BUSHFIYAAA

A really cool man and his cousin from Joburg who me and a couple friends started chatting with outside of the bathroom on our first night. “oh I HATE America, but just from talking to you, I wouldn't think you're from there” he pronounced as soon as he heard about our origins. Everyone I've met from Joburg is a)fly as fuck and b) super honest and upfront. I love it.

A pair of recent friends, at least twenty years apart but well matched, who met at Afriburn (like burning man, but Africa, apparently) and decided to keep traveling together. The older one is a vegan from san francisco, with permanently tan skin and pleasant laugh lines etched into her skin. The younger is a voyager from Seattle who's been traveling for more than a year, draped in fabric and incredibly down to earth, she has a voice like a whale.

An exuberant twenty seven year old from Texas who hasn't lived in the U.S. for eight years, with stories that practically pore forth from his skin.

A white dreadlocked south african who I chatted about the merits of motorcycle riding in Lesotho with briefly while waiting in line for a morning cappuccino.

An out of control PCV in Botswana who spent the last five years in Philly and may love it almost as much as I do. He told me I look like the girl from 'My Girl' and spent a large part of the after-party on the final night taking me around the dance floor and screaming over the pounding house music to anyone who would listen that, “this is Vega, my actual blood sister!”

But the best interaction by far was with the very same RPCV from Botswana whom I sat next to on a bus from DC to Philly in the summer of 2012. Our brief conversation about his experiences was really what solidified my idea to apply to the Peace Corps in the first place, and here he is four years later, waiting in the line for the shower in front of me my first morning there. Amazing. 

~~A taste of the moments and experiences that I soaked up at Bushfire, a dope AF music festival in Swaziland that I went to the weekend before last. Everything I didn't even realize I was missing was there-all the craft beer, amazing food, good music, and BEAUTIFUL people. A weekend in dreamland. 

THIS!

more than 4 choices of beer?!!!!

The Nomadic Orchestra. Super fun reggae/ska from Cape Town

i have strong friends

open mic 

:) 

and then we stopped at McDonalds on the way home. First time I've gone since I don't know when was in S.A. Sostrange.

And then it was back to reality. It's winter again ya'll. Send me warmth.

Love and khotso.

the it

And here is where I try to write about the big stuff. The vastness of this experience and the way it's changed me. The way it forces me, every day, to reconsider, to pause, to breathe, to grow.

It's relatively easy to write about the pieces of my life in Lesotho. The teaching or the students or the host family or the bucket bathing. The animals and the other volunteers.

the moon to my sun, the fred to my carrie

The calm that settles over everything in the early morning and the way the star-studded sky in its all-encompassing glory reminds me of my insignificance each night.

It's much harder to try to explain what all of this means to me. But I'm going to try, mostly in a vain attempt to prepare myself for the inevitable “so how was Africa?!” when I return. I need to write this so I can feel like I tried to get the it across.

I don't really know where to start. Almost twenty months ago I stepped off a plane with a bunch of other jet-lagged and wide-eyed Americans into what was then an utterly foreign place, and now this place is my home. What happened between that moment and this one? When did the this, the it that I'm struggling to describe, really begin? Was it the first time I really understood what someone was saying to me in Sesotho? Was it my first day in village? My first day of teaching? Or was it that windy, dusty day that took me from the airport in Maseru to a village of singing bo-me (women) and finally to sleep in a bed that would be mine for the next three months?

The answer is none of them, and all of them. Firsts are easy to point out when we look back on an experience, but the reality is that the it happened, as cliché as it sounds, when I was just living my life.

At some point after I moved to my village I got very invested, by necessity, in the act of self-care. I asked myself directly, as in a conversation with a lover, “What do I need to be happy?” And the answer came back, “you, you need you. You are all you have.” So, I got very into me. I settled into routines that made me feel good and got very in touch with the inner thought processes and dialogues that permeate my mind.

I made a practice of reminding myself, every day, that happiness is a choice. That there's nothing inherent about Lesotho that makes a person unhappy, because Basotho are some of the most joyful people I've ever met and their lives are way harder than mine will ever be. That I can actively choose to focus on gratitude, no matter where in the world I am, and to be light and playful and spontaneous and open-hearted in the way I live.

