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.
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