Sunday, October 5, 2008
Lesotho part 2
So, how are we going to cope with coming back to cold, sleepy, “out-of-the-way” Lesotho after such a holiday? Flying back we are both quiet, in the taxi to Maseru we are both quiet. Seeing capital city Maseru from the air, holiday blues hits us. Three, four high buildings, a few streets, some scattered houses… No funky night clubs, live music, croissants or coffee bars, no white beaches, coconut trees or warm Indian Ocean. We are on such a low!
We get over charged from the airport to Maseru. We’re tired and moody and with our new haggling skills and assumed “Africa experience” under our skin we argue with the driver over the price he’s charging us. In the end he gets the Government set price list out and shows us that the prices have risen from R35 to R40 :/ We decide to become a little less cocky…
I sleep most of the way to M/Hoek. I don’t want to deal with what’s outside the window (mostly grey dust, rusty, broken cars, half fallen down buildings and rough sheppard boys wrapped in blankets, hats and gum boots). The taxi takes us to our new home, a house owned by St.Patricks Catholic nuns. We learn that our security fence will be locked at 6.00 pm and that we can not do any washing on Sundays! 3 empty, white rooms are waiting for us. The heater, cooker and hot water we were promised is not yet there…
Nothing could have prepared us for the freezing cold climate. We’re used to an average of 25-30 degrees, outside it’s about 10. In the night it drops close to 0. We go to bed about 8.00 pm tucked under a heap of blankets and sleeping bags. Its pitch black, with electricity cuts from 7.00 to 10.00 pm. We start regretting our choice of staying on for 6 months…
I wake up at 8 am, quickly write down some thoughts on my next 6 months project, before I get too cold and go back to bed. At 10.00am we psyche ourselves up to face the world and go to say hi to Me Mahathlo, a colleague and friend who is now our nearest neighbor. She gives us delicious, freshly baked bread and coffee. Going food shopping, we meet Thabiso, another friend. He takes us home in his car and tells us that there is a DJ playing in the hotel the following weekend. We realize it will not be so bad to stay on after all…
So why am I here for 6 more months?
I’m here to work on my own project (still under Dolen Cymru, funded by British Council). I’m intending to raise pupils Basic English Skills (speaking, listening and reading) through using story books and games. I’m mainly focusing on STD 1 and 2 pupils in two schools.
In MEMPS, where pupils level of English is high, I also (try to) run an “English/life skills” club for STD 5 and 6, where we discuss issues that concern them (friendship, alcohol/drugs, gender, HIV) practicing everyday English skills.
Three weeks a month I’m based in MEMPS, the private, English Medium “town” school I’ve already worked in, one week a month I’m in Mokhopa Primary School, a rural school, located in a secluded mountain village two hours journey from here. (All depending on transport and state of the road)
Mokhopa – memoirs of another adventure
A 100 year old woman, a drunken man with chicken and a flu medicine tree.
I find myself very alone in the combi on the way to Mokhopa, a traditional Basotho village far up in the mountains. Whose idea was it to run a project up there? People have been laughing and shaking their heads when I’ve talked about it. Only crazy people would voluntarily want to go up there! I’ll be possessed by a witch or kidnapped by the boys in the secret mountain circumcision school they say.
I haven’t been so nervous in a long time. Sitting there I make up my strategy of approaching scary, unknown Basotho mountain village:
Keep quiet, be polite, observe, observe, copy everything Me Lekita does and DO NOT flash up a camera!
Me Lekita, the dep head of the school, is meant to meet me in Holy Cross. If she doesn’t turn up I’ll be left alone by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Luckily she turns up not long after I arrive and after some negotiations, we get a lift with a bakkie going up to the village. The usual transport is not running today.
Home and family
The best way to describe it: the TV series “Heidi”.
First I meet granny Me Mapomolo Leketa, around 70 y old and fit as a fiddle, outside her roundavel hut. She is cooking papa (maize porridge - staple food) in a three legged pot in the courtyard kitchen. Toothless Auntie Me Mathisetho, about the same age, is there too to assist and to chat. I realize quickly that my Sesotho is not up to scratch!
Also there are two cats, two competitive cocks, a heap of chicken, two donkeys, an outdoor toilet, two new square houses, another roundavel housing newborn chicks, three peach trees, a massive flu medicine pine tree and last but not least Ntate Lekita resting in his grave in the corner of the property.
I will be sharing a room in the new house with Me Leketa, and after having our evening bath together (something she didn’t seem to think was strange in the slightest, me a little more reluctant…) I realize that I can’t get much closer to the “traditional” Basotho lifestyle than this. After three days we’ve not only shared bath time, but thoughts on family issues, gender equality, HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancies, alcohol/drugs, religion, school issues, you name it. I think we are both learning heaps!
School
This smallish mountain school with 200 pupils has a good atmosphere. Its main purpose seems to be keeping the children busy for the day, out of trouble and feeding them their daily, free school meal. Wednesdays has the highest attendance, as there is a whole egg each +papa and vegetables on the menu.
The children’s level of English is very low, even the older classes, so many are shy and giggle when I talk to them. My job so far has been to paint the alphabet, numbers and basic shapes on the walls in STD 1 and 2. Now the classrooms are looking colorful and inspiring for the children, and it was great seeing their excitement as they were running over to their new wall pointing and giggling, saying “apple”, “boy”, “cat”. The next step is to work with the teachers in developing learning games and visuals to compliment their teaching.
Looking forward to sharing ideas with them, they seem like quality teachers with a lot of experience.
One lunchtime I was dragged into the tiny staffroom. The dinner ladies wanted to perform for me… Walking in, one of them was playing the drums, while the other three, dressed in heavy bottle top mini skirts were whistling and dancing rhythmically. This was a dance only for ladies (saw a good few STD1 faces peeking through the window). As I got the lyrics translated and had a second look at their moves I understood why… all about making babies basically. (They do not understand how I can soon be 30 and not have children or a husband yet…)
It’s amazing the gratitude the teachers and villagers have showed me. I came back down with more food than I brought up. One being an alive chicken, brought to me by a little boy riding backward on a donkey with the chicken under his arm. The school choir sang and danced for me too.
