It has officially been over 6 months since I returned home from my Peace Corps service in Lesotho and my beautiful, long vacation in Mozambique. Before I returned, I thought 6 months would be a milestone during my "re-adjustment" just as it was an important marker during my "cultural integration" in Lesotho. Just last month I finally started to feel normalized to American society, or should I say, life in Los Angeles.

I have traveled to a few places since last August. Panama was the highlight. I visited my friend Piper doing Peace Corps Panama near Bocas del Toro. I also took a Spanish course to get me started and traveled around the small, diverse country. It was a fantastic trip including rainforest hikes, Caribbean beach vibes, perilous boat rides, snorkeling, "pueblo life" at Piper's site, salsa dancing, cold showers, and many chances to practice speaking Spanish.

My other travels were in the United States. I have taken a couple trips to San Francisco and had fun on a backpacking trip through Yosemite in the Hetch-Hetchy area (which I had never been to prior). I went to Las Vegas for a Bachelorette Party, whoa. Then just last month I went to New England in the winter to visit some Peace Corps friends. I spent most of my time in Western Mass, spent about a week in Vermont on a lake, and had a ball in New York City for a jam-packed 2 and a half days. It was cold, but fun. I think everyone there could tell that I was from Southern California because I was fascinated by the snow ("every snowflake really IS unique!") and had a blast snow-shoeing and building a snow-woman.

Job-searching has proved much more difficult than I anticipated. I sent my resume and cover letters to quite a few jobs, all of which I really wanted and matched well. I had a handful of interviews, but never quite made it to the end--the hiring part. While that was a tough pill to swallow, I think it is for the best. I'm still finding my place here, and I'm glad I have had some time to figure myself out. I still haven't landed my dream job, but I have worked many jobs during my search. Since I returned home from Africa, I have had the following jobs: Media Director, Studio Assistant, Substitute Teacher, Freelance Designer, Mural Painter, SEO Specialist, and I'm sure the list could go on. It has been a bit stressful, but I tend to work well with many, different jobs (like college) so I'm sticking with it.

I still haven't found what I'm looking for...

...but I'm getting close.

I am officially home in the United States. My adventure in southern Africa is over... for now. I have promised my best friend and her family (my Basotho family) that I will return to Lesotho to see them again some day, so I am not too sad knowing that I will be there again in the future.

A new adventure starts for me now in a strangely familiar place. I feel like I can do anything, the sky's the limit! And it truly is. For now, I'm getting started on learning Spanish and surfing the web for jobs and ideas (wish me luck). Unlimited internet is addicting! One of these days I'll get a cell phone, but for now I can be contacted via email.

It's good to be back!

I officially leave the country tomorrow. I have created a new blog for my month trip in Mozambique: http://mozbalch.blogspot.com/ Enjoy!

My last days in Qacha's Nek were stressful and emotional, but in a good way. I had to say goodbye to many friends and good people that I've gotten to know well over the last 2 years. Some of them are Americans who have become some of my best friends. Some of them are Basotho who have been my family for the last 2 years in Qacha's Nek. Some of them are just friendly, familiar faces that I will miss seeing on a daily basis. I'm elated to know that my work in my village and the camptown touched people enough to thank me with hugs and gifts and songs.

I had a lot of work to do the last few weeks as well, finishing up projects and making sure everything will work okay after I leave (if possible). I painted a mural at a high school on their new library building. I gave the last of the Life Skills presentations at the prison and the primary school. I helped Ntate Nkhooa design a pamphlet for his Snake Park, the first in Lesotho. But mostly I tried to spend time with my good Basotho friends.

My Basotho family in Ha Manteko threw a party for me and presented me with a traditonal seshoeshoe dress and an African wall-hanging craft. We all danced until midnight including little 5-year old Thuto who shakes it better than anyone. I'll definitely miss Basotho parties where EVERYONE dances no matter their age, old or young. My ausi, sister, also gave me a seshoeshoe dress as a parting gift. Then the day I left, the 7th grade students that I taught at the primary school and the teachers gave me some cards and a couple small gifts, and they sang a departing song that went something like "may God bless and keep you til we meet again..." It was so sweet.

I'm in the capital, Maseru, now preparing to leave Lesotho and finish my Peace Corps service. Remember, I work for the U.S. Government so I have a ton of paperwork to fill out in addition to medical check-ups and other bureaucratic BS. I need about 20 signatures before I leave. yay.

