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!

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.