Some time later, I began to get really used to things here. I began to let go. I started to move slower and have a looser sense of time. I stopped trying to make logical sense out of life, because there's often no real reason for a lot of things here that would make a difference to know.
Certain things like animal rights and consciousness about the environment became non issues in my mind, as they are for Basotho. I got really comfortable with my students and teachers.
I don't know when I began to constantly see myself through the eyes of the people around me, but that sort of vision is second nature now. I became so used to being stared at that I don't even notice it happening half the time anymore. I got really invested in the people I live and work with.
I got used to the unconscious tuning out that my mind does of the fast Sesotho being spoken around me. I learned to choose my battles.
And at some point, I stopped counting down the months and just settled in to existing. Before I knew it, I was home.

That process was hard, no doubt about it. The peace corps is hard. To forever be the outsider without the (linguistic, cultural, fill-in-the-blank) no-how in a place so far from home is lonely. There are things about Lesotho that I'm not a fan of. There were days and there still are days when I just want to scream, to curl up in bed, to cry. I've done all of those things a lot.

But for me, those low points never cancelled out the goodness of Lesotho. I get to live in a place where a breathtaking sunset is an every day occurrence,

where people sing freely and spontaneously pretty much anywhere. Where hilarious and quirky moments that are integral to the culture here happen on a regular basis, like being accompanied on my walk home from school one day by a large group of my teenage boy students, wrapped in blankets and swirling sticks above their heads, scooting together in a huddle to the rhythm of the deep throated melody they were harmonizing.

Where people really take the time to take care of each other above all else. People have gone so far out of their way for me, and I know I won't leave behind anything close to what I'll take when I go. It's not right.

Throughout all of this, I've always known there would be an end date. That as much as I love Lesotho, there really isn't a future for me here beyond these two years. Sometimes I miss my people in America so much it's like I can literally feel my heartstrings being pulled, and I'll be so happy to see them again.  And lets be real-washing machines are dope.

The difference now is that the end is in sight, whereas before it was some far off eventuality that didn't really affect me.

I'm beginning to imagine what it'll be like to leave all of this behind, all the while with the sinking feeling that home won't feel quite as much like home as it did when I left. Not because of America, but because of me.
I'm not the same person I was on that dusty day in 2014 when I stepped off the plane, and a piece of my heart will remain here when I go.

But for now, I'm soaking up each moment I have left. It's all I have, and all I can do.

And for those who were wondering, the plan is to be back in Philly in time for Christmas.

Khotso and much love.

And here are a couple of my favs from funny day, where kids take the dress-up opportunity to dress like their parents and shave their heads.

They graduated!

Last Friday my kiddos graduated from this round of Grassroot Soccer! So my second to last intervention before I scoot on out of here is over (in order to reach all grade 6 and 7 students, we split them up into two teams. We'll do the program with team 2 beginning in August, after we return from winter break).

It was really different this time around, and in some ways much more challenging, which mostly came from doing it with boys and girls together. Boys and girls are so divided here in daily life, and putting them together, having them work with each other, and creating a unified team and a safe space was much more difficult than when we did the camp with girls only.

For example, one of the last practices is called "gender stadium", in which, after having a team discussion about the difference between sex and gender, if they think gender roles can change and such, the boys sit in a circle and talk about being boys while the girls listen and vice versa for girls. At the end, they come back together for a group discussion. One of the discussion questions is, "if you could tell the opposite gender one thing, what would it be?" And when the girls responded, the boys automatically took everything personally and started yelling at them.

Part of that is maturity, and part of that is it takes time and practice to learn how to talk about these issues without getting defensive. Boys and girls pretty much only talk to each other in biting language, so this was a first step.

It's a challenge worth struggling over. This separation is the reason why it's important to put them together.

All this being said, facilitating this stuff is still the highlight of my work here, and GRS is still my pie in the sky.

Lesotho's future president right here

Heart warming moment: When asked how a trust fall exercise felt, he responded "it felt like I was in a small heaven"

Kids, they run

Just some photos of Moshoeshoe Day, which is a national holiday here that is celebrated by schools competing against each other in races. Me and thabo's schools are in the same parish, so this year the fun was at his school.

crammed into 6 taxis

Keneuoe got second place in the 200 meter dash!

mah girls

Khotso

BROin out

One of the defining things about my Peace Corps experience has been the lack of certainty about the work I'm doing and how effective it really is. I'm clear that I'll probably never see the rewards of the most of what I do, and I just have to do the best I can and hope that some of the seeds I plant will grow after I leave.

But sometimes I'll have an experience like I did at the BRO camp that I co-organized last weekend, where suddenly I know exactly what I'm supposed to be doing, and I'm in the right place at the right time.