It has certainly been a roller-coaster during the last 2 years in Lesotho, big ups and downs, and it went really fast. I can't believe my Peace Corps service is coming to a close, but I'm also very excited for the next chapters in my life. Next stop - Mozambique! Then I'm back in good ole Southern California by the end of July. :D

I only have one month left in Qacha’s Nek, and I am starting to get quite nostalgic about everything. I don’t want to forget any of the people and places I know so well after two years.

Last night at dusk I took a short stroll outside to watch the sunset. On my way, I ran into two Basotho men wearing traditional blankets rolling a joint, apparently about to enjoy the sunset themselves. I greeted them in Sesotho, and they greeted me back. The older gentleman showed multiple missing teeth as he smiled and nodded. I often run into boys and men smoking weed when I walk down the hill behind my house around dusk—nobody minds here. As I pause to enjoy this beautiful time of day, my back is to the setting sun. Even more mesmerizing than the sunset is the vibrant reddish-orange color of the mountains opposite the sun. I soaked it all in—don’t forget! When the sun had gone and the orange faded, I walked back to my house to make dinner. I breathed in that familiar smell as I passed the smoking bo-ntate (men), and we greeted each other again and said good night. It’s winter now and very cold at night so I didn’t stay out long.

I have also been visiting my waterfall more frequently. About a 20-minute walk from my front door, I am standing above a beautiful waterfall maybe 10 stories tall. Another steep 40 minutes down and I’m at the bottom of it, but I usually just walk to the top and relish in “my” waterfall for a bit before heading back home. Lesotho is a gorgeous country, especially in the southern Drakensberg mountain area where I live. I will miss it dearly.

Being a tourist can be fun. I play it down like it's lame, and I'd rather hang with the locals, but I can enjoy it in the right place. Cape Town, South Africa, is that place. There's so much to do in Cape Town, you can't help but be out and about with your camera every day.

I started off my vacation going to Johannesburg with my friend Jen, leaving from her site in northern Lesotho. We took a mini-bus, a little concerned about our safety in the Jo'burg taxi rank where we would be dropped off (supposedly the most dangerous area in South Africa). But like so many times before, our Sesotho language skills saved us. We always had the option of paying for a private taxi to pick us up and take us to our hostel, but we are thrifty Peace Corps volunteers and we weren't willing to give up 400ZAR that easily. We made friends with our driver, Ntate Bohloko (Mr. Pain), and he agreed to help us out. Help can come in many forms in Africa so we still weren't totally sure what would happen, but we were confident we'd be okay if a local driver was willing to give us a hand. It turned out Ntate Bohloko was truly willing to go the extra mile for our sorry American asses. He drove us to the huge taxi rank where we would hop on another mini-bus to take us to our hostel. Then, he parked the car in an illegal parking spot, got out of the car with us, walked us another 5 minutes to the mini-buses, then found the exact mini-bus we needed to take, discussed our situation with the driver, double-checked that he was taking us to the exact area we needed to go, and told Jen and I to tell him again just in case. He is a saint and the only reason we didn't get mugged in the Johannesburg taxi rank. The man barely spoke English and didn't know us at all, but he did us a huge favor that day. I can't tell you how many South Africans have helped me out when I really needed it--Ntate Bohloko being a prime example.

Johannesburg is a fabulous city. It reminded me more of LA than any other city in South Africa. Jen and I were only there for a couple days, but we enjoyed the city. We went out with some guys that worked at the hostel. On a Saturday night, they took us to a local bar for drinks and dancing where Jen and I were the only white people--that's always fun. :) The main event that lead us to Jo'burg, though, was the Joburg Art Fair where we could see contemporary art from all over the world, mostly from South Africa. It was a sophisticated art event, and I could not have been happier. Professionalism, paintings, sculpture, prints, art talks, artists, critics--it was paradise for an artist who has been living in an artless environment for so long.

Then, off to Cape Town on a domestic flight--pretty fancy for a PCV. We arrived in the evening, got picked up and were taken to our next hostel. We did some grocery shopping and saw a movie that night. The next day we took the train down to Simon's Town so we could see some African Penguins. The train tracks follow the coastline towards Cape Point so it was a gorgeous view of the beach for the last half of the ride. From Simon's Town, it was another 2 kilometers to Boulder's Beach where the penguins live so we took a stroll down main street. We didn't get very far when we found a patisserie serving delicious pastries and desserts. Lunch for dessert? Sure! We felt a little sick after lunch, but luckily a nice older couple at the patisserie offered us a ride down to Boulder's Beach. The penguins were everywhere, and we could walk right up to them. It was a perfect day trip.