The village
Most impressive to me was meeting a 100 y old lady living in a neighbor roundavel. She lied crocked and bent together on a mat on the floor. Apparently more or less clear headed still.
I’ve also learnt to collect wood with the children after school, learning plant names and uses of about every green straw in the mountain side. I have visited the new Water Project, where the villagers are damming up a stream to water their fields, and I’ve learnt how to stop soil erosion, by building up stone walls in the “dongas” to hold the soil in place.
We get over charged from the airport to Maseru. We’re tired and moody and with our new haggling skills and assumed “Africa experience” under our skin we argue with the driver over the price he’s charging us. In the end he gets the Government set price list out and shows us that the prices have risen from R35 to R40 :/ We decide to become a little less cocky…
I sleep most of the way to M/Hoek. I don’t want to deal with what’s outside the window (mostly grey dust, rusty, broken cars, half fallen down buildings and rough sheppard boys wrapped in blankets, hats and gum boots). The taxi takes us to our new home, a house owned by St.Patricks Catholic nuns. We learn that our security fence will be locked at 6.00 pm and that we can not do any washing on Sundays! 3 empty, white rooms are waiting for us. The heater, cooker and hot water we were promised is not yet there…
Nothing could have prepared us for the freezing cold climate. We’re used to an average of 25-30 degrees, outside it’s about 10. In the night it drops close to 0. We go to bed about 8.00 pm tucked under a heap of blankets and sleeping bags. Its pitch black, with electricity cuts from 7.00 to 10.00 pm. We start regretting our choice of staying on for 6 months…
I wake up at 8 am, quickly write down some thoughts on my next 6 months project, before I get too cold and go back to bed. At 10.00am we psyche ourselves up to face the world and go to say hi to Me Mahathlo, a colleague and friend who is now our nearest neighbor. She gives us delicious, freshly baked bread and coffee. Going food shopping, we meet Thabiso, another friend. He takes us home in his car and tells us that there is a DJ playing in the hotel the following weekend. We realize it will not be so bad to stay on after all…
So why am I here for 6 more months?
I’m here to work on my own project (still under Dolen Cymru, funded by British Council). I’m intending to raise pupils Basic English Skills (speaking, listening and reading) through using story books and games. I’m mainly focusing on STD 1 and 2 pupils in two schools.
In MEMPS, where pupils level of English is high, I also (try to) run an “English/life skills” club for STD 5 and 6, where we discuss issues that concern them (friendship, alcohol/drugs, gender, HIV) practicing everyday English skills.
Three weeks a month I’m based in MEMPS, the private, English Medium “town” school I’ve already worked in, one week a month I’m in Mokhopa Primary School, a rural school, located in a secluded mountain village two hours journey from here. (All depending on transport and state of the road)
Mokhopa – memoirs of another adventure
A 100 year old woman, a drunken man with chicken and a flu medicine tree.
I find myself very alone in the combi on the way to Mokhopa, a traditional Basotho village far up in the mountains. Whose idea was it to run a project up there? People have been laughing and shaking their heads when I’ve talked about it. Only crazy people would voluntarily want to go up there! I’ll be possessed by a witch or kidnapped by the boys in the secret mountain circumcision school they say.
I haven’t been so nervous in a long time. Sitting there I make up my strategy of approaching scary, unknown Basotho mountain village:
Keep quiet, be polite, observe, observe, copy everything Me Lekita does and DO NOT flash up a camera!
Me Lekita, the dep head of the school, is meant to meet me in Holy Cross. If she doesn’t turn up I’ll be left alone by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Luckily she turns up not long after I arrive and after some negotiations, we get a lift with a bakkie going up to the village. The usual transport is not running today.
Home and family
The best way to describe it: the TV series “Heidi”.
First I meet granny Me Mapomolo Leketa, around 70 y old and fit as a fiddle, outside her roundavel hut. She is cooking papa (maize porridge - staple food) in a three legged pot in the courtyard kitchen. Toothless Auntie Me Mathisetho, about the same age, is there too to assist and to chat. I realize quickly that my Sesotho is not up to scratch!
Also there are two cats, two competitive cocks, a heap of chicken, two donkeys, an outdoor toilet, two new square houses, another roundavel housing newborn chicks, three peach trees, a massive flu medicine pine tree and last but not least Ntate Lekita resting in his grave in the corner of the property.
I will be sharing a room in the new house with Me Leketa, and after having our evening bath together (something she didn’t seem to think was strange in the slightest, me a little more reluctant…) I realize that I can’t get much closer to the “traditional” Basotho lifestyle than this. After three days we’ve not only shared bath time, but thoughts on family issues, gender equality, HIV/AIDS, teenage pregnancies, alcohol/drugs, religion, school issues, you name it. I think we are both learning heaps!
School
This smallish mountain school with 200 pupils has a good atmosphere. Its main purpose seems to be keeping the children busy for the day, out of trouble and feeding them their daily, free school meal. Wednesdays has the highest attendance, as there is a whole egg each +papa and vegetables on the menu.
The children’s level of English is very low, even the older classes, so many are shy and giggle when I talk to them. My job so far has been to paint the alphabet, numbers and basic shapes on the walls in STD 1 and 2. Now the classrooms are looking colorful and inspiring for the children, and it was great seeing their excitement as they were running over to their new wall pointing and giggling, saying “apple”, “boy”, “cat”. The next step is to work with the teachers in developing learning games and visuals to compliment their teaching.
Looking forward to sharing ideas with them, they seem like quality teachers with a lot of experience.
One lunchtime I was dragged into the tiny staffroom. The dinner ladies wanted to perform for me… Walking in, one of them was playing the drums, while the other three, dressed in heavy bottle top mini skirts were whistling and dancing rhythmically. This was a dance only for ladies (saw a good few STD1 faces peeking through the window). As I got the lyrics translated and had a second look at their moves I understood why… all about making babies basically. (They do not understand how I can soon be 30 and not have children or a husband yet…)
It’s amazing the gratitude the teachers and villagers have showed me. I came back down with more food than I brought up. One being an alive chicken, brought to me by a little boy riding backward on a donkey with the chicken under his arm. The school choir sang and danced for me too.
