains today refreshed and totally eager and enthusiastic. I will be back to Hlotse for a couple of days at the end of the month. I am coming down on the last Friday of April (the 28th, I believe) and will stay for the weekend. Because I will be back, I have arranged with the neighbour here (the beautiful 'M'e Mahlmpo, mother two three clever, funny and charming little boys) to collect any mail for me. This means that if you are interested, and can do it in the next couple of days, you can send me letters, photos or items from home! Mail takes about three weeks, so anything should be sent ASAP in order for me to be able to recieve it! I'd love somethings to read - a paperback, some current magazines (how I miss my celebrity gossip!), some tasty milk chocolate (the chocolate here just doesn't compete with ours and the small supply I bought in Switzerland is long gone, shared with other Canadian volunteers!). Most of all, I'd love letters and photos to keep with me. Anything that can be sent should not be very valuable, as I have been warned about the reliability of the mail here, but I would be SO happy to get anything from home! The mailing address is c/o 'M'e Mahlmpho c/o St. Mary's Home Economics School PO Box 707 Leribe 300 Lesotho. I brought many balloons which have been hugely popular, but I'm running out and they are not available here for a decent price. Also, the kids are crazy about the punching balloons (available at the Dollar Store in Canada), they're sturdy and attached to an elastic.
Any little sign of home will be so appreciated when I've been gone for seven weeks! Thanks once again for reading these and joining me in this journey, this wild experience!
I'll be in touch in late April or early May!
Happy April Fool's Day tomorrow,
Bye-byeeeee (as the kids say here, it's the cutest the way they raise their tone at the end of the second "bye")!
Good morning! It's 9:49 a.m. here - you're all snoozing at 2:49 a.m., safe and warm in your beds in your heated (or perhaps by now, air conditioned homes!)
I will be leaving for Mahlekefane shortly. I have two huge bags of boots and coats for the teachers' kids and am so excited to see them in their new warm coats. It was difficult to find cozy warm things here - they don't have many warm North American style coats, because people dress in layers and top everything off with their heavy Basotho blankets, often worn as though they were capes.
I am spending four uninterrupted weeks in Mahlekefane and am thrilled. The two days I've been away, I've been missing the people there and the clean, clear air and absolutely breathtaking view of the mountains. It is totally indescribable, the beauty of the mountains (that is rivalled by the beauty of the people). The village where I live is on the edge of a mountain - agriculture is done on plateaus up the mountain. If you walk towards the school, you approach a steep slope down to a river that leads to the Katse Dam (the freshwater dam in Lesotho that belongs to the government of South Africa. The South Africans pay the Basotho $21 million a month for the dam...none of this filters down to anyone who needs it in this country). If you walk away from the school, towards my hut, you head into higher mountains, like the one I will be climbing tomorrow - the pyramid shaped Maleqatse (q is a click). I'm excited to get back to the village and see faces that have already become familiar and dear.
Last night, I was able to find supplies for makeshift S'Mores that we shared with our Basotho friends around a campfire. I have been staying with two wonderful Ottawa girls who are interns for a closely associated CIDA sponsored project called Youth Against HIV/AIDS. Donna and Mel have been wonderful support and I'm crazy about them. It was the three of us along with 'M'e Mahlmpho (the office neighbour and an incredible single mother of 3 living on an 800 Rand a month teachers' salary - her boys are very bright and succeed in school, but high school is crazily expensive, so she struggles) and her boys Matekoa, Mpho and Hlmpho. There were other friends there as well, a friend of the boys named Thabo (which you will recognize as part of my Sesotho name, 'M'e Mathabo!) and a woman who works at the nearby Leribe Craft Centre.
The Leribe Craft Centre is in the same compound as the Help Lesotho office and was a project created by 'M'e Mojaje (of long ago computer lessons - we actually had another this morning!) to create a livelihood for disabled women from nearby villages. They make beautiful mohair scarves (in wildly bright colours) with mohair collected from goats in the mountains at Ha Lejone (20 minutes from Mahlekefane). The women clean, dye, spin and weave the wool into gorgeous crafts. All of them are physically disabled and energetic, lovely and friendly. At the fire last night was one of the women - she is profoundly deaf and speaks in sign language only. She was delighted the entire night. As the maize roast progressed, we were joined by more neighbours (all the women who work at the Craft Centre live on the compound and wanted to join the fun).
We had a blast, singing songs, playing games, wishing on stars, learning sign language, eating roasted corn and S'Mores (the night watchman even stopped by for a treat!) and laughing at 'M'e Regina who told us stories of witches. This week, there has been a much discussed news item - a woman who reporters are claiming is a witch was found sitting in a taxi one morning, locked inside in only her "panties and petticoat". I don't know what this has to do with witchcraft, because she could have easily locked the door behind her after entering the parked car, but for some reason, her being inside the locked car, and barely dressed has made her a witch. There are some strange superstitions about witches that 'M'e Regina told us all about.
Mpho was waving a stick in the air after roasting marshmallows - the stick had a bit of burning ember at the tip. 'M'e Regina made him stop right away, as it was beckoning witches. There are all sorts of things you cannot do after dark - waving burning sticks is just one. If you leave out your laundry, cut your nails or your hair after the sun goes down, a witch will pick up your clothes, nail or hair clippings, sniff them and know that they are yours and will come and do terrible things to you (never specified). Before we went to bed, Donna took down all her laundry. 'M'e Regina's stories were hilarious, she is a gifted storyteller and uses her whole body and face to tell a story. She is hard of hearing and was teaching us signs by the fire. We laughed so hard. It was a wonderful night for me to be in town, the first time I have been outside after dark here!
Thanks once again for all the wonderful e-mails, the support and the news from home. I'm sorry I have been unable to respond to all individually, but I have read all messages and really appreciate them. It's only that the internet is so slow and expensive here that I don't get a chance to write lots of personal messages. When I get home, I promise to make up for it! Do know that your messages are being read and absorbed. I feel so energized and empowered from all the love and appreciation I have recieved from you. Thank you for that. You have helped so much in charging up my batteries for the remainder of my time here.
This break has been great, refocusing me and reminding me what I am doing here and I return to the mountains today refreshed and totally eager and enthusiastic. I will be back to Hlotse for a couple of days at the end of the month. I am coming down on the last Friday of April (the 28th, I believe) and will stay for the weekend. Because I will be back, I have arranged with the neighbour here (the beautiful 'M'e Mahlmpo, mother two three clever, funny and charming little boys) to collect any mail for me. This means that if you are interested, and can do it in the next couple of days, you can send me letters, photos or items from home! Mail takes about three weeks, so anything should be sent ASAP in order for me to be able to recieve it! I'd love somethings to read - a paperback, some current magazines (how I miss my celebrity gossip!), some tasty milk chocolate (the chocolate here just doesn't compete with ours and the small supply I bought in Switzerland is long gone, shared with other Canadian volunteers!). Most of all, I'd love letters and photos to keep with me. Anything that can be sent should not be very valuable, as I have been warned about the reliability of the mail here, but I would be SO happy to get anything from home! The mailing address is c/o 'M'e Mahlmpho c/o St. Mary's Home Economics School PO Box 707 Leribe 300 Lesotho. I brought many balloons which have been hugely popular, but I'm running out and they are not available here for a decent price. Also, the kids are crazy about the punching balloons (available at the Dollar Store in Canada), they're sturdy and attached to an elastic.
Any little sign of home will be so appreciated when I've been gone for seven weeks! Thanks once again for reading these and joining me in this journey, this wild experience!
I'll be in touch in late April or early May!
Happy April Fool's Day tomorrow,
Bye-byeeeee (as the kids say here, it's the cutest the way they raise their tone at the end of the second "bye")!
Thursday, March 1, 2007
Lesotho Update #6
Thursday, March 30th, 2007
Good afternoon, It is now 1 :16 p.m. Lesotho time (about 6 :16 a.m. in Ottawa)
(I'm finally getting around to sending this at 2:44 p.m. - most of you will be up already or getting up really soon! Have a fantastic day!)
I attempted to write this message this morning, and got about halfway through when the internet abruptly stopped working and my message was lost. I’ve been gone a couple of hours and just came back in, asking the manager if the internet will continue to work this time, he said that he wishes it will. I’m keeping my fingers crossed (which is very difficult when you type), but as a precaution, am writing this e-mail on Microsoft Word. When I was first in here this morning, I was met with lots of new e-mail messages. My eyes filled with tears and I was left clumsily wiping them away as I read message after message of love and encouragement. Thank you to all of you who are reading these messages and especially those of you who are taking the time to respond. The support means SO much to me. Thank you thank you thank you!
Today my shopping has continued, I have bought all the jackets and boots save for one set. I’ll stop by the shops this afternoon to look again.
Let me tell you about my hut in Mahlekefane. I live in a round hut (called a rondavel), made of mud and cow dung with a beautiful thatch roof. It is quite roomy – with a radius of about 9 or 10 feet. There are a few closets in the single room, filled with the clothing and blankets of the Letata family (my hosts). I sleep on a double bed which has a mattress and a frame and is off the floor. I sleep under three Basotho blankets – very cozy and with a pillow made of my unused clothing. The pillows here are too lumpy for my liking, and after a few nights using them, I gave up for the softer clothing alternative.
I have bedside tables attached to my bed, on which I rest several candles – I like lots of light. When they’re extinguised at night, the darkness is so totally complete that you cannot see a thing. The mud floor is covered in linoleoum simulating wood and there is a short dressing table with three large mirrors. I was actually looking forward to being away from mirrors, but now I actually have to look at myself each morning, so I am happily using the warm water that my ‘M’e (Mother) brings me to bathe with.
I even have a small table in my hut, on which I sometimes eat (when I can escape the watchful eyes of all my friends in the village – they love to watch me eat!) soup. I am consistently fed HUGE meals and once in a while, need a break and have some instant soups in my hut. There is a huge bag of maize meal that the Letata family keeps in the hut in which I am living. There are also kitchen type cupboards in which they hold many dishes and cooking implements, as well as extra candles, sugar, flour, etc.
Like most families in Mahlekefane, the Letatas have more than one hut. Each hut is like a sepearte room and is used for a different purpose. I am sleeping the the ‘storage’ hut and they sleep in the ‘kitchen’. Pietir Letata is a coal miner who comes home for one or two nights a month and Ntsiseng, the 12 year old daughter lives with her grandparents, so it is just Menkalimeng (my ‘M’e) and Mahkumalo. They sleep together on a single cot in the corner of the very bare kitchen hut. When I asked why they do not use the beautiful hut in which I sleep, as I would be very happy to sleep on a single bed, ‘M’e tells me that she hates the cold. The kitchen hut is much warmer, as it is where all the cooking happens. Don’t think that I am being neglected though, the past few nights were pretty cold and I was given extra blenkets and the use of a neighbour’s heater for the evening (I’m being taken care of so well that I feel awful for all the people who need so much more and volunter to help ME out).
