Cherries & Chickenheads

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

August, September, and October I stayed in Qacha's Nek at my site so November was the month of travelling. I went to three different volunteers' homes in different parts of Lesotho, 2 of which are across the Senqu (or Orange) River. When you need to cross a river in Lesotho, you either drive over a cement bridge if the river is low (and if a: your part of the river has a bridge, and b: you have a car). Like the vast majority of Basotho, Peace Corps volunteers do not have cars. If you don't have a car, your only option is a shabby rowboat manned by a malnourished teenage boy wearing only his underwear. People and luggage and any number of weird things have to cross the river by rowboat: heavy furniture, crates of beer, corpses (yup). Welcome to Lesotho.

For my first exciting "outing" post-lockdown, my fellow PCV friend and neighbor Adam Rosenberg took me to Ficksburg where a bunch of volunteers were meeting up for the annual Cherry Festival. Ficksburg is a border-town right outside the northwestern border of Lesotho. Four of us stayed at a volunteer's house near the border. It took Adam and I 9 hours total to get there: 7 from Qacha to Maseru, and another 2 to Leribe. The next day we all crossed the border from Lesotho to Ficksburg, from black to white. The strangest thing about going to the Free State (a province of South Africa) for the first time is seeing groups of mostly white people. In Lesotho (especially the mountains) I only see a small number of Westerners all of whom I know and recognize. It's shocking to blend into a crowd after being an obvious minority and spectacle for so long. The Ficksburg Cherry Festival was weird, but fun. It reminded me of a county fair -- white trash, old people, greasy food, bad musical entertainment. At one point there was a cherry pit spitting contest. The best part though was free samples of cherry-flavored alcoholic beverages (and other cherry delights). They were kind of nasty, but free. :) Some of the male volunteers decided to attend the event dressed as Boers meaning mullets and cut-off jean shorts. They fit right in. For lunch I had a huge curry meat pie (I've been eating a lot of meatpies since I got here -- they're everywhere and awesome) and a draft beer, or three. It was good to be out of Lesotho for a little while and forget about my job.

As previously mentioned I celebrated Thanksgiving at my friend Kjessie's house. She lives across the Senqu River, about an hour hike to the river and an hour hike to her house from the river over a mountain. She works at an agricultural college where they plant every produce imaginable. When you get to her campus it looks like an oasis, especially in the winter, because it's a beautiful green area full of vegetation and nice houses in the middle of nowhere. I like to visit her despite the river pirates. Andy (PCV friend who lives near Kjessie) and I stayed at Kjessie's house for a few days for Thanksgiving before heading to Maseru for some Peace Corps training. On Thanksgiving Day we tried to find a chicken to slaughter for dinner (turkeys are hard to come by) because in Kjessie's village you have to kill an animal if you want to eat meat. Unfortunately Kjessie's students couldn't find us a chicken in her village or the next village over. We were pretty disappointed, but Kjessie had secured a fish from her boss so we had a fish with stuffing instead. And of course, mashed potatoes (half a plate) and cranberry sauce. It was delicious, and we all stuffed ourselves like it was a real American Thanksgiving. Kjessie even made pumpkin pie from scratch which was impressive to say the least. Later that night after we had finished eating, one of the teachers at Kjessie's school said she found us a chicken...! Thanksgiving was over, but better late than never. We woke up the next day ready for Thanksgiving Round 2 and walked to a house nearby to purchase our chicken. We bought it for 40 rands (about $7) and carried it home. Kjessie used to work on a chicken farm and wanted to show us a trick where she hyptonized the chicken. During the trick the chicken got loose and started running around the campus. We had the three of us, Kjessie's co-worker, and 3 or 4 students running after our escapee chicken. After maybe 20 minutes of running around, one of the students grabbed it by the tail ensuring it's fate. After capturing the chicken we decided that I would be the executioner--this would be a good chance to experience where my food really comes from I thought. At first we wanted to be hardcore so Kjessie got an ax from the campus toolshed. It looked really cool (see photo), but we didn't really know how to use it. Instead Kjessie's teacher, 'Me Mateboho, showed us the Basotho way to slaughter a chicken. Basically I lay the chicken on it's side, stepped on his wings with one foot and his legs with the other. I won't go into the nitty-gritty details on my blog (email me if you want the full, PG-13 story), but I basically cut his head off with a hunting knife that Mike Bohley gave me. It felt really strange to kill an animal, but I wanted to have the experience of killing my own food. Luckily Kjessie used to work on a chicken farm so she knew what to do after that: 1) stick chicken in boiling water and pluck feathers, cut off feet, singe little hairs off, cut a T in the butt, pull out insides, rinse, stuff, bake. We also went for a beautiful afternoon hike in the next village. When we returned from the hike we baked the stuffed chicken for Thanksgiving 2. As we bit into the chicken we worked so hard to prepare, the meat didn't budge. The three of us looked at each other as we gnawed on the rubbery meat and burst out laughing. We called him khoho-moholo after that which means grandpa chicken. Our first self-slaughtered chicken was pretty disappointing, but it was a good Thanksgiving (2 days) nonetheless.

