OMO

OPERATION: MOUNTAIN OUTREACH

"Teaching Rural Lesotho about HIV/AIDS, One Herdboy at a Time"

OMO, that's what we called our 6-day backpacking trip, and rural HIV/AIDS outreach. Three fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I, Chris Conz, Pam, and Casey, like to mix work and pleasure. Chris planned and routed a beautiful hike for us through the south-eastern Drakensberg Mountains within Lesotho. We started in Sehlabathebe, somewhat near my home in Qacha's Nek, and ended at Sani Pass where there is a lodge and the only road connecting South Africa to the dramatic mountain escarpment in eastern Lesotho. The hike was gorgeous and full of untouched mountain scenery and rivers. I want to tell you all about the hike, but... it's 3am, the sleepy apex of an all-nighter with a computer and internet in Lesotho's capital. I just don't think I can write logically for much longer. Also I'm writing a report of our trip to send to Peace Corps Headquarters, so you can expect to see that in the next few weeks for my own take on the mountain adventure. For now though, my friends have already posted a story and photos from the hike. I'll leave you with their links and a few photos of my own. :)

Fellow Hikers' Blogs:
Pam: http://ponderosapam.blogspot.com/
Chris Conz: http://chris.conzfamily.org/blog/

Please forgive my laziness. If I don't post again before Xmas, Merry Christmas everyone! And Happy New Year

Third-World Prison

Imagine living in a third-world country with virtually no economy and few resources. Then imagine living in that country’s prison. To some people it might seem the roughest place in the world to live. In reality, the living conditions of prisons in Lesotho are not much worse than many rural areas. Regardless, a third-world prison is a harsh setting for any man. (There are no female prisoners in the Qacha’s Nek prison where I work.) The problems and challenges faced by Basotho prisoners are, I assume, similar to jailed inmates around the world: lack of opportunity, lack of resources, desperation, perpetuation of risky/illegal behavior, brutality, etc. However, I believe these challenges increase significantly in an impoverished country where there is little opportunity for anyone, but especially marginalized groups like prisoners and “rehabilitated”, or former, prisoners.

There are two Rehabilitation Officers at the Qacha’s Nek Prison, or teronkong in Sesotho. One of them suggested I bring the Life Skills Program to the prisoners at Qacha’s Nek. I have worked at the prison before, giving presentations about HIV Prevention and condom-use with PSI Lesotho. The prisoners, most of them entirely uneducated, did not respond well to my limited Sesotho so I let the local Peer Educators continue without me. Still, the challenge of teaching Life Skills outside of the education system intrigued me. I agreed under the conditions that the group was small, the prisoners young, and we would meet in a separate room with a translator present. The Rehabilitation Officer rounded up some inmates, and with the help of her and the on-site nurse for translating, I began a modified Life Skills Program for five male prisoners between the ages of 20 and 25. My goal with these young men is to show them how to live a healthy life during and after prison, more so once they have been released. Also I want to give them some hope and encouragement because most prisoners feel dejected and useless to society once they have been incarcerated.

So far I have introduced the idea of Life Skills to the men, discussed why it is important and useful to them, and talked about their Role Models and admirable qualities. The prisoners have responded well so far, although a couple of them have expressed feelings of hopelessness. We will talk about Communication Skills, Decision-Making Skills, and HIV Prevention in more detail throughout the next months. I hope to see some positive change in these young men before the end of my Peace Corps service in Lesotho.

To Vote in America

Living overseas during election time has given me a fresh, outside perspective on American politics. I still hate it, especially discussions surrounding it (you reading this, Dad?), but I have a newfound respect for it as well. In the United States, elections are expected to run smoothly, and for the most part, they do.

Post-election, most Basotho and other Africans express to me their elation and satisfaction that a black man has been elected President of the United States (really Kenya? A national holiday?). But the more thoughtful Africans can barely comprehend the smoothness of the election itself. They ask in disbelief, “You had the results after only one day?” Shocked, they question the incumbent party, “Obama’s opponent actually congratulated him?” and “You mean to tell me Ntate Bush peacefully gave up the Presidency?” In southern Africa, these events seem unattainable and nearly impossible. American politics seems squeaky clean compared to Mugabe’s despotic rule in Zimbabwe and the ANC’s audacious removal and replacement of Thabo Mbeki (South Africa’s former President) without consent from the people of South Africa.

In addition to my excitement about Barack Obama’s future Presidency, I am grateful for American democracy. I dislike and disagree with many things about American politics, but it’s hard to complain after living in Africa. At least our voices are heard and change is not uncommon in the States, even if only at the local level. Most people around the world do not benefit from such opportunities.

So let us be proud of our nation and grateful for our freedom.

Cheers to America!

Make us proud, Barack Obama!

Joys of Painting

Even in Peace Corps, being an artist has its advantages and disadvantages. It’s obnoxious when people ask me to paint their portraits—for free, of course. And every other time I visit Maseru, Lesotho’s capital, someone in Peace Corps nonchalantly asks me to draw or design something for them like it’s a small, effortless task. Depending on the situation, the project, the person asking, and my mood, I’ll accept or refuse. Lately, people want me to make a card which I often refuse to do.

Luckily, Becky, a PCV in Teyateyaneng (or TY), got me on a good day. She asked me to paint a mural on a wall at her high school, and I agreed because all the supplies were purchased and some of my favorite PCVs live in TY. I only had a week to design it before I started painting so I kept it simple and flexible. It took about 5 days to paint with the help of some friends. I painted during the school break so there were no kids on campus, but busloads of Basotho “Anglican Mothers” showed up one day for a convention. That kept things interesting. The day they arrived I was painting in my soccer shorts with a male PCV so I’m pretty sure all the old women thought I was a slut. I wore my paint pants for the remainder of the week though (yup, still got ‘em!).

After a week of painting I was exhausted, but it felt amazing to finish something. Projects move unbearably slowly in Lesotho, and that can be discouraging. For example, introducing Life Skills into the high school curriculum in my village is still in progress two months after school started. Having a project with a tangible end-product in a reasonable amount of time has proved to be uplifting as a Peace Corps Volunteer. I’m grateful to be an artist in that respect. After completing the mural, I returned to Qacha’s Nek with renewed vigor and motivation. Although I’m still working with the high schools, the Youth Club in my village will be my main priority for the rest of the month. I think they can help to keep my spirits high. I’m also going to start working with a new youth group in a nearby village. Nothing like a little painting to get me back on my feet!

