Village Scenes

Last weekend we spent a couple of days taking in village life here in Lesotho. I have been wanting to travel out to Ha Tsokotsa and visit my friend Ntate Kuena again. But it is the rainy season and if it were to rain, a planned two day trip could become a few day trip. I have already bailed out of one planned trip because of the forecast. But this weekend Dylan was here with a colleague and we took the plunge. There had been rain, but the forecast was looking positive so we headed in.
The trip in reminded me why we wanted dry roads. Though it was sunny, the roads were still greasy from the previous night’s rain. We had one spot were I spun out and was in danger of sliding off the road. But that was only a couple kilometers from our destination and Ntate Kuena and his brother had walked out to meet us. So with them and Dylan pushing we made it through.

Doing the laundry.

The sun shone brightly when we arrived. However, some while later Ntate Kuena led us on a hike to a couple of small caves along a river. Before we reached them, clouds moved in and it began to rain. Dylan and I were able to tread a narrow path above the river to get to a tree for some shelter but the others got soaked. It was a good thing we had driven in early in the day as it rained off and on for much of the rest of the day, and the road would have been impassable without a 4x4.

The rain provided an opportunity to experience what one does in the village when it rains – not too much. We sat around in a dark and cramped hut. All we could do was visit a bit and wander out into the yard when the rains let up a bit. Our hosts move their cooking fire into one of the huts when it rains, and so still prepared an excellent meal for us. But the smoke in the hut they cook in was so thick I mostly avoided any visiting there.

When it rains, the smokey fire moves into the hut.

It cleared up in the late evening and we had a beautiful moonlit night. We had our tents along and our sleeping bags were cozy, mostly. Dylan was bemoaning why he only brought his light summer bag as he shivered through the cool night after the rain.

But the next day was glorious. Dylan and I were up before the sun and hiked a ridge overlooking the village. After the rain, the air was fresh and the sky clear. Add in the coolness of early morning, and hiking conditions don't get much better.

Once back down in the village are party of four makhooa (white people) remained the centre of attention for the village children. We are a novelty and four of us created quite an event, though they were also hoping for an apple or other treat. Dylan took the opportunity to engage the children in some games. He is an amazing young man. Language seems no barrier to him. He finds ways to engage with children despite not having a common language.

Dylan and the children playing games.

During the morning Ntate Kuena put on an apron and spent a couple hours repairing shoes. What we throw away in Canada he painstakingly repaired with a small awl/needle and waxed thread. Later in the morning, the warm sun had dried up the road enough that we could drive the 1.5 km to a small stream from which Ntate Kuena has been hauling sand, one rickety wheelbarrow load at a time. He is just beginning to start a new house for the extended family. The cement was hauled in some time ago when the roads were better, but the sand comes from the stream, one small wheelbarrow load at a time. Over the next ninety minutes we were able to haul three days worth of sand for him.

Village women bringing home firewood.

Then it was time for a final meal before departing. Wendy was the cook this time, and when it was time to enter the hut to get my plate of food I wondered what on earth she was cooking. It stank horribly. But it wasn’t her cooking. Ntate Kuena was stewing up some cow intestines that a neighbor had given him. As Wendy noted, we were just thankful he didn’t offer us any.

Then it was time for the drive back home. Four of us went out, but eight of us were heading back. Ntate Kuena's family had been together for the Easter weekend and the truck was a welcome alternative to a stop and go 'taxi' (van) ride back to town. It was off for the three hour, 80 km trip back to Maseru, with Wendy, Dylan, and Ntate Kuena’s brother, Paul, riding in the back. The roads had dried up under the sunny skies and the drive back to the city was a warm and pleasant ride.

Three generations, together for Easter.

But come June we will likely be back on the road again. Ntate Kuena’s father has indicated he will be inviting us to a family celebration in June. I am not looking forward to the long drive, but I am looking forward to another visit.

By the way, if you want to check out where we were and have access to Google Earth, try to locate 29*36’59.21”S / 27*52’58.53”E. These numbers are in the lower left area on Google Earth. If you can find these coordinates you will have found Ha Tsokotsa, Ntate Kuena’s village.

~ Benno ~

By the way, the pig fence is still standing strong, but Ntate Kuena had a difficult season. He lost all but one of his piglets to a tick borne fever. He says he will have the medication available next year and that he will fare better. Farmers everywhere are optimists aren’t they. ~B

Whiplash

You know those moments when you overhear something or see something out of the corner of your eye and you do a double take, thinking, “Did I really see or hear what I thought I did!!!” I had one such moment this week that had be double taking so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

I was sitting at my desk (cubicle sort-of). Two women were chatting behind me and I overheard one of them say, “I just wish I could put on another 10 kilos.” Was I hearing right?? “Put on”, not “take off”, and “10 kilos” not “10 pounds”?? This woman is no wasting away waif, she is what I would politely suggest, a very healthy weight. Now, asking a woman about her weight would be anathema in Canada, but this isn’t Canada and I just couldn’t believe my ears. So I plunged in where wiser men might fear to tread.