A little background:

Boys are great, and I think it's a damn shame how often they're left out of the gender equality equation, everywhere in the world. Nowadays there are a ton of programs to support and empower girls across Africa, but these things rarely have an equivalent for boys. How are they supposed to learn positive self-esteem, how to clearly communicate and have healthy relationships, to stay physically healthy, to protect themselves and their partners from HIV and to support and empower the women in their lives if no one teaches them how?

In Lesotho, boys in general are not trusted and largely blamed for problems like theft, regardless of evidence.

There is a huge drinking problem here, evidenced by the fact that there is a bar or homemade joala (alcohol) in EVERY village (but in some areas only one clinic for like five villages), around which drunk bo-ntate (men) gather.

From around the time that they start puberty, there is a very clear, invisible divide between girls and boys. This means they live together and go to school together, but in terms of their roles and social circles, they are almost entirely seperate.

Culturally, most adults will not talk about sex (the physical part of it, the emotional part, nothin). This is regardless of the fact that Lesotho, a country around the size of Maryland, is number 1 or 2 in the WORLD for HIV transmission.

So it's really no surprise that come adolescence:

most boys are aware of HIV as a thing and as problem, but not the ins and outs of how it works and what they can do to keep themselves and their partners safe.

They are very aware of alcohol but not the full ramifications of it.

They have never thought about their roles in society and in relationships as boys/soon-to-be-men (e.g. THE PATRIARCHY)

They generally think that they have the right to have sex with whoever they want, whenever they want.

...which is all really problematic.

So that's why Mackenzie, Ototo and I (DREAM TEAM SUPREME) had this camp, and it was incredible to see the boys create the safe space that they agreed on in the contract

, to see the counterparts facilitating and supporting them and to see what they all took away from the experience. It was without a doubt one of the peaks of my time here.

Morning stretch=morning fresh

Mack is a superior poster maker

Gotta dance 

snaps for condoms!

don't forget the ladiez

"So this is my bazooka..."

nothin' like a condom demo to engage the youth

Our amazing guest speakers from Jhpaigo, who came to talk about Voluntary Medical Male Circumcision. It cuts down on the rate of HIV transmission by 60%!

pretty gross

you're damn right I hugged every single boy at that graduation

The dream team! Hats off!

Khotso ya'll, and happy spring philly. The autumn equinox just happened here, and the breeze is becoming colder.

Love.

I had an experience with a person here recently that threw me for an emotional ride, and not the fun kind. I was hurt, angered and bewildered by what happened, and I spent a lot of emotional energy trying to figure out what was going on while getting very little in return.

Then, the other night, the drop of wisdom on my nightly yogi ginger tea bag said:

“Your greatest strength is love.”

And then it hit me, like it has at various times throughout this journey: The thing that I can always do, that will keep me alive and happy and well, is to keep an open heart. 

It’s easy to love the people who love us back, the ones who we feel affirmed, appreciated and respected by. It’s infinitely harder, and therefore worth it, to send love to those who hurt us or challenge us in some way. It doesn’t hurt anyone else for me to stay angry and allow those walls that we all put up sometimes to remain. It actually hurts me.

I want to be the happiest, most dynamic and alive human that I can be, and for me that means challenging those small and big moments that make me want to close up.

The only thing I can do is send love.

To my completely inadequate principal whose presence alone has the capacity to aggravate me.

To the always inquisitive children who I pass on my daily wanderings that ask the same five questions of me that every other person in Lesotho has already asked.

And yes, even to the boy who ghosted me.

The smartest thing I can do is let go. The most powerful thing I can do is send love.

And the funny thing, maybe even the best thing, about actively working on keeping an open heart, is that I’m also more aware of and in awe of the little gems that each day offers:

A shooting star in the early morning sky as I trod my way down the mountain for a morning run.

The boys on bikes, one red and one blue, who often pass me on the return leg of my runs, sitting erect and cool as cucumbers in their forest green school uniforms as the early morning breezes rush by them.

A package or letter sent by a loved one. They fill me up with home and always make my day.

One of my favorite grade 7 boys wearing a necklace of pink plastic beads in which the centerpiece is a small potato. “Is that a potato Rammako?” “Yes madam. It can be beautiful!” (I wish I’d gotten a photo).

The view(s). They never get old. 

hangin with this guy

Sending love. To everyone.  

Except Donald Trump.

Khotso.