Return to a New Home

My new, rounder, thatch roof

After my home leave was more than doubled by emergency leave and a medical issue I needed to deal with before returning to Lesotho, I finally returned to my African home on the first of March.

Except, it was not my home. My real home is a rural village in Butha Buthe with my host mother and four brothers. In my real home, everyone already knows my name and calls out greetings across absurd distances. In my real home, everyone knows me and I know them. In my real home, the young children come running to greet me repetitively until I am out of range.

But, right before I returned to America in December, I left that home. Now, my new home is an adorable rondavel with fancy aluminum windows and a windowed door. It has fresh yellow paint and clean, shiny linoleum over cement. The thatch is clean and does not leak. Physically it is a huge improvement over the heise I have adored for two and half years.

And yet, as homey as the house is, returning to a country that feels so much like home but a village that feels so foreign is not quite the same as coming home. My comfort in Butha Buthe allowed me to forget the first sensations I had when I arrived in Lesotho and that village. The awkwardness of needing to ask questions in broken Sesotho in order to figure out where the store is or when a taxi would be coming were so far behind me, I had dismissed them entirely.

A panoramic photo inside my home. It's magazine-ready!

By coming into my new village, I am gaining a new appreciation for the challenges of Peace Corps service. A popular tagline is that Peace Corps is “the toughest job you’ll ever love.” While I do not think it is the toughest job I have encountered thus far, the reality is that entering a community in a different culture and trying to integrate is a profound challenge.  Apparently, even after gaining a profound comfort in the culture, language, and country; that challenge is not diminished.

In my new community, children are still awed by the idea that I can speak to them in Sesotho slang. Instead of interacting, they giggle. Adults either glow over my ability to speak or reassure me that I will be even better in Sesotho soon, unaware that I am speaking to them in mostly English because that is the language they began our conversation in. I was to wear a crown that highlights my time spent living and working in Lesotho before I came to this new village. I want them to recognize that I am not fresh off the plane.

Despite those frustrations, I am discovering some wonderful universal truths about village life in Lesotho:

When you have a problem, even strangers will jump in to help.  
Somehow I, along with many other PCVs, recently missed the warning that our bank would be completely offline for three days over a weekend. This meant that our ATM cards were useless pieces of plastic-our accounts were completely inaccessible so we could not even use the cards as credit or debit cards. I had gone to town expecting to withdraw cash, so I did not have money to buy my food for the week, pay for my hair appointment, and pay for taxi rides home and back to town again in the future. I mentioned my challenge to two guys who immediately offered to drive me home to make sure I got there safely. It was only about 7km out of their way, but still an incredibly generous and caring thing to do as well as a wonderful reminder of my favorite Basotho idiom: Motho ke motho ka batho.

Society is social.
In my old village, no one had electricity and most people cooked outside on open fires. Although I am still living without electricity, more people in this area have access to electricity and the ability to live their lives indoors. Despite this, they still spend time every day walking through the village or sitting outside greeting neighbors as they pass. They still take the time to stop and chat with one another, even when they do not know each other.

Rocking my Seshoeshoe dress just before moving
into my new home.

People love to see their culture embraced.
When I first moved in and met the chief, I worse a Seshoeshoe dress. When I draw water, I carry it on my head to bring it back to my house. Since that meeting with the chief, countless people have commented on how nice wearing the local dress is. When people greet me and I am carrying my water, they comment nonstop on how I am Mosotho.

As Moshoeshoe Day approached, people were ecstatic to find that I know exactly who King Moshoeshoe I was and his significance in the history of Lesotho. They especially love when I note that I am following Moshoeshoe, who was in the Butha Buthe region before he moved to the mountain that hugs my village.

Peace Corps has a great reputation.
Within a day of moving in, I learned that my house held a PCV named Mariah over a decade ago. I have learned a lot about Mariah since then. For example, Mariah, also known as Ausi Rethabile, did not like country music and was from the west coast.

