language

10/24/14 9:00 pm

Language

Sesotho can be hard to speak, but it’s easy to construct. Many sounds I have to repeat a lot in order to say correctly, and certain phrases turn out to be accidental tongue twisters. For example, yesterday I learned how to say I need to wash something: Ke hlaka le hlapa moroho (I need to wash the greens). The hl sound is similar to the “sh” sound, but with more air between the teeth. I realized that it’s impossible to do unless you smile, which was kind of a neat discovery.

Other sounds I just remember as a rule, because they don’t sound the way they are spelled. For example, “tl” makes a “kl” sound, as in “hantle”, which means good. The good thing about it is that unlike English where there is a word for every single part of the sentence, phrases in Sesotho often smush parts together. For example, to say “Do you like to study Sesotho?”, it’s simply “u rata ithuta Sesotho?” I love Sesotho, and I also have the best teacher.

"I'm a California girl. Shat man". Best. 

What always fascinates me is how much languages represent the cultures they come from. One of the things that was brought up in a cross-cultural session last week was about how Basotho greet people by their titles to show respect while Americans don’t usually differentiate as a way to show respect. It’s common for women to say “don’t call me ma’am, I’m not an old lady!” But here, people are always ‘M’e (mother, literally), N’tate (father), abuti (brother) or ausi (sister) after the greeting. It’s very rude to not greet someone as you pass, and so learning the greetings are the first step to learning the culture.

Language also varies depending on who you are. Because I’m white, most people who see me for the first time greet me with “hello” instead of “lumela”, until I respond in Sesotho, which invariably draws a hearty laugh and/or a smile. Today yet another of my m’e’s sibling and their kids came by to see me (it’s all sort of confusing right now who is related to who and how because it’s such a communal culture-the first three nights I was here I thought I had 4 host sisters as opposed to two because the same three older girls were in my kitchen when I came for dinner. Turns out two of them are neighbors. My m’e’ is a grandmother and is raising my two ausi’s). Anyway, I met another host brother, who is ten and very playful, and he started speaking to me in English until my ‘M’e (bless her) admonished him to speak Sesotho to me! Then I hung out with him and my older host sister, who is eight, in my room. We listened to Frank Ocean and they colored. Then my abuti was like “do you have photos on your computer?” Turns out he speaks amazing English and goes to a really good school in Maseru where they have computers, the likes of which I probably will not see in my time here. Chalkboards and paper and creativity is what I’ll be working with.

Host sibs. Showing off coloring book art. 

weirdos. love. 

Anyway, it is 10:00 here, which is literally the latest I’ve stayed up in my 2+ weeks here, so it is definitely bedtime. Tonight I won’t forget my earplugs, and the bat that’s stuck in my roof won’t keep me awake. Khotso.

And so it begins...

And so it begins 10/10/14 9:00 PM

“Oh I can do that”, I offer, as I see my m’e (mother) bend to sweep the stoop in front of my door upon leaving the latrine this morning. “No, you go wash”, she commands with a slight smile. The Basotho value cleanliness above host daughters who may or may not know how to sweep the right way being sort of helpful. So I respond with “Hantle” (okay), as I laugh and obediently go into my room to retrieve my soap.

To begin, Lesotho is an astonishingly beautiful place.

Twister cloud. 

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Dry fields of Ha Ramonyaloe, the village I'm in during training. 

I realized yesterday that what with the mass of dirt that covers my body by the end of the day, it makes much more sense to bathe at night than in the morning. When I went outside to dump my wash basin out and brush my teeth, I was transfixed by the huge white moon sneaking in and out of the clouds, only slightly lighting up the courtyard and the hills that lay beyond. Mornings, my m’e knocks on my door sometime between 5:55 and 6 am and calls “Mpho”, which is the Basotho name she gave me that means gift. “M’e” I respond, and roll out of bed, stretch, and bring my pee bucket out to empty it into the latrine. It is early and therefore cool and not very windy, so there is a calm and a freshness to the air that I so enjoy. Mountains and cliffs dot the horizon, and it looks like all I would need to do to get there is walk a few feet down the rolling hills of red rocks and sand, until I realize they are much farther than they appear. The sun is bright, and the dogs look well rested and therefore not as scary as they appear in the night what with their barks and territorial growls/fights. One of my ausi (sisters) walks shyly by me, rubbing her eyes, responding when I greet here but never talking to me first. I am still new, and this is the first American that has ever lived with her or in her village.

naptime.