The next day I went to see some art galleries around town, slightly disappointing. I guess I was too picky after the Joburg Art Fair. Then I took a bus to a suburb of Cape Town hoping to learn how to kite surf. Unfortunately the winds disappeared as soon as I got there, and it wasn't possible. Instead I laid on the beach and ate some chicken chow mein--delicious. I didn't swim in the ocean though, it was freezing! Even the sand was cold. I also took a nice 10k run from Green Point to Camps Bay with the beach on my right, and Table Mountain on my left. We also went to Robben Island for a day to see the famous prison where Nelson Mandela was imprisoned for many years during the apartheid regime in South Africa. He was released in 1990, and elected South Africa's first democrat President in 1994 after the fall of apartheid. After living in Southern Africa for 2 years, reading about Mandela's life, and hearing chilling stories from people who suffered during the apartheid regime, it's hard to describe the feeling I had being on that island and seeing the prison cells. It was moving to say the least, and I'm proud to say that I've been there. After a few days, a large group of more Peace Corps Volunteers arrived in Cape Town. We all stayed on busy Long Street amidst the bustling night life and shops. We ate good food, went to bars, and enjoyed the city life.

Saturday was the big Two Ocean Half Marathon for many people. A bunch of PCVs ran it including Jen and Chris Conz. That night we hit the town after a light nap. The next day, Easter Sunday, a few of us climbed Table Mountain. I was fine, but I was hiking with 3 guys that ran a half marathon the day before. The cable car ride to the top is for wimps. They were a sorry looking bunch, but they did it. Regardless, the view from the top was spectacular... once the wind died down so I could peel my eyes open. I should have tried kite surfing that day.

Before going home I went out to Stellenbosch with Chris Conz. The winelands there are beautiful and scenic, and the wine wasn't so bad either. We did a wine tasting tour, drank good South African wine, and ate good cheese. It was the perfect end to a great vacation.

I wanted to post a lighter blog before I went on vacation and left you hanging (Under 5s was a little depressing). So I copied a favorite poem of mine that I discovered while I was in Lesotho. It speaks a lot about why I came to Africa, why I enjoyed my time here, and why it was difficult. I've read this poem many, many times since I've been in Lesotho. Enjoy!

To an English Friend in Africa

By Ben Okri

Be grateful for freedom

To see other dreams.

Bless your loneliness as much as you drank

Of your former companionships.

All that you are experiencing now

Will become moods of future joys

So bless it all.

Do not think your ways superior

To another's

Do not venture to judge

But see things with fresh and open eyes

Do not condemn

But praise what you can

And when you can't, be silent.

Time is now a gift for you

A gift of freedom

To think and remember and understand

The ever perplexing past

And to re-create yourself anew

In order to transform time.

Live while you are alive.

Learn the ways of silence and wisdom

Learn to act, learn a new speech

Learn to be what you are in the seed of your spirit

Learn to free yourself from all things that have moulded you

And which limit your secret and undiscovered road.

Remember that all things which happen

To you are raw materials

Endlessly fertile

Endlessly yielding of thoughts that could change

Your life and go on doing for ever.

Never forget to pray and be thankful

For all the things good or bad on the rich road;

For everything is changeable

So long as you live while you are alive.

Fear not, but be full of light and love;

Fear not but be alert and receptive;

Fear not but act decisively when you should;

Fear not, but know when to stop;

Fear not for you are loved by me;

Fear not, for death is not the real terror,

But life -magically - is.

Be joyful in your silence

Be strong in your patience

Do not try to wrestle with the universe

But be sometimes like water or air

Sometimes like fire

Live slowly, think slowly, for time is a mystery.

Never forget that love

Requires that you be

The greatest person you are capable of being,

Self-generating and strong and gentle-

Your own hero and star.

Love demands the best in us

To always and in time overcome the worst

And lowest in our souls.

Love the world wisely.

It is love alone that is the greatest weapon

And the deepest and hardest secret.

So fear not, my friend.

The darkness is gentler than you think.

Be grateful for the manifold

Dreams of creation

And the many ways of unnumbered peoples.

Be grateful for life as you live it.

And may a wonderful light

Always guide you on the unfolding road.