Anyway, my hut is a traditional Basotho hut, but well taken care of (like everything here! The four year olds learn to shine their shoes daily), and very comfortable. There is obviously no electricity or running water, but I will often wake up, feeling like I am in my own bed in Ottawa.
On the first day of the feast for the returning initiates, the men paraded into the field surrounded by their dogs. The dogs in Lesotho are not like our pets in Canada, some are beautiful, but they are trained not as housepets and companions but as vicious guards. The herders (the initates) have the most beautiful healthy dogs. When they arrived into the village, led by their proud dogs, each man and dog was decorated in red ochre. At the commencement of the ceremony, with the dogs settling in next to their singing masters, there was one dog sitting on the periphery with the women who I’m certain was frowning. He looked so sad. He kept approaching the area wiht the painted dogs and looked sadly around, obvioulsly envious of their adornments and high status. I got a photo of him hanging his head after he realized he truly didn’t fit in.
The family with which I live has a cat, named ‘katse’. The animals are not given names, but are simply called their Sesotho names (a dog is an ‘nja’). He is a tiny little cat who is very snarly and hissy. When I have tuna, I give him the water from the can. I’m trying to befriend him, but it’s not really working. His ears are both snipped at the tops. This is so that he will stay near home. Apparently he was running away to the ‘forest’ (there is, in fact, nothing CLOSE to a Canadian forest in Mahlekefane – there are maybe three gatherings of two small trees each), so I’m not sure where the cat was going. Nor am I sure where kids go to the toilet, as I am told they go in the ‘forest’), and in order to scare him from the forest and back home, Ntate Letata took him to the forest and snipped his ears. Thus forth, he stays near home. Yikes.
I am working wtih the children on basic vocabulary, including colours – which are fun and easy to teach, as you can point at anything to practice. Before I left for Hlotse yesterday morning, I went to visit my pal, Masefatsa who was resting in bed after a sudden seizure the night before (I am going to the hospital with her and her grandmother on Sunday). She was feeling OK, but tired and achy (understandably), and she began her favourite game of telling me colours of things. I would point at something and she would say the colour, my bracelet, ‘rrrred’ (she rolls her ‘r’s adorably), her blanket, ‘grrrreen’, a plant, also ‘grrrreen’. Then she pointed at my hand and said ‘white’. I pointed at her hand and asked what colour, she said, ‘grrrrreen’. Whatever you say. She also loves to be tickled – The Round and Round the Garden Game, Spiders Crawling Up Your Bag (note: this was supposed to say "Spiders Crawling Up Your Back", but it's pretty funny to leave the original typo) , and This Little Piggy. She’ll climb into my lap and present me with whatever part of her body she wants tickled. For the Round and Round, I am presented with a tiny perfect palm, Spiders get her head tucked down and her back rounded and the Piggies mean her shoe is kicked off and her tiny toes are in the air.
The kids have started to lead one another in the ‘Hands Up’ game we play. It’s great – they practice their English and warm up from the cold. One person shouts out directions which the group repeats and then does the action. They love ‘wiggle, wiggle, wiggle’ and ‘shake, shake, shake’. Everyday I try to expand the actions and vocabulary, but when they lead, they stick to the old standbys!
The day that the classrooms were being smeared, the kids were able to play with their toys outside. I saw some amazing things – the most detailed cars and trucks made out of wire (one had a trunk filled with Coke cans, rearview mirrors and even an accessory hanging from the main rearview!), the hoops and sticks similar to those who remember studying pioneer Canada, rocks used to play a checkers type game on a larger rock on which a gameboard has been set up using a small rock to carve into the surface, and many animals and houses made out of clay from the area surrounding the spring (we get water from the freshwater spring and I chlorinate it to drink). The toys I brought have been incorporated into their play beautifully.
I have been practising daily carrying things on my head, one of my steps in becoming a true ‘Masotho woman’. I carried a five litre bucket of water from the spring to the school with just one hand for balance. Pretty good. The women are helping me by constructing rings out of scarves for me to rest on my head as support. I am getting better though. Don’t be surprised if you see me walking the streets of Ottawa with a sewing machine or logs on my head (I have seen women carrying the most incredible things!)
I’ve pulled out my puppet (who’s name is ‘Bapala’ – Sesotho for play) a few times to hilarious reactions, some kids were initially terrified. Then Bapala started kissing some kids and the others all wanted in on the action. When I introduced Bapala to the adults, their reactions were identical – a few rough, grown men screamed and ran away in terror to the laughter of their friends, while some happily accepted Bapala’s kisses. One man tried to get a kiss from me instead of Bapala but I laughed it off (as I do with the numerous marriage proposals I recieve each day. People think that because I am white, I am rich and am their ticket to a better life. I wonder how one of these forward men would react if I just up and said yes. I’m not going to try, for fear that it would be binding!) Bapala now has a messy mouth and tongue from kissing so many people, but he and his fans are happy!
I gave the soccer balls along with other sports and school equpement to the principal, ‘M’e Ratia on Monday, and things were distributed on Tuesday afternoon. Along wtih the things I had brought, about 100 hats and a bunch of toothbrushes that were donated by other Help Lesotho volunteers were given out. The toothbrushes and paste were given to hte double and single orphans. A child here who has had one parent die is called a single orphan, and what we would call an orphan is here called a double orphan. The hats were given to the double orphans and all of the kids in calss one (the equivannet of our grade one, but with a big range of ages, from three to nine). ‘M’e Ratia handed out the new soccer balls, one to the girls for net ball (esentially basketball without the dribbling) and one to the boys for football (our soccer). The grade sevens are the ones who play, and all the other students, grade one to six stand on the sidelines. At first I thought, ‘how boring for them’. But then the game started. The grades one to sixes are responsible for provinding morale, they sing and dance (special morale boosting songs) and cheer things like ‘Many lions!’ in Sesotho (I think it’s like us yelling De-fence!) It’s fantastic to watch them in their physical education, the songs are all sung in beautiful harmony and the dance steps just add to the whole effect. The same thing happens when the grade sevens train for running. They run barefoot for 1 ½ hours as the younger students boost morale with song and dance. The kids are amazing runners and due to the high altitude and their incredible lung capacity, are fantastic competitors against the kids in the lowlands.
Primary school here is free and goes from grade one to grade seven. Grades 8-12 are high school and are called Form A, B, C, D and E. High school is expensive, so many children are unable to attend. This is why Help Lesotho sponsors many older children, as they are the ones who need help to pay school fees.
Tonight, the office staff and I have been invited to the neighbour’s for a maize roast (these are the three little boys and mother who live in a one room apartment next to the office). I have been recruited to bring marshmallows to roast and I’ll see if I can scrounge together some chocolate and graham cracker type cookies to let them try S’mores (there are cookies here called Maria biscuits which taste exactly like Arrowroots – yum!)
Even better than the Marie biscuits, though, are fat cakes. This is cakey dough that is deep fried in fat (usually corn oil these days). They are amazingly greasy and delicious adn taste like Tiny Tom’s doughnuts. On the way to the internet cafe, I saw a bunch of school girls heading past me carrying bags of them, apparently they can be purchased on the main street in town. I’ll go on a hunt after sending this e-mail!
Soon in Mahlekefane, there will be a World Food Program delivery and a cultural day with the traditional male and female dances. I can’t wait! I’ll tell you all about it in May, when I’ll be coming down next (Sam, I’ll be thinking of you on your birthday!)
Good afternoon, It is now 1 :16 p.m. Lesotho time (about 6 :16 a.m. in Ottawa)
(I'm finally getting around to sending this at 2:44 p.m. - most of you will be up already or getting up really soon! Have a fantastic day!)
I attempted to write this message this morning, and got about halfway through when the internet abruptly stopped working and my message was lost. I’ve been gone a couple of hours and just came back in, asking the manager if the internet will continue to work this time, he said that he wishes it will. I’m keeping my fingers crossed (which is very difficult when you type), but as a precaution, am writing this e-mail on Microsoft Word. When I was first in here this morning, I was met with lots of new e-mail messages. My eyes filled with tears and I was left clumsily wiping them away as I read message after message of love and encouragement. Thank you to all of you who are reading these messages and especially those of you who are taking the time to respond. The support means SO much to me. Thank you thank you thank you!
Today my shopping has continued, I have bought all the jackets and boots save for one set. I’ll stop by the shops this afternoon to look again.
Let me tell you about my hut in Mahlekefane. I live in a round hut (called a rondavel), made of mud and cow dung with a beautiful thatch roof. It is quite roomy – with a radius of about 9 or 10 feet. There are a few closets in the single room, filled with the clothing and blankets of the Letata family (my hosts). I sleep on a double bed which has a mattress and a frame and is off the floor. I sleep under three Basotho blankets – very cozy and with a pillow made of my unused clothing. The pillows here are too lumpy for my liking, and after a few nights using them, I gave up for the softer clothing alternative.
I have bedside tables attached to my bed, on which I rest several candles – I like lots of light. When they’re extinguised at night, the darkness is so totally complete that you cannot see a thing. The mud floor is covered in linoleoum simulating wood and there is a short dressing table with three large mirrors. I was actually looking forward to being away from mirrors, but now I actually have to look at myself each morning, so I am happily using the warm water that my ‘M’e (Mother) brings me to bathe with.
I even have a small table in my hut, on which I sometimes eat (when I can escape the watchful eyes of all my friends in the village – they love to watch me eat!) soup. I am consistently fed HUGE meals and once in a while, need a break and have some instant soups in my hut. There is a huge bag of maize meal that the Letata family keeps in the hut in which I am living. There are also kitchen type cupboards in which they hold many dishes and cooking implements, as well as extra candles, sugar, flour, etc.
Like most families in Mahlekefane, the Letatas have more than one hut. Each hut is like a sepearte room and is used for a different purpose. I am sleeping the the ‘storage’ hut and they sleep in the ‘kitchen’. Pietir Letata is a coal miner who comes home for one or two nights a month and Ntsiseng, the 12 year old daughter lives with her grandparents, so it is just Menkalimeng (my ‘M’e) and Mahkumalo. They sleep together on a single cot in the corner of the very bare kitchen hut. When I asked why they do not use the beautiful hut in which I sleep, as I would be very happy to sleep on a single bed, ‘M’e tells me that she hates the cold. The kitchen hut is much warmer, as it is where all the cooking happens. Don’t think that I am being neglected though, the past few nights were pretty cold and I was given extra blenkets and the use of a neighbour’s heater for the evening (I’m being taken care of so well that I feel awful for all the people who need so much more and volunter to help ME out).
Anyway, my hut is a traditional Basotho hut, but well taken care of (like everything here! The four year olds learn to shine their shoes daily), and very comfortable. There is obviously no electricity or running water, but I will often wake up, feeling like I am in my own bed in Ottawa.