The village
Most impressive to me was meeting a 100 y old lady living in a neighbor roundavel. She lied crocked and bent together on a mat on the floor. Apparently more or less clear headed still.
I’ve also learnt to collect wood with the children after school, learning plant names and uses of about every green straw in the mountain side. I have visited the new Water Project, where the villagers are damming up a stream to water their fields, and I’ve learnt how to stop soil erosion, by building up stone walls in the “dongas” to hold the soil in place.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
Chokas
The following morning Cat and I are woken up at 4.30am by a great, loud, scratchy sound. It’s as the3rd world war has started right outside our door. We jump in our beds, looking at each other totally confused. “What on earth is that?” Then the scratches are followed by a long monologue of “Allah, Allah… blab la bla… Allah” … Argh. “God damn Muslims” we mumble to ourselves, laughing. Didn’t realize their first prayer of the day was this early!
Oh well, we have to get up early anyway. We’re meeting two fisher boys taking us over the bay to “deserted tropical paradise” Chokas in their “Barko do velha” (sailing boat).
I hang over the side of the beautiful wooden boat; reflecting on life, letting my hands dangle in the lunk warm, crystal clear water. This romantic moment of mine results in a 2nd degree sunburn on my hands, as my malaria tablets makes me extra sensitive to sun… For the rest of the holiday they’re bright red and itchy, with blisters all over. Charming! Now I’ve got wrinkly hands like an old woman. Never get too carried away in your own thoughts is the moral of this story…
Chokas is all what was promised to us. Most of the time we were only the two of us on the endless, white sandy beach. There were palm trees, coconuts, fresh fish and fruit, a little beach hut with a shaded hammock all to ourselves and just a few souvenir sellers, soon turned friends, for four long, peaceful days.
Our new “friends” made big business on us, as an army of mini non-destructible ants attacked our food supply, and we had to buy everything again. When they offered us fresh fish, and we had to turn down the offer for lack of cooking facilities in our hut, they dished up a fire on the beach in minutes and grilled them for us. Just what we needed after 6 months without a fish in sight in Lesotho. Yum!
Our trip back to Ilha do Mozambique, where we wanted some weekend partying, went through the charming fishing village of Cabaceira Pequena, where we passed wood carrying Mokua women with white painted (beauty masks) faces. We paddled through mangrove forests and shallow waters, before ending on a beach full of fishing boats, one of them zig zaging us back over the bay to Ilha.
We’re back just in time for the Saturday bodybuilding competition. The music is blasting and the islands selections of beefy men are showing their steel on a mat on the beach. Personally I enjoyed the look of the men outside the mat more.
Sunday we spend strolling around the island, soaking up the magic atmosphere of this place, caused by the mix of rustic, Portuguese colonial architecture, local straw huts and markets, Muslim mosques and patterns and a complete sense of safety. No problems for two girls walking around at night in the dark side alleys. What a strange feeling!
I cried when I left this place!
Maputo
The flight to Maputo seemed endless. I’m sulking. What’s the point of having holiday if I can’t stay longer on the island? Don’t think I’ll ever want to be anywhere else…
It lasts for about a day. Then we get invited to Gil Vincente for karaoke night. Meera, our master student friend from London living in our hostel is leaving. It is great fun! The music is funky, mix of rock, indie and reggae… on a karaoke night. I nearly go up and do “Where is my mind” with the Pixies, but luckily for the others I chicken out!
We start talking to some Rastafaris… something resulting in us spending another week in Maputo as Rasta wannabe’s. In this time we learn about 100 different hand shakes, how to always talk in rhymes, how to end all words in –ai (yesai!), the true meaning of Peace, Love and Respect”… or shall we say “how to sit around ALL DAY and talk revolutionary thoughts, but never do anything about it.” Also to mention is swapping my beloved trousers for one of Rasta Butcheka’s brilliant art works, the truest artist of the flock.
We cry a little leaving Maputo too…
Swaziland - Durban
En route to Durban, via Swaziland, to visit friends and to catch the Baz Bus back to Johannesburg and catch our flight to Maseru. What to say about Durban… For not much else than revisiting good old “New Light” bar and the new Rasta bar ”Cool Runnings” it really highlighted how “Africa Innocent” we were last time we visited the city only four months earlier. The experiences we’ve had in the meanwhile and the changes in our minds are almost too much to comprehend. Wonder how it will be to move back home…
The following morning Cat and I are woken up at 4.30am by a great, loud, scratchy sound. It’s as the3rd world war has started right outside our door. We jump in our beds, looking at each other totally confused. “What on earth is that?” Then the scratches are followed by a long monologue of “Allah, Allah… blab la bla… Allah” … Argh. “God damn Muslims” we mumble to ourselves, laughing. Didn’t realize their first prayer of the day was this early!
Oh well, we have to get up early anyway. We’re meeting two fisher boys taking us over the bay to “deserted tropical paradise” Chokas in their “Barko do velha” (sailing boat).
I hang over the side of the beautiful wooden boat; reflecting on life, letting my hands dangle in the lunk warm, crystal clear water. This romantic moment of mine results in a 2nd degree sunburn on my hands, as my malaria tablets makes me extra sensitive to sun… For the rest of the holiday they’re bright red and itchy, with blisters all over. Charming! Now I’ve got wrinkly hands like an old woman. Never get too carried away in your own thoughts is the moral of this story…
Chokas is all what was promised to us. Most of the time we were only the two of us on the endless, white sandy beach. There were palm trees, coconuts, fresh fish and fruit, a little beach hut with a shaded hammock all to ourselves and just a few souvenir sellers, soon turned friends, for four long, peaceful days.
Our new “friends” made big business on us, as an army of mini non-destructible ants attacked our food supply, and we had to buy everything again. When they offered us fresh fish, and we had to turn down the offer for lack of cooking facilities in our hut, they dished up a fire on the beach in minutes and grilled them for us. Just what we needed after 6 months without a fish in sight in Lesotho. Yum!
Our trip back to Ilha do Mozambique, where we wanted some weekend partying, went through the charming fishing village of Cabaceira Pequena, where we passed wood carrying Mokua women with white painted (beauty masks) faces. We paddled through mangrove forests and shallow waters, before ending on a beach full of fishing boats, one of them zig zaging us back over the bay to Ilha.