Handout Mentality

I’m writing this blog in response to some distressing news from fellow PCVs discussed during an HIV/AIDS Committee Meeting in the capital last week. The World Food Programme, or WFP, in Lesotho is responsible for handing out free food (mostly maize meal and oil) to impoverished Basotho. Recently however, WFP has altered their guidelines—food is now only given to Basotho who are HIV positive, TB positive, and/or malnourished. While I don’t disagree with the new policy, reactions to it need to be considered. Volunteers are now seeing mothers purposefully starving their children or friends coughing on each other so they can be on the WFP list. This sort of thinking , the “handout mentality” in some third world countries, is incomprehensible to the Western world. (Although I have heard comparisons to the welfare junky, I refuse to place them on the same level.) Nurses are seeing healthy babies’ nutrition dramatically drop after the new WFP policy was introduced. There’s little they can do, though, without hard proof or contact with WFP Headquarters (who get their orders from an office far away in Europe).

WFP is an organization that I thought could do no wrong as far as services and mission. They aim to feed the hungry—what could possibly be wrong with that? I don’t mean to solely attack WFP, but I want to use this situation in Lesotho to support a theory that throwing money at problems (including hunger and poverty) DOES NOT WORK. Basotho don’t need handouts, they need skills and knowledge that will empower them to help themselves. I am witnessing a country’s dependency on foreign aid. In my mind, it is worse to make a poor country dependent on a rich country’s aid than to do nothing at all. I urge people to rethink the way they view charity. Is it really beneficial to give people free food when they are hungry? Will a people stop spreading HIV if they are given the treatment for free? These are tough questions that do not have simple answers, if any. These are the kinds of questions I ask myself every day.

Starting Young

Kids grow up fast in Lesotho in a lot of ways. They have a lot of responsibilities in the household, some of their parents die young leaving older children to care for siblings, abuse is more common, and the threat of HIV is all-encompassing. However most kids in Lesotho never learn the basic skills of life they need in order to be healthy and successful. These basic skills are taught in a new subject being introduced to Lesotho called "Life Skills." I've talked about Life Skills before in my blog, but I want to elaborate on exactly what Life Skills education entails and why it is necessary.

In Lesotho, families don't communicate very well with eachother. Men don't talk to women, women don't talk to men, adults don't talk to children, children don't talk to adults. When I say "talk", of course, I mean discussion of important things like emotions, dangers, self-awareness, self-esteem, sex, poverty, HIV, etc. People tend to talk about small things like weather, chores, activities, etc. Not only are some of these topics taboo (like HIV), many children have lost their parents to AIDS and thus lack any sort of immediate role model. Without the self-esteem to resist peer pressure and the information about the risks in life, many young Basotho turn to drugs, alcohol, or unsafe sex. Yet other children in Lesotho get caught in the cycle of abuse and lack the tools to recognize the problem and seek help. Life Skills was introduced into Lesotho's school curriculum because it was obvious that Basotho children were not learning these basic skills in their homes. Children don't even know how to do something as simple as identifying their strengths and weaknesses, or likes and dislikes.



Because I think these basic life skills are so important to empowering the next generation of Lesotho, I have made it my main objective for the remainder of my Peace Corps service. I will be teaching life skills in the schools in my village, a primary school and a high school, and then I hope to refine the Life Skills syllabus in order to make it more user-friendly for teachers. Now the manual is in English and doesn't really educate teachers on the new subjects they are supposed to be teaching. Life Skills includes basic psychological topics like self-esteem, dealing with stress, self-awareness, dealing with emotions, effective communication, interpersonal relationships, and assertiveness. Important preventative information is also included like HIV/AIDS prevention, sexual and reproductive health, abstinence, early pregnancy, sexual abuse, and where to get help for these problems. Other topics like creative thinking and problem solving are also included. As you can see, a teacher has to be an expert in psychology, biology, health, and counseling in order to teach Life Skills. Hopefully I can better equip Lesotho's teachers to teach the next generation to take care of itself. The education system seems to be failing a lot of these kids, but maybe they can help to fix it if they're given the proper tools to believe in themselves and stay healthy.

Happy Birthday Madiba!

All over South Africa people of all colors and races are celebrating the 90th birthday of legendary human rights activist Nelson Mandela, or Madiba as he is lovingly referred to in South Africa. Racial tension and violence remains high in South Africa, but still everyone celebrates this man who dedicated, and in a sense gave up, his life to equal rights and fair treatment for all South Africans—black, white, Indian, colored, different tribes, different origins, etc. Nelson Mandela had a vision of a harmonious existence between all peoples in South Africa, and worked hard to make his vision a reality.

I encourage anyone who wants to be inspired by a truly great human being to read about and research Nelson Mandela, South Africa’s first democratic president. Happy 90th Birthday, Madiba! I hope there are many more to come.

Despite the celebrations for a man of peace and quiet strength, in another part of southern Africa a man of hostility and despotic power is repressing his people. Mugabe created in atmosphere of civil war when he refused to step down from power, and even though he is agreeing to talk about “shared power” he should not be allowed any power at all after refusing free and fair elections to the people of Zimbabwe. I realize the situation is complicated. However, Mugabe obviously and defiantly puts his own power and riches ahead of his people’s well-being and thus should not be permitted to decide Zimbabwe’s future. I am sorry to say that Lesotho’s Prime Minister Mosisili has come out in support of Mugabe after many other African nations have expressed their shock and disgust at Mugabe’s actions. In my opinion, this shows that even a peaceful nation like Lesotho suffers from the corruption and power-mongering of an egotistical leader. Controversy surrounded Lesotho’s elections last year when Mosisili was re-elected Prime Minister of Lesotho, and many opposition supporters still believe the election was corrupt and unfair. Most nations and people regard Mugabe’s “victory” in this year’s Zimbabwean elections a step back for Africa as a global player. How in 2008 is an African leader able to blatantly strip his people of basic human rights, and use violence, threats, and corruption to keep himself in power?