On the first day of the feast for the returning initiates, the men paraded into the field surrounded by their dogs. The dogs in Lesotho are not like our pets in Canada, some are beautiful, but they are trained not as housepets and companions but as vicious guards. The herders (the initates) have the most beautiful healthy dogs. When they arrived into the village, led by their proud dogs, each man and dog was decorated in red ochre. At the commencement of the ceremony, with the dogs settling in next to their singing masters, there was one dog sitting on the periphery with the women who I’m certain was frowning. He looked so sad. He kept approaching the area wiht the painted dogs and looked sadly around, obvioulsly envious of their adornments and high status. I got a photo of him hanging his head after he realized he truly didn’t fit in.
The family with which I live has a cat, named ‘katse’. The animals are not given names, but are simply called their Sesotho names (a dog is an ‘nja’). He is a tiny little cat who is very snarly and hissy. When I have tuna, I give him the water from the can. I’m trying to befriend him, but it’s not really working. His ears are both snipped at the tops. This is so that he will stay near home. Apparently he was running away to the ‘forest’ (there is, in fact, nothing CLOSE to a Canadian forest in Mahlekefane – there are maybe three gatherings of two small trees each), so I’m not sure where the cat was going. Nor am I sure where kids go to the toilet, as I am told they go in the ‘forest’), and in order to scare him from the forest and back home, Ntate Letata took him to the forest and snipped his ears. Thus forth, he stays near home. Yikes.
I am working wtih the children on basic vocabulary, including colours – which are fun and easy to teach, as you can point at anything to practice. Before I left for Hlotse yesterday morning, I went to visit my pal, Masefatsa who was resting in bed after a sudden seizure the night before (I am going to the hospital with her and her grandmother on Sunday). She was feeling OK, but tired and achy (understandably), and she began her favourite game of telling me colours of things. I would point at something and she would say the colour, my bracelet, ‘rrrred’ (she rolls her ‘r’s adorably), her blanket, ‘grrrreen’, a plant, also ‘grrrreen’. Then she pointed at my hand and said ‘white’. I pointed at her hand and asked what colour, she said, ‘grrrrreen’. Whatever you say. She also loves to be tickled – The Round and Round the Garden Game, Spiders Crawling Up Your Bag (note: this was supposed to say "Spiders Crawling Up Your Back", but it's pretty funny to leave the original typo) , and This Little Piggy. She’ll climb into my lap and present me with whatever part of her body she wants tickled. For the Round and Round, I am presented with a tiny perfect palm, Spiders get her head tucked down and her back rounded and the Piggies mean her shoe is kicked off and her tiny toes are in the air.
The kids have started to lead one another in the ‘Hands Up’ game we play. It’s great – they practice their English and warm up from the cold. One person shouts out directions which the group repeats and then does the action. They love ‘wiggle, wiggle, wiggle’ and ‘shake, shake, shake’. Everyday I try to expand the actions and vocabulary, but when they lead, they stick to the old standbys!
The day that the classrooms were being smeared, the kids were able to play with their toys outside. I saw some amazing things – the most detailed cars and trucks made out of wire (one had a trunk filled with Coke cans, rearview mirrors and even an accessory hanging from the main rearview!), the hoops and sticks similar to those who remember studying pioneer Canada, rocks used to play a checkers type game on a larger rock on which a gameboard has been set up using a small rock to carve into the surface, and many animals and houses made out of clay from the area surrounding the spring (we get water from the freshwater spring and I chlorinate it to drink). The toys I brought have been incorporated into their play beautifully.
I have been practising daily carrying things on my head, one of my steps in becoming a true ‘Masotho woman’. I carried a five litre bucket of water from the spring to the school with just one hand for balance. Pretty good. The women are helping me by constructing rings out of scarves for me to rest on my head as support. I am getting better though. Don’t be surprised if you see me walking the streets of Ottawa with a sewing machine or logs on my head (I have seen women carrying the most incredible things!)
I’ve pulled out my puppet (who’s name is ‘Bapala’ – Sesotho for play) a few times to hilarious reactions, some kids were initially terrified. Then Bapala started kissing some kids and the others all wanted in on the action. When I introduced Bapala to the adults, their reactions were identical – a few rough, grown men screamed and ran away in terror to the laughter of their friends, while some happily accepted Bapala’s kisses. One man tried to get a kiss from me instead of Bapala but I laughed it off (as I do with the numerous marriage proposals I recieve each day. People think that because I am white, I am rich and am their ticket to a better life. I wonder how one of these forward men would react if I just up and said yes. I’m not going to try, for fear that it would be binding!) Bapala now has a messy mouth and tongue from kissing so many people, but he and his fans are happy!
I gave the soccer balls along with other sports and school equpement to the principal, ‘M’e Ratia on Monday, and things were distributed on Tuesday afternoon. Along wtih the things I had brought, about 100 hats and a bunch of toothbrushes that were donated by other Help Lesotho volunteers were given out. The toothbrushes and paste were given to hte double and single orphans. A child here who has had one parent die is called a single orphan, and what we would call an orphan is here called a double orphan. The hats were given to the double orphans and all of the kids in calss one (the equivannet of our grade one, but with a big range of ages, from three to nine). ‘M’e Ratia handed out the new soccer balls, one to the girls for net ball (esentially basketball without the dribbling) and one to the boys for football (our soccer). The grade sevens are the ones who play, and all the other students, grade one to six stand on the sidelines. At first I thought, ‘how boring for them’. But then the game started. The grades one to sixes are responsible for provinding morale, they sing and dance (special morale boosting songs) and cheer things like ‘Many lions!’ in Sesotho (I think it’s like us yelling De-fence!) It’s fantastic to watch them in their physical education, the songs are all sung in beautiful harmony and the dance steps just add to the whole effect. The same thing happens when the grade sevens train for running. They run barefoot for 1 ½ hours as the younger students boost morale with song and dance. The kids are amazing runners and due to the high altitude and their incredible lung capacity, are fantastic competitors against the kids in the lowlands.
Primary school here is free and goes from grade one to grade seven. Grades 8-12 are high school and are called Form A, B, C, D and E. High school is expensive, so many children are unable to attend. This is why Help Lesotho sponsors many older children, as they are the ones who need help to pay school fees.
Tonight, the office staff and I have been invited to the neighbour’s for a maize roast (these are the three little boys and mother who live in a one room apartment next to the office). I have been recruited to bring marshmallows to roast and I’ll see if I can scrounge together some chocolate and graham cracker type cookies to let them try S’mores (there are cookies here called Maria biscuits which taste exactly like Arrowroots – yum!)
Even better than the Marie biscuits, though, are fat cakes. This is cakey dough that is deep fried in fat (usually corn oil these days). They are amazingly greasy and delicious adn taste like Tiny Tom’s doughnuts. On the way to the internet cafe, I saw a bunch of school girls heading past me carrying bags of them, apparently they can be purchased on the main street in town. I’ll go on a hunt after sending this e-mail!
Soon in Mahlekefane, there will be a World Food Program delivery and a cultural day with the traditional male and female dances. I can’t wait! I’ll tell you all about it in May, when I’ll be coming down next (Sam, I’ll be thinking of you on your birthday!)
Note to excuse errors
For the most part, these e-mails have been untouched since they were sent from Lesotho. Please excuse spelling, grammar and punctuation errors. I'll take some time later to correct them, but for now it's a fun game for you to spot out the mistakes. That's one of my favourite things to do, actually - make corrections to other people's writing. I sometimes edit the newspaper, novels or magazines. So cool.
Lesotho Update #5
Wednesday, March 29th, 2006 (2:30 p.m. Lesotho time, about 7:30 a.m. in Ottawa)
It's been only ten days since my last e-mail, and I expected it to be much longer till the next, but I've had to come down from the mountain to get a few things done.
I have absolutely fallen in love with Mahlekefane and the people there.
The people in the village are in the process of building a new school room to replace the tent that was supplied years ago by the government in thes institution of free primary education. Help Lesotho has donated funds to pay for the building equipment for the roof (corrugated tin). I will be putting $1000 Canadian from donations into the school as well - we will help to cement the floors of all three school buildings. Doesn't sound like a big deal initially, but it really is.
Currently, the floors of the two existing buildings are made of cow dung mixed with mud. Sounds smelly, but once it's dry, you can't tell what it is (I know, as my hut is made of the very same materials). However, this material produces a disgusting amount of dust - covering the children, their clothes, their books, the new benches and desks donated by Help Lesotho, etc. The boys' job is to clean the blackboards and the girls to sweep the classroom (with brooms made by the boys). This is a big job daily. An even WORSE job is done every two weeks. It is called, appropriately, "smearing". Think of the grossest thing that comes to your mind with that word, and I'll beat it.
The girls collect piles of fresh cow dung from around the village, carry it bare handed to the school and proceed to take handfuls of it to the furthest corner of the classroom and smear the crap around. This takes an amazingly long time and cancels school for the entire day, as no one wants to walk on or work in a room freshly smeared with animal excrement. This is a dirty job that will become unnecessary when the floors will be cemented.
Additionally, each time the rooms are smeared, they shrink a little bit - considering it is done twice a month, this is significant. The girls smear the poop right to the edges of the walls, and the walls have long since lost shape. It is like a gradual slide between cieling and floor. This makes the crowded classroom even more crowded, as the tables are climbing up the wall. When a teacher attempts to circulate around the classroom, it is impossible. In consultation with the principal and teachers of the school, they felt that this would be the best way for the donated funds to be spent. The men in the village will have to dig through years of smeared layers in both the existing classrooms, creating more space, corners, way less dust and ultimately a much better learning environment.
I have so much to tell you. I have been gone for only 2 1/2 weeks, in Lesotho for just one day longer than two weeks, yet SO much has happened.
'M'e Ratia is the principal of Mahlekefane Primary School and the Godmother of the village. When she says "jump", you say "how high? how many times? and can I polish your shoes while I'm at it". Fortunately she is one of the kindest and most optimistic people I have ever met and uses her considerable power for only good. She is one of my two "Basotho" mothers. The other is 'M'e Letata, the daughter in law of the Chief, Ntate Sello. That makes the chief one of my two Basotho grandfathers. Grandpa Jack, your status is still safe, but you'll be happy to know that I have two grandfathers in this hemisphere who are guarding me with their lives. I also have two "boaussi" - sisters. 'M'e Letata has two daughters, Makhumalo - age 6, and Nsesiseng - age 12. In addition, 'M'e Ratia (the principal who calls me "her lahoa", her white person) calls her grandchildren my son and daughter, because we've become really close. Her grandson is Relabohile (meaning, "We are grateful) and is seven. "My daughter", Masefatsa is six. Along with Makhumalo, the two of them spend lots of time in my hut.
My hut is gorgeous, by the way. It is palatial, cozy and very much an African mud hut. I love it. It gets so dark there that I am able to fall asleep at 7:30 p.m.