We’re back just in time for the Saturday bodybuilding competition. The music is blasting and the islands selections of beefy men are showing their steel on a mat on the beach. Personally I enjoyed the look of the men outside the mat more.
Sunday we spend strolling around the island, soaking up the magic atmosphere of this place, caused by the mix of rustic, Portuguese colonial architecture, local straw huts and markets, Muslim mosques and patterns and a complete sense of safety. No problems for two girls walking around at night in the dark side alleys. What a strange feeling!
I cried when I left this place!
Maputo
The flight to Maputo seemed endless. I’m sulking. What’s the point of having holiday if I can’t stay longer on the island? Don’t think I’ll ever want to be anywhere else…
It lasts for about a day. Then we get invited to Gil Vincente for karaoke night. Meera, our master student friend from London living in our hostel is leaving. It is great fun! The music is funky, mix of rock, indie and reggae… on a karaoke night. I nearly go up and do “Where is my mind” with the Pixies, but luckily for the others I chicken out!
We start talking to some Rastafaris… something resulting in us spending another week in Maputo as Rasta wannabe’s. In this time we learn about 100 different hand shakes, how to always talk in rhymes, how to end all words in –ai (yesai!), the true meaning of Peace, Love and Respect”… or shall we say “how to sit around ALL DAY and talk revolutionary thoughts, but never do anything about it.” Also to mention is swapping my beloved trousers for one of Rasta Butcheka’s brilliant art works, the truest artist of the flock.
We cry a little leaving Maputo too…
Swaziland - Durban
En route to Durban, via Swaziland, to visit friends and to catch the Baz Bus back to Johannesburg and catch our flight to Maseru. What to say about Durban… For not much else than revisiting good old “New Light” bar and the new Rasta bar ”Cool Runnings” it really highlighted how “Africa Innocent” we were last time we visited the city only four months earlier. The experiences we’ve had in the meanwhile and the changes in our minds are almost too much to comprehend. Wonder how it will be to move back home…
Thursday, July 31, 2008
7 weeks holiday… paid by British Council ;) Part 1
We’ve packed our things, moved them to our new house and said our goodbyes. Now it\s time for holiday! And that on British Councils account (really our saved up stipend).
Kruger National Park
Rachel, Ian (Rach’s boyfriend) and I decided to start off with a trip to Kruger National Park for an African safari experience, while the two others were off to Swaziland to visit some friends of Danielle. We spend two days in the park, all wrapped up in warm blankets on the back of a safari van, soaking up the magic play between animals and nature, whilst humming to Elton Johns “Circle of Life”. 3 teenage lions play fighting and a family of giraffes got the most impressive prize.
Off we go, wedged in between luggage and locals on a bumpy combi (local taxi/bus) to Maputo to meet up with the other Hoekers for a final goodbye. It’s time for Danielle and Rachel to make their way back to Wales. We first make friends with a little boy, and before we know it we are friends with the whole combi and get money exchange, Mozambique SIM card, directions and taxi to the hostel and food sorted for us… Did anyone say to be careful about using local transport?
Maputo
It’s great being in Maputo again. It feels like home. The novelty of coffee shops with fresh croissants, live music, a night life! great architecture, seafood!!! and a tropical climate feels ohh so good! The first days I spend just soaking up the atmosphere, hoping Catherine that I will travel with for 4 weeks in this country will like it as much as me. When the rest of the crew + Claire, Dan’s friend, arrives from Swaziland, we hang out on the beach, eat seafood, drink REAL coffee and go out listening to funky music, before we have to say good bye for real and suddenly its just Cat and me left in the city!
Cat and I spend a few days freaking out. Suddenly it is only the two of us, and that for the next 6 months! We run around, trying to organize ourselves and our lives, our project for the next 6 months in Lesotho, our travels in Mozambique for the next 4 weeks, before we hit ourselves in the head, or maybe each others heads and say… “Hang on, we’ll be all right you know. We’ll be rock n rollin in fact.” From that moment our holiday turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life!
Maputo - Beira
Our bus to Beira is leaving at 4.00am in the morning and we have arranged for a taxi to pick us up at 3.00am, but we go out and have too much fun and have to rearrange our departure for the next morning. The bus stop is pitch black and full of scary drunk men, but our local “Express bus” is there waiting for us, so we toughen up (girl power!?), haggle the prices with the help of our taxi driver, complaining that our seats are not good enough (sticky leather seats in the heat is not to prefer) and get given some better ones. We feel good about ourselves. Holiday here we come!
18 hours, many conversations and Portuguese lessons later we meet Miguel, Tania and Thais, their 6 year old daughter, friends of my family, in Beira. We spend 2 days in their house, being treated like queens! It is so relaxing to be in a family home after so long, having a whole house, with internet connection, warm showers, a washing machine (first time in 6 months!) and a big Schaefer dog called Biba and a beach 5 min away to ourselves. We cherish every moment!
Events to mention in Beira are first of all the recording of Manune Jackson’s music video, taken place at “Sunlight Food Court” where we had dinner with the family. It involved 4 black guys dressed in silver and gold Bruce Lee outfits, dancing hip hop, 2 bodybuilders in NOT matching Bermuda shorts and a Rastafari lead singer with constantly changing outfits. Got to get hold of this video when it’s done!
Another one, not so funny, my bag with passport and Cat’s camera were snatched right in front of us on the beach. We followed the guy’s footsteps in the sand and with a (fit) police officers’ and some local souvenir sellers’ help, we luckily found my passport chucked by the side of the road. Unfortunately all our photos and camera were lost!
We owe a big thank you to Tania + Fam for sorting us out with everything, the police, passport photocopies, flight and bus tickets etc etc, and generally for being so open and friendly to us. We had a great time with you. Be sure we’ll come back and visit you!
Beira - Quelimane
Next morning up at 3 again. The bus to Quelimane is leaving at 4.00am. I will never forget Miguel’s concerned look through the bus window as we wave goodbye with our knees under our ears and our luggage where the legs are meant to be, set for our 15 hour bus journey going north.