Women in Lesotho: Gender Inequality

Many women in sub-Saharan Africa suffer relentlessly due to gender inequality in addition to other major underlying crises like poverty and HIV/AIDS. Unfortunately the gender roles and rituals attached to most African cultures are so strongly ingrained, it's difficult to convince people (including women) that they are unnecessary and even harmful. Gender inequality not only affects individual women, but negatively impacts families, communities, countries, and even national and global economies. In Lesotho girls receive more education than boys, generally, but still they often fall into the gender-specific role of wife and mother after finishing school, stifling their chances at a higher education and/or career. Therefore the husband and father of the family will look for work and pay even though the wife is likely better-equipped to find and hold a job with decent pay. (Note: the unemployment rate in Lesotho is unbelievably high so it is difficult for anyone to find work). Also women with absent husbands (whether he's at the bar, or a mine in South Africa, or a girlfriend's house) end up having to make money on their own somehow to support their families until their husbands return, if they return. Even if a woman is essentially the head of the household, final decisions and power will always go to the man in traditional households in Lesotho, or the husband's family.

Despite these more subtle, deep-seated gender issues in Lesotho's culture, some gender discrimination is more tangible. For example, culturally in Lesotho a married woman is considered the property of her husband. Men justify this action by saying they have paid "lebola," or a bride price, to his wife's family. Under this assumption, women needed their husband's permission to do almost anything (own land, open a bank account, wear pants), and unmarried women needed permission from their father or brother. A married woman could be beaten or raped by her husband, and nobody would ever help her because it was her husband's right.

In recent years Lesotho's government has created laws to protect women from such maltreatment, but they are slow to be implemented. Married women in Lesotho gained equality to men in 2006 under the Legal Capacity of Married Persons Act. Legally now any woman can own land, receive inheritance, and make her own decisions. Prior to 2006, women in Lesotho were considered legal minors. In 2003 women were given more respect and help with the Sexual Offenses Act which officially defined all forms of unwanted sexual penetration as rape, not just vaginal penetration as it was prior to this Act (This also gives legal rights and validity to men who are raped).

I applaud the government (prodded by certain aid organizations) for making these changes, but the reality is Lesotho’s culture still promotes the discrimination these laws are trying to forbid. Nobody in Lesotho knows these laws exist. Also Lesotho has not changed their Constitution to reflect this new standing of women. The government has made no effort to spread this information throughout Lesotho, particularly to rural areas. Many Basotho people strongly hold to their traditional values, keeping women at home in fear of their husbands' retaliation. Women need to know that they have rights, and citizens need to know that they should help promote these rights. Sadly (and pathetically if you ask me) most women still act like second-rate citizens because they are too afraid to break the cycle of abuse. The vast majority of these women are not aware of their legal rights, but still I doubt they would do anything to promote their rights anyway. Like many people, they are afraid of change. However, there are a handful of strong, confident women who are working for women's rights in Lesotho. They don't have a Women's Liberation Movement like we Americans did, but they work hard to help their fellow countrywomen nonetheless. Whether they are a few young women in a rural village in Qacha's Nek or a women lawyers group working with other countries in southern Africa, some women are making a difference and paving the way for the next generation of women in Lesotho.

Raining in Cape Town

I'm recently back from a fabulous vacation in South Africa! I began by taking the overnight bus from Bloemfontein to Cape Town. While in Bloem I hung out in the mall until the bus left at midnight. Unfortunately I was a big tool walking around the mall by myself with my giant backpack on, but I got to see the new Indiana Jones which was exciting.

Once in Cape Town, I walked to the Waterfront and met my friend JJ in a big beautiful hotel called The Commodore. We hugged and sat down to chat over coffee after I cleaned up. I was so happy to be with my good friend and looked forward to our week together. Artist and photographer, JJ L'Heureux, had returned from 2 weeks on Robben Island assisting researchers with a penguin study before meeting me so we both had interesting stories to tell. We went to the museums in central Cape Town, including the national art museum--I was in heaven even though it was a bizarre museum. Soon we were off to the Addo Elephant Rserve via Port Elizabeth. There, we were welcomed by the most romantic, luxurious lodge I have ever seen. JJ and I were surrounded by couples, and nobody was quite sure what to make of us. They couldn't tell if JJ was my mom, my sister, my sugar momma, or what, haha. Only one man had the audacity to ask, and we replied, "No, we're friends!" The Nguni Lodge in Addo offered game drives twice a day which we always attended, except for one day when we went on an Elephant Back Safari! The experience was unforgettable and indescribable. When I try to describe it, my words don't do it justice, and it even sounds cliche. But I will tell you that I have ridden, walked with, and fed very large elephants. They have large molars and soft tongues; and apparently elephant testicles are inside their bodies high in their rears which I didn't learn until after I was petting them. My elephant really loved me. Afterwards JJ and I were speechless--we had done something truly magical. The next day we returned to Cape Town for a couple rainy days in the city. We mostly relaxed but walked around the historic Muslim area, Bo-Kaap, one drizzly morning (with our ponchos on). Then we said our goodbyes before JJ left for Los Angeles, and I flew to Durban before taking a mini-bus back to Qacha's Nek, Lesotho.

I received a warm welcome home from friends and co-workers. I had been away from Qacha's Nek for some time so I was happy that people didn't forget about me. Soon I'll help train the new volunteers who just arrived, then I'm gearing up for a new school year in August. :)

Traveling Lady

It's been almost a year since I arrived in Lesotho, and it feels like time is really flying. I've been traveling around the north of Lesotho for the last 3 weeks. I'm happy to be gone from site (although I miss my friends and co-workers at site) because it's freezing up there and snowing. At first I went to Butha-Buthe to paint a mural for PSI. The mural is kind of a big condom ad so it's not something I'm dying to show everyone, but it was good practice in case I want to paint some murals of my own. The mural took a week. Then their was a security threat in Maseru (that actually turned out to be nothing) so I was told I couldn't travel through the capital to get home to Qacha's Nek in southern Lesotho. I took that opportunity to visit some of my other friends in the north who I don't see very often—and some new volunteers too. It was good to get some fresh perspectives from other volunteers, particularly a new volunteer who is in her 60s and doesn't waste her time here because she left a beautiful family to come to Lesotho.