On my second day in the village, 'M'e Ratia called me out of teaching the grade 7s for a special presentation. She and the chief were standing with a trembling sheep and announced to all that they were going to slaughter this animal in my honour. They made me touch him and take photos of him. That night, and for about five nights following, I was served sheep intestines and every other imaginable bit. Feeling really bad, I explained that I don't eat much red meat and that I was extremely honoured and humbled by the gesture, and that I would be happy to watch them enjoy the meat (something they eat only rarely). This went over very well actually. However, one of the school cooks has just given me her chicken (she only has one) for my eating pleasure. Before I left the village this morning, she made me look at it and said that I would eat it on Sunday. I'm not so good at looking at live things and then seeing them on my plate the next meal. It's much easier to buy meat at the grocery store - it's seperate from the animal it once was.
I'm getting a really unique experience, living in the village with these people. I am the first white person to stay there. There have been a few other volunteers from Help Lesotho that have stayed upto a week, but I'm part of the community for a month and a half and trying hard to convince them to treat me as one of them, not a guest. I am trying to learn to carry water on my head like the amazing women here. I was able to join the hard working teachers (who earn less than $200 Cdn a month, after the deductions from their pay such as a 15% Funeral Insurance fee!) in picking veggies from the huge school garden and washing them at the freshwater spring. They can bend at the back for hours and do so when cooking, sweeping, preparing food..., me, I have to use my knees. After helping with these preparations for an upcoming feast, I was invited to continue helping with preparations. I was led to a crowded hut where about a dozen women were working in the dark, peeling vegetables, cutting up pumpkin (which is delicious and sweet) and straining 400 L of homemade beer. It turns out that the new men, the "initiates" were set to return from six months of training in the mountains. This training is very secretive, not even their families know what happens, but they leave as boys and come back as ochre-red painted men. I was honoured to be able to help prepare the feast.
I learned how to filter the beer, with my hands over a homemade seive, patting and tapping it then squeezing out the sawdust like remnants of the grain that is used to make the beer. As I was helping, everyone was laughing and singing, and ululating (ayayayayayayay sound). I joined in and they loved it. As I strained beer, I was given my Sesotho name by 'M'e Ratia. In addition to being called 'M'e Shauna (Mother Shauna), the villagers now call me 'M'e Mathabo. It is the best Sesotho name I've ever heard and means the "Mother of Joy". What an honour to recieve this name from people who are more filled with happiness, joy and a love for life than anyone I have ever met. I provide the villagers with endless amusement, they are always laughing good-naturedly at me. I am told many times a day that they love me (with limited English, this phrase is relatively accessible to them). Everything I do is met with amusement, and deep belly laughs. I helped to carry stones from the makeshift quarry the villagers have made by digging into the moutain. They thought this was utterly hilarious.
I'm not always met with such joy, though. Most people in the village have seen white people before, but to some of the very young children, I am the very first they have ever seen. On my first full day in Mahlekefane, I was walking alone from my hut to the school when I waved and smiled hello to a little "abuti" (boy) standing alone. His family owns four mangy dogs. The dogs in Lesotho are not pets, they are guard dogs and very aggressive. This particular little boy was startled by my appearance and began to scream in utter terror at this monster that was waving to him. His dogs abruptly burst into vicious snarls and terrifying barks. The boys' little friend, who was walking over for a visit took one look at the unfolding disaster and joined in a chorus of screams and crying. Stunned, I retreated and ran into three angry women who were demanding (I think) in Sesotho what I had done. I tried to explain through gesture and my tiny bit of Sesotho that I was saying hello. I was carrying with me a small plastic horse that I gave to them for the "boabuti" (little boys). They smiled and walked away. Later, at the preparations for the feast, 'M'e Ratia told the story to the gathered crowd and it was met with uproarious laughter. Two of the women in the room were the mothers and they loved the story. (Note: the two terrified wee boys wound up being Lehlilika and Rampuma - both of whom I became really close with over my time in Lesotho. I even sponsor Lehlilika now!)
This past weekend, we went to 'M'e Letata's "first parents" home (this is as opposed to her parents-in-law, her husband's parents). We had a lovely visit, as translated by 'M'e Letata. Her English is getting so much better since I've been here. I had brought many food supplies and candles for them. They were so grateful and lovely. Her father was not there as he was in a meeting with the chief. A grandmother who takes care of orphaned grandbabies had come to visit me a few days earlier and asked me to come to her house for a visit, clueless, I said yes. Turns out her house is the second highest one in the village, and we had to climb for quite some time to get there. I was puffing and panting as my sister Makhumalo bolted ahead, literally running circles around me. On our way up, we met with another little child who was terrified of me and my white skin. After a while, she warmed up to me a bit.
When we got to the home of the grandmother, she was so thrilled to have me that she presented me with several gifts. The generousity of these people is astounding, but they are so happy to give a gift, it is not possible to refuse anything. On our way down the mountain, we stopped back in on my grandparentsand they gave me a pumpkin and a homemade Basotho broom. Big hugs and several photos later, we were headed home.
The weekends are funny. I've only spent one there so far, but I understand it was pretty standard. The children save their shoes and pants for school days. They have very few clothes and thus spend weekends in dusty underpants, tattered tshirts and blankets (which everyone in town and in the villages wears here). They come in droves to the door of my hut to play, listen to stories and sing. It's great. I've made use of the Happy Factory cars (www.happyfactory.com), Michele White's many small animal toys, flash cards and a pocket chart, numerous story books, my puppet (named "Bapala" - meaning play), balloons, stickers (so cute to see the teen boys' faces covered in neon hearts and butterflies as they proudly strut). My house is a real gathering place, and I am so happy.
I'm teaching them basic English and they reciprocate by teaching me Sesotho - I'm very good at greetings and farm animals. And that's about it.
I have bought jackets and will buy winter shoes (they don't sell warm boots here - only gum boots) for the young children of the teachers. They have so little, yet treat me like a queen, attending to my every need and more. They will not accept money from me, so I often sneak some food into their homes, but as a thank you, I am buying things for their children, or the children of their children or siblings, who they care for.
I love the kids most of all. They are gorgeous and snuggly and laughter comes so easily. We play the Pony Game, Head and Shoulders and Follow the Leader games. Any attention is precious to them, as most are treated like little adults and have to do a lot of hard work and learn independence early.
Today, in Hlotse, I was walking "downtown" and a mother asked me if I wanted a baby boy - offering me her son. I said he's beautiful but no thank you. She offered me a little girl, thinking I just didn't like the gender. Mom, you'll be happy to hear, I also gratefully turned down that offer.
I got to see the homecoming of the initiates and their dogs, also painted with ochre. I was even brought into the forbidden area by the chief to take photos. The people here, children and adults love to have photos taken and I have taken over 1500 already!
I am able to see the real daily life, culture and even celebrations of these fascinating people and have been welcomed with open arms and hearts. I feel like I've known them all my life and feel so very fortunate to be a part of their lives, even for this short time. I could go on forever, but the internet cafe is closing in four minutes, so I have to sign off. I will be going back into the mountains soon and will not be down until the end of April.
Thank you all for your kind e-mails and best wishes. I am thinking of you, too and feel so blessed to have such supportive people in my life.
Please keep the e-mails coming, I will read them when I have a chance.
Love,'M'e Mathabo
(this name also means that I'm supposed to name my first born son "Thabo" - Joy!)
MacDonald/Jansen clan - thanks for the updates, my heart is with you and in the bones of your beautiful babies!
It's been only ten days since my last e-mail, and I expected it to be much longer till the next, but I've had to come down from the mountain to get a few things done.
I have absolutely fallen in love with Mahlekefane and the people there.
The people in the village are in the process of building a new school room to replace the tent that was supplied years ago by the government in thes institution of free primary education. Help Lesotho has donated funds to pay for the building equipment for the roof (corrugated tin). I will be putting $1000 Canadian from donations into the school as well - we will help to cement the floors of all three school buildings. Doesn't sound like a big deal initially, but it really is.
Currently, the floors of the two existing buildings are made of cow dung mixed with mud. Sounds smelly, but once it's dry, you can't tell what it is (I know, as my hut is made of the very same materials). However, this material produces a disgusting amount of dust - covering the children, their clothes, their books, the new benches and desks donated by Help Lesotho, etc. The boys' job is to clean the blackboards and the girls to sweep the classroom (with brooms made by the boys). This is a big job daily. An even WORSE job is done every two weeks. It is called, appropriately, "smearing". Think of the grossest thing that comes to your mind with that word, and I'll beat it.
The girls collect piles of fresh cow dung from around the village, carry it bare handed to the school and proceed to take handfuls of it to the furthest corner of the classroom and smear the crap around. This takes an amazingly long time and cancels school for the entire day, as no one wants to walk on or work in a room freshly smeared with animal excrement. This is a dirty job that will become unnecessary when the floors will be cemented.
Additionally, each time the rooms are smeared, they shrink a little bit - considering it is done twice a month, this is significant. The girls smear the poop right to the edges of the walls, and the walls have long since lost shape. It is like a gradual slide between cieling and floor. This makes the crowded classroom even more crowded, as the tables are climbing up the wall. When a teacher attempts to circulate around the classroom, it is impossible. In consultation with the principal and teachers of the school, they felt that this would be the best way for the donated funds to be spent. The men in the village will have to dig through years of smeared layers in both the existing classrooms, creating more space, corners, way less dust and ultimately a much better learning environment.
I have so much to tell you. I have been gone for only 2 1/2 weeks, in Lesotho for just one day longer than two weeks, yet SO much has happened.
'M'e Ratia is the principal of Mahlekefane Primary School and the Godmother of the village. When she says "jump", you say "how high? how many times? and can I polish your shoes while I'm at it". Fortunately she is one of the kindest and most optimistic people I have ever met and uses her considerable power for only good. She is one of my two "Basotho" mothers. The other is 'M'e Letata, the daughter in law of the Chief, Ntate Sello. That makes the chief one of my two Basotho grandfathers. Grandpa Jack, your status is still safe, but you'll be happy to know that I have two grandfathers in this hemisphere who are guarding me with their lives. I also have two "boaussi" - sisters. 'M'e Letata has two daughters, Makhumalo - age 6, and Nsesiseng - age 12. In addition, 'M'e Ratia (the principal who calls me "her lahoa", her white person) calls her grandchildren my son and daughter, because we've become really close. Her grandson is Relabohile (meaning, "We are grateful) and is seven. "My daughter", Masefatsa is six. Along with Makhumalo, the two of them spend lots of time in my hut.
My hut is gorgeous, by the way. It is palatial, cozy and very much an African mud hut. I love it. It gets so dark there that I am able to fall asleep at 7:30 p.m.