We drive through stunning Gorongosa National Park, witnessing the most beautiful sun rise over misty tropical forests and reed hut villages. By this point I’m praising myself for all the yoga lessons I’ve done in my life, but I’ve stopped feeling my legs a few hours ago. Hope they’re still there. And yes, I realize they are as an Unidentified Object (feeling a bit like a lizard) is crawling up them. I scream and the whole bus start laughing of the stupid screamish white girl, saying “Ha ha ha, rat, rat rat!”.
Reaching the Zambezi River at mid day, we have to wait for two hours to cross on the small ferry. We spend our time watching the fit men sorting out luggage on the bus roof tops, the young boys selling refreshments to people waiting and the women feeding their many children and smoking cigarettes the wrong way around!?!
We make a friend that promises to help us sort out tickets for tomorrow mornings’ bus, 4.00am again, and to find a place to sleep for the night. His name is Jacinto and is a Mozambiqian, training to be a Catholic priest in South Africa (we think…) He is one of a few people that can speak English, as our Portuguese is not that up to scratch… yet. Two others to mention is two diamond sellers from Congo on holiday… hmmm!?! We go for the Catholic priest. He seems the most reliable. And he’s got big beefy muscles and can look mean. And yes, the guy sorts us out with tickets and a place where we can have a shower and some food, and after we drink most of the bottle of wine that the owner offers to us and later asks us to pay for, he sort things out so we don’t have to pay and escorts us safely back to the bus that’s departing in a few hours.
We learn quickly that playing vulnerable little girls pay off ;)
Quelimane - Nampula
Quelimane to Nampula, beefy priests’ home town, is 11 hours away. Another breath taking sun rise over Mocuba, a rustique, colonial architecture mixed with African reed markets town. I fall head over heal for this magic part of the world. Since hitting Gorongosa National Park yesterday my heart has sunk and I can’t do anything else than stare out of the window and soak in every smell, sight, and sound of this place. The colours changes from deep red to okra to bright greens to yellow to red again. I have to go back here!
Reaching Nampula the landscape changes from tropical forests to mountainous terrain. Apparently some of the peaks are over 2000m high. Jacinto teaches us a about the types of food we see drying in the sun outside the straw huts, lagosht(?), cassava, and about the crops we see in the fields and the names of the mountains and the rivers and the villages and provinces. He also goes into detail on how to open and scrape a coconut and how to separate the milk and the meat. All very useful, but we’re start looking forward to having our own peaceful hotel room all to ourselves…
I wake up very excited in the morning. This is the day we will reach Ilha do Mozambique, the goal for our trip to the north, somewhere I’ve wanted to see ever since I saw my parents’ pictures of the place. I have felt bad about dragging Cat with me all this way, not really knowing what to expect. What if it is a disappointment after all our travel efforts and money spent? I’m nervous!
Before we set off, we visit Jacinto’s former job, as a radio reporter on the local Catholic radio station. They report in Portuguese, French, English and the local tribe language Mokua. We meet DJ Silva while he’s on air and see the evening news being recorded in another studio. Interesting!
Ilha do Mozambique
And then we’re on our way to the Island, Ilha. It takes us 2 hours, again getting to know people on the bus to help us further. There is always someone that wants to talk, share food and stories. In the dark we+luggage get shipped over to the back of a bakkie, together with bags of rice, groceries and a handful of locals. “Casa do Gabriel, por favour” we say hopefully. It is dark, we have no idea, but everyone seems friendly.
We see contours of buildings and palm trees, a mosque, the sound of the sea. The bakkie’s hooting. We get dropped off outside a massive double door with big round handles. Shit, we didn’t book. Wonder if they’ll open for us…
Doors open into the most beautifully designed hostel I’ve ever seen. The owner is an Italian architect that fell in love with the Island and decided to move here. He is not just an architect but an interior architect as well. Every room is carefully put together in a mish mash of Mozambiqian/tropical island style mixed with Italian/Greek classicism. Stepping into the bathroom for the first time I feel like a Greek goddess missing her toga. Here I have a shower while watching the stars through the open reed roof. In the morning we wake up to freshly baked rolls, papaya jam, REAL butter and coffee… All this to no more than a bunk bed in a dorm in Maputo!
More adventures to follow…
Kruger National Park
Rachel, Ian (Rach’s boyfriend) and I decided to start off with a trip to Kruger National Park for an African safari experience, while the two others were off to Swaziland to visit some friends of Danielle. We spend two days in the park, all wrapped up in warm blankets on the back of a safari van, soaking up the magic play between animals and nature, whilst humming to Elton Johns “Circle of Life”. 3 teenage lions play fighting and a family of giraffes got the most impressive prize.
Off we go, wedged in between luggage and locals on a bumpy combi (local taxi/bus) to Maputo to meet up with the other Hoekers for a final goodbye. It’s time for Danielle and Rachel to make their way back to Wales. We first make friends with a little boy, and before we know it we are friends with the whole combi and get money exchange, Mozambique SIM card, directions and taxi to the hostel and food sorted for us… Did anyone say to be careful about using local transport?
Maputo
It’s great being in Maputo again. It feels like home. The novelty of coffee shops with fresh croissants, live music, a night life! great architecture, seafood!!! and a tropical climate feels ohh so good! The first days I spend just soaking up the atmosphere, hoping Catherine that I will travel with for 4 weeks in this country will like it as much as me. When the rest of the crew + Claire, Dan’s friend, arrives from Swaziland, we hang out on the beach, eat seafood, drink REAL coffee and go out listening to funky music, before we have to say good bye for real and suddenly its just Cat and me left in the city!
Cat and I spend a few days freaking out. Suddenly it is only the two of us, and that for the next 6 months! We run around, trying to organize ourselves and our lives, our project for the next 6 months in Lesotho, our travels in Mozambique for the next 4 weeks, before we hit ourselves in the head, or maybe each others heads and say… “Hang on, we’ll be all right you know. We’ll be rock n rollin in fact.” From that moment our holiday turned out to be one of the best experiences of my life!
