Oops! I did it again!

Over three years ago, I arrived in Lesotho and I fell in love...not with a person (sorry gentlemen and Aunt Betsy who is convinced I will come home engaged!), but with the country, its culture, and its amazingly open, welcoming, and friendly people.

Last year, when the close of my Peace Corps service approached, I politely said, "Kea hana!," or I refuse. I extended my service and stuck around for an extra year as a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader. 

For me, the first two years of my service were overwhelmingly wonderful. Living in my rural village, working with villagers in Sesotho, experiencing a new culture...none of it lived up to Peace Corps' tagline as "The Toughest Job You'll Ever Love." 

Although my "job" itself still is not difficult, this third year, by comparison, has been a lot tougher mentally and emotionally. I said goodbye to the PC volunteers I was closest to as they returned to America. I spent July to December traveling constantly back and forth between Peace Corps trainings and my village. My brother left suddenly to work in the mines. I then had to say goodbye to my beloved Basotho family and villagers. I spent more time in the US than anticipated when my father suddenly passed away at Christmas. I returned to Lesotho ready to integrate into my new community only to face security issues while readjusting to life without my father on the other end of the phone. 

I cried only twice during my first year here, whereas my third was punctuated by emotional moments in both Lesotho and America. 

Despite these challenges, I cannot imagine being anywhere else. The things I shared a year ago when I announced my extension are just as valid today as they were then. 

And so, with glee, I am happy to share that I've done it again!

I have once again extended my Peace Corps service including my work with both Peace Corps and Sentebale until August 2018! 

Five Reasons I Can't Leave Lesotho

Lessons from my Father

In the summer of 2014, a Peace Corps peer’s father passed away suddenly. Considering my own had been battling cancer for seven years by then, it was a reality check for me. The next day, I wrote this in my journal:

Our welcome packet [for Peace Corps Lesotho] made no pretenses about the death we would face in Lesotho. The stark words said, “you will make friends and they will die during your service.” Although honest, they did not really prepare me for the three deaths in the training village that have happened in the month we have been here or for my language instructor and my host mother to both leave the same weekend to attend family funerals.

What about the suddenly too real possibility of a family member or friend passing away during my service? In the States, I felt mentally prepared for the possibility. I remember my Peace Corps interview two years ago and acknowledging something catastrophic occurring within my immediate family being the only reason I could anticipate terminating my service early.

Last Thanksgiving, when I said goodbye to Grandpa for the first of three times I thought, “This might be the last time…please God, don’t let it be.” In March, during my visit with my father, ha asked, “How do you feel about going away with me sick?”

My answer, which clearly pleased him, was, “It’s been seven years, life cannot be on hold forever.” While that answer still rings true today it feels like a bigger sacrifice right now. It is more than twenty-four hours of lonely travel to get home.

The Peace Corps response to my peer’s situation has been great. Once she heard what had happened, they got her on the first available flight home. She gets two weeks of emergency leave before she needs to discuss returning with Washington.

I cannot help but wonder, were I her, would I return? Mid-service, I think I would give returning a try. But, right now, during training, I genuinely do not know if I would. Would two weeks out of training leave me ill prepared for the future in Lesotho? Would I have the stamina to deal with training and integrating while also mourning and coping? Would I be abandoning my family in their hour of need? It is hard to say what I would decide. I can only pray it does not happen and offer my deepest condolences and support to my friend and her family.

Family dinner shortly before I was to
return to New England.

Two and half years later, this journal entry has become real. Although he had more energy and vitality than when I left for Lesotho, my father passed away suddenly just before Christmas. Thanks to providential timing, I spent a week visiting an active and (relatively) healthy father during my home leave. Then, just before I was to say goodbye for nine more months, the story changed. Instead of laughing together, well wishes, and teasing about having not written a blog post all month, there was an ambulance, ICU, exhaustion, and tears.