In many ways, Mariah has paved a path for me. Because villagers loved her, they welcome and love me.  They remember her while reassuring me that I belong. Because Mariah integrated well and worked hard in this community, they understand my presence differently than if I were their first volunteer. It does not matter that it has been over a decade since she lived here; she has made it easier for me to develop relationships that recognize my role as a PCV. Considering I am here for a shorter amount of time, I really value the role she is playing in my own integration. This was something I had not experienced in my village in BB because I was the first volunteer that had lived among them.

It is pretty neat to see the way that individual volunteers are remembered by their communities. I take pride in being part of an organization that leaves such a positive impact. 

Saying Goodbye Part 1

As I prepare to leave my village for the last two and half years; saying goodbye has become a regular part of my daily life.

There is no easy way in Sesotho or English to explain to my local friends and family just how much I will miss them when I depart. Last week I attended a community gathering and tried to say in words exactly how important the community is to me.

To translate for you, I said:

Chicken Coop Construction: COMPLETION!!!

Chicken house completion has finally happened...although two months became more than four, the house is completed and ready for the arrival of MCCC's 200 egg-laying chickens!!

The burglar bar completion finally happened a week after the third business owner gave me a quote. His staff was incredibly professional and efficient when they came to do the installation. They even helped fix a burglar bar on our hall while they were there! 

Burglar Bar installation-I had to see it to believe it!

The next week I had a momentary panic when the man we bought the chickens from called. When I ordered the chickens, he said the delivery would be happening in September. We were into the second week of October and still needed to finish the cages and buy chicken food. Before I answered, I was sure he was calling to tell me the chickens had arrived. Instead-to my great relief-I learned they would be arriving at the beginning of November! 

Ntate Tau adding drinkers to the chicken cages.

Over the next three weeks, every moment that I was not away to assist with Pre-Service Training for the newest members of Peace Corps Lesotho, I was working with Bo-'M'e to ensure we were ready. Ntate Tau, our chicken cage designer, returned a few times to install the chicken cages. His workdays were some of the most fun as we chatted extensively about numerous topics while he worked.

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.

The Exciting End of Secondary School

Hanging with Thabo and his best friend

Last year I promised my brother Thabo that if I stayed in Lesotho, I would attend his Form E Farewell. This is the local equivalent of a graduation ceremony; however, students finishing secondary school do not get a diploma as part of the ceremony. Typically the ceremony occurs just before the students begin writing their nationalized exams. If they pass these exams they will get a certificate showing they have completed secondary school. Graduation ceremonies are reserved for tertiary and university educations.

I was coming to the ceremony from the Peace Corps training village, so Thabo had arranged for one of his teachers to greet me and to store my backpack safely in the staff room for the duration of the event. Miraculously, my host mother, ‘M’e ‘Masekila arrived just after I took my seat and we were able to sit together.

Reading the program, I was surprised to see my brother was giving a speech!

As I looked at the program, I was both filled with pride and annoyed. My brother was giving a speech but had not told me about it! I had to learn it when I saw his name in the program. My pride only continued to grow when the Form E Boys Choir began performing and I realized he was leading the choir too!!

U motenya!

I leave my house for work and get called over by two village women awaiting their chance to do business with the chief. The first smiles and asks how my work is going. The second smiles and says “Ke bona u ja hamonate,” (I see you eat well) while gesturing at her hips with her hands about a foot away from each side to denote my large hips.

I draw a deep breath and expel a fake laugh before agreeing and noting that I have also have lost 30 kilograms since arriving in the village. The first woman agrees with me. I wish them well and head off to work stewing over being told, yet again, that I am fat.

***

I am in pre-service training on the night before our first community meeting. My host mother explains to me in broken English that I will be wearing her kobo or blanket. She then says she wanted me to wear one of her dresses, “but, you are too fat!”

***

I walk into a store and get a big grin from a female clerk. “Ausi, u motenya!” (Sister, you’re fat!). As my grin fades, a male customer next to her enthusiastically agrees, “E, u motle!” (Yes, you’re beautiful).

