"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.

Geriatrics & Public Transport

October has been a busy month. In addition to continued meetings in town and trying to start some projects, I survived a crisis at home and traveled to a new, remote area of Lesotho.

As I have said before, my ntate-moholo (grandfather) is very old, 90 years old, and as a result there is a part of me that expects him to die at any minute. When he coughs or wheezes or stumbles or falls asleep while I'm talking to him, I think it is the end. One day while I had a PCV friend, Lizbeth, over at my house, an old woman burst into my house without a knock saying "Ntate-Moholo needs water!" in Sesotho. I thought it quite rude and a rather strange request, but brought a glass of water outside anyway. When I saw he wasn't in his chair outside his house like usual, I grew concerned. Then I walked a few more steps to see my ntate 20 feet away laying on his back struggling and a teenage boy hunched over and holding him -- then I was terrified. This was it. I ran to him and as I stood over him I saw there was blood all over his shirt and face, and his eyes were bulging out of his head as he struggled to breathe. Now I was panicked -- what do I do? -- who can I call? Upon closer inspection I saw the huge wound on his head (above the forehead) gushing blood. "Stop the bleeding" was the only thing I could think to do after the stark realization that I can't just dial 911 in Lesotho. I ran to my house to get a dishtowel. Luckily my friend Lizbeth was there to help me because my neighbors in the village who were watching the whole event did nothing to help. Then I realized I needed to get a car to take my ntate to the hospital in town -- about a 10-minute drive. Lizbeth put pressure on the wound while I ran to my friend's house so she could help me locate a vehicle in town. She knew someone close by so we ran to ask him for help. Fortunately the man was home and immediately jumped out of his chair to get the car after I struggled to explain the situation and its urgency in Sesotho. As he got the car I ran back to my ntate who was looking better and conscious. I resumed "pressure-on-the-wound" duties until the truck came which took longer than expected because it had trouble getting up the hill to our house. When the truck was ready, the male spectators picked up my ntate and awkwardly carried him horizontally to the front passenger seat. Lizbeth put some gauze and tape over the cut (which she found in my medical kit), and he was off to the hospital. I was still worried, but soon became angry when I heard what actually happened to my ntate. Apparently a teenage herdboy (the same one I initially saw hovering over him) got mad at my ntate and threw a large rock at his head. My ntate is 90 years old!! I couldn't believe it! Later my ntate told me the rock broke in half when it hit him and caused him to fall backward. It was a trip or fall on the rocky terrain outside our home as I had assumed because of my ntate's age, but a boy with mental problems who couldn't control his temper. My ntate returned home that evening with stitches and a large bandage on his head. He looked pretty rough for a few days but has slowly been getting better. The whole event has cause him quite a lot of stress, but as my old granny neighbor said, "He is refusing to die." Since the incident, I have been helping and visiting my ntate so much it feels like I work at a nursing home. Also many of the older villagers come to visit my ntate adding to the geriatric scene. This last Sunday it was particularly bad with about a dozen people over 70 years old who came to see my ntate after church.

Last week I got to see the large, mountainious district of Thaba-Tseka. The trip was technically work-related because I went on rural outreaches with PSI, but it was also like a mini-vacation because I saw a new place and stayed with my PCV friend Pam who lives there. I had an awesome time with Pam -- we walked all over and saw a lot of the area. She lives in a more remote area than I do so I enjoyed seeing how she lived compared to me. It was also a very successful trip because many villagers tested for HIV during the daily outreaches. I particularly liked the village of Khotsong (place of peace) -- it sits on the side of a mountain with a gorgeous view of the mountains and valleys. The people there lived humbly and were friendly to me. Shockingly not one child called me "lekhooa" (white person) which made me feel comfortable there. Unfortunately I could not stay the whole week with PSI - I had people to see in town. Thus I had to take public transport back to Qacha's Nek. Normally that wouldn't be a big deal, but I was in the rural mountains where, according to maps and tourists, only 4-wheel drive vehicles can pass (like the PSI truck). But this is Lesotho where a 16-passenger van can take you anywhere. I learned it was a 2-day trip: 1 day from Sehonghong to Sehlabathebe, the national park in east Qacha's Nek, and another day into town. I knew the transport in Sehlabathebe was reliable and left early in the morning (and I could stay with a PCV there), but no one was sure when the transport left from Sehonghong or even of it existed. Regardless I waited at the Sehonghong bus-stop one morning with an old woman wearing a "101 Dalmations" towel wrapped around her shoulders, both of us sitting on the small boulders that designated the bus-stop area. I sat there for about an hour-and-a-half until finally a van rolled up -- I was ecstatic! I was also curious to see exactly how this would work. Imagine taking a beat-up VW bus up and over a 10,000 foot mountain pass on rocky, dirt roads. Getting up the first mountain was the scariest because many loose rocks covered the road. The "conductor" of the kombi, who is responsible for rushing passengers on and off the vehicle and collecting money, also had the menial task of hauling boulders off the path. We moved very slowly. Then when going down the mountains it felt like I was on a rollercoaster. The woman next to meand I braced ourselves with both hands pushing and gripping the seat in front of us. The woman next to me didn't think it was so fun though -- she was puking in a small plastic bag for most of the trip. Basotho often get carsick for some reason which can make for some unpleasant rides for me. As I was fortunate enough to have a window seat, sometimes I could look straight down at the river below us as we teetered along the edge of a towering cliff. At one point I remember thinking, "Well if we were to fall off this cliff, it would be kind of a cool way to go." Alas 5 or 6 hours later we rolled into Sehlabathebe without a scratch. I was thrilled to see my friend (and even the half dozen kids drawing outside her home) and to go to bed early on her air mattress amidst a hyper-active lightning and rain storm. I had made it just in time.