On my second day in the village, 'M'e Ratia called me out of teaching the grade 7s for a special presentation. She and the chief were standing with a trembling sheep and announced to all that they were going to slaughter this animal in my honour. They made me touch him and take photos of him. That night, and for about five nights following, I was served sheep intestines and every other imaginable bit. Feeling really bad, I explained that I don't eat much red meat and that I was extremely honoured and humbled by the gesture, and that I would be happy to watch them enjoy the meat (something they eat only rarely). This went over very well actually. However, one of the school cooks has just given me her chicken (she only has one) for my eating pleasure. Before I left the village this morning, she made me look at it and said that I would eat it on Sunday. I'm not so good at looking at live things and then seeing them on my plate the next meal. It's much easier to buy meat at the grocery store - it's seperate from the animal it once was.
I'm getting a really unique experience, living in the village with these people. I am the first white person to stay there. There have been a few other volunteers from Help Lesotho that have stayed upto a week, but I'm part of the community for a month and a half and trying hard to convince them to treat me as one of them, not a guest. I am trying to learn to carry water on my head like the amazing women here. I was able to join the hard working teachers (who earn less than $200 Cdn a month, after the deductions from their pay such as a 15% Funeral Insurance fee!) in picking veggies from the huge school garden and washing them at the freshwater spring. They can bend at the back for hours and do so when cooking, sweeping, preparing food..., me, I have to use my knees. After helping with these preparations for an upcoming feast, I was invited to continue helping with preparations. I was led to a crowded hut where about a dozen women were working in the dark, peeling vegetables, cutting up pumpkin (which is delicious and sweet) and straining 400 L of homemade beer. It turns out that the new men, the "initiates" were set to return from six months of training in the mountains. This training is very secretive, not even their families know what happens, but they leave as boys and come back as ochre-red painted men. I was honoured to be able to help prepare the feast.
I learned how to filter the beer, with my hands over a homemade seive, patting and tapping it then squeezing out the sawdust like remnants of the grain that is used to make the beer. As I was helping, everyone was laughing and singing, and ululating (ayayayayayayay sound). I joined in and they loved it. As I strained beer, I was given my Sesotho name by 'M'e Ratia. In addition to being called 'M'e Shauna (Mother Shauna), the villagers now call me 'M'e Mathabo. It is the best Sesotho name I've ever heard and means the "Mother of Joy". What an honour to recieve this name from people who are more filled with happiness, joy and a love for life than anyone I have ever met. I provide the villagers with endless amusement, they are always laughing good-naturedly at me. I am told many times a day that they love me (with limited English, this phrase is relatively accessible to them). Everything I do is met with amusement, and deep belly laughs. I helped to carry stones from the makeshift quarry the villagers have made by digging into the moutain. They thought this was utterly hilarious.
I'm not always met with such joy, though. Most people in the village have seen white people before, but to some of the very young children, I am the very first they have ever seen. On my first full day in Mahlekefane, I was walking alone from my hut to the school when I waved and smiled hello to a little "abuti" (boy) standing alone. His family owns four mangy dogs. The dogs in Lesotho are not pets, they are guard dogs and very aggressive. This particular little boy was startled by my appearance and began to scream in utter terror at this monster that was waving to him. His dogs abruptly burst into vicious snarls and terrifying barks. The boys' little friend, who was walking over for a visit took one look at the unfolding disaster and joined in a chorus of screams and crying. Stunned, I retreated and ran into three angry women who were demanding (I think) in Sesotho what I had done. I tried to explain through gesture and my tiny bit of Sesotho that I was saying hello. I was carrying with me a small plastic horse that I gave to them for the "boabuti" (little boys). They smiled and walked away. Later, at the preparations for the feast, 'M'e Ratia told the story to the gathered crowd and it was met with uproarious laughter. Two of the women in the room were the mothers and they loved the story. (Note: the two terrified wee boys wound up being Lehlilika and Rampuma - both of whom I became really close with over my time in Lesotho. I even sponsor Lehlilika now!)
This past weekend, we went to 'M'e Letata's "first parents" home (this is as opposed to her parents-in-law, her husband's parents). We had a lovely visit, as translated by 'M'e Letata. Her English is getting so much better since I've been here. I had brought many food supplies and candles for them. They were so grateful and lovely. Her father was not there as he was in a meeting with the chief. A grandmother who takes care of orphaned grandbabies had come to visit me a few days earlier and asked me to come to her house for a visit, clueless, I said yes. Turns out her house is the second highest one in the village, and we had to climb for quite some time to get there. I was puffing and panting as my sister Makhumalo bolted ahead, literally running circles around me. On our way up, we met with another little child who was terrified of me and my white skin. After a while, she warmed up to me a bit.
When we got to the home of the grandmother, she was so thrilled to have me that she presented me with several gifts. The generousity of these people is astounding, but they are so happy to give a gift, it is not possible to refuse anything. On our way down the mountain, we stopped back in on my grandparentsand they gave me a pumpkin and a homemade Basotho broom. Big hugs and several photos later, we were headed home.
The weekends are funny. I've only spent one there so far, but I understand it was pretty standard. The children save their shoes and pants for school days. They have very few clothes and thus spend weekends in dusty underpants, tattered tshirts and blankets (which everyone in town and in the villages wears here). They come in droves to the door of my hut to play, listen to stories and sing. It's great. I've made use of the Happy Factory cars (www.happyfactory.com), Michele White's many small animal toys, flash cards and a pocket chart, numerous story books, my puppet (named "Bapala" - meaning play), balloons, stickers (so cute to see the teen boys' faces covered in neon hearts and butterflies as they proudly strut). My house is a real gathering place, and I am so happy.
I'm teaching them basic English and they reciprocate by teaching me Sesotho - I'm very good at greetings and farm animals. And that's about it.
I have bought jackets and will buy winter shoes (they don't sell warm boots here - only gum boots) for the young children of the teachers. They have so little, yet treat me like a queen, attending to my every need and more. They will not accept money from me, so I often sneak some food into their homes, but as a thank you, I am buying things for their children, or the children of their children or siblings, who they care for.
I love the kids most of all. They are gorgeous and snuggly and laughter comes so easily. We play the Pony Game, Head and Shoulders and Follow the Leader games. Any attention is precious to them, as most are treated like little adults and have to do a lot of hard work and learn independence early.
Today, in Hlotse, I was walking "downtown" and a mother asked me if I wanted a baby boy - offering me her son. I said he's beautiful but no thank you. She offered me a little girl, thinking I just didn't like the gender. Mom, you'll be happy to hear, I also gratefully turned down that offer.
I got to see the homecoming of the initiates and their dogs, also painted with ochre. I was even brought into the forbidden area by the chief to take photos. The people here, children and adults love to have photos taken and I have taken over 1500 already!
I am able to see the real daily life, culture and even celebrations of these fascinating people and have been welcomed with open arms and hearts. I feel like I've known them all my life and feel so very fortunate to be a part of their lives, even for this short time. I could go on forever, but the internet cafe is closing in four minutes, so I have to sign off. I will be going back into the mountains soon and will not be down until the end of April.
Thank you all for your kind e-mails and best wishes. I am thinking of you, too and feel so blessed to have such supportive people in my life.
Please keep the e-mails coming, I will read them when I have a chance.
Love,'M'e Mathabo
(this name also means that I'm supposed to name my first born son "Thabo" - Joy!)
MacDonald/Jansen clan - thanks for the updates, my heart is with you and in the bones of your beautiful babies!
Lesotho Update #4 - Grab a coffee, it's a long one!
Sunday, March 19th, 2006 (7:50 p.m. Lesotho time, about 1:50 p.m. Ottawa time)
Well hello,
This is my fourth e-mail update and will have to be my final one, as I am heading to Mahlekefane in the morning. I have a quick chance to send out one final e-mail for the next while, and am sending this one before I go to bed. Yeah, that’s right, bed time before nine o’clock! There’s not very much to do at night once the sun goes down.
Since I last wrote on Friday, I’ve been busy. I was scheduled to meet some other Canadians (and some Welsch girls) at the Leribe Hotel for a dinner of supposedly delicious pizza right after leaving the internet café. I headed to the Hotel and found out that the pizza ovens had just been turned on and needed over an hour to heat, then another 40 minutes to cook a pizza. Like everything here, you have to schedule based on daylight. We decided to order from elsewhere on the menu and skip the pizza (really, the reason we were going out for dinner). I had a wacky club sandwich – four slices of bread, no sauce save for tons of margarine, breakfast sausage, peameal bacon, tomatoes and turkey, oh yes, and egg. Weird. But I was hungry, so I scarfed it down!
Saturday morning, Mel (from Ottawa, a Youth Against HIV/AIDS intern) and I headed to the taxi rank. We hopped on a taxi, which is a four row van that does not leave the taxi rank until at least 12 people have boarded. There are no seatbelts, but you fit in snug with all the other passengers, so I suppose they feel that that makes up for the lack of any kind of safety harness. It costs 5 Rand/5 Maloti to get to the border of South Africa (this is under $1 Canadian). We had a cozy ride to the border where we had our passports stamped and walked into downtown Ficksburg. The walk was about 25 minutes and it’s so humid here that we were both sticky with sweat by the time we got downtown. I was on a quest to buy soccer balls, and had heard that you could get quality ones in the Republic. We shopped a bit, and had lunch at the Bottling Co, a restaurant that has been around since the ‘30s. I found my soccer balls and bought three. It was very interesting to see the contrasts between the Basotho and South African border towns – so much more wealth in the Republic. We walked back to the border, after declining a sketchy looking police officer’s ride (he was in a police car, but not dressed in any sort of uniform and was kind of leering). Another stamp in the passport and we were heading back to the public transport area. We hopped in an almost empty “taxi” and waited for about 30 minutes, some of this driving with the doors open as the driver yelled for more passengers and the “conductor” (the guy who stands up in the van on the ride and collects money) tried to beckon more people in. Finally we were filled to the brim with fifteen passengers, and we took off. As each person boarded, he or she asked me if he or she could have “just one” of my soccer balls. I explained that I was bringing them to the mountains for very poor children and they all agreed that that was a better idea.
The ride back to Leribe was wonderful – as a mom and her two beautiful boys were in the row in front of us. The younger boy (age 2) knew no English, but did know the thumbs-up sign which he flashed at us over and over. We taught him a high five, which I’m sure his mother will learn to hate us for – as he couldn’t get enough of it. His nine year old brother was much more quiet, and sleepily rested his hand on his lovely mother’s arm. She works at the Ned Bank in Maseru (the capital) and told us to visit if we were ever there.
Upon return to Leribe, we squished our way out of the taxi and experienced some drama, a man tried to “help” me with my backpack. I firmly held onto it and Mel said, “Nice try, buddy”. As we walked away, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. Mel held onto the numerous bags we had accumulated and I ran back to the bus amid the hoots and hollers of the gathered men – finding it funny to see a woman running. I searched my seat on the taxi, and a kind gentleman in the back found my wallet on the floor. Whew. It fell out of my pocket as I had squished out of the taxi. It’s going to be in zippered compartments from now on!
