Learning Language

Attempting to look confused, I stared at the woman in front of me. “Huh?” I said before turning to the two people sitting next to me for help.

The woman in front of me repeated her question, “U roabetse joang?” I continued to look perplexed as I slowly repeated after her, as if trying to remember what the words meant.

Finally, the person to my left whispered to me, “She wants to know how you slept.”

“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Good, um, hantle ‘M’e!”

Although I have known and regularly used these common Sesotho words for over two years, as the American “student” at the LCF [Language and Culture Facilitator] Training last week, my job was to be a new arrival to Lesotho.

Each new LCF took a turn teaching three of us for twenty minutes on topics ranging from simple sentence construction, vocabulary in the kitchen or at the shop, and the future tense. Most of the brand new LCFs were surprisingly good at teaching their topic; however, almost all struggled to not include longer complex sentences in rapid Sesotho as filler in their sessions. I found this entertaining, as I usually understood them, but needed to don a blank, perplexed, or dejected face the way a new trainee would. Obviously, when one is just learning to introduce oneself in Sesotho, complex sentences are too advanced!

After two years living and working in predominantly Sesotho, acting like a new trainee was like time travel. Much the way we forget there was a point we did not know how to read or write, I had forgotten how overwhelming the process of learning the language had been during the early stages of Pre-Service Training.

As new trainees, we had not even been in the country for a single meal before we walked away from our peers and LCFs, following a new host mother to her home. My host mother and sister tried to explain some things to me, but neither spoke English. A short afternoon session may have taught me to say hello and goodbye, but mostly explained, in English, some critical safety information.

That night, I ate dinner surrounded by my new family. Although my host father and the older sister both spoke English, they had been trained to speak mostly Sesotho to me. As I had my first meal of papa and greens, I listened to them talk around me wondering how I would possibly be able to understand them.

The next day, we began our routine of language classes every morning. Despite the skill of our LCFs, I remember many times when they would say something and we trainees would look at each other confused and lost.  

Today, I am confident enough in the language, that even when I do not understand someone, I am able to get clarification in Sesotho instead of English. I credit a huge part of this to my LCFs. Their slow, intentional repetition and immersion-based teaching gave me experience with being uncomfortable or uncertain while still using the language. They gave me a solid base of comprehension that allowed me to walk into a workplace where only one person spoke English and still find ways to accomplish things without relying on translations. Although I continued to study independently and with a tutor, it was the success of the language program during Pre-Service Training that allowed me to do so.

In this video, 'M'e 'Mampho, who was actually my LCF during PST, demonstrates how to teach trainees using no English and very few extra Sesotho words while teaching a lesson on public transportation. How much are you able to understand?

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!

Transportation Tuesdays: Befriending Your Taxi Crews

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.

Last Tuesday, I covered Why to Become Besties with your Taxi Crew. Now that the value of being BFFs is clear, it is time to understand how to accomplish this important task.

How many PCVs can you fit in a taxi with their luggage?
As many as necessary if it is raining and everyone is ready to "
head back from three days of Christmas shenanigans!

Smile and Wave-ALWAYS

Even when you are not riding the taxi, you will see them drive through your village regularly. Always smile and wave. Bonus points if you do this before they honk and wave at you.

Greet With Enthusiasm

In Lesotho, this is the quickest way to gain friends and respect. The taxi drivers and conductors are no exception. As soon as you approach your rank, greet them. If you see them across the way, refer back to Smile and Wave.

Lend an Umbrella

When you’ve scrambled through a downpour to get into your taxi and the conductor is still standing outside trying to get more customers, offer him your umbrella. Not only will it keep it from dripping on you, but you may get to watch him do a little dance about “using Ausi Thato’s umbrella.”

Joke Around and Be Friendly

Just like airports in America, public transportation can bring out the worst in people in Lesotho too. Sometimes, they just want to arrive and they get impatient and sassy with the taxi crew because the taxi is not filling fast enough. While waiting hours to leave can suck, it does not suck just for you. The taxi crew only gets paid when they are actually moving people; they would like to leave too. So be nice to them. Socialize. Play along when they start joking around. You know, treat them like people.

Sit Down and Shut Up

Sometimes you are going to get a terrible seat. Sometimes even though your bestie gave you the front row, you are going to end up with no leg room because other people’s luggage and groceries are piled high. Sometimes you will think you are sitting next to someone with a couch that has your anxiety screaming tuberculosis. Sometimes the taxi will be overloaded and you will be one of four large women in the same row wondering how all that hip can fit. Sometimes there is going to be a sheep stepping on your groceries.

         No really, get over it.

Refer back to Smile and Wave but adapt it to Smile and Sharp. In Lesotho, “Sharp” means everything’s cool and is demonstrated by a thumbs up. When you are in a miserable spot and the driver catches your eye, just smile and give them a shrug or a sharp.

Do not be that person yelling about how you are only going to pay half because you did not get as much space as someone else. Do not yell or whine. Just accept what you’re given and get over it.

Your crew sees that you’re miserable. They will remember that you’re cool. They will make it up to you next time. 

Transportation Tuesday: Five Reasons to Befriend Your Taxi Crew

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.

Befriending the guys responsible for getting you from your village to the nearest town/transportation hub is invaluable in Lesotho. I was lucky enough to do this fairly quickly and have lived to appreciate it every single time I am on one of my taxis.