The next morning we got up at 4:30am (which I dont' really consider morning) and waited for the bus to take me home. It is only a 2 or 3 hour drive into Qacha's Nek town, and it's one of my favorite drives in Lesotho -- the mountain landscape is breathtaking especially with the low clouds hugging the mountain tops as they were that morning. They always remind me of Japanese inkwash paintings -- the beautiful morning landscape covered in mysterious fog. Upon arrival at my home I immediately boiled some water and took a much needed bucket bath. Then that same day two people from Peace Corps staff came to see my at my site, and I was also expecting a friend from Peace Corps South Africa to visit me as well. Busy week! It turns out I had three visitors from Peace Corps SA all of whom had just finished their 2 year service. It was fascinating to compare cultures and experiences. Two of them spoke North Sotho which seemed similar to but still very distinct from Sesotho. They were my first real out-of-country visitors -- Thanks for coming to Lesotho, Tom, Sam, and Cort!

In other news:
1) I can now make chicken fried rice, home-made pasta sauce, and apple crisp. Believe it.
2) I visited "Snake Park" in town which is home to some poisonous snakes on display -- it's definitely not as impressive as it sounds, but it's funny that there is a place dedicated to the appreciation of snakes in a country where the people are absolutely terrified of them.
3) My PCV neighbor Adam found a scorpion in his house. He kept it in a ziploc bag for a few days and tried feeding it bugs, but eventually his mother fed it to one of their new puppies because Basotho believe it will make them more vicious guard dogs (which is what dogs are mainly used for in Lesotho).
4) Recently I locked myself out of my house and had to sleep on my ntate's couch for a night... some things never change.

A Day in the Life

Now that I've been at site for over six weeks, I feel like I'm starting to get settled and develop a routine. Daily life as a volunteer is much different than daily life as a trainee where every day was structured by the Peace Corps Training Staff. Now I get to create my own schedule every week which makes me much happier. I seem to be getting a little busier every week, but I'm sure things will slow down closer to the holidays (just like America).

I live in my own rondavel on my ntate-moholo's family compound (host grandfather). My rondavel is made of stones on the outside, and my walls are made of mud and dung on the inside. Inside my house I have a bed propped up on some cement blocks so there is storage room underneath my bed where I keep my buckets and luggage. I have a wardrobe, a short bookcase, a table with my electric stove on it, and two bright blue plastic lawn chairs. There are lots of holes and cracks and ripped-off paint spots on my walls so I am thinking about having my walls "smeared" (which involves wet mud and cow poop) and painting them, but I need some advice and help with the smearing... obviously. I'm also in the market for a cabinet for my food and a dining table.

During the week I usually wake up anywhere from 6-7am depending on what time I need to be in town. I boil water which takes a while because my stove is pretty slow, and then have some English Breakfast Tea and oatmeal. Then I'll get dressed, pack my bag, pack a lunch, empty my pee bucket outside, and leave for town. It's about a 5-minute walk down the hill to the road (usually 10 minutes in the opposite direction going up the hill), then I wait for a taxi to take me into town (about an 8-minute drive). While walking through my village and waiting at the bus-stop, I have to greet every person I pass or meet in Sesotho--"Hello, how are you? I am fine, thank you." Some people stop me and ask me 20 questions--"Where are you from? Where are you going? What is your name? Where do you live? Who do you live with? Where do you work?" etc. Sometimes it goes on for a long time, but I have to greet people and answer their questions or else they will think I am rude. Eventually I either stop understanding their questions as they get more detailed or pretend to stop understanding. :) Sometimes kids ask me for candy or money too, but they're getting better in my village.

In town I have meetings scheduled which sometimes happen. I had two meetings scheduled today, but both women are out of town (hence the blog). I'll also usually check in at both of my jobs and talk to my supervisors to see what's going on or coming up. Last week, I gave my first presentation at a youth workshop. It was on "Decision-Making Skills." Luckily, they were smart and older kids so they understood English. Sometimes I go on "outreaches" with PSI where we go to rural villages to test people for HIV and give them counseling and information. Because my Sesotho is limited though, there's only so much I can do on the outreaches. It's more for me to observe and see more of the country. When I'm in town I also do my grocery shopping or meet up with other volunteers or ex-pats when they are in town.