I wash up and dress and am sitting at the breakfast table by 6:30 or 6:45 at the very latest. My m’e rushed me the first day, saying that I needed to move much faster, even though it was only 6:30 then and I needed to be at school (a five minute walk) at 8. I don’t question her though. She’s just looking out. Training has been and will be very busy. We’ve done two Sesotho classes in the morning so far, and my teacher, M’e Madineo, is wonderful and energetic. Besides that, we’ve done various training sessions on the education system in Lesotho, Peace Corps expectations and policies, and things we should know as teachers. We’ve gotten some shots (rabies shot on Saturday!) and talked to many Peace Corps Lesotho staff and current volunteers casually and formally about us, what we expect out of our service and any concerns we may have. Everyone is really kind and warm, laughing loudly but never cruelly when we make mistakes in Sesotho or just when we speak it at all.

I really want to get good at Sesotho. Before coming here I expected that just by virtue of being here I would be fluent by the time my service ended, but after talking to some current volunteers I realized that that is not the case. After PST (pre-service training), I will need to really study and actively learn if I want to know more than the basics (greetings, shopping, names for food etc). And even though I may never use it again, I want to be able to communicate with people here as deeply as possible. Tonight after dinner my host mom taught me the names for all the major body parts while I wrote them in my small notebook that I carry around. My favorite one is “dibuno” which means butt.

It’s a very windy night here, and between the long days and the paraffin lamp, I go to bed between 9:15 and 9:30. So, the 6 am wake-up knock isn’t so bad at all.

I’m loving Lesotho.

Khotso. (Peace).

My yard at dusk. 

Off I go!

It is 8:28 AM on the morning of October 6th. My incredible boyfriend and I just parted ways. In four hours or so, I will meet the other volunteers who I will be spending all my time with for the next three or so months. I just had a huge breakfast of pancakes and sausage and eggs because I probably won't be seeing the likes of that kind of breakfast food for a long long while. I'm already dressed in a "cool elementary school teacher" outfit for staging later on today. So now all I have to do is wait.
Thinking back on how this (very long) process has been for me and the myriad of places I imagined being placed in, I never thought Lesotho. Not even once. I fully expected to be in a Central or South American village speaking Spanish, or sweating it out over in West Africa. I imagined tropical islands surrounded by the bluest water and learning French in Algeria or Morocco. I worried about being placed in what I envision as the arctic Eastern Europe. But none of those places surfaced as a reality. Instead I'm flying to a teeny mountainous country surrounded by South Africa, where people speak Sesotho and wear blankets in the winter and ride horses in the highlands. I am continually amazed and impressed with the way life surprises us, always reminding me of how little control I actually have over the outcomes.
When I got my invitation to serve as a Primary English teacher in Lesotho, I read through all the descriptions about the job, the country and what the reality of living in Lesotho would be like very carefully. Winters would be frigid and summers hot, without indoor heating or ventilation to temper the reality of the outdoors. The people would be very poor and would be affected either directly or indirectly with HIV and AIDS. It would be mountainous. Cows are sacred. Honestly, my first inclination was to decline. Ask for a different location and wait a few months longer. Avoid living in a country with winter at all cost. But, almost immediately, these feelings were followed by an overwhelming and very present need to accept. The whole reason I chose to do the Peace Corps was to grow. To have the experience of living in another country for an extended period of time and to open myself up to all the personal growth that comes with new and challenging situations. So in the end, I saw my invitation as a divine offer to do exactly what I set out to do, winter and all.
I've gone through the mill of emotions over these last two years regarding this (insane) process. I've been sad, ecstatic, nervous, doubtful, relieved and overjoyed. But as I sit in my cozy living room writing this, all I feel is ready. Ready for the change, ready to move, ready to start a new job and meet new people and live in a new place and learn a new language. I'll miss everyone here in Philly and beyond dearly-I'm so incredibly blessed to have the support system and family tree that I do.
But it's time. Time to do what I've been talking about and angst-ing about for too long. It's time to go to Lesotho.

My next post will be from the Mountain Kingdom, in at least a month if not more, cuz I'm gonna be insanely busy for the next few months.

Peace and be well.