***

A taxi conductor attempts to overload my row of the taxi, where is sit alongside two other larger women. We fit comfortably, until he tries to put a fourth person in our row. The woman next to me starts laughing and says, “Ntate, re batenya kau fela!” (Father, we are all fat!) She then looks at me and points first to the woman on her left, then herself, and finally to me repeating the word motenya while smiling.

***

I am at the Peace Corps Medical Office standing on the scale. The doctor glances at it as I point out I have lost over forty pounds since arriving in Lesotho. She smiles at me and says, "Don't worry, it doesn't show." I am crushed for hours until I realize she was reassuring me

***

Living as a fat woman in America is not easy. People write blogs and posts about this everyday. Other people make horrible disparaging comments about how terrible said writers are. American women are bombarded by images convincing them they need to lose weight and look a specific way to be considered pretty or beautiful or even just average. Clothing models are many sizes smaller than the average women and many stores only carry sizes up to twelve or fourteen despite the fact that the average American woman is a size 16 to 18. 

In Lesotho, women spend their energy worrying
about whether their body can do things, not if
it compares to a supermodel on TV.

After a lifetime of internalizing the buying of extended sizes, the struggling to find active clothing without buying men's clothes, the doctor's running routine vitals or lab work and being shocked at my healthy levels, and the strangers assuming I am a binging, inactive, and unhealthy human simply because I am obese (despite my career choices and personal hobbies proving otherwise), it has been a huge adjustment to live in a place where comments about size are constant and are...

...compliments.

In Basotho culture, a country where most rural people struggle to maintain a healthy and substantial diet year-round, being fat is a sign of good health.  When people are stopping me on the street to tell me I am fat, they are stopping to tell me I look healthy or beautiful. 

Knowing this, however, does not undo three decades of insults and microaggressions. More than two years living in this culture, however, does not stop my American brain from being crushed when someone says "U motenya." The American inside me still translates this to 

You're ugly...

You're lazy...

You're unworthy...

The person delivering the complement smiles and is oblivious to my inability to accept their compliment. Meanwhile, my fake smiles, fake laughter, and forced thank you work their way out as I negatively internalize their complement and proceed to spend the next two days trying to remind myself that they are celebrating my looks and my body, not demeaning them. 

The longer I am away from American standards, culture, and media, the more accepting I find myself being of other people's bodies. I look around me and see women of many sizes and shapes. Instead of seeing wrinkles, big booties, or small boobies, I see beauty. I marvel at the differences between the people I encounter and the uniqueness of them all. I celebrate it. 

I am nervous to return to an America that is incapable of doing the same. More than two years away from the stinging judgement of American culture, it still invades my brain with its negativity and self-doubt. I desperately want to keep my ability to celebrate others' diverse beauty. I desperately want to continue learning to accept compliments on my shape, size, and self without tearing myself down. I am just not convinced that is possible in the United States. 

Meanwhile, I joyfully continue to live in a culture where a villager stops me to voice concern that I'm unhappy as he can tell I have lost weight.

If you like this post, also consider reading Five Lessons From Basotho Women  and Top Ten Surprises After a Year as a PCV.

Chicken Coop Construction Day Five

The written plan for the chicken house.

The walls are done. The guys finished the third wall in only two hours, before tackling the windows on the back wall.

They decided not to use the lintels we bought to go above the door as the steel doorframe will provide enough support for the bricks above the door. They then humored me into adapting the plan for the back windows. Instead of three equally sized 0.7 meter wide windows, we now have two 0.7m windows framing a 1.3m window.

Give than chickens need ample sunlight in order to lay well, I am excited by the new plan. We will end up two 0.9m lintels leftover, but at least that is less wasted money than if we did not use the larger ones.

Since I will be working my PCVL role with Peace Corps while the guys finish the roof and floor, Abuti Sama and I took a few minutes to go over the location of the supplies. When I return from facilitating an In Service Training for other volunteers and their counterparts, construction will actually be done!

From there, we will arrange for someone to burglar proof the windows and door. The cage builder will return to finish things. Then, we go to the Ministry of Agriculture to order our 200 chickens.