Throughout it all, I could not help but wonder in awe at the timing of it. The entire situation is one I would rather never face, but a few weeks earlier or later and it would have felt so much worse.

Despite that, I am now facing the same questions I asked when my friend’s father passed away one month into my Peace Corps experience. Although my training is complete, I have just moved villages and am back to needing to get to know people, my community, and a new job. Do I have the stamina to do those things while I mourn and cope with my new reality? Am I abandoning family when I am needed?  I have some incredible and wonderful friends in Lesotho-some Peace Corps, some Basotho-are they the people I need supporting me through this? Are they physically close enough to me to even be capable of supporting me?

Despite these questions plaguing me, I know I will return. Grief, mourning, shock, and sorrow are not an excuse to abandon life. And the reality is, my life, for now at least, is in Lesotho.

So, I will continue to embrace the life that made my father proud. I will continue to write about it as I hear him tease me whenever I lapse. I will continue to explore the world and seek the adventurous paths that made him as envious as he was proud.

Throughout my service, every time someone else has faced a family emergency, it has been an unwelcome reminder that life in America continues and life includes wonderful moments but also terrible ones.

For those of you who never had the opportunity to know my father, here are my words from his ceremony a few days ago: 

Hardship Hits Hardest at Home

My suddenly very adult brother,
Abuti Thabo, at the mine. 

I stare at the screen of my phone and blink back tears of frustration and anger as I reread my brother's text message: "I miss you too my sister. I don't think I will come for writing [my exams] because they are disallowing me to come write."

One week before receiving this frustrating text, I had been sitting in the hall at my brother's school; beaming as he received the Leadership Award. Now, I am sitting in that same hall doing Camp BRO. I am forced to be on my game-inspiring young men to be positive leaders for social change-when all I want to do is mourn the future I imagined for my brother.

My amazing and inspiring brother will not be completing secondary school at the end of November as planned. He will not be writing the intense Form E exams to earn his certificate—the Lesotho equivalent of a diploma.

Instead, he is now an employee at a platinum mine in South Africa; taking on the job his father held before his untimely death a decade ago due to “mine-related illness.” Because the mine acknowledged responsibility for his illness, they have been holding a position for my brother for the past decade.

Small Blessings in a Hungry World

Lesotho and Southern Africa continue to face a drought. (If this is news to you check out Dust in the Wind and Drought Update) Now that harvest time has come a gone, the impact of not growing food for this year is becoming more apparent.

Maizemeal with a sticker denoting its subsidized price. 

The Lesotho government, with help from some outside nations, has done two big things to alleviate the struggle of rising food costs in the country. For the next year, they are subsidizing peas, beans, and maizemeal grown and produced in Lesotho by thirty percent.

As my host family prepared to harvest their maize a few weeks ago, my brother gleefully told me that this year the government was not “taxing” their crops. Typically, the Ministry of Agriculture provides manure and pesticides to the villagers. Instead of paying in advance for these important tools, villagers “pay” the government with a certain amount of their crops. From my understanding, this varies depending on the yield and the number of people in the family, so that, in theory at least; each family comes away from harvest with enough maize and/or sorghum to feed themselves until the next harvest.

Because so few people were able to grow crops and the crops that did grow started months later than usual, the government is not taking its usual percentage.

Typically, my villagers harvest in blocks, working together to harvest each field in the block as a group. This community effort makes harvesting easier, especially determining the government’s portion. This year, however, each family is harvesting for themselves. For families with their own wagon and cows, that is not necessarily a hardship, however, for those without large numbers or livestock, it is definitely harder to accomplish without hiring other people to help.

The first load of maize coming in from my family's field.

The lack of tax on the crops combined with good field locations near the Caledonspoort River means that my host family’s harvest yielded almost as much maize as they brought home last year. I consider this to be a huge blessing as I have been worried about their ability to buy maize throughout the coming year. Even my brother Thabo had been wondering if they would be able to afford food for the year. When he told me we would get to keep all our maize, he was equally excited to relate that perhaps that means they would still be able to buy flour this year.