~Ben Okri

In Lesotho, and I imagine most of sub-Saharan Africa, there is a special term for infants and toddlers: under 5s. Many clinics and hospitals have an “Under 5s” day every week to check on babies’ health and give available vaccinations. After reading about Lesotho and/or sub-Saharan Africa and living here, it’s obvious this term exists because so many babies don’t make it to the age of 5. I fear I may have already written on this subject, but it has been haunting my thoughts for the last month and so would like to write a blog post about it…

Amidst the relatively new and popular concern over HIV and AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa, the age-old issue of malnourished and dying babies and children is still a huge contributor to deaths here. As many of you know, my ausi’s baby died last year around this time… I still don’t know the cause of death. I also have a friend who has had four children die before they reached the age of 2, and her 1-year old son is often sick and looks much younger than other children his age. She finally just tested for HIV, found out she was positive, and went on ARV treatment along with her son. Recently I witnessed a sick baby die as its mother waited for transport to the nearest hospital. Even more recently, my PCV friend’s young ausi had a pre-mature baby that died a few weeks after it was born. The poor girl married the boy who got her pregnant, as is custom when the parents know who the father is, only to have that baby die. Currently she’s in the hospital for a sickness that nobody can explain…

The thing that bothers me lately about this deadly trend is the mothers. It’s common for mothers to lose a child, if not many, whether it’s HIV, malnutrition, pre-mature birth, or a number of other diseases in Lesotho. Most of the mothers just don’t know any better. They’re too young or ignorant to take care of themselves, let alone another life that’s so fragile and needy. But mostly I think of the guilt and suffering that the mother endures when her baby dies. How do so many African women handle that burden, often alone, when most women in the States need years of counseling after a child’s death? The answer is clear—they suffer alone because they have to. Women don’t have money for grief counseling; they don’t even have money to keep their babies alive. And the few counselors that exist in Lesotho, often untrained and impatient anyway, could never handle the number of mothers suffering from the loss of their child. The event of a woman’s child dying is so common that it isn’t given proper attention within the Basotho culture.

Within this pretext, I am honored to be working at LPPA, Lesotho Planned Parenthood Association. This organization offers contraception to women who either aren’t ready to be a mother or don’t want any more mouths to feed. Currently we are also educating women and girls about family planning: what is it, and why is it important in Lesotho? And of course we are teaching girls about their own bodies, their rights, reasons to wait to have sex, and contraception if you can’t wait. Important messages for young girls so they won’t be young mothers. One of my wishes for Lesotho is that the idea of birth control catches on so young women and girls don’t have “unwanted pregnancy” and sick women don’t give birth to sick babies that will likely die before age 2.

An excerpt from Pablo Neruda’s Memoirs, I am in love with this philosophy. I have discovered this sentiment to be true in Africa, and I am grateful to her for that. Often Americans feel guilty about “wasting time.” We think, “I should be doing something productive with this empty slot of time!” I was guilty of this fallacy in the States as well, but now I appreciate my wasted time for its blissful and restorative qualities.

Pablo Neruda, a celebrated Chilean poet, eloquently declares, “If poets answered public-opinion polls truthfully, they would give the secret away: there is nothing as beautiful as wasting time. Everyone has his own style for this pastime, as old as time itself.”

Here in Lesotho, I waste hours and sometimes days, often doing literally nothing. This is supposed to be the hardest part of Peace Corps for most volunteers—spending hours at a time, especially at night, in solitude. Solitude and wasting time have been two of my favorite activities in Lesotho, and probably most of my personal and worldly growth during my 2 years in Peace Corps has occurred during these times.

Granted, every so often I actually feel bored or get sick of just waiting. Still, Basotho have taught me to value the time in between doing things. Sometimes I sit in my comfy chair in my hut and contemplate the meaning of life, sometimes I go for a walk in my backyard of mountains and rivers (and a waterfall!), sometimes I read, every once and a while I lay on the grass and watch the stars at night or the clouds in the day (I swear they move so much faster in Lesotho!), often I lay in bed for another hour… at least.

In his Memoirs, Pablo mentions the beauty of wasting time and unique styles of doing so in the context of hanging out with other poet friends. I can relate. Marlowe and I used to entertain ourselves and waste hours with grocery carts, Legos, imaginary Red & Gold dances to the Ghostbusters theme song by Run DMC (any Beads reading this??). Or Tewksbury and I would have extended conversations in the mornings about a variety of topics, from farts to surrealism. Of course these are just a few of my favorite ways to waste time with friends. In my current setting, a day spent with Pam eating our weight in fried foods and baked goods, or shaking my booty with Kj for a solid 4 hours, or chatting with Nozipho while her cousin braids and unbraids her hair are among my best times in Peace Corps Lesotho. BUT I have learned to appreciate my alone time more, even if only because I’ve had time to explore what I want in life right now, what’s important to me, and why.