Before the chickens arrive, which can take up to two months, we have a few other things to do. Although we have already done initial business and accounting trainings, we are going to do more specific budgeting training. It is vital that the women in MCCC budget and save to buy feed and medicine every three months as well as new chickens annually.

Goofing off with my brother Thabo on the job site.

I would like to see them plan ahead as to how they intend to use their income in helping the OVCs [Orphans and Vulnerable Children] in our community. Ideally they will do so proactively instead of reactively. I am relieved to be staying at this site for the first quarter of my third year to help make these things happen!

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

Chicken Coop Construction: Day Four

“E felile” (aye fay-dee-lay) the grandfather of half the work crew says after lunch. Throughout the afternoon, as building continues, various people walk by repeating that same statement: “E felile,” or “It is finished.”

As Day Four closes, two sides and all four corners are completed. The walls will be done on Day 5. It is nearing completion, but it is not finished.

The morning and early afternoon were centered on the front face of the building. The guys’ fast pacing slowed due to the transitions to scaffolding and windows.

With only two men able to build at a time, the guys on the ground had more idle time to distract themselves. This gave me even more opportunity to jump in; lifting bricks above my head to my friend on the scaffolding.

The laid back attitude of the builders surprised me. Just as they finished the brick layer before the windows began, I asked how many bricks high the window openings would be.

Apparently in all our planning discussions, this never came up. I had been assuming they would be three bricks high while my friend was envisioning them as two bricks tall. He promptly removed bricks he had just cemented with no sarcasm or irritation. I expected at least a trace of annoyance but there was none to be had, reminding me how Basotho culture is incredibly accepting of things happening differently than planned or expected, especially compared to American culture.

The windows really slowed things down as nearly every brick surrounding them had to be cut just so in order to fit. While Abuti Sama trusted the other guys to split the half bricks by the door, he clearly did not have the same level of faith for the specific ones needed by the windows. He carefully measured and split bricks in half horizontally and took out perfect corners, all without wasting a single brick. His experience is obvious in all his efforts, as is that of his cousin (the other primary builder).

I cannot help but laugh at the expectations I awoke with on Monday. Day Four is done and we still need one more full day to do the walls, another two for the roof and floor. My expectations were not of my own making. I was told a week at most including the roof and floor. But, when Abuti Sama built his house, which is larger, they had the walls done in 1.5 days. Why did this “simpler” house take longer?

                1) It is winter. Abuti Sama built his house six months ago when the community and sun are awake at four am and dusk is at nine. Right now, the sun rises at seven and sets at six; making the workday five to six hours shorter.

The guys bring bricks uphill from the community building
to the building site, 5-7 at a time.

                2) The team…It was a team of five to seven experienced friends who were all home for the holidays who helped with his house. The process, with such experiences guys who are used to working together, is understandable faster than two experienced guys with five helpers to assist with moving bricks and mixing cement. Our team has been great, willing to work long and hard for their breakfast and lunch, but they are slower than the well-greased team he built his own house with.

Bo-'M'e watch the men working, thrilled to see the chicken house "finished".

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

Chicken Coop Construction: Day Three

As work began, I found myself pumping 200L of water with two of the women in MCCC. Yesterday, the youth club pumped and carried 250L to the building site before they begged off to finish practicing for their upcoming dance performance.

When we finish, I help unload bricks from the wheelbarrows. Each brick being used is being loaded in front of the community building and pushed uphill to the future chicken house. I am not sure why the bricks were delivered at the community building, instead of the construction site, but it has not been that awful to move them five or six at a time. Then again, I am not pushing the wheelbarrows…

A highlight of the morning was seeing the door put into place. The height of the door provides a great sense of perspective that the walls alone did not.

The door is in place and propped up with trees until
it becomes cemented in place.

