It Could Have Been Me: World AIDS Day

Happy World AIDS Day!

24.9% of Lesotho’s population currently is infected with HIV. Think about that for a moment.

It is absolutely mind blowing to look around yourself at a meeting, party, football match, or funeral and think that statistically one-quarter of the people you are looking at have HIV.

Somehow, as I consider this, it does not shock me then that in one of my four years in Lesotho I had a possible HIV exposure.

Within minutes of my potential exposure to HIV, I was desperately trying to control the runaway adrenaline in my body as it caused my legs to twitch while rationally reminding myself through Google and memories from Peace Corps trainings that I still had ways to protect myself from the virus.

As I researched PEP-Post Exposure Prophylaxis, I struggled to contain my panic. Everything I read warned that PEP is difficult and has many side effects. There were many reports noting permanent liver or kidney damage. There were even more highlighting that patients were unable to complete PEP due to side effects and therefore would still end up HIV positive. Reading these reports, I was terrified and furious at the series of events that put me in this position.

PEP is actually one of two options available to prevent HIV infection. PEP typically consists of taking Antiretroviral (ART) medications for 28-30 days, depending on the type of medications taken, after a single incident of possible exposure.  The simplest explanation of how it works is that the ART medications prevent HIV replication in the body until all cells that may have been exposed die off.

The alternate option is for people at consistently high-risk exposure to HIV. This is called PrEP or Pre-Exposure Prophylaxis and consists of ART taken throughout the period of high-risk (e.g. having a long-term sexual partner who is HIV-positive). Scientifically, it works the same way that PEP does, however, the person must continue to take it correctly until a month after exposure risk ends.

Dino Printing

Dinosaur footprints in Morija, Lesotho

200 million years ago Lesotho, like much of the world, was home to dinosaurs. There is even a dinosaur named after Lesotho: the Lesothosaurus. This dinosaur was a small, agile, herbivore, traveled on two legs, and would have been about thigh high on an adult human.

Thanks to a geography that includes a lot of visible rock formations, fossilized footprints are scattered throughout the country today.

Over the last six months, I have finally had the opportunity to visit two of these sites.

Morija Prints

Somewhere up there are some dinosaur footprints...

The first of these adventures was in Morija, a village in Maseru district. Along with three fellow PCVs, we set out early on a Saturday morning in April, mostly to beat the sunny heat. From my friends' house, it was a vertical climb to reach the prints. As it was late autumn, we were under constant attack by my least favorite thing about Lesotho--a weed called Blackjack that clings to clothing.

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

Superstar Sentebale

Training partners on finding potential donors during a
recent resource mobilization workshop.

My new role, as of my return to Lesotho, is still working half of the time as a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader and now includes working half of the time with Sentebale.

Sentebale is the Sesotho word for “forget me not.” The NGO Sentebale was founded by Prince Seeiso of Lesotho and Prince Harry of the United Kingdom. It was started over a decade ago after Prince Harry visited Lesotho for two months during his gap year between high school and university.

Before I began working with Sentebale, I thought very highly of the organization. I had an impression of Sentebale as being one of the highest functioning NGOs working in Lesotho. After almost two months with the organization, I am excited to say that my impression was accurate and the organization is even better than my initial impressions.

Easter Reunions

Family Photo-Mme Masekila, Abuti Mokhesuoe, Abuti
Thabo, Abuti Polau, and me. We are only missing
Abuti Sekila and my replacement, Ausi Mosa.

People often say you can’t go home again. In December, I stared at the familiar Boston skyline as my plane landed and agreed. After being gone for the last two and half years, people felt like home, but America did not.

Friday, however, I disagreed profoundly. The moment I got out of a car in Botha Bothe, a man greeted me by name. As I shopped for food, people did double-takes, exclaiming when they realized it was, in fact, me.

Once I finally made it to my village—after a three-hour wait for a taxi—the homecoming really began. Within twenty minutes, I had seen my supervisor and another woman I worked with, two of my best friends and my mother. Everyone greeted me with joy, hugs (These are not typical, which only made them even better), and celebration. As my mother and I walked home, people stopped us to comment on my return and to be sure I remembered them after my four and half months away.

Loss of Light

I hear the laughter of little boys outside my door. Putting down my book, I go to the open door and find four boys between three and six. They are all carrying sticks. Three are laughing at the one who has just nabbed a peach out of one of the peach trees on my lot.

Culturally, I know that he should have asked before coming into the yard and taking peaches. But, this is my first weekend in my new village and admonishing small children is not the first impression I want to make. Instead, I great the boys and ask them what’s up.

The continue to giggle and start moving towards the road. When it is clear they are not going to speak Sesotho with me and they are moving on, I head back inside.

Twenty minutes later, I pop out again, this time to retrieve my solar lights. I had hidden them in the tall grass two feet from my open window to charge them up. It is Sunday and I do not anticipate being able to charge them again until Saturday as my new job will have me working a forty-hour week at an office.

Instead of three Luci lights, I find only one half eaten peach.

My heart stops. I immediately know what has happened and even know who did it. But I do not want it to be true.

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.