In the afternoon, I visited ‘M’e Mojaje, who was getting a new computer installed, much to her delight. I also visited with the mother and the three little boys who live right next door (the HL/YAH office shares their porch). The boys are aged 14, 12 and 9 and are smart, fluent in English, inquisitive and so handsome. Their names are Hlmpho, Mpho and Matekoa. Their mother is Mahlmpo, meaning “Mother of Hlmpho”. Women’s names change when they marry and have children. Their name becomes “Mother of…” their first child. I began by drawing with and learning animal names from the youngest as well as ‘M’e Mojaje’s grand-niece (who she cares for as the mother and grandmother have both died). The two eldest boys returned shortly after from a funeral for two classmates. The two boys had drowned in a nearby pool last week, one jumped in to save the other. It’s incredible – Hlmpho and Mpho went to the funeral on their own as their mother had been working. Children are forced to grow up very quickly here. The boys had lots of questions about Canada and told me lots about their lives here in Lesotho. Their mother is a teacher and is an amazing, strong, vibrant woman. They share their one room house with an aunt. There are two beds, a closet and a hot plate in their home. Hlmpho and Mpho share a single bed, while Mahlmpho, Matekoa and the aunt share a double.I promised to return to them Sunday morning with photos of Canada.
Upon waking on Sunday, I zipped up to the guest house where I stayed my first two nights and got some stories, an inflatable globe and photos. I brought them back and sat with the boys and they looked at my photos. Mel and Donna and I were picked up by Mel’s friend, Marnie, an Ontario pharmacist who works at the Tsepong (Hope) HIV/AIDS Clinic here in Hlotse. We drove with her and her mutt, Buddy to the home of another of Mel’s friends, a NYC Peace Corps worker named Elliott who has been here for a year and a half. Along with Elliott’s dog and a neighbor’s dog named “Today”, we met Elliott’s “brothers” (the boys who live near him) and they led us on a hike up the mountain behind Elliott’s hut. When we got about halfway up, we met a farmer leading his cows down the mountain. This mountain was probably 50 degrees up, very steep, rocky and treacherous. The cows were nimbly jumping down from rock to rock as I was desperately panting my way up the mountain. It suddenly began to rain, we decided to persevere. As soon as thunder cracked, Elliott’s “brothers” turned right around and we followed. The entire time, Today herded us, he circled around the whole group and made sure that everyone was OK. By the time we returned to Elliott’s hut, we were drenched, but all safe and sound. He made us hot chocolate on his hotplate (which is powered by a solar panel on his roof) and popcorn while we tried to dry out. His dog, Tokoloshe (Toko for short, and named after a South African folk tale character, a little imp) and Buddy whined outside. Similar to nighttime, there’s not a lot to do when it rains. Elliott and Mel worked a bit on his 5000 piece grey, white and black puzzle he’s been doing since January and we all chatted. When the rain slowed down, we explored the town a little and saw two little boys pushing cars made of pop cans and rusty wire – the cars have shocks and steering wheels that the boys hold in their hands. They are incredible. I have learned the name of an inactive volcano that can be seen in the distance both from Hlotse and Elliott’s town – it is called Qoqolosing. Difficult to pronounce. Even more difficult to pronounce when you realize that “q”s in Sesotho are pronounced as a high click (as opposed to the low clicks in other words). I’ve been working on it all day, much to the amusement of Hlmpho and his brothers.
I hung out with the boys again tonight, reading stories, chatting about Lesotho and Canada and looking at calendars featuring photos of Canada. They now all want to visit. They are intelligent, curious young men who I truly hope can follow all their dreams. If anyone wants to write to them, they would be thrilled to receive a letter – their address is Hlmpho, Mpho or Matekoa c/o St. Mary’s Home Economics School PO Box 707 Leribe 300 Lesotho. They are trying to save money to buy a converter to install a PlayStation that was donated to them by a former Peace Corps volunteer (they will use it at a friend’s television). The PlayStation uses a North American plug, while they need a much bigger SA plug. If you write to them, tell them you know me. I gave them a calendar of puppies, a toy chicken and some postcards of Canada, which they proudly marched back into their tiny home. I got huge hugs and “Ke a leboa” (thank you)s from all three. Made me miss my three little bros!So, my real work starts tomorrow. I’m off to Mahlekefane (it is so remote that even locals do not know it – I tell them it is near HaLejone and they sort of get it!)
I will probably be traveling most of the day to get there, but some other HL volunteers will come with me. They have been there before and will show me around. I have been told to hire someone to fetch me water and to help with my laundry, because if you don’t dry and iron it properly, you get mites. I’m terrified that there are going to be rats and sure that there will be huge spiders. Bugs I mind a lot less than rats, I got used to bugs after years of camping, but I really don’t like the thought of hanging out with a dirty rat – especially because I’ll be sleeping on the floor and if it wanted, a rat could cuddle with me in the night. I’ll be out of touch for just under six weeks – returning to Hlotse on the 28th or 29th of April, and will be in touch that weekend. I think I will be traveling to Malealea to stay at the Malealea Lodge (which apparently has a website if you want to search) and going pony trekking – a popular tourist attraction here – to the cave paintings. Then, I’m off to the capital city for a temporary residence permit (to allow me to stay longer than 45 days) and up to Thaba Tseka, to teach at Paray Primary School.Thank you for all the supportive and funny messages, I love hearing from everyone. I want to know what’s going on at home and around the world – you get pretty out of touch here, even in just a week!
TTFN,
Peace
PS – Sorry this is so long, but you won’t be bombarded with emails for weeks, so I figured a long message would be OK this time. Please feel free to keep e-mailing me, I look forward to loads of messages and lots of news next time I log on!
Well hello,
This is my fourth e-mail update and will have to be my final one, as I am heading to Mahlekefane in the morning. I have a quick chance to send out one final e-mail for the next while, and am sending this one before I go to bed. Yeah, that’s right, bed time before nine o’clock! There’s not very much to do at night once the sun goes down.
Since I last wrote on Friday, I’ve been busy. I was scheduled to meet some other Canadians (and some Welsch girls) at the Leribe Hotel for a dinner of supposedly delicious pizza right after leaving the internet café. I headed to the Hotel and found out that the pizza ovens had just been turned on and needed over an hour to heat, then another 40 minutes to cook a pizza. Like everything here, you have to schedule based on daylight. We decided to order from elsewhere on the menu and skip the pizza (really, the reason we were going out for dinner). I had a wacky club sandwich – four slices of bread, no sauce save for tons of margarine, breakfast sausage, peameal bacon, tomatoes and turkey, oh yes, and egg. Weird. But I was hungry, so I scarfed it down!
Saturday morning, Mel (from Ottawa, a Youth Against HIV/AIDS intern) and I headed to the taxi rank. We hopped on a taxi, which is a four row van that does not leave the taxi rank until at least 12 people have boarded. There are no seatbelts, but you fit in snug with all the other passengers, so I suppose they feel that that makes up for the lack of any kind of safety harness. It costs 5 Rand/5 Maloti to get to the border of South Africa (this is under $1 Canadian). We had a cozy ride to the border where we had our passports stamped and walked into downtown Ficksburg. The walk was about 25 minutes and it’s so humid here that we were both sticky with sweat by the time we got downtown. I was on a quest to buy soccer balls, and had heard that you could get quality ones in the Republic. We shopped a bit, and had lunch at the Bottling Co, a restaurant that has been around since the ‘30s. I found my soccer balls and bought three. It was very interesting to see the contrasts between the Basotho and South African border towns – so much more wealth in the Republic. We walked back to the border, after declining a sketchy looking police officer’s ride (he was in a police car, but not dressed in any sort of uniform and was kind of leering). Another stamp in the passport and we were heading back to the public transport area. We hopped in an almost empty “taxi” and waited for about 30 minutes, some of this driving with the doors open as the driver yelled for more passengers and the “conductor” (the guy who stands up in the van on the ride and collects money) tried to beckon more people in. Finally we were filled to the brim with fifteen passengers, and we took off. As each person boarded, he or she asked me if he or she could have “just one” of my soccer balls. I explained that I was bringing them to the mountains for very poor children and they all agreed that that was a better idea.
The ride back to Leribe was wonderful – as a mom and her two beautiful boys were in the row in front of us. The younger boy (age 2) knew no English, but did know the thumbs-up sign which he flashed at us over and over. We taught him a high five, which I’m sure his mother will learn to hate us for – as he couldn’t get enough of it. His nine year old brother was much more quiet, and sleepily rested his hand on his lovely mother’s arm. She works at the Ned Bank in Maseru (the capital) and told us to visit if we were ever there.
Upon return to Leribe, we squished our way out of the taxi and experienced some drama, a man tried to “help” me with my backpack. I firmly held onto it and Mel said, “Nice try, buddy”. As we walked away, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. Mel held onto the numerous bags we had accumulated and I ran back to the bus amid the hoots and hollers of the gathered men – finding it funny to see a woman running. I searched my seat on the taxi, and a kind gentleman in the back found my wallet on the floor. Whew. It fell out of my pocket as I had squished out of the taxi. It’s going to be in zippered compartments from now on!
In the afternoon, I visited ‘M’e Mojaje, who was getting a new computer installed, much to her delight. I also visited with the mother and the three little boys who live right next door (the HL/YAH office shares their porch). The boys are aged 14, 12 and 9 and are smart, fluent in English, inquisitive and so handsome. Their names are Hlmpho, Mpho and Matekoa. Their mother is Mahlmpo, meaning “Mother of Hlmpho”. Women’s names change when they marry and have children. Their name becomes “Mother of…” their first child. I began by drawing with and learning animal names from the youngest as well as ‘M’e Mojaje’s grand-niece (who she cares for as the mother and grandmother have both died). The two eldest boys returned shortly after from a funeral for two classmates. The two boys had drowned in a nearby pool last week, one jumped in to save the other. It’s incredible – Hlmpho and Mpho went to the funeral on their own as their mother had been working. Children are forced to grow up very quickly here. The boys had lots of questions about Canada and told me lots about their lives here in Lesotho. Their mother is a teacher and is an amazing, strong, vibrant woman. They share their one room house with an aunt. There are two beds, a closet and a hot plate in their home. Hlmpho and Mpho share a single bed, while Mahlmpho, Matekoa and the aunt share a double.I promised to return to them Sunday morning with photos of Canada.