Now I'm in Maseru doing some research for a few training sessions I will be holding for the brand new Community Health volunteers that just arrived a few days ago! I'm trying to find some concrete information on the laws affecting women's equality. So far I've found out that married women gained equality to men in 2006 which means unmarried women (no matter their age) are minors according to the legal system in Lesotho. Lesotho is a strange country in that women are more educated and literate and responsible for almost all matters of the family (including financial), yet culturally Basotho men have all the power. A funny thing about this power struggle is that Basotho men are small, skinny, and often intoxicated while the Basotho women are traditionally large. They could easily physically overpower their smaller male counterparts, but because the culture states that men have the power they succumb to their husbands' and fathers' abuse.

Anyway, it's about that time again to go on vacation! JJ, my good friend and previous boss, is already on Robben Island off Cape Town working on a penguin project. I'll meet up with her in Cape Town after the project is over and explore the biggest, coolest city in Africa! More on that later! Miss you all!

Basotho Time

Patience is definitely one quality I’ve improved since arriving in Lesotho thanks to… Basotho time. Patience can include many things: patience with language misunderstandings, with kids asking for money and candy, or just slow work progress in general. These are important in developing patience, but I’m talking specifically about just sitting and waiting. When our volunteer group arrived in Lesotho we were warned about “Basotho time,” but it’s still a major cultural difference that is difficult to tolerate. Basotho aren’t just late; sometimes they are ridiculously, unbelievably, inexcusably late. I spent all of last week in a rural area of Lesotho with my PCV friend Pam in her village, and it seemed like the whole week was run on Basotho time.

I traveled to Pam’s village with PSI in the back of a covered pick-up truck. They said they would pick me up at my village bus stop at 10 or 11am. I knew this meant after 11, but like a silly American I arrived at the stop at 10:30am. I sat on my backpack on the side of the road for three hours waiting, reading a book, texting PSI with no response. After the first two hours I got a little worried, maybe they weren’t coming, and I decided I would go home at 2pm. Finally though, a little before 2pm, they showed up. Then we drove for five hours on dirt roads over mountain passes before reaching our destination—but at least it was a free ride. :)

A couple days later Pam and some other volunteers hosted a Children’s Health Day at their village clinic. HIV counselors/testers from the hospital were coming from the camptown. The event was scheduled to start at 8am. The counselors arrived at the clinic at 11am, prepared their test kits until noon, and then some of them took their lunch breaks. It was really frustrating, but we weren’t paying them so there wasn’t much we could do but wait. Hundreds of Basotho women with babies and toddlers strapped to their backs were waiting too. Somehow we managed to see almost all of the children thanks to the dedicated clinic staff.

Later in the week I went on outreach with PSI to a high school in a rural area. Outreach involves HIV/AIDS education, then voluntary HIV testing and counseling. We were supposed to start at 10am, but that’s when we left the lodge where the counselors were staying. We arrived at the high school at about 10:30, but the school wasn’t ready yet. The teachers had to gather the students, and then we could begin. An hour and a half later we started the general presentation. That’s Lesotho. While the students were lining up to test for HIV after the presentation, I did some educational activities with small groups. Then I showed them male and female condoms and how to use them. Most Basotho are sexually active by age 15 so I always show high school students how to properly use a condom.

The day we returned to Qacha’s Nek I thought we were leaving at 10am, but a co-worker showed up at my friend’s house telling me to be ready at 8am. We were leaving early? Heavy clouds were rolling in, so I assumed we were going to try to beat the rain. I met my co-worker at 8, and we proceeded to visit her family’s homes in the area. We weren’t being picked up until 9am, but my co-worker wanted me to snap photos of her and her family members. That sneaky b****. Then we actually got picked up at 9am. We didn’t leave yet though. First we went back to the lodge where the rest of my co-workers were packing. I waited until 11am, then I climbed into the back of the truck with all the luggage and a lamb carcass. Then off we went, home to Qacha’s Nek. Basotho time = lots of waiting.

Happy Birthday to Me...

Lesotho wished me a Happy Birthday with the first signs of winter. Temperatures have dropped drastically, and it even snowed in the mountains last week (while I was in Maseru--ha!). I can even see my breath inside my house at night. I'm officially wearing my mild winter gear which includes: a beanie, scarf, long-sleeve t-shirt, long dress, hoodie, fleece (in morning and night), spandex leggings, light blanket wrapped around my waist (in morning and night), a long dress or skirt, socks, and tennies. In June and July, or harsh winter, I'll graduate to fleece vest, heavy blanket, down jacket, and hiking boots.

Also to prepare for winter I've cut my hair super short. It's something like a boy-cut pixie look that I did myself--I wish I could see my sisters' faces after reading that. Although I've been curious to see what my hair would look like so short, the cut was motivated by the cold weather and lack of plumbing and electricity. The less hair to wash, the less water I have to use and fetch. And of course my long hair took hours to dry, and wet hair really sucks when it's cold--thus the super-short 'do. :)

As a birthday present to myself, I bought two new blankets: one light blanket for wearing, and one heavy blanket for my bed. Already I've received a couple birthday packages and cards in the mail--a big thank you to all my friends and family who thought of me!! I can feel the cross-continental love from here!

p.s. I posted 2 blogs today at the same time. If you want to read about the funeral I attended, read the next blog down too. I didn't want to leave you with two depressing blogs in a row.

Saturday

Funerals are on Saturday in Lesotho. Saturdays are busy days in Lesotho. Last Saturday, I attended my first funeral in Lesotho; it was for Baby Moletsane. In typical Basotho fashion I wasn't told where the funeral was or when it started, just that it was on Saturday, April 26th. According to what other PCV friends have said, I figured the funeral would start at about 1pm. I left my house at about noon and starting walking towards the village where I hoped to find the funeral (since it obviously wasn't in my village); my ausi stayed there with family sometimes. Ironically I hitched a ride in the back of a covered pick-up truck with a coffin. Just me, 2 old men wearing blankets, and a dead guy in a coffin... oh Lesotho. I got off near the school where my ausi teaches, hoping the people there would know her and point me in the right direction. There were three little boys playing in the road who told me where to go. They actually pointed me in the opposite direction of where I was headed, but a friendly old man showed me the right way and even found me an escort who was also going to the funeral. We walked about 20 minutes down the road, picking up a few people along the way, and made it to the house.