I am thrilled that my family has been blessed in this way even though such a feeling also yield guilt knowing thousands of families that are not mine are facing a year without any crops to celebrate. Still, I cannot help but celebrate that the family that has generously shared a home and love will have food to eat. 

Transportation Tuesday: Moving Faster

Getting around in Lesotho without a personal car is surprisingly easy…if you have a lot of patience and even more time. Public transportation—in the form of large vans and small buses-goes almost everywhere, but the taxis make frequent stops, will not leave a population locale unless full, tend to cram as many people and supplies in as possible, and blast music at deafening volumes. Over the next month or so, I will be sharing a series of posts called Transportation Tuesday, which will highlight different aspects of transportation in Lesotho.

In case you missed the previous Transportation Tuesdays:

     Public Transport

     Five Reasons to Befriend Your Taxi Crew

     Befriending Your Taxi Crews

Three weeks ago, I traveled to Maseru during a monsoon. No, Lesotho does not have a monsoon season, but that day was rainy enough to qualify. 

The flooded donga...which had been dry the day before.

I left my house by 7:30. The thirty minute walk out of the village took an extra twenty minutes thanks to the slippery mud and flooded donga I had to traverse. I was picked up by the first taxi for the ride into town. Once in Botha Botha, I decided to take a Venture-a form of taxi that holds nine passengers. I paid my fare and hopped in. I shivered as we waited for four more passengers. When we set out, we made decent time to Maputsoe-a town not quite halfway to Maseru from my site-as we only stopped four times for passengers to get off or on.

My plan in Maputsoe was to "get a lift" or hitch to Maseru. I walked past all the taxis with their aggressive drivers and conductors trying to get me into their near empty cars to my usual hitching spot. There I stood for fifteen minutes with no one even slowing down in the rain for me. A taxi pulled up and gently encouraged me to hop in. I warned them I was in a hurry and would get out if they stopped for long but I got in. In the next major town, where taxis sometimes wait for hours, I was prepared to pitch a fit and hop out. Instead, almost as soon as we stopped, the other Maseru-bound passengers and I were shuffled onto a nearly full taxi. 

I was still wearing my raincoat, but had not put on my sweater as I wanted it to stay dry. The taxi was freezing because the driver's window was stuck open with a screwdriver in the opening to help hold it in place. As taxis usually do, we stopped and started the entire way to Maseru while I hugged the backpack on my lap pretending it provided warmth. When I reached the Maseru taxi rank, I hopped off the taxi and onto a 4+1 to go to the Peace Corps office. 

Nearly 100 Maloti and 6 hours later, I arrive at the office. 

Today, I made the same trip. It took less than the usual thirty minutes to walk out of the village because it was cold and dry. Moving faster kept me warm as I passed through the fog-filled donga. 

Nearing main road, I could see only 50 meters in any direction. I heard a taxi pass by before I reached the road. Once there, worried that the taxis might not see me. Before a taxi arrived, a car driving from Mokhotlong to Maputsoe picked me up. We cruised along, discussing the weather and my work. In no time at all, I was getting out. Because I knew the passengers were paying the driver for the ride, I handed them some cash before I left. 

I once again walked to my usual spot and in less than three minutes was in a nice SUV heading to Maseru. We made stopped only twice on our route-to pick up and drop off another PCV I saw. Throughout the ride we discussed American politics, our work, our families, and more. As we entered the city, my new friend, Ntate Tefo, asked me where I was headed and then dropped my at the office. 

Only 25 Malot and 3 hours after leaving home, I arrive. 

Hitching is a popular mode of transportation for Lesotho PCVs. While it is not encouraged by Peace Corps, it is also not against the rules. Between the time spent waiting in taxis for movement and the aggressive nature of the drivers and conductors-particularly those that drive through Maputsoe-hitching becomes the go to, especially for distance travel. 