Maputo - Beira
Our bus to Beira is leaving at 4.00am in the morning and we have arranged for a taxi to pick us up at 3.00am, but we go out and have too much fun and have to rearrange our departure for the next morning. The bus stop is pitch black and full of scary drunk men, but our local “Express bus” is there waiting for us, so we toughen up (girl power!?), haggle the prices with the help of our taxi driver, complaining that our seats are not good enough (sticky leather seats in the heat is not to prefer) and get given some better ones. We feel good about ourselves. Holiday here we come!
18 hours, many conversations and Portuguese lessons later we meet Miguel, Tania and Thais, their 6 year old daughter, friends of my family, in Beira. We spend 2 days in their house, being treated like queens! It is so relaxing to be in a family home after so long, having a whole house, with internet connection, warm showers, a washing machine (first time in 6 months!) and a big Schaefer dog called Biba and a beach 5 min away to ourselves. We cherish every moment!
Events to mention in Beira are first of all the recording of Manune Jackson’s music video, taken place at “Sunlight Food Court” where we had dinner with the family. It involved 4 black guys dressed in silver and gold Bruce Lee outfits, dancing hip hop, 2 bodybuilders in NOT matching Bermuda shorts and a Rastafari lead singer with constantly changing outfits. Got to get hold of this video when it’s done!
Another one, not so funny, my bag with passport and Cat’s camera were snatched right in front of us on the beach. We followed the guy’s footsteps in the sand and with a (fit) police officers’ and some local souvenir sellers’ help, we luckily found my passport chucked by the side of the road. Unfortunately all our photos and camera were lost!
We owe a big thank you to Tania + Fam for sorting us out with everything, the police, passport photocopies, flight and bus tickets etc etc, and generally for being so open and friendly to us. We had a great time with you. Be sure we’ll come back and visit you!
Beira - Quelimane
Next morning up at 3 again. The bus to Quelimane is leaving at 4.00am. I will never forget Miguel’s concerned look through the bus window as we wave goodbye with our knees under our ears and our luggage where the legs are meant to be, set for our 15 hour bus journey going north.
We drive through stunning Gorongosa National Park, witnessing the most beautiful sun rise over misty tropical forests and reed hut villages. By this point I’m praising myself for all the yoga lessons I’ve done in my life, but I’ve stopped feeling my legs a few hours ago. Hope they’re still there. And yes, I realize they are as an Unidentified Object (feeling a bit like a lizard) is crawling up them. I scream and the whole bus start laughing of the stupid screamish white girl, saying “Ha ha ha, rat, rat rat!”.
Reaching the Zambezi River at mid day, we have to wait for two hours to cross on the small ferry. We spend our time watching the fit men sorting out luggage on the bus roof tops, the young boys selling refreshments to people waiting and the women feeding their many children and smoking cigarettes the wrong way around!?!
We make a friend that promises to help us sort out tickets for tomorrow mornings’ bus, 4.00am again, and to find a place to sleep for the night. His name is Jacinto and is a Mozambiqian, training to be a Catholic priest in South Africa (we think…) He is one of a few people that can speak English, as our Portuguese is not that up to scratch… yet. Two others to mention is two diamond sellers from Congo on holiday… hmmm!?! We go for the Catholic priest. He seems the most reliable. And he’s got big beefy muscles and can look mean. And yes, the guy sorts us out with tickets and a place where we can have a shower and some food, and after we drink most of the bottle of wine that the owner offers to us and later asks us to pay for, he sort things out so we don’t have to pay and escorts us safely back to the bus that’s departing in a few hours.
We learn quickly that playing vulnerable little girls pay off ;)
Quelimane - Nampula
Quelimane to Nampula, beefy priests’ home town, is 11 hours away. Another breath taking sun rise over Mocuba, a rustique, colonial architecture mixed with African reed markets town. I fall head over heal for this magic part of the world. Since hitting Gorongosa National Park yesterday my heart has sunk and I can’t do anything else than stare out of the window and soak in every smell, sight, and sound of this place. The colours changes from deep red to okra to bright greens to yellow to red again. I have to go back here!
Reaching Nampula the landscape changes from tropical forests to mountainous terrain. Apparently some of the peaks are over 2000m high. Jacinto teaches us a about the types of food we see drying in the sun outside the straw huts, lagosht(?), cassava, and about the crops we see in the fields and the names of the mountains and the rivers and the villages and provinces. He also goes into detail on how to open and scrape a coconut and how to separate the milk and the meat. All very useful, but we’re start looking forward to having our own peaceful hotel room all to ourselves…
I wake up very excited in the morning. This is the day we will reach Ilha do Mozambique, the goal for our trip to the north, somewhere I’ve wanted to see ever since I saw my parents’ pictures of the place. I have felt bad about dragging Cat with me all this way, not really knowing what to expect. What if it is a disappointment after all our travel efforts and money spent? I’m nervous!
Before we set off, we visit Jacinto’s former job, as a radio reporter on the local Catholic radio station. They report in Portuguese, French, English and the local tribe language Mokua. We meet DJ Silva while he’s on air and see the evening news being recorded in another studio. Interesting!
Ilha do Mozambique
And then we’re on our way to the Island, Ilha. It takes us 2 hours, again getting to know people on the bus to help us further. There is always someone that wants to talk, share food and stories. In the dark we+luggage get shipped over to the back of a bakkie, together with bags of rice, groceries and a handful of locals. “Casa do Gabriel, por favour” we say hopefully. It is dark, we have no idea, but everyone seems friendly.
We see contours of buildings and palm trees, a mosque, the sound of the sea. The bakkie’s hooting. We get dropped off outside a massive double door with big round handles. Shit, we didn’t book. Wonder if they’ll open for us…
Doors open into the most beautifully designed hostel I’ve ever seen. The owner is an Italian architect that fell in love with the Island and decided to move here. He is not just an architect but an interior architect as well. Every room is carefully put together in a mish mash of Mozambiqian/tropical island style mixed with Italian/Greek classicism. Stepping into the bathroom for the first time I feel like a Greek goddess missing her toga. Here I have a shower while watching the stars through the open reed roof. In the morning we wake up to freshly baked rolls, papaya jam, REAL butter and coffee… All this to no more than a bunk bed in a dorm in Maputo!