I didn't see my ausi, but a woman I didn't know immediately led me to a rondavel house. I walked right into what I would call a "cultural experience"--a group of women dressed in purple and white stood in the middle of the round room singing and clapping. One woman pounded a simple beat on a large drum covered in animal skin, and another played a bell. I sat in a chair next to my neighbor, the only person I recognized. At first it was a bit intimidating, but I soon got comfortable enough. There were about 8 or so chairs against the wall, the rest of the women sat on the floor on the other side of the room. In the back of the room, a man who appeared to be a priest leading the ritual stood behind a simple white table with a single lit candle on it. He was a thin, middle-aged man with long clean dreads. He wore a long purple robe decorated with some cheetah-print fabric details, fabric stars, and embroidery. His hat, also purple with a big white star on it, looked like a little kid created their own version of the pope's tall hat. His dress appeared very "tribal" except poking out from under his robe were clean old school Adidas sneakers. Western culture seeps into almost every corner of the world, no matter how remote. He welcomed me in Sesotho shortly after I arrived.

Eventually the group moved outside in a procession led by a few men carrying the coffin. A bouquet of fake flowers with the store-tag still attached lay on top of the tiny white coffin. The official ceremony began. The small coffin sat on the dirt floor outside, in front of a row of men seated in chairs. I could feel tears swelling up in my eyes when I looked at the baby-size coffin so I looked down at the ground for most of the ceremony and tried to think of something else. For once I was glad to not understand what was being said in Sesotho. The ceremony was similar to any other funeral I had been to, except that men performed almost all of the rites. Only one woman spoke, compared to about a dozen men. Then when the funeral was over we walked to the burial site--only a few minutes from the house. There are so many people dying in Lesotho that the cemeteries are scattered throughout villages near homes and roads without any demarcation. The tiny coffin was placed in the pre-dug hole in the ground and covered with a large animal skin (probably the animal slaughtered for the post-funeral feast)... more speeches and songs. Then all the men took turns shoveling dirt back onto the grave, like everyone had to help bury the body. A few women threw a handful of dirt on the grave too, including my ausi who nearly collapsed after doing so. It was the first time I had seen her for a few weeks, and she looked exhausted and distraught.

Then tons of people came out of the woodworks because the most important part of the funeral was about to take place--the feast. At all funerals and weddings, the host is required to have a feast for all the guests. While it doesn't seem unusual for such an event to serve food, paying for many funerals and feasts drains Basotho (and sub-saharan African) families' funds, leaving little or no money for school fees or healthcare. Finally I got to talk with my ausi while she was eating. I was happy to see her, but I knew she was suffering deeply. She said she felt better than the previous week, though, so at least she's healing. Then I said my goodbyes to everyone and headed home on a taxi with some other women from my village...

Dying Young

Bad news this week... I was told that my ausi's baby boy, Moletsane, passed away. I think he was about 20 months old--obviously too young to die. He's been a sick baby on and off since he was born. Really it's not surprising, but it's something that shouldn't happen. I'm not sure how or why he died. I haven't seen my ausi (sister) yet, and I'm really not looking forward to it. I can't imagine her suffering.

My poor ausi had to the rush to the hospital in town when her baby got really sick. She had to wait for a taxi in her family's village and take the slow public transport to the hospital--calling me along the way to give her his medical "bukana" at the road. Then when she reached the hospital, she found there were no doctors there so they couldn't help her (a common story). So she traveled to the next closest hospital which is over an hour away by public transport, then she had to cross the river in a rowboat with her dying baby. Just imagine. Then a day or two later, her baby died.

The worst part about Moletsane's death is that it's not a rare story in Lesotho. Babies and children die all the time from AIDS, malnutrition, and a long list of other curable diseases (even something as seemingly minor as diarrhea). The news of this death has caused similar stories (and worse) to surface--stories of sick mothers having multiple babies, all of them dying before they reach 2 years. Even pregnant women like this refuse to get tested for HIV (because they know they probably have it). Even worse these women keep having sex (with whoever), and continue to birth sick babies. The idea of contraceptives is slow to reach Basotho, not to mention the cost is excessive, although we are trying to educate and distribute them at LPPA. Other babies are born to very young mothers (one of my 7th graders is pregnant) who often don't know how to care for their baby and can't afford to keep it healthy. Routine post-natal care like vaccinations and check-ups is rare, especially in rural areas. Even births traditionally take place at the maternal grandmother's home, not at a hospital, making it hard to give infants proper care. All of these things lead to babies and children dying.

Death is a natural part of life, but death at a young age, whether its 18 months or 30 years, is always tragic somehow. HIV and poverty have shrouded Lesotho in death and suffering. Clinics are packed with people waiting, and cemeteries are full of those who were too late to seek help. Lesotho's working population (age 15-40) is slowly disappearing, contributing to the lack of human resources in the country (i.e. nurses and teachers).

I don't know if Moletsane died of HIV/AIDS, and I don't think I'll have the audacity to ask. Regardless it raises the issue that everybody knows about, but nobody talks about. I'm in Lesotho as an "HIV/AIDS Advisor", but I really don't know where to begin. The problems are so many and run so deep.

Lesotho Kaofela

Last week I returned from a mini-vacation around Lesotho. First I traveled all the way to Butha-Buthe, the northern-most area of Lesotho, from southeastern Qacha's Nek. I met my friend Jen there at her home before we planned to head to Johannesburg to see a big art show and stay with Jen's friend Saffron. Unfortunately when we went to the taxirank to buy our bus tickets, I realized I had forgotten my passport at home on the other side of the country (a 10+ hour ride). I was devastated and admittedly embarrassed. In the words of Mike Bohley (who I told the next day), "At least it's good to know you haven't change much." I fear for my golden years if I'm already so absent-minded. Despite my major faux-pas, we wanted to do something fun together. Lucky for me, Jen is extremely flexible (and forgiving). We don't get to see eachother very often so we were happy to hang out no matter what we were doing. Plan B: we decided to go to Mokhotlong and visit the new volunteers there. Mokhotlong, the highest and most mountainous district of Lesotho, was gorgeous. It was cold and rainy, but it made for some beautiful low clouds around the mountain-tops.