I never hitch in and out of my community. In fact, today's lift from the main road is only the third time I have take a ride instead of a taxi into town. If a taxi had arrived first, I would have taken the taxi into town. That goes back to last week's post about befriending the taxi guys. They do not like it when they see people hitching in their area because it represents lost income. I respect them, so I ride with them. 

But when it comes to traveling out of Botha Bothe, the difference in time and money is profound. There are three major towns between BB and Maseru. That means waiting for a taxi to fill or fill again four times. That is a lot of sitting around not moving towards the final destination. It is exhausting. 

When I first came to Lesotho, other PCVs talked about hitching and I pretty much wrote it off and figured I would take public transport all the time. The American in me saw hitching as too dangerous for a woman alone-just like in the United States. But, after a few long trips and increasing comfort with the culture and language, I too found myself on the side of the road flagging down cars. 

Getting a lift is a great way to make new friends like these
two lovely ladies with their snazzy phones!

It is not just about time and money, however, hitching provides the chance to interact with professional and educated members of Basotho society. I have ridden with business owners, lawyers, doctors, a District Administrator (the top government official for a district), principals, and more. Through conversations, hitching has allowed me to help an organization apply for a new PCV, to invite the Queen to come to Camp GLOW, and to bring the women from my organization for training on keeping chickens.

The conversations with people as we travel are always interested and enlightening. Often they know more about what is happening in American news than I do. They have interesting questions and perspectives. And so while hitching saves money and saves even more time, it, like so many things in Peace Corps and in Lesotho, becomes about the people and the conversations.

A Comparison in Comfort:

Traveling from Botha Bothe to our Peace Corps training villages outside of Maseru:

Public Transport:  July 2014, Nick and I were crammed into the back of a venture facing one another with our two bags stacked across our laps. This was our first taxi. On the second, the aisle was completely full of luggage and people had tried to squish big bags in the small space overhead. One suitcase fell, landing on my head and Nick's arm.

Hitching: November 2014 with the same luggage. Behind us are empty seats and our luggage sits on the floor without taking up our leg space. Although out luggage is dripping with rain, we are completely comfortable in every way and thrilled about our speedy trip!

Checking Out Chickens

Over a year ago, I shared my struggles and successes in a project planning workshop with my host organization. Since then, I have had little to say about our egg-laying chicken project as it stagnated terribly. I thought that my birthday in January brought the much needed training on egg-layers with the local Ministry of Agriculture, but miscommunications led to us waiting another month.

I wrestled with my role as a PCV throughout this year of waiting.  While I consider myself to be patient, it was hard to put such a large and valuable project on hold for months on end while awaiting a training I had zero control over. Repeatedly, I considered doing my own research and training the organization on the care of laying chickens.  But, one of our most important roles is to build capacity in our communities and our organizations. Doing it on my own is not effectively building capacity. Ensuring that the volunteers in my organization can complete their own research in the future-however time consuming-is the more sustainable option.

Chickens in their cages at LASTC.

 Since our training session, I have visited two successful laying projects to check out their structures, program, and day to day function. The first was at my friend Nick’s school. Their chicken coop was partially funded by a small grant from the American Embassy last year. As the school teaches agriculture, it was the perfect opportunity for me to ask experts fluent in English the questions I had developed on the project. Despite working hard to understand Sesotho, especially Sesotho related to my work, when we do all of our trainings in only Sesotho, I always worry I am missing or mishearing important pieces of information.

A curious pig. 

For the second visit, I was joined by some of the leaders in my organization as we met with the agriculture teacher at a specialty school in Botha Bothe. We learned about milk cows, piggeries, and layers. The teacher shared with us the details about feeding, record keeping, and the challenges of keeping both pigs and layers. It was great to see successful projects and to see the adaptations they have developed to make it work for them. I was especially glad to have members of the organization there, as they will be the ones actually ensuring our project is successful well after my time in the village has ended.

The women in my organization discussing the business of
keeping chickens.