Work proceeds at an even pace. The only interruptions come when various villagers approach. One man pesters me for a job. I try to explain that we do not have any money, which he refutes with the physical evidence of our building supplies. We are halfway through construction, the team does not seem to want more help, and in all honesty, we do not have any extra money. Although he has a beer belly, I still feel a mixture of guilt and annoyance repeatedly refusing while remembering ‘M’e ‘Majustice’s comment about the hungry man the day we bought our building supplies. After over an hour, he leaves with a smile and I feel less awkward.

The women carrying 20L of water each from the water pump
marked by the big square tower in the down the hill.

My “soft hands” are less of a hindrance today, most likely due to the guys getting tired of moving the bricks. They still comment on and marvel at them, but they allow me to help significantly more.

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

Chicken Coop Construction: Day Two

The walls are growing, albeit more slowly than any of us anticipated. Building started “on time” at nine, but the first few hours were a methodical exercise in precision as the two lead builders checked angles and levels repeatedly.

Once the base layer was in place, the pace picked up dramatically. The next three layers of bricks taking the same amount of time as the first one.

Abuti Sama cuts the plastic to
the correct size.

The glitch of the day was minor. I was asked for the roll of black plastic that acts as a moisture barrier. I proudly pulled out the giant 3m by 30m plastic we bought…only to learn the hundreds I spent was for naught; I should have purchased a roll of 15cm-wide black plastic for less than fifty Maloti.

The miscommunication showed itself as my friend and I discussed what he told me before I went to the supply store. When he described the plastic, he said it was “for the floor” so I bought enough to cover the entire floor. What was actually needed was to go around the edge of the floor. Out came a hacksaw and we cut the edge of my giant roll to achieve the needed dimensions. Internally I lamented the waste of money until my friend told me we would use the plastic on the floor too, since we have it.

At lunch time, the man building out chicken cages delivered. They do not look like much yet, but he will return in a few weeks to install them with feeders, drinkers, and tubing to fill the drinkers.

Watching the precision and craft that went into making everything level and strong, I feel much better about paying the builders today.

I spent the day trying to help. Women do not typically help in construction, so my efforts were not always encouraged. The guys, most of whom are my friends and one is my brother, would tease me until I jumped in to load, unload, or carry the bricks. Then, they would stop me, telling me I am strong my hands are too soft.

Sometimes I wish these guys could have seen me sail. 

The chicken coop at the end of day two.

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

A Day with Bo-'M'e*

The chicken project is finally starting. In reality, the project started over a year ago, as mentioned in Workshop Woe and CheckingOut Chickens. But, as of this week, there is visible and financial proof that things are happening.

Coming soon to this spot: MCCC's Egg-Laying Chicken House!
Construction begins July 2016!

Monday, we met with two representatives from the Ministry of Agriculture, who simply wanted to make sure that we had everything lined up. Then, on Tuesday morning, I trotted off to town with my counterpart, Ausi Mareisi, and two of the leaders in our group, ‘M’e ‘Matokelo and ‘M’e ‘Majustice.

Our first stop was the bank, where I withdrew half of the fund from our Peace Corps grant. Then, we headed to the store. Although we had our original quote, we had a few things to add to the shopping list so it took a few hours to complete our purchase. During the many long waiting times, we joked and laughed together while sitting on comfortable couches in the cold store.

Once we had paid and had the smaller items, we headed down to the loading area. Boloka was nice enough to give us free transport of our goods, but as we sat there half a dozen men with trucks approached us asking for the opportunity to transport our goods. Normally I get frustrated when people ask me for jobs as it is simply because they see my translucently white skin and assume that I have jobs to share. In this case, however, it made perfect sense as I obviously had not vehicle and had purchased large goods.

Watching them load 30 bags of cement.

While we waited…and waited..and waited for our goods to get loaded up, Bo-‘M’e grabbed the four of us lunch from a roadside vendor. We sat in the sun to stay warm while eating our meals amidst cement dust and a dozen men walking back and forth with building supplies.