After our unexpected mountain weekend, I said goodbye to Jen and headed for the capital where I had some business to attend to. I popped into the Peace Corps office of course, and checked in with my bosses. However, my main order of business was at PSI (Population Services International) Headquarters. I'm currently designing a mural to promote condom use that will eventually be painted on shops all over Lesotho. We discussed my latest concept design, and they suggested a few changes. Hopefully we can finalize it soon. Then the next morning I went to LPPA (Lesotho Planned Parenthood Association) Headquarters for the first time. Among other things, I needed to meet with them to discuss our need for transport in Qacha's Nek in order to reach the rural areas. All of the meetings went well, but progress is always slow in Lesotho so I don't expect much right away.

By this time it was almost Easter weekend. I met a few friends in Semonkong, a popular tourist site in central Lesotho. We stayed at the Semonkong Lodge, but I won't be going back there after poor treatment from one of the owners. Nevertheless it's a beautiful area because of a large gorge and the Maletsunyane Falls. Semonkong marked the start of a 3-day/2-night backpacking trip. With a topo map from 1981 and a Mosotho friend we began our journey. There were four of us--Todd, Rachel, me, and Fusi, a Mosotho high school student of Todd's. Our plan was to trek from village to village mostly along the bridal paths--so at every village we asked the locals the best way to get to the next village. It worked quite well. The first day, we noticed some unusual little cone huts in someone's front yard as we stopped to fill our Nalgene water bottles. We had never seen anything like them, so we decided to inquire. The woman who lived there welcomed us and happily showed us the strange structures, painted black with red and white spots. They were like tiny houses that could barely fit 2 people, who had to sit on animal-skin drums. We looked around and realized, to our surprise and delight, that the woman was a sangoma, or traditional healer (some would say "witchdoctor"). She took off her hat to reveal her red and white beaded hair. We snapped some photos and she asked me to send them to her. I said I would, and we said our goodbyes. As it reached mid-afternoon, some storm clouds were rolling in. We set up camp at a less-than-perfect site, but we had to pitch our tents and cook before it rained. So we collected firewood, started a fire, put up our tents, cooked, ate, and scurried into our tents. The rain never came. Weather in Lesotho is totally unpredictable. The next day we headed for the river which we hoped to cross that day. It took us much longer than we expected (multiple steep ascents and decents--and stopping to ask for directions), and we didn't reach the river until after 5pm. We were forced to stay in the village before the river, but needed to ask permission to stay on someone's land. Again gray clouds loomed over us ("pregnant with rain" as Basotho say). We found a decent spot and asked permission from the nearest family's home. The woman who lived there seemed confused, but said it was fine. We ended up buying firewood and water from her too because we couldn't find any. She was reluctant to sell us firewood, but she did--she probably traveled miles to collect it, carrying it back to her home in a large bundle on her head. We were quite the village spectacle--they probably had never seen tents before, let alone a group of white people. There were at least half a dozen villagers watching us at any given time. Again we pitched our tents and got inside. It looked like a small storm that would pass quickly so we waited to cook. It started to get dark, and again the clouds passed us by so we started the fire. It was dark by the time we ate dinner, but it was a gorgeous night. We enjoyed the star-gazing during our meal. In the middle of the night it finally stormed, lots of lightning and thunder. I didn't sleep a wink as it poured. Lightning is a very real danger in treeless Lesotho so I was scared, and the thunder roared overhead. It didn't last too long though, and I think I got a few hours of sleep. The next morning we broke down camp and boiled water for breakfast with the help of an insistent 'm'e. As we said goodbye to our temporary landlord, she informed us that there was a boat to cross the river, but the boatman wouldn't be there until mid-day. We had to get moving, so our only other option was to walk across where it was shallow. As we approached the Senqunyane River and started taking our shoes off, we noticed a man with multiple donkeys. Most of them were carrying crates of beer, but a few weren't loaded. Apparently Todd asked the man if the women could ride the donkeys across the river, and the next thing I know I'm balancing myself on a narrow donkey's back--they are not comfortable. With our large backpacks on and our shoes tied around our necks, Rachel and I crossed the river by donkey. When we reached the other side I awkwardly dismounted my noble steed and thanked the ntate. There, we waited for the guys to walk across the rocky river which took a little longer than our donkey ride. After that, we got a little bit cocky on our last day and didn't bother to ask for directions. We ended up taking the long way to get to the main road where we would catch taxis home to Qacha's Nek. The last day was hot and longer than we expected, but I felt great. I was excited to go home finally and see my friends and co-workers (but mostly to bathe and put some fresh clothes on). I can't wait to plan another backpacking trip.

I'm back in Qacha's Nek now, but not for long as my Dad is coming to visit this week-!!! :)

Happy Moshoeshoe Day!

Last week on March 11th, Basotho and Sotho South Africans celebrated their most notable hero: King Moshoeshoe I (1786-1870). Most Basotho attribute their country's independence, freedom, and peaceful nature to King Moshoeshoe I. Lesotho is a small country completely surrounded by South Africa. It is much poorer and weaker in many ways than its larger neighbor South Africa. Many people are surprised that Lesotho is not a province of the RSA, but Basotho are very proud to be independent and thank King Moshoeshoe I for it. In the early 1800s when white European settlers were taking over southern Africa, King Moshoeshoe strategically placed his army in the unforgiving Drakensberg Mountains of Lesotho. Living in these steep, towering mountains, the Basotho led by Moshoeshoe were able to fight off the British. There were many battles atop Thaba-Bosiu (now a historic mountain in Northern Lesotho), but the British never defeated Moshoeshoe and never took Lesotho. Also King Moshoeshoe never let the white settlers tear apart his people as they did in South Africa. In South Africa, different tribes were separated from each other creating hostility and competition that did not exist before the Europeans. Moshoeshoe welcomed other clan leaders to unite with the Basotho to fight the British. Lesotho celebrates King Moshoeshoe I as a man of peace, wisdom, and strength--the hero and pride of Lesotho. Learn more about King Moshoeshoe.