Our day of chicken exploration concluded with a long visit to a local building supply store, where we got a quote for the building supplies we would need.

And now, many meetings, trainings, conversations, and visits later, I am pleased to announce that we submitted our application for a Peace Corps grant to help fund the start up costs for this project. Within two weeks, I had an exciting email telling me that not only was my grant approved-which means funds should arrive in a month-but Peace Corps Lesotho would like to use my grant proposal in training future volunteers! 

Brand new piglets born the day before our visit.

MCCC’s Egg Laying Chicken Project has been in development since March 2015. After many delays, MCCC and I were able to write a successful grant proposal for a VAST grant through Peace Corps. VAST grants are funded by PEPFAR to help with HIV-related work and OVC (Orphan and Vulnerable Children) care. It is due to MCCC’s work with OCVs that qualified us for the VAST grant. Otherwise, we would have applied for a PCPP [Peace Corps Partnership Program] grant and would have been asking for assistance in funding this grant proposal. I encourage you to consider supporting other PCPP projects.

Posts about this project include:

 Workshop Woe, Busiest of Birthdays, Checking Out Chickens, A Day with Bo-’M’e, Chicken Coop Construction Day One, Day Two, Day, Three, Day Four, Day Five

World AIDS Day

Happy World AIDS Day!

I remember living in America, being blissfully ignorant about the vital importance of this day and continued work in HIV care and treatment. My how things change!

Now, I live in Lesotho, surrounded by the second highest HIV rate in the world. When people die from illness, it is almost always HIV-related. When people die from illness, HIV is almost never mentioned.

Just as it does in America, HIV in Lesotho continues to carry an incredible stigma and huge amounts of discrimination. It seems that in America, because it can be transmitted through sexual activity and intravenous drug use, it is seen as scary and the repercussions of someone’s sins. The reality is, however, that here in Lesotho, the people most likely to contract HIV are young women ages 15-24. Many contract HIV through unprotected sex with their husband or an older partner. Many do not feel empowered to say no to sex or to insist upon condom usage in their relationship. Many have had only one partner.

Dribbling around risks
in life is an important
skill.

It is time for us as a world to look past the fallacy that someone did something wrong to contract HIV and to instead move toward helping to limit the scope of this disease.

Thanks to Anti-retroviral therapies, a person with HIV can live a long and productive life through maintenance medication, just as a person with diabetes, high blood pressure, and any number of other chronic conditions can. Additionally, an HIV positive person who religiously takes their medications can decrease their viral load so profoundly that the risk of them passing it to a sexual partner or to a child through birth or breast milk is incredibly reduced. There is simply no reason to stigmatize this disease!

A participant does push ups after hitting the "cone" for
risk of multiple partners during Risk Field.

For World AIDS Day here in Lesotho, my awesome counterparts and I added to the PC Skillz Grassroot Soccer Intervention we were already doing. Our practices today playing a game called Risk Field which uses risks like older partners, multiple partners, not using condoms, and combing alcohol and sex to show how HIV impacts not only the infected person but their family and friends and their entire community. We also played a game called Fact or Nonsense, which let us decide whether statements were true or not before learning more about the real facts. 

We finished up the day with empowerment. Since the theme of this year's World AIDS Day is "The Time to Act is Now," everyone came up with something they can do to help stop the impact of HIV/AIDS. Here is what they shared: 

Fact: Abstinence is the most effective way to avoid HIV.

Fact: The older your sexual partner, the more likely you are to get HIV.

"I will advise them [infected persons] to go to the health center for ARVs"

"I will tell them to abstain from sex..."

"I will form a social group"

"I will advise people to use condoms when having sex."

"I will tell them to go to the hospital.
I will tell them to have one boyfriend or girlfriend."

"I will tell them to have protected sex."

"I will abstain."

I will use condoms every time I have sex."

 How will you help reduce the impact of HIV/AIDS?
The time to act is now!