Upon waking on Sunday, I zipped up to the guest house where I stayed my first two nights and got some stories, an inflatable globe and photos. I brought them back and sat with the boys and they looked at my photos. Mel and Donna and I were picked up by Mel’s friend, Marnie, an Ontario pharmacist who works at the Tsepong (Hope) HIV/AIDS Clinic here in Hlotse. We drove with her and her mutt, Buddy to the home of another of Mel’s friends, a NYC Peace Corps worker named Elliott who has been here for a year and a half. Along with Elliott’s dog and a neighbor’s dog named “Today”, we met Elliott’s “brothers” (the boys who live near him) and they led us on a hike up the mountain behind Elliott’s hut. When we got about halfway up, we met a farmer leading his cows down the mountain. This mountain was probably 50 degrees up, very steep, rocky and treacherous. The cows were nimbly jumping down from rock to rock as I was desperately panting my way up the mountain. It suddenly began to rain, we decided to persevere. As soon as thunder cracked, Elliott’s “brothers” turned right around and we followed. The entire time, Today herded us, he circled around the whole group and made sure that everyone was OK. By the time we returned to Elliott’s hut, we were drenched, but all safe and sound. He made us hot chocolate on his hotplate (which is powered by a solar panel on his roof) and popcorn while we tried to dry out. His dog, Tokoloshe (Toko for short, and named after a South African folk tale character, a little imp) and Buddy whined outside. Similar to nighttime, there’s not a lot to do when it rains. Elliott and Mel worked a bit on his 5000 piece grey, white and black puzzle he’s been doing since January and we all chatted. When the rain slowed down, we explored the town a little and saw two little boys pushing cars made of pop cans and rusty wire – the cars have shocks and steering wheels that the boys hold in their hands. They are incredible. I have learned the name of an inactive volcano that can be seen in the distance both from Hlotse and Elliott’s town – it is called Qoqolosing. Difficult to pronounce. Even more difficult to pronounce when you realize that “q”s in Sesotho are pronounced as a high click (as opposed to the low clicks in other words). I’ve been working on it all day, much to the amusement of Hlmpho and his brothers.
I hung out with the boys again tonight, reading stories, chatting about Lesotho and Canada and looking at calendars featuring photos of Canada. They now all want to visit. They are intelligent, curious young men who I truly hope can follow all their dreams. If anyone wants to write to them, they would be thrilled to receive a letter – their address is Hlmpho, Mpho or Matekoa c/o St. Mary’s Home Economics School PO Box 707 Leribe 300 Lesotho. They are trying to save money to buy a converter to install a PlayStation that was donated to them by a former Peace Corps volunteer (they will use it at a friend’s television). The PlayStation uses a North American plug, while they need a much bigger SA plug. If you write to them, tell them you know me. I gave them a calendar of puppies, a toy chicken and some postcards of Canada, which they proudly marched back into their tiny home. I got huge hugs and “Ke a leboa” (thank you)s from all three. Made me miss my three little bros!So, my real work starts tomorrow. I’m off to Mahlekefane (it is so remote that even locals do not know it – I tell them it is near HaLejone and they sort of get it!)
I will probably be traveling most of the day to get there, but some other HL volunteers will come with me. They have been there before and will show me around. I have been told to hire someone to fetch me water and to help with my laundry, because if you don’t dry and iron it properly, you get mites. I’m terrified that there are going to be rats and sure that there will be huge spiders. Bugs I mind a lot less than rats, I got used to bugs after years of camping, but I really don’t like the thought of hanging out with a dirty rat – especially because I’ll be sleeping on the floor and if it wanted, a rat could cuddle with me in the night. I’ll be out of touch for just under six weeks – returning to Hlotse on the 28th or 29th of April, and will be in touch that weekend. I think I will be traveling to Malealea to stay at the Malealea Lodge (which apparently has a website if you want to search) and going pony trekking – a popular tourist attraction here – to the cave paintings. Then, I’m off to the capital city for a temporary residence permit (to allow me to stay longer than 45 days) and up to Thaba Tseka, to teach at Paray Primary School.Thank you for all the supportive and funny messages, I love hearing from everyone. I want to know what’s going on at home and around the world – you get pretty out of touch here, even in just a week!
TTFN,
Peace
PS – Sorry this is so long, but you won’t be bombarded with emails for weeks, so I figured a long message would be OK this time. Please feel free to keep e-mailing me, I look forward to loads of messages and lots of news next time I log on!
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Lesotho Update #3
March 17th, 2006
That’s it, I’m giving up on my own e-mail address. It’s not working at all. From now on, messages will go through Matt and come to you all.
Today’s my third full day in Lesotho. I’m still really enjoying myself. The best thing of all is the people. They are so kind, smiley, friendly and inquisitive. Everyone wants to know ‘Where are you going?’
Last night, I had a wonderful, clear conversation with Matt all the way in Canada. There was no delay and it was amazingly clear. I was shocked. He gave me a lot of confidence in the remainder of my journey, but knowing that it was the last time we’d talk for at least six weeks was difficult. I am very used to having him around every day. I do have some wonderful letters from him to open weekly, though.
Today was a pretty funny day. I woke up at 8:30 a.m. after falling asleep after 2 a.m. Last night, I had decided that I would not be heading to Ficksburg, South Africa until Saturday. That way Mel, who is familiar with Lesotho, can come with me. We will be able to eat a salad, which is exciting because you are strongly advised against eating any leafy veggies in Lesotho, due to debatable fertilizer conditions. So, I had another day in Leribe. It was a damp day, periodic showers that cooled my sweaty body off. I’m walking around so much with a huge backpack, and need the rain! I was given two missions for the morning, to head downtown and mail two letters and pick up thirteen umbrellas. The letters are from the St. Mary’s girls for their sponsors in Canada and the umbrellas are also for them. There are sixteen of them, and they only have three umbrellas. They were send home from school yesterday for being soaking wet.
I headed downtown (a fairly liberal title for it!) and took photos as I walked, lots of people were interested in having their photo taken, and called to me as I walked! I checked out umbrella prices at the booths set up on the side of the road. As I approached the post office, I noticed there was a huge group of elderly folks standing on the steps. I walked into the open door and noticed that there were dozens more people sitting inside on the benches in the post office. Their heads were all bowed in prayer, and a woman looked up at me and gave me a sign of the cross. I quickly bowed my head too. The prayer was long, but when it finished, I joined what I thought was a line. The gentleman at the counter beckoned me over and told me that the people inside were waiting for money and doing a prayer of thanks for that. The staff of the post office all came out to meet me. What a happy, welcoming place!
After I’d successfully joined an impromptu prayer group and mailed the letters, I continued comparison shopping for umbrellas. It turns out that the roadside stands have the best price (20 rand per umbrella – about $4 Canadian). No one stand had 13 umbrellas, so I divided my purchases between three happy sellers. By the time I had finished (and communicated the concept of a receipt to each one), I had 13 umbrellas hanging off my arms. And then, it started to rain. Good, you think, lots of shelter from the rain. But alas, I could not even maneuver the opening of a single one, as it was a careful balancing job. I must have looked really cool traipsing down the road with umbrellas hanging off every part of me, and getting soaked by the rain (“pula” in Sesotho).
I had lunch with Carolyn at her home on the outskirts of town. While we were walking there, we passed the health clinic that includes the Tsepong Clinic (an AIDS clinic run by Ontario doctors and featured recently on “The Nature of Things” and in “Walrus” magazine). I was very interested, so we peeked in. It was extremely busy, so we didn’t stay. At Carolyn’s, we worked on some finances for the 140+ sponsored orphans. We had a mix match lunch of spaghetti, frozen veg (she has a fridge) and canned tuna. Yummy and PROTEIN!
Tomorrow, I will be off to Ficksburg for a shopping trip for soccer balls. I have just been informed that I need to bring rat poison into the mountains. So, another thing to buy in Ficksburg!
I hope I’ll be able to e-mail once more before I’m up to Mahlekefane to teach. If I don’t however, I’ll tell you my stories when I’m back, I promise!
Thanks again for all the wonderful e-mails, support and donations!
That’s it, I’m giving up on my own e-mail address. It’s not working at all. From now on, messages will go through Matt and come to you all.
Today’s my third full day in Lesotho. I’m still really enjoying myself. The best thing of all is the people. They are so kind, smiley, friendly and inquisitive. Everyone wants to know ‘Where are you going?’
Last night, I had a wonderful, clear conversation with Matt all the way in Canada. There was no delay and it was amazingly clear. I was shocked. He gave me a lot of confidence in the remainder of my journey, but knowing that it was the last time we’d talk for at least six weeks was difficult. I am very used to having him around every day. I do have some wonderful letters from him to open weekly, though.
Today was a pretty funny day. I woke up at 8:30 a.m. after falling asleep after 2 a.m. Last night, I had decided that I would not be heading to Ficksburg, South Africa until Saturday. That way Mel, who is familiar with Lesotho, can come with me. We will be able to eat a salad, which is exciting because you are strongly advised against eating any leafy veggies in Lesotho, due to debatable fertilizer conditions. So, I had another day in Leribe. It was a damp day, periodic showers that cooled my sweaty body off. I’m walking around so much with a huge backpack, and need the rain! I was given two missions for the morning, to head downtown and mail two letters and pick up thirteen umbrellas. The letters are from the St. Mary’s girls for their sponsors in Canada and the umbrellas are also for them. There are sixteen of them, and they only have three umbrellas. They were send home from school yesterday for being soaking wet.
I headed downtown (a fairly liberal title for it!) and took photos as I walked, lots of people were interested in having their photo taken, and called to me as I walked! I checked out umbrella prices at the booths set up on the side of the road. As I approached the post office, I noticed there was a huge group of elderly folks standing on the steps. I walked into the open door and noticed that there were dozens more people sitting inside on the benches in the post office. Their heads were all bowed in prayer, and a woman looked up at me and gave me a sign of the cross. I quickly bowed my head too. The prayer was long, but when it finished, I joined what I thought was a line. The gentleman at the counter beckoned me over and told me that the people inside were waiting for money and doing a prayer of thanks for that. The staff of the post office all came out to meet me. What a happy, welcoming place!
After I’d successfully joined an impromptu prayer group and mailed the letters, I continued comparison shopping for umbrellas. It turns out that the roadside stands have the best price (20 rand per umbrella – about $4 Canadian). No one stand had 13 umbrellas, so I divided my purchases between three happy sellers. By the time I had finished (and communicated the concept of a receipt to each one), I had 13 umbrellas hanging off my arms. And then, it started to rain. Good, you think, lots of shelter from the rain. But alas, I could not even maneuver the opening of a single one, as it was a careful balancing job. I must have looked really cool traipsing down the road with umbrellas hanging off every part of me, and getting soaked by the rain (“pula” in Sesotho).
I had lunch with Carolyn at her home on the outskirts of town. While we were walking there, we passed the health clinic that includes the Tsepong Clinic (an AIDS clinic run by Ontario doctors and featured recently on “The Nature of Things” and in “Walrus” magazine). I was very interested, so we peeked in. It was extremely busy, so we didn’t stay. At Carolyn’s, we worked on some finances for the 140+ sponsored orphans. We had a mix match lunch of spaghetti, frozen veg (she has a fridge) and canned tuna. Yummy and PROTEIN!
Tomorrow, I will be off to Ficksburg for a shopping trip for soccer balls. I have just been informed that I need to bring rat poison into the mountains. So, another thing to buy in Ficksburg!