I usually head back home mid-to-late afternoon before it gets dark. At home I'll do some cleaning or just relax depending on the day. I'll cook dinner in the evening. After dinner I have a lot of alone time, unless I hang out with my ntate-moholo or neighbor. In my free time I like to write and read, and I do yoga a couple nights a week when I'm good. I listen to my CDs or the radio sometimes too (Durban, SA radio!). If I'm feeling productive I'll study Sesotho or prepare for future presentations. I usually go to bed around 10:30 or so.

On the weekends I sleep in and take it easy--I'll usually do some laundry if it's sunny. Sometimes I visit other volunteers, sometimes I go for a walk or a hike. The weekends are awesome for reflecting on the previous week and preparing for the week ahead.

So that's pretty much my life these days. Hopefully things will get a bit more interesting after lockdown and "In-Service Training" at the end of November.

I've included my address in my Profile if anyone wants to send me letters or packages. A big THANK YOU to those of you who have thought of me already. I love hearing from you and getting mail! :)

One Month in Qacha's Nek

The 15th was my one month anniversary at site in Qacha's Nek, Lesotho (training consisted of my first two months in country). The bulk of this month has been dedicated to observation and settling into my new home. In lieu of a report on my first month at site, I would like to share with you my top three favorite events thus far.

3) I met a teenage girl in my village who is extremely smart and opinionated. Apparently she was the first girl in Ha Manteko to finish high school, and she did well. This is particularly amazing because she got pregnant during her last year at school, and took her final exams shortly after giving birth. Despite being proposed to by the father of her baby, she chose to remain single because she knew she was too young and independent to be a traditional Mosotho wife. She's the only feminist I've met in Lesotho, and one of the few Basotho who I believe will achieve their dreams. She's currently retaking a couple classes so her grades are better when she applies to university and giving lectures about teenage pregnancy and life goals with the youth group in town.

2) One morning as I was leaving my rondavel to go to work in town, my ntate-maholo (host grandfather) was blasting Boyz II Men "End of the Road". It was one of those moments that took me back to America--specifically it took me to the drive-thru line of Del Taco at 1am waiting for chicken soft tacos with Josh and Jorge. :)

1) And my favorite story...
On my way home from work one day, a very drunk man sat next to me on the taxi to my village. Usually the drunk Basotho men are incredibly obnoxious, and I do everything I can to avoid them. (Alcoholism is a huge problem in Lesotho -- men can be found drunk out of their minds at bars and shops at any hour and day of the week.) However this drunk man was special because he had a photo album with him. It was the first time a Mosotho showed me a photo album, and what was inside it? Multiple photos of this man and his cow, and that's it... His cow and him in a field, his cow and him at the post office, the man holding a beer bottle up to the cow's mouth, etc. I was cracking up. He rattled on and on in slurred drunken Sesotho about his cow (khomo), and I couldn't understand him at all so I kept saying "Oh! Hantle, ntate" which means "oh! good, sir". Then when he finished telling me about his cow, he leaned back and tried to eat some makoenya (Basotho fat cakes; or round donuts without the hole), but he was so drunk he couldn't keep the food in his mouth. It was pretty pathetic, but wildly entertaining.

Those are my stories, and I'm sticking to them. In the next post I will try to be more descriptive about my new home and life in Qacha's Nek... still taking it all in for now.

I miss you all (people I know)!

Happy Birthday Mom!! :)

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.

"These Are A Few Of My Favorite Things..."

We swore in today! I am now an official Peace Corps volunteer. Yesterday a few of us volunteers were bored so we wrote a song about our PST (pre-service training) experience. Enjoy!

Sung to the tune of "My Favorite Things" by Julie Andrews:

Raindrops in my room, I hate my tin roof.
I pee in a bucket and you can too .
Tampered packages might arrive in spring.
These are a few of my favorite things.

Braying donkeys, ke kopa lipompom.*
Tea time and cookies, I fell in a donga.*
At sunrise I shiver in my drafty latrine.
These are a few of my favorite things.

When the dogs bite,
When the cocks crow,
When they call my fat,
I simply remember I'm in Lesotho, and then I don't feel so bad.

Time has no meaning we ema outside freezing.*
Music in kombis leaves my ears bleeding.*
Bitter PCVs why don't you just leave?
These are a few of my favorite things.

Aggravated assault; I just lost my teeth.*
Always use the bridge, no wait, never use the bridge.*
Papa, moroho and MSG--
These are a few of my favorite things!

Ample Leg Hair.
Bucket Bathing.
My Butt's never Clean.*
I simply remember that boxed wine is cheap, and then I don't feel so bad!

Hahah! Sometimes we get crazy when we're bored. :) The asterisks above will eventually be footnotes, but I'm too lazy to figure out how to do that in HTML. Email me if you have any questions or news! I leave for Qacha's Nek tomorrow morning at 5am via kombi!

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...