Greenhouse Greatness

Despite the drought I recently wrote about, there is one area that my community’s agriculture is still succeeding.

In the 1980's, the community banded together to start what is known in Lesotho as an agricultural scheme. The chief found funding to get drip irrigation supplies and to build a large cistern.

Since then, a number of the community fields are worked as a group. The fields are still independently owned, however, unlike those used for staple crops like maize, these are planted as part of the community’s efforts. The produce is then sold throughout Lesotho. Buyers include some of the largest grocery chains in Lesotho and South Africa. Much of the proceeds go to improving the scheme and helping with school fees for those who need it, however, the field owners and the villagers working also earn a little bit. Additionally, villagers from all over the area come to the fields for u-pick produce at incredibly low pricing.

Women planting cabbage seeds.

Sometime in the last thirty years, funding also came through for a metal barn-type structure. In the last year, another funding source came through. Letseng Diamond Mines in Mokhotlong funded the construction of three greenhouses. They were completed only a few months ago and thankfully have not been damaged in the recent dust storms (I have seen some that were completely shredded, leaving only the metal frames intact).

The other day I was able to visit the scheme on a day when everyone was busy working. My friend and neighbor, ‘M’e ‘Maseqhobi (Ma-say-‘click-obi), took me to see the inside of the greenhouses. Two of them are currently housing tomato plants in abundance. They plants are as tall as I am and the tomatoes are the largest I have seen in Lesotho. They are not even beginning to turn red yet, so they will be huge by the time we begin harvesting in a month. ‘M’e ‘Maseqhobi promised to let me know when the tomato harvest begins so I can head down to pick my own. I did not want to stun her by begging to buy some green tomatoes for making fried green tomatoes, as looking at all those green tomatoes was making me drool a bit.

The third greenhouse is the seedling house for the crops being planted in the fields. On Monday, they were planting cabbage. Because men and women’s work is clearly defined in Lesotho, even in farming, the women were planting the seeds while the men carried the flats to the greenhouse. Once in the greenhouse, the flats are placed on frames to make caring for them easier. The tomato greenhouses have drip irrigation while the seedlings are watered by a man wearing a water backpack.

We may not be growing our staple crops yet, but at least there is still something happening at the fields.

Dust in the Wind

This time last year, I was learning just how much my roof could leak.

My wet path through the
donga last October,

This time last year, I was learning to tread carefully through the incredibly slippery mud to avoid skating across it.

This time last year, the village’s fields had been planting and the maize was already over a foot high.

This time last year, when I walked through the donga, I had to follow the path as a stream ran through the center of it. I had to rinse the mud off my feet at one of the many pools to avoid reaching town with mud-encrusted feet.

This time last year, I did my laundry at home, using the water my family collects from the roof.

The view from my house one afternoon last October.

This time last year, rainbows and afternoon thunderstorms were the norm.

This time last year, I used my umbrella daily to hide from the hot sun in the mornings and the drenching downpours in the afternoons.

Today, my roof has been repaired. I learned in September when we had rain, that it still leaks, however, it is not leaking right now.

Today, I find myself trudging through the dry and dusty sand instead of skating slipping through the mud.

Today, the fields are sitting, ready for maize that has not been planted yet.

My incredibly dry walk through the donga this morning.

Today, the donga is dry. All but one pool has dried up completely. That pool is muddy, algae-filled, and holds very little water right now.

Today, I continue my dry season routine, going to the spring to do my laundry as I pray that the slowing flow rate does not become a dry spring.

Today, I carry my umbrella, hoping to use it, however, it is usually too windy.

A few weeks ago, the Lesotho Disaster Management Authority sent out a text message to the country. It read, “Dry conditions are predicted country-wide from now up to March 2016. The public is advised to be cautious and prepare for the expected impacts.” Sometimes the media is attributing the drought to climate change, other times to El Nino.  Regardless, it is here and it is definitely an issue.