More adventures to follow…
Monday, June 30, 2008
Our last month together in Lesotho has been a hectic one. In school we’ve been busy getting our children through term tests, marking and filling in reports. At home Cath and me, the two that are staying on, have worked hard to find a safe and secure accommodation for the next 6 months stay. We’ve been offered two rooms in the Catholic Church’s children’s nursery down the road, enclosed in a secure, barb wired compound, close to my school, principal and some of our friends. Apparently the outdoor toilet by the road is not safe for us whities, so we’ve asked for an indoor toilet to be put in and we’ll also have a hot!!! water shower. The place is much smaller than where we’ve lived now, much easier to warm up and it will be easy to make it into a cozy English/Norwegian cave for us to relax in. We will fetch our water from the borehole tap outside and from now on we will scrub our pants shoulder to shoulder with the locals ;) Very safe we’ll be as we’re looked after by a dozen nuns!
We’ve had several farewell parties and gatherings as is custom here, both in school and at home. We’ve learnt that for the Basotho’s a party is not a party without heaps of meat, so when 40 of our teachers decided to come and say bye, we bought up the whole butchers and had a two hour long meat feast before everyone decided to go home (before dark). Very fast and efficient party! The schools of the two girls that are going home put up big feasts for them, receiving tailored Sheshoeshoe dresses and Basotho blankets as gifts to bring home. They look like proper Basothos now… One of the parties also included a 70 year old rapping nun! Amazing!
Lately we’ve had some drama in most often, peaceful Lesotho. The government decided to introduce public transport buses for half the price of taxis/combis (people’s main means of transport). Understandably the taxi drivers, which is one of the few jobs for men in Lesotho, were striking for days, ending in two innocent people being shot dead. We decided to scrap the AGM meeting with our organization in Maseru that weekend and stay safe in Mohales Hoek.
Our last weekend before holiday we went with the Maseru (UN) lot to Bloemfontein to watch Wales play the Springboekers in rugby. Will not go into detail about the score, but just say that we had a very good time soaking up the atmosphere of the stadium and town after.
Now off to 6 weeks!!! Holiday in Southern Africa. Anyone jealous yet? Starting toe journey with a safari in Kruger, then on to Maputo to meet up with everyone for a final good bye, before Cath and me will travel up the coast of Mozambique for some sea and beach… Good times!
My new mob no is: 00258844059946
I can be contacted on this until the 20th of July.
Hope you are all well.
X
We’ve had several farewell parties and gatherings as is custom here, both in school and at home. We’ve learnt that for the Basotho’s a party is not a party without heaps of meat, so when 40 of our teachers decided to come and say bye, we bought up the whole butchers and had a two hour long meat feast before everyone decided to go home (before dark). Very fast and efficient party! The schools of the two girls that are going home put up big feasts for them, receiving tailored Sheshoeshoe dresses and Basotho blankets as gifts to bring home. They look like proper Basothos now… One of the parties also included a 70 year old rapping nun! Amazing!
Lately we’ve had some drama in most often, peaceful Lesotho. The government decided to introduce public transport buses for half the price of taxis/combis (people’s main means of transport). Understandably the taxi drivers, which is one of the few jobs for men in Lesotho, were striking for days, ending in two innocent people being shot dead. We decided to scrap the AGM meeting with our organization in Maseru that weekend and stay safe in Mohales Hoek.
Our last weekend before holiday we went with the Maseru (UN) lot to Bloemfontein to watch Wales play the Springboekers in rugby. Will not go into detail about the score, but just say that we had a very good time soaking up the atmosphere of the stadium and town after.
Now off to 6 weeks!!! Holiday in Southern Africa. Anyone jealous yet? Starting toe journey with a safari in Kruger, then on to Maputo to meet up with everyone for a final good bye, before Cath and me will travel up the coast of Mozambique for some sea and beach… Good times!
My new mob no is: 00258844059946
I can be contacted on this until the 20th of July.
Hope you are all well.
X
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Everyday life
We’ve had the first days of frost in the mornings and snow on the mountain tops. I’ve purchased a woolie Basotho blankets to keep me warm at night and the thermal layers are worn more and more frequently. Not what you expect from Africa!
We had a “Quality Education For All” event in school, with all schools in town meeting up on a big field singing, dancing and showing plays, all to highlight that education is not just for pupils in school, but for everyone, young and old, rich and poor… Really not sure about the message, and I’m not sure if the children knew either, as the speeches from the chief and the principals were done with the back to the children, towards the Department of Education representatives, sitting under a big plastic tent sipping coke!
In school ST1’s English is improving well. Now they come up to me in lunchtime and chat in English instead of Sesotho. In Art Tie&Dye and making paint butterflies have been the greatest successes. Next week will be the final term tests before 6 weeks winter holidays…
We’ve squeezed in a weekend in Bloemfountein to visit Mohau, a student teacher friend from here, and to do some shopping. We even had some seafood which tasted absolutely amazing… Followed by a Cappucino! What a kick… Not daily procedure here basically!
Other things worth mentioning… I’d proudly say I’ve viewed my first chicken killing (voluntarily) and have plucked and prepared the poor little chicks after. Didn’t taste so good after. Also, we met the prime minister of Lesotho the other week. He happen to swing in to Mohales Hoek to plant some trees and do a little dance with the villagers here. Obviously he had with him his 5 follow cars, security guards with machine guns and were sitting under a fluffy plastic tent decorated with flowers, silk and satin, having a heap of soft drinks to neck down during churck service. Apparently I missed the chiefs invitation to shake his hand… not too sorry for that, as my hand would probably have wondered into his pockets to get back some of the money he steals from his people…
It’s also been 17. May. We celebrated Norway National day in an evaluation meeting with our organization and after by watching Cardiff City playing Porthsmouth(?) in the FA Cup final, ending the night with a party in our house. Good fun!
And lately I've done...