So waste some time today—and enjoy it!

The month of December slows down where jobs and work are concerned, but family life and socializing bustles with the holiday spirit. Basotho have been saving their money for months, and they spend everything they have over Christmas. The men gather at the shebeens to drink beers all day and night. The women prepare and cook obscene amounts of food while gossiping in the kitchen.

Most women get their hair done as well for the holidays. Hairstyles vary from simple cornrows to elaborate weaves. My PCV friend Akoua and I have been talking about going to the hair saloon (yes, they say saloon) for a few months now, so we decided to join all the Basotho women in getting our hair done for Christmas (or as Missy Elliott says… “Got my hair did.”). We walked to an obscure building in the taxi-rank in Maseru that housed a few dozen shops and hair salons on the second floor. Women in plastic lawn chairs with half-braided heads crowded the long, winding corridor. The process of getting my hair braided was a cultural experience in itself. I got “singles” with extensions. Unbeknownst to me, singles take a very long time to braid (see photo). I sat in my own plastic lawn chair for 4 days letting half a dozen women tug and pull at my hair while I watched other Basotho women get different hairstyles. The way some of the hair is done is fascinating—the “Judy” requires a spiral cornrow all around the head, and then cute little red and black corkscrews of fake hair are sewn into the braids. My scalp hurt during and after the braiding process (not for too long), but it feels fine now—just a little itchy. The Basotho love it. I have gotten a ton of compliments and excited looks. Even in Durban, a handful of black South Africans admired and commented on my braids. I especially liked returning to my village in Qacha’s Nek where all the women also had been recently braided for Christmas.

I stayed in Lesotho for Christmas this year (my last chance). My best friend Nozipho invited me to join her family on Christmas Day. It was fairly low-key. Some of us exchanged gifts, and there was a feast, or mokete, with meat. It was a nice Basotho family Christmas with all of Nozipho’s extended family who traveled from all over Lesotho to be together in Qacha for the holidays.

The day after Christmas is also a holiday, Boxing Day. Nozipho’s family had another feast for Lehle, a little cousin who just finished pre-school. A sheep was slaughtered for him, and many drinks were imbibed. The party roared into the night with more drinks and a second meal at 10pm, a braai (or BBQ) of sausage and papa. Everyone danced all night to house, hip-hop, and traditional music. And when I say everyone, I mean everyone—aunts, uncles, grandma, little cousins, and big cousins all danced the night away. I finally went home with some neighbors of mine at 1am, although most of the family was still awake and drinking.

Then on the 27th, there was another party for Nozipho’s daughter, Litsitso. Another feast, more drinks. I left this party early though. I was still tired from the night before and couldn’t stop yawning. I had a great time with Nozipho’s family although I still missed my own in California.

For the New Year, I traveled to Durban for a short holiday on the beach. I had a good time—mostly alone time on the beach during the day, and clubs at night with the other 2 dozen PCVs in Durban for the holiday. It felt amazing to put a bikini on and hit the beach… in December!

I hope all of you had a wonderful holiday. Best wishes for 2009. Happy New Year!

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

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.

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!

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!

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.

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.

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?

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.

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. :)

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!

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.

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.

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...

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.

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-!!! :)

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. :)

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.

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.

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.

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.

Once again the holidays have come and gone -- except this year I was in Africa. Christmas really doesn't feel like Christmas when you're halfway around the world away from your family and friends and home. Luckily I was able to be with some of my Peace Corps friends. Again I was at Kjessie's -- I visit her a lot. :) This time we killed two ducks for Christmas dinner, but I didn't do the honors. The ducks were delicious, and we had mashed potatoes and green beans and stuffing and home-made pumpkin pies (Kjessie's really good). We eat well if we try hard enough. We even watched "It's A Wonderful Life" in one of the classrooms on campus.

Christmas was definitely different this year. I missed all of you and was thinking about you, friends and family. I hope everyone is enjoying the holidays and has a fun New Year's Eve! I will be on a beach in South Africa! Happy New Year!

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!

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.

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.

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! :)