Basotho celebrate Moshoeshoe Day much the same way Americans celebrate Independence Day. Most of the young professionals in the camptown saw it as an excuse to drink and be with friends on their day off from work, and the school children and families rallied together for the activities. The festivities last many days and include athletics and traditional dancing. Each school is represented by a few students from each grade in running races for athletics. Barefoot, the students ran around the dirt track in the Qacha's Nek camptown in long and short distance races. It was easy to tell which schools were wealthy because they had matching uniforms. Otherwise the runners wore the closest thing to their school colors as possible. The girls wore mostly skirts which was strange, and they did not wear sports bras which looked uncomfortable. The primary (elementary) schools raced on a Friday, and the secondary (high school) schools raced on a Saturday. As I watched the races and the participants, it reminded me of when I ran cross country in high school. Each school stretched and warmed up in groups and cheered for their classmates. It was an exciting and fun day for all of the Basotho in my area. Traditional dancing competitions are also held in honor of Moshoeshoe Day. Boys dance and chant in groups, and so do the girls. Most of the boys' dances are characterized by an exaggerated stomping of their feet—like a high-kick with the knee bent and then stomp it on the ground. The girls' dances, however, are done mostly on their knees with their shoulders jutting forward and back. All of the performers where traditional costumes with some props. Oddly, there is always someone leading the dance with a whistle—I'm not sure why.

Because Moshoeshoe Day and Easter are both celebrated in March this year, people aren't really willing to work as much as usual. It is difficult to get things done during holidays here, so I took a vacation and saw some more of Lesotho instead. More on that next time. :)

Passions

I have a confession to make. Before you assume that I’m over here in Africa “saving the world” and sacrificing my time for humanity’s sake, there’s something you should know about me—I watch Passions, a soap opera. I am not proud of this fact, but unexpectedly it has become a small pleasure in my life. Those of you that know me well can attest to my previous hatred of soap operas and daytime dramas, but living in Africa changes you. I’m pretty sure the episodes I see in Lesotho are a few years old, although I’m not sure because I’ve never watched it before. I’m even a “soapies” (as they are called in Lesotho) elitist—I only watch Passions. I refuse to watch The Young & the Restless after Passions. It’s just so unrealistic. But OMG, if Luis and Sheridan don’t get married soon I’m going to quit Peace Corps, and can you believe Kaye is pregnant with Miguel’s baby even though he’s in love with Charity and evil MADE him sleep with Kaye even though he thought it was Charity?! And poor Charity just had a heart transplant after her evil zombie twin almost killed her! Peace Corps Volunteers and bored housewives unite—I think I’m addicted.

But let me explain… Some of the wealthier people in my village (and by wealthy, I mean not dirt poor) enjoy the luxuries of electricity and television. Wealthy people in Lesotho are better educated which means they speak decent English which means they are automatically my friends. Thus some of my closest Basotho friends have TVs in their homes. Peace Corps Volunteers rarely get to watch television, so I watch it when I can, regardless of what is on. My best Mosotho friend, Nozipho, leads the youth group that we’re starting in our village and conveniently schedules the committee meetings at our friend’s house at 3pm so we finish just in time to watch Passions at 4:30pm. I blame her for getting me hooked. Although I’m unabashedly glued to the romance and drama and evil in Passions, perhaps my favorite part is that it’s set in Los Angeles, and, because I’m from Los Angeles, Basotho assume I lived like a steamy soap-star back home. Upon meeting me, some Basotho have even said, “Oh yes, Los Angeles, I know it. I have seen Passions.” Thank you, daytime television, for promoting wealthy American stereotypes across the globe. Still I don’t know which is worse—Basotho judging Americans based on soap operas or WWF Wrestling, another television favorite in Lesotho.

Harsh Realities in Lesotho

For the most part I’ve tried to paint a pretty picture of Lesotho in my blog (if not pretty, then quaint), but the reality is that Lesotho is a third world country steeped in poverty. The beautiful mountain landscape is littered with trash; women are treated as second-hand citizens (until just a few years ago women were considered a minority by law); and the vast majority of the population cannot access and/or afford healthcare. On top of everything, Lesotho holds the third highest HIV prevalence rate at 23.5% (though current statistics say it is probably higher) caused by alcoholism and promiscuity (fueled by a similar combination of boredom and desperation—caused by extreme poverty).

The peace in Lesotho and the friendliness of the Basotho people hold the country together and keep it afloat. Lesotho prides itself on being a peaceful nation. Especially compared to surrounding South Africa where racial tension still breeds hostility, Lesotho smiles and welcomes the few foreigners who venture within its borders. Despite the supposed national pride of Basotho, virtually every person born in Lesotho wants to get out—and who can blame them? Unemployment skyrockets at 40% according to statistics, but in reality it is much worse especially in rural areas. Government, whether national or local, is usually lazy and uninformed about its own people—and is at least somewhat corrupt (though not to the extent of some African countries).

As an ex-pat volunteer at the grassroots level in Lesotho it’s easy to see the suffering and needs of Basotho, along with the many problems that exist here. However living with Basotho in their villages, many Peace Corps Volunteers are also exposed to the Basotho’s high expectations of aid workers and low expectations of themselves. In other words, Basotho want international aid workers to give them money to build a clinic, start a business, or go to school, but Basotho refuse to hold themselves accountable if the money is squandered or the project fails—it’s not their money, why should they care? Basotho have developed a serious dependency on international aid. Money constantly flows into the country no matter where it goes or how effectively or efficiently it is used. As far as I can tell, organizations do little to follow up on where exactly their donated money ends up (i.e. receipts, surveys, names, etc.) The host country is not held accountable by the donating organization, and the organization is not held accountable by its donors. I encourage people who donate money to charities and non-profits et al to inquire about where the money actually goes. More importantly though, international aid organizations need to monitor the results and spending of their aid money. International aid has had a presence in Lesotho for decades, even before the HIV/AIDS crisis. I fear that if money is thrown at Africa (and the rest of the third world) like it has been in Lesotho, the entire third world will develop a dependency on foreign aid and lack the skills to improve and progress its societies.