I survived.

The woman was most gracious and went on to lament that she just seemed to have plateaued at 70 kgs. She had once been up to 72 kgs but had been unable to maintain that weight and was now back down to 70 kgs.

I gained a whole new appreciation and insight into Precious Ramotwe’s off repeated refrain concerning “traditionally built African women” in Alexander McCall Smith’s, The No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency series.

And that is all I have to say about this.

~ Benno ~

Full House

Last Friday was time, once again, to have my IB students over for dinner and a movie. An added blessing was having our two young Canadian house mates along for the ride. It was just great fun to listen in the background...well in the kitchen mostly, as the young people chatted and laughed together asking the typical questions and guessing at ages.

Surprisingly, one of my house mates was ALMOST the youngest one at 18, and to think, she's finished high school and is off on an adventure of her lifetime for six months in Africa, volunteering at one very... interesting orphanage. Quite the challenge for an 18 year old. Lucky her, though. Lucky so many young people in parts of the world, like North America; whereas, such dreams of traveling and just spending six months volunteering--having the finances to do it--are past the realm of possibility for so many here.

Even MY students who are considered 'the elite' are so limited financially. They were quite amazed that my house mates would have graduated from high school and just gone out to get a job, moved away from home, be living on their own, have their own vehicle... . What seems like a 'normal course of life' for so many North American youth is an impossible dream for young people here in Africa. The ONLY way is to get University education, for most funded through student loans, and to live at home/boarding school. In fact, many adult children remain living at home until such time as they can marry, even if they have careers. It's the only way to survive financially in Lesotho...for many.

BUT, back to a lighter tone. Friday was so much fun. I have not laughed that hard in a while. Between eating, watching a movie, and visiting there was the dancing! Basotho showing Canadians how to dance to House music. Canadians, not to be outdone, pulling out the Paul Brandt and teaching the Basotho how to line dance!

Then we discovered the DISTORT features on Benno's iBooth on his computer...

If yo think yo comin to thiz party, man, yo gonna hafta get past me!

Or me!

Or us!

Well, if you saw what this guy really looks like...What fun!

You know what I loved the most was that these young people were having a blast
and they did not need alcohol or drugs to do it!


By the way, REAL Basotho men DO help with dishes.
Hmm...Apparently, Basotho men are terrified of kitchens...or is it the women in them.
Actually, according to a Masotho friend who filled me in, if a Masotho male does kitchen stuff, or laundry, he must be TERRIFIED of his wife (You know, what some called 'whipped' in North America, I guess ;-). Well, my students must be terrified of their teacher because after threatening to take them back to the boarding house IF they didn't do their share in the kitchen, with a sigh they complied. Life is tough in the Fath household ;-) Eeish! I just take every opportunity as a 'teachable moment'!
I'm so proud of these guys, especially that one who even dares to wear 'the apron'! He DOES look scared, but I'm sure he's not.
(There were more. The rest are trembling somewhere out of sight.)

"Children at their Games"**

On the way to and from work over the last while I noticed this area of rubbish developing on the side of the road. My first response was annoyance that people would just keep adding to the mess along the road. But then, on a subsequent trip, there were children amidst the rubbish and I took a closer look.

People hadn’t been dumping their rubbish there by the road. Rather, the children had been gathering the rubbish, and from the rubbish and some stones they had created a little village. With the stones they marked out their homes, and the rubbish provided furnishings. They have been playing there for the past week or so. The scene was cause for some contemplation.

The Children's Village

My first thought was of disgust, that children should have to play with garbage. However, on further reflection I had to admire the children’s creativity. Yes, they do not have much, really they have nothing, yet they find ways to be creative and have fun together. They were not at home alone with a room full of toys, their I-pod, television, and computer. They were together, interacting, in creative play.

Poverty here is not pretty, nor is it something that I could in any way commend, yet …. Yet, amidst their poverty these children are building creative, social and interpersonal skills. I guess it speaks to the resiliency of children. And, if I look carefully around me, I also see such resiliency in the lives of many adults. Despite their poverty and the grind to get by, they still find time for friends, time to laugh, time to enjoy what few blessings that life offers. It is remarkable and yet sad. Remarkable in what the human spirit can rise above and still embrace life. Sad, that there is so much disparity in the world.

Children at their games - a celebration of the resiliency of the human spirit; a challenge to not just turn away.

For Wendy and me our prayer is that we might continue to know the lives we are to step into. The lives God is calling us to engage with, to rejoice with in their resiliency, and to also encourage, support, or share with. (James 2:15, 16).