Finally they began loading a truck with our goods. While three of us observed, a man came by and asked us for the job of unloading the thirty bags of cement he could see already loaded. ‘M’e ‘Majustice started by telling him that we did not have money to pay him. He tried bargaining with her, changing his offer from 80 Maloti to 70 to 60 and finally to only 50 Maloti. When she repeated that we did not have money to pay him, he transferred his attempts to me. I repeated the same things she said. He quieted for a bit before trying again. As frustration set in, I elaborated, explaining that the supplies were for a community project so we did not have money to pay people for labor. He immediately changed his tune and wished us luck. After he walked away, ‘M’e ‘Majustice quietly observed, “He must be very hungry, to do this much work for only 50. He is hungry.”

Still loading our supplies...almost done.

Throughout the loading process a number of younger men came up offering their strength to unload our supplies. None of them was willing to do it for less than 70. Each time I listened to ‘M’e ‘Majustice talking with them, I felt guilt over the hungry man. Although I remained polite externally, I had been frustrated by his persistence, not even reflecting on how disproportionate the work he was offering to complete was in comparison to the money he would accept. Days later, I wish I had simply accepted his offer and paid him out of my own pocket.

Finally our goods were ready. We learned the driver could only take one of us with him. After some discussion, it was agreed that ‘M’e ‘Majustice would go with him and that they would make a quick stop to purchase the trucks of sand we would need to mix with our cement. I gave her the money for the sand.

Ausi Mareisi, ‘M’e ‘Matukelo, and I then headed to the taxi rank, getting completely sidetracked. In front of one of the shops near the rank was a performer rapping and dancing. We stopped and watched the show, dancing and laughing together, until our taxi driver spotted us. He came over and told us there were only two spots in the taxi and he wanted to leave so we better get going.

Unloading the supplies

Thankfully, when we arrived, there were exactly three spots for us to take up and off we went. When we arrived at the community building, a handful of the women in MCCC were there. They had spent the day cleaning up the tall grass around the building while awaiting our delivery. Four men were unloading all our goods: three from Boloka Building Supply and one from the village. MCCC “tipped” the men from Boloka the same amount that we would have paid the man who begged us to hire him.

After the truck left, the women and I surveyed the goods in the hall. The women were thrilled that things are happening. They kept thanking me as I kept trying to say it was not me, but their efforts and work that made this happen. We finally agreed to disagree as we locked up the building.

As I walked away just before sunset, I marveled at what a productive day it had been. Other than the woman who worked with us at the building supply store and occasional conversations with Ausi Mareisi, I had completed an entire day in only Sesotho. We had bought our building supplies and sand. I had arranged to pay the deposit for our cages. While I had started the day thinking we would also buy the cement blocks for the house, time had not allowed it, so we had rescheduled that for later in the week. After a long day out and about, I was excited to head home and excited about our project taking shape.

*Bo-‘M’e:. ‘M’e means mother and is the title given to all married women. It is made plural by the “Bo” preceding it, so in this case it means more than one woman or mother.

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

Failure to Adapt: 4 Cultural Things that Challenge Me

After more than two years in Lesotho, there are many aspects of Basotho culture that have become a part of my own identity and tradition. I absolutely love living here, as evidenced by the procrastination of My Peace Corps Service Conclusion. There are, however, times that the American inside me struggles with specific cultural norms...even when I understand them...even when I know where they originate from...even when I respect the. Here are a few norms in Lesotho that are so vastly different from my own past that I simply cannot seem to overcome them:

Here my Grade 6 Life Skills students sing for me, but
they have also insisted I stop teaching to answer my phone
when I forgot to turn the ringer off before class.

1. Interrupt Please!

I know and understand this. I do not take offense when someone interrupts our conversation for a ringing phone or to greet someone passing by. At the same time, every time I walk by a friend engrossed in a conversation, I have an internal battle between being a rude American and butting in with a greeting or being a rude Mosotho and walking by without saying hello. Every time I have to force myself to choose Basotho culture and interrupt with pleasantries. Every time.