I hope I’ll be able to e-mail once more before I’m up to Mahlekefane to teach. If I don’t however, I’ll tell you my stories when I’m back, I promise!
Thanks again for all the wonderful e-mails, support and donations!
Lesotho Update #2
March 17, 2006
This is my THIRD attempt to send this e-mail. I think I made a mistake in one person's e-mail (Roy Chineh - that's you) and it corrupted the whole thing (typical of Roy, really). I hope that it actually comes through, otherwise, I'm going to have Matt be the middle man and send this off to you.
Good morning to you all, It's past 4 p.m. here, so about 9 a.m. in Ottawa. I had trouble with the first mass e-mail, but it appears that it made it's way through the truly world wide web and arrived finally! I hope this one makes it too. Today was another nice, leisurely day. I was able to have my second out of three sleep in days. This is the grace period I get as a new arrival! I once again had difficulty falling asleep, so many things to think about - but once I did fall asleep, I slept in typical Shauna-fashion, like a rock.
I awoke at about 10 a.m. to Sister Maria coming into my room. She is the same eldely nun who greeted me my first night and made me dinner. She is very smiley and giggles a lot. It turns out that another couple of volunteers are coming to the Guest House and I had to move my things to another room. She and another nun were happily tidying up the guest house and they are the very best way to start the day, you can't help but smile back and laugh. I repacked my essentials and moved over to the Help Lesotho office, just down a small hill and moved bags to my new room there. I had some computer work to do for Peg - copying out phone numbers and other contact info into a database on her laptop. Once I finished that, there was lunch being served to the Youth Against HIV/AIDS group who are being trained next door. There was lots and I was invited to share. It was DELICIOUS - I loved the rice, mashed pumpkin and fake chilli. There is a popular (and inexpensive) way to feel like you're eating meat here, you boil water and add a package of a tofu-based, spiced mixture to it. It's so tasty. I'm going to bring some home to see if it's just tasty cause I'm really hungry, or if it's really that good! You never know, for example, I hate bananas in Cananda - I can't stand the consistency, they make me gag. Yesterday I bought one from a little child street vendor and ate it ravenously. Same with camping, the most simple things taste so good!
My big job for today was to teach 'M'e Mojaje how to write a letter on her computer. 'M'e Mojaje is a cheerful (although, who here isn't?) woman who operates the Leribe Craft Centre right next to the Help Lesotho office. It takes a minute or two to get between the buildings, as you have to trek up and down a tiny hill - not a totally direct route. The "lawn mower" (a cow with a leash on his horns) grazes between the buildings. I also saw a really dirty sheep this morning. 'M'e Mojaje and I had a wonderful time on the computer - I helped her to write her letter. She did everything herself and was really excited about spell check. We learned that Sesotho (the language of Lesotho) words are NOT in fact on the Microsoft Word dictionary. Weird. After we finished, I found out that she wanted to send the letter via e-mail. I gave her a lesson on "attachments" in Microsoft Outlook. We couldn't get online for quite some time, so we had a chance to practice her new skills. She'll do great. As a backup, however, I wrote her a list of instructions for the new things we had just tried. It's funny - both times I have used computers here it has begun to rain. My timing is perfect.
This e-mail is being written from 'M'e Mojaje's Craft Centre, which is staffed entirely by disabled women. They make beautiful mohair scarves, sweaters and hats, among other things. She has a computer in a back room that is protected by a tiny lock similar to the ones used to lock my suitcases (which survived the trip, wheels intact). She hooks it up to the internet when she needs it. The internet is painfullly slow - compared to what I'm used to, so I've opened up a solitaire game on the side as I wait for things to update! I'm having trouble learning PATIENCE...that will be my key task here. Just to slow down and take things easy, as they come. Things don't move as fast here and I have to get used to that.
I'm also really hyper right now, filled with excited energy, ready to get started. I will be travelling by public transport into Ficksburg, South Africa tomorrow to buy soccer balls (the ones that were donated were to large to transport, and the ones available in Leribe fall apart after three games, allegedly), and mail some letters for 'M'e Mojaje's son. I will take a bus to the border, and then walk into this border town. I will return on bus well before dark. Everyone is inside by the second the sun sets. It is not dangerous, per se, but the reputation you earn by being out after dark is not so good. Makes for early nights and early mornings, a much more healthy way to live!
On Saturday, I head to Pitseng to explore a town where HL does many projects. Then, on Sunday, I am hoping to visit the Tsepong Clinic, an AIDS clinic in Leribe run by Ontario doctors and nurses. On Monday morning I leave with Penney Place up into the mountains (Wendy - she loved her letter and loon!), to Mahlekefane. I cannot wait. I am not sure whether I will be living in a rondevel or a mud hut that is rectangular. I'll make sure to take lots of photos. Things are a little unclear, as I am the first volunteer to stay in Mahlekefane for a long time. Anyone who has visited in the past has stayed for under a week, and I'll be there for six. This is really what I'm here for and I am thrilled that it's coming up. After Mahlekefane, I will go to Thaba Tseka to work at Paray Primary school for about 5 weeks. This is the school that is paired with Fielding Drive in Ottawa (where I frequently supply teach). The drive to Mahlekefane takes over four hours and is supposed to be beautiful, breathtaking, one of the most beautiful in the country.
We will go almost all the way in a rented van, and the last leg will be taken in a hired 4 x 4 that will be able to get us up the steep, unpaved roads. Yee haw!
Thanks for your e-mails and best wishes, I'd love to hear updates from Canada!
To the MacDonald/Jansen family - You are always on my mind, I know you head to Toronto today and I am thinking of you every moment. I have the nuns praying for Anna every night.
This is my THIRD attempt to send this e-mail. I think I made a mistake in one person's e-mail (Roy Chineh - that's you) and it corrupted the whole thing (typical of Roy, really). I hope that it actually comes through, otherwise, I'm going to have Matt be the middle man and send this off to you.
Good morning to you all, It's past 4 p.m. here, so about 9 a.m. in Ottawa. I had trouble with the first mass e-mail, but it appears that it made it's way through the truly world wide web and arrived finally! I hope this one makes it too. Today was another nice, leisurely day. I was able to have my second out of three sleep in days. This is the grace period I get as a new arrival! I once again had difficulty falling asleep, so many things to think about - but once I did fall asleep, I slept in typical Shauna-fashion, like a rock.
I awoke at about 10 a.m. to Sister Maria coming into my room. She is the same eldely nun who greeted me my first night and made me dinner. She is very smiley and giggles a lot. It turns out that another couple of volunteers are coming to the Guest House and I had to move my things to another room. She and another nun were happily tidying up the guest house and they are the very best way to start the day, you can't help but smile back and laugh. I repacked my essentials and moved over to the Help Lesotho office, just down a small hill and moved bags to my new room there. I had some computer work to do for Peg - copying out phone numbers and other contact info into a database on her laptop. Once I finished that, there was lunch being served to the Youth Against HIV/AIDS group who are being trained next door. There was lots and I was invited to share. It was DELICIOUS - I loved the rice, mashed pumpkin and fake chilli. There is a popular (and inexpensive) way to feel like you're eating meat here, you boil water and add a package of a tofu-based, spiced mixture to it. It's so tasty. I'm going to bring some home to see if it's just tasty cause I'm really hungry, or if it's really that good! You never know, for example, I hate bananas in Cananda - I can't stand the consistency, they make me gag. Yesterday I bought one from a little child street vendor and ate it ravenously. Same with camping, the most simple things taste so good!
My big job for today was to teach 'M'e Mojaje how to write a letter on her computer. 'M'e Mojaje is a cheerful (although, who here isn't?) woman who operates the Leribe Craft Centre right next to the Help Lesotho office. It takes a minute or two to get between the buildings, as you have to trek up and down a tiny hill - not a totally direct route. The "lawn mower" (a cow with a leash on his horns) grazes between the buildings. I also saw a really dirty sheep this morning. 'M'e Mojaje and I had a wonderful time on the computer - I helped her to write her letter. She did everything herself and was really excited about spell check. We learned that Sesotho (the language of Lesotho) words are NOT in fact on the Microsoft Word dictionary. Weird. After we finished, I found out that she wanted to send the letter via e-mail. I gave her a lesson on "attachments" in Microsoft Outlook. We couldn't get online for quite some time, so we had a chance to practice her new skills. She'll do great. As a backup, however, I wrote her a list of instructions for the new things we had just tried. It's funny - both times I have used computers here it has begun to rain. My timing is perfect.
This e-mail is being written from 'M'e Mojaje's Craft Centre, which is staffed entirely by disabled women. They make beautiful mohair scarves, sweaters and hats, among other things. She has a computer in a back room that is protected by a tiny lock similar to the ones used to lock my suitcases (which survived the trip, wheels intact). She hooks it up to the internet when she needs it. The internet is painfullly slow - compared to what I'm used to, so I've opened up a solitaire game on the side as I wait for things to update! I'm having trouble learning PATIENCE...that will be my key task here. Just to slow down and take things easy, as they come. Things don't move as fast here and I have to get used to that.
I'm also really hyper right now, filled with excited energy, ready to get started. I will be travelling by public transport into Ficksburg, South Africa tomorrow to buy soccer balls (the ones that were donated were to large to transport, and the ones available in Leribe fall apart after three games, allegedly), and mail some letters for 'M'e Mojaje's son. I will take a bus to the border, and then walk into this border town. I will return on bus well before dark. Everyone is inside by the second the sun sets. It is not dangerous, per se, but the reputation you earn by being out after dark is not so good. Makes for early nights and early mornings, a much more healthy way to live!
On Saturday, I head to Pitseng to explore a town where HL does many projects. Then, on Sunday, I am hoping to visit the Tsepong Clinic, an AIDS clinic in Leribe run by Ontario doctors and nurses. On Monday morning I leave with Penney Place up into the mountains (Wendy - she loved her letter and loon!), to Mahlekefane. I cannot wait. I am not sure whether I will be living in a rondevel or a mud hut that is rectangular. I'll make sure to take lots of photos. Things are a little unclear, as I am the first volunteer to stay in Mahlekefane for a long time. Anyone who has visited in the past has stayed for under a week, and I'll be there for six. This is really what I'm here for and I am thrilled that it's coming up. After Mahlekefane, I will go to Thaba Tseka to work at Paray Primary school for about 5 weeks. This is the school that is paired with Fielding Drive in Ottawa (where I frequently supply teach). The drive to Mahlekefane takes over four hours and is supposed to be beautiful, breathtaking, one of the most beautiful in the country.
We will go almost all the way in a rented van, and the last leg will be taken in a hired 4 x 4 that will be able to get us up the steep, unpaved roads. Yee haw!
Thanks for your e-mails and best wishes, I'd love to hear updates from Canada!
To the MacDonald/Jansen family - You are always on my mind, I know you head to Toronto today and I am thinking of you every moment. I have the nuns praying for Anna every night.
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