5. Free Baggage

In my area, people pay for large bags—whether luggage or 50kg of maizemeal. If you have more than fits on your own lap and feet, you pay. Unless, apparently, you have spent your time cultivating friendships with your taxi drivers and conductors. Then, they will simply shake their head “no” when you ask how much you owe for the large bag they have just hefted into the taxi for you.

4. Protection

Carrie Underwood would be proud of my taxi-
Jesus takes the wheel in the most literal sense. #Protection

Some annoying and drunk man hitting on you in the taxi rank? The crew simply will not stand for that. You will be promptly shuffled into a well-protected seat away from such nuisances.

Someone trying to pester you for money before you are white (which is synonymous with wealthy here)? The taxi crew has your back there too, quickly defending you as “Mosotho.”

3. You’ll be Home Before Dark

Sometimes, town is so loaded with people that there simply are not enough seats to go around. People are stuck waiting in town for the taxis to travel to the villages and back, making the lines incredibly long. When dusk approaches though, your taxi crew will make sure people let you “cut” the line so you can get home safely before your Peace Corps curfew. On the chance the taxi arrives in village after dark, they will make sure you have an escort to walk you home before they move on up the road.

2. They’ll Wait for You

When your friends catch one of the last taxis to your camp town and your taxi driver is itching to head home for the day, you will watch the taxi rank gradually empty itself of people and cars, but your driver will wait for your friends anyway.

If it is raining andyou are walking out of another village with women from your organization and your taxi crew sees your bright white skin glowing like a lighthouse, they will drive 2km up the road to pick everyone up, making you the most popular person in your group.

1. Prime Seating!

Nobody wants to sit in the back row of a taxi, where you are squeezed in four-across and there is no leg or head space. While they cannot always spoil you, once you are besties with your taxi crew, they will do their best to give you the front seat or one of the front rows. If other folks try to grab the seat they have earmarked for you, the seat thief will be quickly redirected and moved.

Transportation Tuesdays: Public Transport

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.

A PCV's worst nightmare: nearly empty taxis in a nearly
empty taxi rank. Not going home for hours!

Transportation is a huge part of the Peace Corps life and something I have been remiss about
sharing. Yet, each one of us has to adapt to a dramatically different style of getting around when we arrive in country...and each one of us ends up with hilarious stories of troubled travel.

I have struggled with how to fully explain the transportation I face on a daily basis. Fellow PCV Katie Rizzo included it in a game she entitled So You Think You Can Live Like Me. In the game, she outlined different aspects of every day Lesotho life and created a way for the typical American to test it out for themselves. When it came to transportation, her instructions challenged readers to carpool to work, preferably in a rundown 15-passenger van. Whatever number the carpool vehicle can comfortably and legally fit, add a few extra people. Be sure to fit at least one person who remains standing to open and close the door and yell at people on the street to get in. Once moving, blast music in a another language and do not open any windows.

Although when isolated from Lesotho, Katie's game sounds crazy, it is the simplest way to express the shock of transitioning to the public transport here. When she wrote about her visit to Lesotho, it was one of my sister Kathy's first comments acknowledged the dramatic different between finding and taking public transportation in Lesotho and everywhere else she has been: "This Adventure had me blindly following my sister deeper into the city and through a few alleys to avoid the taxi drivers and pick up a Venture taxi instead.  This Adventure had me cuddled with the trunk door of an SUV sitting on a jump seat with my luggage piled on my lap next to a man who cracked open a beer while trying to change his SIM card.  This Adventure had me overwhelmed." Even now, she reflects back on that first ride with comments about how surreal it was to cross the border into Lesotho, walk down a dusty alley and climb into the back of an ancient SUV-type vehicle. She remembers piling her luggage on her lap and baking before realizing that the hatchback door next to her did not latch effectively and if she leaned gently against it, she could get a bit of fresher air to breathe.

My fellow PCV Catie Wheat recently wrote a great blog outlining public transportation in Lesotho. Rather than reinventing the wheel (pun intended), she is letting me report the majority of it here. But, I encourage you to check out I would walk 500 miles, but wait here's a taxi for the bits that really make it Catie's story and her great photos!

Lesotho is a small country. But public transportation and dirt roads can make it seem a lot bigger.

Running along this road are 4 main types of public transportation:

• Kombi: a van that seats around 15 people plus a driver and a conductor*. Usually very beat up and always cramped, especially if someone brought their box of chickens.
• Sprinter: a van /mini bus. Has more headroom than a kombi. Usally seats between 15 and 22 people along woth the driver and conducter. These have more standing room and conducter take advantage by filling that up too. It’s illegal to have people standing on sprinters but conducters find ways around it like hiding people behind bags at traffic stops.
• Bus: just what you think it is. A big bus filled with people. Usally for people going longer distances. Sometimes there are metal racks on top to carry excess luggage.
• 4+1: What you would call a cab in the states. 4 passengers plus 1 driver. 4+1s are restricted to travel around a certain town and cost around R6.50 per person.

Taxis (any public transport) stop often to let people off and let people on. They will stop whether or not the person at the side of the road is making any indication of wanting to get on which results in a long game of will they/ won’t they.

Taxis also stop in towns and wait to fill up before they leave again. The wait can be hours long.

Also most people on taxis don’t like the windows open. In 100 degree weather smushed up again each other, people think the breeze from the open window will get them sick when in reality it will help prevent it. If you are lucky enough to control a window people will ask you to close it. I just lean into the wind like a dog, pretending I can’t hear them.

*A conductor sits/stands in the passenger area, collects money, calls at stops, and yells at everyone they pass hoping that will convince them to get on.