2. Just Ask

As I explained in Motho Ke Motho Ka Batho, the cultural belief in Lesotho is that people are here to help one another. As a result, it is completely acceptable and even encouraged to ask people for what you need or want. Out of matches or salt, pop next door and ask for some. Need something from town and a neighbor is going, just ask. Hungry or thirsty after a long walk to another village, just pop into a random home and ask for food or drink. Traveling but not reaching your destination in a rural village before nightfall, just ask for a place to sleep.  The generosity and caring people show for one another is one of the most beautiful things about Basotho culture and tradition.

In America, however, we are staunchly independent. If we can do it ourselves, we should and do…especially in northern New England. Our Yankee Pride means we can barely accept help when it is offered and we never ask for it. When I first arrived in Lesotho, I struggled with people asking me for things. When people arrived at the Chief’s place, tired and thirsty from travel, I bristled that they felt it acceptable ask me for a glass of water when getting water requires work. I finally adapted and am comfortable sharing things as small as matches, salt, or water. I still struggle if someone asks me for food as I cook only enough for myself. And no matter how hungry or thirsty I get, I never ask for things.

This man insisted on a photo with me before assuring
me that he would be an excellent husband. 

3. Wife Up 

As I mentioned in Love and Marriage and My New Approach to Proposals, a  Mosotho man shows he is respectful and serious about a relationship by starting relationship conversations be bringing up marriage. Almost any time I am outside of my village, some man will say he wants to marry me or he will be my husband. Although I know that this is the polite opening to flirtation, the absurdly independent single woman inside me runs the other direction every time an offer or suggestion of marriage is made. I simply cannot start conversing casually with a man who suggests marriage before asking my name or knowing that I even understand the language he is speaking. 

4. Or at least Dial Up

A more modern version of opening with marriage proposals is to simply insist a woman give her phone number. I have seen men literally hang out of a taxi window and shout, "Give me your numbers baby!" More surprising to American me is that I have also seen women respond by giving the man her number! Once again, if someone starts with something big like a number instead of my name or a casual compliment, I simply cannot deal. I check out of the conversation, my smile becomes fake, and I internally role my eyes. It does not matter that I know this is the norm in Lesotho, I simply cannot wrap my brain around it and I will not be giving my digits this way.  

Blanket Wearing Weather

Winter in Lesotho means it is time for wearing blankets. Actually, Basotho wear blankets throughout the year, however, the blanket game is stepped up in the winter.

Women dressed up for our swearing-in ceremony. They are wearing seshoeshoe dresses and formal kobos.

The Kobo is a large blanket typically worn around the shoulders. Kobos play a significant role in Basotho culture. They are given as gifts at important life moments including marriage, Initiation School, and the birth of a woman's first child. Some designs and patterns have historical or cultural meaning as well. For example, the maize blanket represents fertility.

Men tie their kobo on the side, while women pin theirs in the center of the chest like a cape. For women, ensuring the lines of the kobo are even is of vital importance. Most Basotho have at least one nice kobo for dressy occasions and a number of older, well-worn ones that can be worn to stay warm on a daily basis.

The women in my organization staying warm as we work by wearing their charlies.

 The Charlie is a smaller blanket tied or pinned around the waist of a woman. Typically these are worn by married women-who are no longer to sit without sitting on a blanket and are expected to keep their core warm to ensure a healthy reproductive system. Often, however, when winter arrives, girls also wear them as they really help to keep a person warm.

 

While waiting to be weighed at the outreach clinic, this baby is staying warm despite the winter chill.

Baby Blankets are a year-round part of Basotho tradition-they are used to keep a baby on a woman’s back. In summer months, women will often use thing scarves or towels, but come winter, they utilize the same warm blankets they tie around themselves as a Charlie. Then, once the child is secured, another blanket is often put over the woman’s shoulders, cocooning the baby in warmth and protecting them from the elements. 

Women wearing all manner of blankets for a community meeting. The woman on the left has a baby under the blanket that covers her shoulders. As the sun became warm, many of the women removed their kobos from their shoulders and wrapped
them around their bodies instead.

Too Much Travel

From the end of October until mid-February, I managed to only leave my district twice; once for a Thanksgiving celebration with some friends at Malealea Lodge and for my incredible holiday trip to Durban and St. Lucia. I went four months only passing through Maseru on my way to and from Thanksgiving at Malealea. Although there are many things that can only be bought in Maseru, I loved being at home in my community and my district.