I hope everyone in America had a yummy Thanksgiving. I had a lot to be thankful for this year after living in Africa for 6 months. I'm thankful for all my friends and family back home too -- I miss you all! Thank you for all of your support!

Qacha's Nek, here I come!

I'm here now at my site writing this blog on paper later to be transferred to "the internet." I got the site I wanted!! I'm in Qacha's Nek working for PSI (Population Services International) and LPPA (Lesotho Planned Parenthood Association). Both PSI and LPPA are international organizations at least as far as their funding and infrastructure are concerned, so I will have the luxury of working in an actual office (at times) and working with educated and accountable people. I live outside of town in my own rondavel with... ELECTRICITY! This came as a surprise to me because I knew I was going to be living in a village, and the vast majority of volunteers do not have electricity. I am so happy to have a light in my house so I can read and draw and get work done at night (like at home!). In the training village where I was living prior to Qacha, it was difficult at night working by candlelight. Also I have cell phone reception in my house! I'm spoiled by Peace Corps Lesotho standards. According to others in Qacha's Nek though, it can be rough living up here in the mountains. The weather is unpredictable--lots of snow in the winter, rain in the summer, and cold temperatures at night. I need to get me some long underwear. :) The other PCVs in Qacha's Nek seem cool too despite the fact that I think they're all from the East Coast. Coastal rivalry is common here among PCVs so I will be representing the Westside by myself in my district. Luckily my fellow Californian Kjessie (surfer babe from NorCal) is relatively close to me--about a 4 hour bus ride plus a boat ride across a river plus a hike over a mountain. According to current volunteers, the first few months at site can be difficult because not only am I getting settled and used to my home, but I'm on "lockdown" meaning I can't leave my district--which for me means I won't be able to see any of my fellow trainees for 3 months because I'm the only new volunteer in Qacha's Nek. Hopefully someone will throw a big party when lockdown is over.
I live on a family compound outside of town with my ntate (host dad) who is almost 90. I know--he's so old, especially for Lesotho. He's awesome. I love him already. I'm sure there will be more on my ntate in another blog...
After discussing my job position with my supervisors at PSI and LPPA, I will be doing a lot of work in the villages mobilizing the communities in Qacha's Nek and informing the villagers of the services provided by PSI and LPPA. In a nutshell, PSI focuses mostly on VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing) for HIV; and LPPA offers contraceptives and education for family planning. Although the circumstances are obviously drastically different I'm looking forward to comparing Planned Parenthood in Los Angeles, one of the wealthiest and best-known cities in the world, to Planned Parenthood in Qacha's Nek, the smallest district in a relatively unknown poverty-stricken country in Africa. Because I will be mobilizing villages, it will be crucial to my success here that I learn Sesotho and speak it confidently. Easier said than done--wish me luck!
Since I will be at site for the next 3 months and I'm not sure how reliable internet is in Qacha's Nek, it may be a while until my next blog...