Instead of rainy afternoons and evenings, Lesotho is reminiscent of the dust storms scenes in Interstellar. Twice in the last two months, we have had damaging dust storms pass through, blowing dust through walls, windows, and roofs, ripping roofs right off of homes, and bending the sign metal like it were silly putty. Most afternoons, the wind picks up, blowing thunderclouds through without giving them a chance to even sprinkle upon us. The few rains we have seen last only long enough to pockmark the sandy ground, not long enough to moisten it fully.

While my American friends are filling my Facebook newsfeed with opinions about terrorism, refugees, and the political primaries, my fellow PCVs are posting stories connected to a life without water. My friends in the southern districts of Mafeteng and Mohale’s Hoek share anecdotes about not being able to do laundry, waiting in line for hours at the only working water pump, Peace Corps delivering water, and the like.

I am blessed to live in the northern part of Lesotho, which is typically wetter than those districts. As a result, we have not fully exhausted our water supply, however, the water shortage is already creating an impact. For the last month, the water for town has been turned off most of the time. This has made it particularly exciting when looking for a toilet while in town, where latrines are scarce.

The empty fields ready for planting.

I spoke with my chief recently about how well our village is prepared to deal with the repercussions of this drought.  My initial concern was whether he anticipated we would run out of water. He was quick to point out that the water flow has decreased already, however, not to a point where we need to start rationing. Our next step would be to turn off the taps, opening them for a specific number of hours each day and limiting each family to one or two buckets of water-20L to 40L.

Our conversation naturally turned to the part that is of greater concern, the staple crops. The maize, sorghum, and beans have not been planted yet because of the lack of rain. If it does not rain until March, what does that mean for food over the coming year? Will the maize have time to produce before winter? Will the people in the community who buy very little of their food be able to survive on what is grown this year?

It is too soon to answer the questions, but they plague me regularly as I watch the clouds dance their way across the mountains every afternoon. They concern me as I walk through the village and see the empty home gardens, waiting for the rain. They terrify me when I walk by the village’s tilled maize fields and the agriculture building with the bags of seeds stacked against it.

The field areas last year on a misty day.

The worst thing about living in a developing nation is that it is ill equipped to correct for this drought. Lesotho has water, lots of water. It is dammed up behind places like the Katse Dam and the Mohale Dam. Lesotho exports water to South Africa every day. It does not, however, have the infrastructure to get this water to its own people.

Toto famously sang, “Bless the rains down in Africa.” Today, we beg to be blessed with those rains! 

A Donkey, a Rat, and a Herd of Bovine...

Over the last month or two, I have been glowing with joy over my life in my village in Butha Buthe. Recently, I spent a wonderful week at PST [Pre-Service Training] for the incoming Healthy Youth volunteers. During a session on volunteer mental health and resiliency, I confessed I rarely have bad days.

I returned home from PST on Monday, exhausted from travel and a few late nights chatting with various volunteers I connected with during my travels. Although I desperately wanted to be alone for a bit, I allowed my oldest brother to visit for the two hours I had before my counterpart came for a meeting. I had not seen him since my site visit in July, as he has been trying to work in South Africa.

After my meeting with my counterpart, I noticed the local “free-range” ass had eaten most of my garden, leaving behind only a few carrots (though he'd dined on the greens), a tomato plant, and my precious spaghetti squash that had just reached reproductive maturity. I was a little bummed, but because the squash was intact—we don't have spaghetti squash in Lesotho, these seeds came from a care package—it did not matter too much.

That night, while my brothers were visiting, there was a rustling in the “kitchen” corner of my hut. Abuti Thabo jumped up to investigate and announced I had a rat. I did not believe him until I saw the holes it had gnawed in a bag of sorghum. Apparently, the rat had moved in during my absence.

Somehow more skittish than usual, I pulled down the mosquito net for the first time in months, carefully tucking into my mattress. I did not want to cuddle with my new roomie! Despite my net fortress, I did not sleep well as he partied late into the night.