Since mid-March, however, I have made nearly weekly trips to Maseru-all of them overnight. To be honest, despite getting a lot of important work done while at the Peace Corps office, I am quite sick of the city and the travel. Each trip takes between four and seven hours each direction. Finally, the regularity of these travels is tapering.

So much of my life in the last few months has been like my
friend Dani in this photo...on the road.

So, given my clear affinity for the city and for entire days spent traveling between my village in Botha Bothe and Lesotho’s capital, why on earth am I going so often?

Sometime in December, I messed up my knee. I wrote it off as a torn or pulled hamstring and relaxed my then intense workout schedule. Over the ensuing two months, the knee alternated between mostly fine, a little uncomfortable, and possessed. Finally, I acknowledged it was getting worse and contacted the Peace Corps Medical Officer [PCMO].

Having a real medical issue—more than a quick trip to the local ER—has been one of my two biggest anxieties during service. I have no qualms about being far from medical care; with a decade of wilderness medical responder certificates, I am pretty relaxed about the possibility of injury or illness in a remote setting. Instead, I am terrified something could happen that would “make me unfit for service,” in other words, the idea of being sent home for medical care gives me hives.

So, anxiety aside, I have been working closely with our PCMO for the last three months. I was sent to Bloemfontein, South Africa to a specialist, which determined that my knee was surgical. PC Washington, PCMO, and I felt a more conservative plan might be better, so we have been trying physiotherapy, which is only available in Maseru.

Styling with a snazzy red
racing stripe to help my
IT band behave during
a week of Physio.

Weekly sojourns away from my site make things difficult. It is hard to explain to people who only see a doctor for emergencies and life threatening conditions that I am leaving the village every week to see a doctor when I do not appear sickly. When I tell them there is a problem with my knee and it is incredibly painful, they are sympathetic and empathize with me by sharing the joints that cause them pain. I have no doubt that some have far more serious conditions than mine, yet physiotherapy or surgery will never be a part of their lives.

Traveling to Maseru for two to three days each week also means that when I am in village, I am busier than usual, trying to fit everything into a smaller time frame. I find myself juggling different meetings and trainings around when I am available. As a result, I end up with no time for rest or for personal maintenance in a world where typical chores take more time than my schedule allows.

Clothes, bedding, and more on the line.

At one point, I had gone over two weeks without doing laundry. Since we had not had rain, I needed daylight to walk to the spring to complete the chore. With days getting shorter as winter approaches, that simply did not exist for me. (I also secretly had reservations about the walk with heavy wet laundry making my knee worse.) Thankfully my brother took notice of my dilemma and brought me water to do my laundry. I did my scrubbing by candlelight Sunday night and early Monday morning before hanging everything on the line.

I then spent the day in town with some women from my organization as we worked on our chicken project. I was feeling like I could conquer the world and get a million things done in a day until I was waiting at the taxi rank for a ride home and a huge storm rolled in. By the time I reached my village, I had given up. I knew that everything on the line would be drenched and that with my departure for Maseru at dawn the next morning, I had no idea how I would keep everything from growing mildew.

I felt completely overwhelmed until I rounded the corner of my hut to find my clothes gone. I have never been so grateful to find an empty clothesline. My brothers had no idea where my clothing and bedding were, but I knew that someone in the community had grabbed them before the rain came. The mystery of who had saved my week was solved an hour later when the clothes returned complements of a very slow elderly woman who lives nearby. For her to walk to our house, take down the clothes, and walk back home with them must have taken her nearly an hour!

After all of my back and forth travels, a dozen appointments, and lengthy PT homework assignments, I am pleased to be able to say that my knee appears to be on the mend. Two weeks ago, I reported my first pain free week, which allowed us to decrease my visit schedule. Since then, I angered it once but was able to correct the issues at home. After a check-in this week, I have a whole month before my next appointment.

Needless to say, I am thrilled.