"KEA MATHA!"

Again, a lot has happened since I last blogged. I have moved to a new house (almost all moved) with a new family and new neighbors and a new last name all of which I don't know yet. Peace Corps deemed my house too dangerous so they found me a new place on the opposite end of the same village. Nothing happened to me, but Peace Corps is keen on preventing violence before it happens so they wanted me to move -- don't worry! I was staying at hotels and friends' houses for the first 2 weeks of November while the logistics of my new house were being worked out. Then last week I went to the Cherry Festival in Ficksburg, South Africa with a big group of fellow volunteers. Then Thanksgiving at my friend Kjessie's house where I may or may not have slaughtered a chicken for dinner. Now I'm in the capital of Lesotho, Maseru, for more Peace Corps training. In my next blog there will be more details about my new house, how work is going, and how I'm feeling. But first I have a little story I want to share with you.


In Peace Corps Lesotho (and I imagine in Peace Corps all around the globe), no volunteer can escape the inevitability of diarrhea...

"Lockdown" was finally over--no longer confined to my district, my friend Adam invited me to go to the Cherry Festival in South Africa with some other volunteers. Excited to get out of Qacha's Nek for a few days I enthusiastically agreed. We got on a kombi to Maseru, the capital of Lesotho on the other side of the country, at 6am and prepared ourselves for the uncomfortably cramped and long 7-hour ride. In Lesotho (and many African countries), public transportation is an adventure in itself. Most kombis, similar to large vans for high school sports teams but bigger, are supposed to hold about 16 people safely and comfortably. But I'm in Africa, so a comfortable 16-seater transforms into a clown car for 25 or 30 people squished in the seats and the aisle crammed with others standing. Luckily I had a window seat so I could gaze out at the beautiful mountainous landscape along the way. Unfortunately the woman who sat next to me weighed a good 250 lbs and had a young child on her lap with a leaky water bottle. The seats in the kombi are small so I was forced to share some of my seat with the large woman next to me who freely rested her hands and bags and child on my lap at times (which is common -- Basotho don't believe in personal space).

Soon after the half-way point between Qacha's Nek and Maseru, my stomach started to hurt. At first it was no big deal, usually if my stomach hurts it goes away pretty quickly. Unfortunately this was not one of those harmless stomach growls, and it got a lot worse. As my insides got more angry I started to panic. I knew I would have to go to the bathroom soon, but I had another 4 hours to go and was in the middle of nowhere. A few outhouses flew by as I longingly stared at them out the window. I didn't know what to do. If I told the driver I needed to get out of the car because I was sick, he could just drive off without me, leaving me in the middle of nowhere without my luggage and few alternatives to get to the capital. I sweated it out for a half hour or so longer until I HAD to get off the kombi to take care of business. I slowly stood up in the back of the bus, stepped over the large woman and child, pushed my way through every man and woman in the aisle, and made my way to the sliding door. I said to the driver, "Kea kula. Ke hloka ho theoha honajoale. Kea matha!" Translations: Kea kula = I am sick, Ke hloka ho theoha honajoale = I need to get off now, Kea matha = I am running (you have to think about this one, it has more than one meaning). He stopped the kombi to let me off, and before I left the vehicle I asked him in English, "Ntate, will you wait for me?" with just a hint of desperation in my voice. He said yes and seemed to be genuine so I darted across the road down a little hill to a large bush and made sure no one could see me. Well, then you know what happened, the whole time thinking the bus could abandon me and take off for Maseru as I pulled my pants up. A woman walked over to my general area and shyly said "We are waiting for you" as I actually was buckling my belt. They hadn't left me! I ran back to the bus apologizing and thanking everyone. I was kind of embarrassed but moreso extremely relieved (in more ways than one). Most of the Basotho passengers were chuckling when I again inched my way through the crowd in the aisle to my window seat. The toddler on the large woman's lap burst out laughing when he realized where I had been. This time I let the big lady sit near the window so my insides weren't being squished even though that meant there was only room for one of my butt cheeks on my seat. Thank God I felt fine for the rest of the trip! In fact I even had a soft serve cone in the capital. Then it was another 2 hours up to our friend's house where we were staying near Ficksburg. Just a day in the life.

More to come in the next few days about Ficksburg Cherry Festival, Thanksgiving events, and more! See photo below from our Thanksgiving Day hike.

Papa! Moroho! Nama!

One of the most frequently asked questions I get in emails or phone calls is: "What do you eat over there?" Honestly, PC volunteers in Lesotho are pretty lucky because we're so close to South Africa--even if we don't have a certain food product in our village, chances are we can get it in Maseru, the capital, or South Africa.
Traditional Basotho food consists mostly of papa, moroho, and nama. Papa is usually described as a stiff porridge made from maize meal. I like to think of it as extremely bland mashed potatoes that have had all the moisture sucked out of it (and not actually made from potatoes). It's pretty good with other foods, but it's pretty gross by itself. I don't make it myself (although it's very easy), but I eat it at "restaurants" in town and with Basotho sometimes. Basotho eat it with everything-- it's their staple carb food. I love papa with "moroho" which is a blanket term for any cooked leafy vegetable. Moroho usually involves chopped up cabbage, sometimes carrots, sometimes spinach, or swiss chard, etc. It's cooked in oil and flavored with salt or Aromat (pure MSG!) or something similar. My favorite moroho (that I can make) consists of chopped cabbage and grated carrots. Then there is nama which simply means "meat." When we were in training at the Training Site in Maseru, most of the meat that was cooked for us was dubbed "mystery meat," but it always tasted good. Nama in Lesotho is either chicken, cow, pig, or sheep. No rat stew... yet! Just kidding. Other things Basotho eat if it's available: pumpkin, squash, beetroot, bean salad, potato salad, soups, eggs, bohobe (bread), etc. Most food are doused in salt or MSG flavor or Rama (margarine, yum).
Although these are the most available foods in Lesotho, I usually don't eat them. I eat a lot of rice with veggies, beans, grilled cheese, tuna sandwiches, yogurt and granola, PB & J, lentils, soups with bread, etc. In the mornings I eat either oatmeal, yogurt and granola, or eggs and buttered bread. That's right -- I like eggs now! Basotho taught me that they taste really good if you use enough oil when you cook them. :) You can get a lot of instant foods in Maseru too -- like 2-minute noodles (Top Ramen) and cup-a-soup. I generally don't cook meat for myself, but I eat it in town or with friends. And of course I always boil my water. Oh, and tortillas are hard to find here so I make my own with I'm really craving a burrito. We can bake things too with a Dutch oven (hehe), like cookies and casseroles, but I haven't attempted the Dutch oven yet. Also they sell candy bars in most camptowns so I get my chocolate fix when I need it -- I can even get Peanut Butter M&Ms at a certain gas station in Maseru, so good! The only food I truly miss and salivate when I think about is the In-N-Out cheeseburger. Alas, there is no hope of finding an In-N-Out cheeseburger in Africa, or barely outside of California. Most of my fellow American volunteers have not enjoyed or even heard of In-N-Out which causes me pain. So, to all of my In-N-Out buddies (there are so many of you), enjoy an INO cheeseburger or Double-Double for me and tell my favorite burger joint that I miss it.