~ Benno ~

** "Children at their games",
Gordon Lightfoot
from "Home from the Forest"

Babysitting

Ah, life is good. After the stress and fun of last night, I get to babysit tonight. Pretty cute hey. He's driving me nuts at the moment as he crawls around trying to get cozy. He's doggone cute, but maybe I need grandchildren to babysit, hey guys!

Passions and Aversions

Who'd have thought, when I came to Lesotho, that I'd find MY Teacher's Dream? Yet here I have it: a group of wonderfully talented and PASSIONATE poets. In fact, back in October they were recruiting a teacher supervisor so I jumped on board and have spent most Thursdays since then in cramped, clammy Room 18--the infamous hangout of Machabeng Poets extraordinaire.

Here I found a group of young women and, YES, men who love poetry to the extent that some have literal books of poems they've composed. It's been inspiring and just plain fun to listen to them each week as they recite. They are more poet-dreamers than pragmatists and so it was no surprise that they dreamt up the idea of publishing a poetry anthology and doing a poetry evening to raise money for the purpose; then the long task of organizing the event began.

At some point in the midst of some frustration with the lack of focus that often reigns supreme in this lovely group, I suggested that they focus on one thing at a time and do the poetry evening FIRST. "Worry about the anthology later." That helped.

People floated in and out of Thursday after school sessions randomly. Poems to be printed and submitted by deadlines arrived even more randomly. Deadlines for poems memorized...Yes...well...Did I say deadline? It was all only a precursor of things to come with each rehearsal driving me a bit crazier. Then there was the practice where half the crew arrived at least two hours late and had not an inkling of why this might be a problem...I hate using the term, but 'African Time' applies.

Ticket sales sold out the day before the performance. My stomach was in knots: were they ready? But the show would go on.

Last night was the big performance and, now that it's past I can chuckle and find some humour in the absurd, but I was NOT even smiling last night. All day long I had faced the harassment of students, and worse yet, folks challenging and offended that they could not buy tickets. Full house. What does that mean? To be honest, I was as disorganized as the large majority since I had not purchased tickets for Benno or my housemates before they'd all sold out, so they did not get to see the show. By the end of the day I was frazzled and beginning to feel the pangs of aversion to the attitude of entitlement that I thought I'd escaped. People WERE very demanding for tickets.

Strangely, I never even realized what was going on in my psyche--just how much this was all BOTHERING me until I had time to come home, digest it all, shed a few tears and sleep on it. Yesterday, for the first time in any concentrated quantity, I experienced some of this attitude of entitlement that I'd grown to detest--that indeed I'd been running from in North American culture. How refreshing to come to Lesotho and find none of it. How naive of me. Human nature does not have such neatly defined geographical borders. There's just a lot less of it here, and it seems to concentrate itself in the echelons where nepotism often tends to reign.

Yes, there were the folks five minutes before performance time ready to hassle students who'd promised them tickets, and me sheltering these students who needed to focus on performance and did not need to get all upset just before show time. Yes, there were the folks who TOLD me that I should not have asked the parent and (silly me for not knowing) board member to pay. Yes, there were the colleagues who said I'd better find places for the parents who had not bothered to buy tickets in advance... Then there was the performance itself, starting half an hour late with me basically forcing the doors shut on a FULL, FULL house. Then there were the group of guys who arrived an hour late demanding that they be let in because THEY had tickets and me having to say, very slooowwly and deliberately, "You ARE an hour late. I cannot let you in..." I'm afraid I've offended more than a few. Whew! Then there were the four students who were being noisy and rude that I almost had to pick up and remove. Cultural Gap 101 on me!

But THE GOOD STUFF, truly is far more than the frustrations, and I can see this as I get perspective. There's the wonderful young man who is the leader of this band of poets. What fine leadership skills he has. It has never, even once, seemed to be about EGO for him. He's a servant/quiet kind of leader who does what it takes. Then there's the guy who's been on time for all the practices he's been at, whom I accuse of being more Canadian than African in his perspective of time. Then there's the young woman who has so cheerfully tackled ticket sales and so much more, who smiles and says to me, when she must be feeling a ton of stress, "Relax, Mrs. Fath... ;-) Then there are the heart-to-heart chats with some and the hugs. Then there is the email from a student whom I don't even know who writes to say how much I am appreciated for all I'm doing and for just being a "mom" to so many :-)

Then there's the performance which was fabulous. The students did such an amazing job! They ARE so talented and passionate and that came through in their performances, so much so that the audience was hooting, snapping like crazy, clapping and chanting for more, more, more by the end and I thought...Eish, they might riot. FOR POETRY!

The absurd humour of it all is that there were people UPSET and READY TO KNOCK DOWN THE DOOR to get into a poetry evening. Can you imagine? Gotta love that!