Dance Party Lesotho-Style!!

January 2008 was a party month for me. Of course there was New Year’s Eve in South Africa, but I have been to multiple parties since then too. You’ll all be happy to know I’m kind of a big deal in Lesotho this year. :) Each of my first two weekends back in Lesotho I attended a party. The first was a good-bye party for my friend ‘Me Refiloe, the Youth Coordinator of the Qacha’s Nek district, who sadly has been transferred to a different district. Because she works for the government (Ministry of Youth and Gender), many local government officials were there which was kind of weird—it would be like partying with your mayor and police chiefs in the States. I didn’t know too many people at this first party so I was glad Adam was there with me (especially when a very drunk man started hitting on me) and we left pretty early. The second party was thrown by my friend Nozipho and thus was a younger crowd. I was definitely the oldest person there for a few hours. I knew many more people at this party so I was much more comfortable and had more than just one beer like the previous weekend. I felt like I was being accepted into the youth community—I wasn’t exactly working at the house party, but I was breaking ground with the youth by proving to them that I could hang, which will help me in my work with the youth. First we had a braai (British English for bbq) at about 10pm after the electricity came back on. Then after we ate chicken and beef and papa, the dance party began. There are only two things Basotho do at parties: drink and dance. And damn are they good at both! Dance music consists of re-mixes of almost anything from Celine Dion to crying babies to Microsoft Windows sounds—anything you can put a beat on top of. Dance moves are just as eclectic—my personal favorite is a variation on the one-legged push-up. The all-out, all-night dancing is my favorite part about Basotho parties. In the States, people are so afraid and embarrassed to dance (especially the guys!). In Lesotho it’s embarrassing if you don’t dance. It doesn’t matter how old you are in Lesotho—when the music starts, your hips start swaying. Even adolescents going through their awkward puberty stage are not ashamed to dance like crazy! Parties usually rage on through the night until sunrise. I had mentally and physically prepared myself to be up until 5 or 6am. However the party was at a young guy’s house, and his mom broke it up at about 3am because she said she needed to sleep… lame. No, she’s actually a really cool lady and was awake with us the entire night laughing and dancing. One of the guys walked me home (my co-worker’s son) to make sure that I was “safe and protected” he said. Everyone there was very concerned about my safety while walking home which made me feel loved (it was only a 3-minute walk).

Then last week was the All-Volunteer Conference in Maseru where all the Peace Corps volunteers in Lesotho came together to discuss new policies and project ideas, etc. During the day we were all business at the conference, but every night was a party. It’s extremely rare that we all get together at the same time so we had to take advantage of the situation. Needless to say, many beers were imbibed. And one night we had a dance party—Peace Corps Lesotho style, which is a unique combination of American and Basotho music and dance moves. January has been the month of dancing. It was a good month. But seriously February will be the month of working… I swear. :)

HOST FAMILY UPDATE:
I cannot recall who I have told about my ntate so I thought I would write it in my blog because I have received a few questions about it. My ntate-moholo from my previous home, Ntate Makeka, passed away right before Christmas. I had not seen him for a while before his death, but thought he was doing fine because I had not heard otherwise. His oldest daughter didn’t tell me what he died from, just that it happened “very quickly.” He was an old man at 90 years old, the oldest in Lesotho as far as I’m concerned, and lived a fruitful life of many travels and many children. He was a devoted husband and father—an excellent role model for today’s Basotho men. He will be missed.

His son and his family now own the compound so it was good that I moved when I did.

Starting Out the New Year

It’s late Friday morning in Qacha’s Nek, and I’m feeling good. November and December were stressful months because I was somewhat homeless and disheveled. Thankfully Peace Corps paid for a hotel stay, and when I didn’t want to eat hotel food Adam let me sleep on his floor and eat his food. I’m finally settling into my new home. When I first returned to Qacha’s Nek after vacation (more on that later), my family was still away on holiday. I was at my new home by myself and the anti-malaria meds gave me nightmares and paranoia so the first week was rough—I didn’t sleep much. My next door neighbors have been great though and made sure I was comfortable and safe. My ausi (sister) returned home yesterday so now my home feels like a home. My ausi is a young teacher who is still attending school (a sort of long distance college education from South Africa), and says I will have to help her with her studies. I told her I will do my best. I still have to meet many of my new neighbors and establish myself in my community, but so far I’m happy in my new home.

I was not putting in many hours at work during the move in November, and I spent a lot of time in Maseru and on vacation in December. The New Year for me marks a new beginning in Qacha’s Nek, not only because of my new home but I will be returning to work fully with some new ideas and energy. School re-opens at the end of January, and in February my counterpart at LPPA and I will begin giving presentations to high school students about reproductive health and their bodies. I will also be speaking to the prisoners in small groups at the Qacha’s Nek Correctional Facility; we will discuss HIV/AIDS at first, and then hopefully they will tell me what they want to learn about. PSI/Lesotho Headquarters has asked me to paint a mural in Maseru, hopefully the first of many—I’m looking forward to that.

Next week I will be back in Maseru for a Peace Corps Conference, then back to work in Qacha.

VACATION:My South African vacation was awesome. I spent almost every day at the beach, and almost every night at the bar. The bartenders at our backpackers hostel were fun and let us pick our favorite music. I don’t think I’ve ever danced so much in one week. I really enjoyed driving our little rental car too. Although disorienting at first, I soon got used to driving on the left side of the road and shifting gears with my left hand—I ended up driving most of the way there and back. We had the windows open and the music on loud—we were free! At the Wild Coast, I almost ran over some little monkeys that were crossing the road. We saw some zebras and ostriches from the road too, and we could see monkeys hanging out in the trees outside our backpacker. We got all dressed up for New Year’s Eve which was fun because most everyone else wore shorts and jeans. I put on make-up for the first time in 6 months. We all had a great time dancing and drinking, but most of New Year’s Day was spent nursing a hangover. Ho lokile (ho lohkeelay: it’s ok), I was still at the beach.