Zoo

I am just one day before "swearing in." In P. Corps lingo tomorrow is the day I become official. Last week I went to visit my site for the next two years and was greeted via trial by fire. I am so excited about what is to come, but my task is also daunting. I arrived at Bethel after 4 hours on a paved road and 2 hours on a bumpy snaking dirt road which wound along the deeply carved river. I was informed that the next morning I would begin teaching. What? I am now in charge of curriculum development for Agro-ecology 1 and 2 as well as Environmental Education. My studnets range from 18 to 40 and they are precious thus far. The school is everything I could ever hope for because we have an emphasis on the tangible side of learning, so as the agric. teacher I am also in charge of orchards and a few acres of vegetable gardens and fields. Thus far my favorite character has been the handyman. His name is Zoo and he follows me around asking "Madame, what can I do." He is a few french fries short of a Happy meal and smokes like a raging chimney. He is more willing to help than anyone I've met thus far an I feel will be one of the pieces of the puzzle which will begin to make Bethel feel like home. From here I can see two years of hard work in a place I think I will be happy to call home.

HUMANITY

The other night I was chatting with my Ntate (father), we were sitting next to the fire that my host family uses to cook their enormous cauldrons of papa (maize meal). It was dark and chilly and the full moon lit the courtyard well. We discussed planting times and a little bit about what life is like in America. He asked me "How big is America, from here to TY?" He equated America to about 30 km. I raised my eyebrows and kindly explained that America was about 300 times the size of Lesotho. He clicked his tongue and shook his head "so far ausi (sister), so far." So true N'tate, so true. The diversity one finds in America is truly striking. It is one of the only countries I can think of where you're not yelled at if you're different, let me explain. In Samoa, kids yelled "palangi" at the white girl, in Costa Rica it's gringa and in New Zealand you're still pahkia. Here the stares are endless and "lehooa" is the phrase of choice. There are moments of frustration however there are other moments which make up for it. Again, I was chatting with my N'tate, he was repairing his saddle and speaking to me in English which is a rarity, I passed his language test so he informed that he would sometimes use english. I laughed because for weeks he pretended that he could not understand me just so I would take more initiative to learn the language. His tactics were successful. He looked up from his repairs and said "you know, we are all the same." "Eeeahyah, N'tate" (yep) I replied. "Molimo (God), he has made us all the same." He looked me straight in the eye. Humanity coursed through both of us at that moment and all the miscommunications and language frustrations became worth it in a second of universal understanding.

Thaba-Bosiu

We scrambled up a the rocky slope through a chink in the century old brick wall. Thaba-Bosiu is where the Lesotho's founder is buried and is named "Mountain at Night" because it allegedly grew during the night to ward off enemy attackers. It was good to get some fresh air and shake off all the classroom time we've been putting in. Not only are we learning the language, but we've also had many discussions about gender roles, diversity and HIV. These can be very heavy topic because HIV is rampant and women play a definitively different role than they do in the US. I will comment more on this when I feel more confident about my observations. While walking across a dry field full of deep dongas where top soil is being munched away by erosion I cannot help but reflect on balance. Here, it is such a struggle for existence, it is cold and the conditions harsh. There are few places with electricity and I don't happen to live in one. Every night I study via candlelight and huddle next to my propane heater. Most families don't have the luxury of propane, a wood fire is made in the common room, but the country is so deforested that even wood heat is hard to come by.

Then, there's America. We don't think twice about flipping a switch, hopping in the shower and throwing a load of laundry into the machine. Where is the balance between so much and so little I'd like to know. I imagine I'll keep coming back to this question over the next few years.

After returning from a site visit to the site of a current PC volunteer, I feel a little more in tune with what is to come. I think I'll start out with a little list of cultural Pro's and Con's:
Pro: (though some people think it's a con) Cheap public transportation. I have never been so squished in my life. Even though I did not have the privilege of carrying someone elses child or chicken, I'm told I will. I was definitely sardined between a few other volunteers with our bags piled to the ceiling and loud accordion blaring, hilarious.
Con: Drunken Bo-ntate. That would be a majority of the men that you meet in taxi's, luckily we were not super-harassed, but it was enough. I've decided that I need to learn how to say "I have a fist of rage" in Sesotho and maybe they'll leave me alone. A good question for my language trainer.
Pro: Roundavel's keep in a tremendous amount of heat
Con: Roundavel' s are tiny (Pictured to the left)
Pro: Roundavel' s don't have metal roofs, metal roofs sometimes collect condensation at night and then drip on your face all night. Not that that's EVER happened to me...
I was eye-opening to see the work of a current volunteer, but not altogether encouraging. I am also keeping in mind that the experience is my own. I have a few site prospects, but I'll know more shortly. Sala Hantle (Go well).

NO SAFARI HERE.

This is no National Geographic Africa. There are no Lions chasing wildabeasts. I would search back in my childhood to find description, to those books that start off with "in a land far-far away..." On my way to school in the morning I pass men wrapped in heavy wool blankets perched atop a donkey on their way to the dusty fields. The land is harsh and rocky, with tall aloe plants dotting the landscape. I woke up to a dusting of snow and the condensation on my tin roof dripping onto my sleepy face. Whoa, wake-up call. My Sesotho (the language) is improving with baby steps. I stumble over the clicks and feel generally incompetant most of the time, but we're getting there. My hands are freezing as I'm typing, so I'll sign out for now.

DESTINATION STATION

Lumela! (Pronounced doo-may-la) After a rousing few days in Washington D.C. (the highlight of which were unexpected friends met at a Chinese Food hole in the wall around midnight), I've arrived. The trip was a mish-mash of late flights, lost baggage, and missed planes. The travel culminated in 20 freezing Americans crossing the Lesotho border at 3 am. The best part was that there is a 300 meter strip of "No man's land" on the Lesotho/ South Africa border that must be crossed by foot (or so they tell us). I am willing to bet there were some border guards slapping their thighs as the travel weary foreigners shuffled over the border shaking in the 30 degree weather. I would comment on the incredible sights and sounds but I've been hulled up at a Peace Corps training site doing my best to learn Sesotho, the local language. All my sources and senses say that "the shoe fits." Everyday I'm closer to my village and a pony friend (I'm keeping my fingers crossed).

Travels With Charley?... no Kjessie

Outside an ambitious robin is tracking down a late breakfast and I am soaking up my remaining moments in the approaching Sierra summer sun. I have been saying my farewells to coastal friends and reassuring my family as I read up on the unique mountain kingdom which shall be called home for the next two years.
John Steinbeck is always a good author to have as a companion as one starts on a journey and I find myself drawn back to his book Travels With Charley. He is a kindred vagabond spirit.

"A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policing, and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us. Tour masters, schedules, reservations, brass-bound and inevitable, dash themselves to wreckage on the personality of the trip. Only when this is recognized can the blown-in-the-glass bum relax and go along with it. Only then do the frustrations fall away. In this a journey is like marriage. The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it. I feel better now, having said this, although only those who have experienced it will understand it."----John Steinbeck

Well alright, Mr. Steinbeck, we shall journey on, preparing above all the ability to be flexible.