Tuesday morning, as I ate my breakfast, my new roommate made a dash from the kitchen corner to the wardrobe corner, giving my visual confirmation of his impressive size, species, and speed.

Just before I left for work, I walked into the backyard, stopping short. Instead of tall weeds and my tiny garden, there was a herd of cattle enjoying a feast. My 5-6 foot long spaghetti squash was gone! I talked two cows out of my path as I stomped to my latrine. When I came out, a huge heifer was blocking the only way back to the house and was uninterested in moving. The molisana (mow-dee-sauna or herdboy) was paying no attention. Culturally, women in Lesotho are not supposed to walk through the middle of a herd and usually molisana are quick to move cows that are blocking the path. Fighting tears, I prodded the unwilling bovine out of my way.

I was so devastated by the loss of my spaghetti squash that I could not even fake being my usual positive self. I sadly told my visiting oldest brother that the cows had finished off my garden, knowing that he had asked the to have the cows clear the yard. He, of course, apologized and tried to cheer me up with promises of a new plot and the long awaited fence to keep the ass and other animals out of the yard. Despite his apologies, I was still bereft, pointing out that it is winter and too late to plant more squash. Plus, I noted, we cannot buy spaghetti squash here so I now cannot test harvesting a squash and planting the seeds to share with villagers in my two years here.

molisana

As I finished gathering what I needed for work, he came to my door to apologize again. I wanted so badly to tell him it was fine and to give him a smile to reassure him, but I was incapable of it. I reassured him that I understood and was not actually upset with him, but that I was still upset.

Walking the 25 minutes to work, I struggled to hold back tears and wondered repeatedly what I am doing here. At the same time, the rational part of me questioned how a squash plant could affect me so much that it was temporarily erasing all the joy I usually feel for all the aspects of my life here.

When I arrived at work, one of the women gave me dried sugar beans from her garden, but mostly the ten women present gave me space as they could tell I was not my usual cheerful self. While we waited for more members of the organization to arrive, I tried to perk up. I knocked out nearly a dozen phone calls; scheduling a variety of important meetings over the next two weeks.

Eventually, we started our meeting but quickly rescheduled it for the next week as many critical individuals were missing. As we prepared to depart, I had my counterpart ask everyone how to get rid of my new roommate. One woman offered me poison and we began the slow paced walk to her home. On our way, we connected with another woman who said she and my supervisor would deliver some later so I did not have to travel so far.

Thus, my counterpart and I continued towards my home. Before we parted, I shared what had happened and she mentioned that the women had asked her if I was okay. I assured her that I would be fine and back to smiling in no time. When I finally got home, the tears I had held off for three hours overwhelmed me. For the second time since arriving in Lesotho nearly a year ago, I locked myself in my home for ten minutes of sobbing while saying lies like “I don't want to do this anymore.”

Then, I was mostly better. I started cleaning and working. I made a few more phone calls and had a great conversation with the Country Director about the GLOW camp I am working on.

In reality, despite my out of character and dramatically out of proportion reaction to the loss of my potential squash, it was one of the most efficient and productive days in recent months. I literally connected with every person I needed to and was able to check off over twenty items on my “to-do” list.

A homemade rap trap baited with a seed.

The misery I felt does bring me back to the topic of volunteer mental health and resiliency. How is it that something as unimportant in the scope of my service, my life, and the world impact my entire day and my interactions so greatly? Obviously, exhaustion played a role as did the rat and ass interactions in the preceding sixteen hours. But how can one or even three negative experiences overshadow dozens of positive ones so profoundly?

I can look at the empty garden without choking up now. And Tuesday night I slept through the sounds my rat roommate made. Wednesday night my brothers caught the rat with a trap one of their friend's made. I am sure in a week or so I will laugh at the tears I shed over a plant.

And, I now know that the Sesotho word for poison is the same as medicine: moriana (mow-ree-ana). You can think about that the next time you sing “a spoonful of sugar helps the moriana go down.”