As I am getting used to living here and things that I before thought was very strange, now is just a little bit strange, I realize I don’t write updates on my blog so often. Impressions were so strong in the start, now we mostly realize the differences in culture by the sense of relieve when we talk to people back home (and they understand what you’re talking about and where you’re coming from) or when we go to South Africa for a good cup of Cappucino in a café. I guess this is a natural process when you live in such a different environment to your own…
Anyway, I’ll give you a brief update of the latest happenings…
Aliwal North
About a month back we went with a bunch of young Basotho teachers to the hot springs of Aliwal North in South Africa. The teachers had been loofing forward to this trip for ages, and it was organized for the end of the month when they’d all been paid…
In proper Basotho style the party started already before take off at 7am! We waited around at the Shell garage from 7-9 for everyone to turn up, everyone dancing, chatting and drinking… No morning grumpiness here! As the combi swung out of the garage we’re standing, swinging in the handles of the bus dancing our socks off to the “Best of African House”… dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk…
We WhopWhop, whistle and wiggle all the way to destination, frequently stopping for pee stops, picking more people up or just for a dance by the side of the road… We are a slow moving party on wheels!
Reaching destination we find two-three stinking pools, no other people and a chilly autumn wind in the air. Look who cares! We splash around the pools for a few hours, trying to teach our new friends to swim! Not a skill that’s taught in schools like at home… and with no sea or many pools why would they know? Some pretty comic scenes for sure!
Next thing happening is that we insulted by some Afrikaaners for hanging out with black people! Just like that! Out of the blue! It was a really strange feeling, as back home it just doesn’t happen…
The way back was pretty much the same getting there, just three times as long! Stops in each town to visit some random friends or girlfriends, for some side of the road dancing, food stops, more drinking, more dancing… The Basotho’s are definitely having their partying stamina in order. I was absolutely knackered by this point and slept heavily for the last 2 hours…
To sum up the experience, what we learned about the Basotho’s that day, is that it is not the destination that counts, it is the journey!
Anyway, I’ll give you a brief update of the latest happenings…
Aliwal North
About a month back we went with a bunch of young Basotho teachers to the hot springs of Aliwal North in South Africa. The teachers had been loofing forward to this trip for ages, and it was organized for the end of the month when they’d all been paid…
In proper Basotho style the party started already before take off at 7am! We waited around at the Shell garage from 7-9 for everyone to turn up, everyone dancing, chatting and drinking… No morning grumpiness here! As the combi swung out of the garage we’re standing, swinging in the handles of the bus dancing our socks off to the “Best of African House”… dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk…
We WhopWhop, whistle and wiggle all the way to destination, frequently stopping for pee stops, picking more people up or just for a dance by the side of the road… We are a slow moving party on wheels!
Reaching destination we find two-three stinking pools, no other people and a chilly autumn wind in the air. Look who cares! We splash around the pools for a few hours, trying to teach our new friends to swim! Not a skill that’s taught in schools like at home… and with no sea or many pools why would they know? Some pretty comic scenes for sure!
Next thing happening is that we insulted by some Afrikaaners for hanging out with black people! Just like that! Out of the blue! It was a really strange feeling, as back home it just doesn’t happen…
The way back was pretty much the same getting there, just three times as long! Stops in each town to visit some random friends or girlfriends, for some side of the road dancing, food stops, more drinking, more dancing… The Basotho’s are definitely having their partying stamina in order. I was absolutely knackered by this point and slept heavily for the last 2 hours…
To sum up the experience, what we learned about the Basotho’s that day, is that it is not the destination that counts, it is the journey!
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Quaqua school trip
230 6-8 y olds and staff were going on a school trip to Quaqua, the Basotho cultural village funnily enough based in South Africa right over the border to Lesotho. Breakfast and lunch was provided, so Thursday night all teachers stayed after school to cook and pack the food for everyone. After the 197th lunch pack, there was no more chicken so all teachers scratched their heads, had a long discussion about the problem and sat down to watch me count them all again… obviously no point of helping out… and surprisingly, yes, there still was 33 pieces of chicken missing. The time was close to 6, all shops were closed and take off was at 5am!!! the next morning. What should we do? “KFC in Maseru” someone shouts. We’d pass there the next morning… Problem sorted, done and dusted!
The 5 am take off stretched closer to 6.30, before the 2 ½ buses were filled with children, teachers and food. God only knows how we got the right children on the buses as it was pitch black and we couldn’t really see who was who… A lot of the responsibility for being in the right place at the right time seems to be put on the children themselves, even at this early stage. I guess this is why they are so street wise!
So, at 6.30 we woke up the whole neighborhood, as the music was pumping out of the windows and 230 over-excited 6-8y olds were screaming and shouting and dancing their socks off (in the bus) on their first ever school trip!
And a long, adventurous journey it was… nearly 7 hours it took us to reach destination. Before that we’d crossed the border to South Africa, had one kid hit by a car!!!, had 230 children trying to push themselves into two toilets, breakfast served on the road side and numerous pee stops where luckily no children were left in the high grass! Fortunately after the first blast of excitement and Whop Whooping, most children fell asleep in big heaps everywhere, as there were at least two children pr. bus seat…
As we reached Maseru border post, many children (somehow!?!) manage to “escape” the buses to go to the toilet, and as I came proudly out of the passport office with my new ZA stamp well in place, Me Belina grabbed me and commanded me to look after a boy lying on the ground… A mass of adults and children had gathered and some were anxiously pointing here and there and loudly discussing in Sesotho. The poor boy was crying and shaking and I had no idea what was going on before someone shouts in English, “Me Silje, he was hit by a car!”
Shocked I ran for the first aid kit, as the school’s designated first aider was not to see, and started checking for broken bones. Not the most pleasant experience! Luckily nothing was broken, only a swollen, bruised knee and a shaken boy, which after a long sleep and a bandage, was ok to limp around with us at destination.
Just over the border we stopped for breakfast, all children having a goodie bag of polony meat, rolls, juice and an apple each, all distributed by the teachers. Everyone was happy again, dancing and singing to “I wanna fly, over the rainbow sooooooooooooo high!”.
We reached Quaqua after driving through some spectacular Drakensberg mountain sceneries. The children were amazingly still in good spirit after nearly 7 stuck on a bus… I’d like to see that happening at home!
Great village, a shame we have to rush through it all, as we are meant to reach back home for 7 pm! This is what we did:
First we visited the Chief to ask for permission to enter his village. After all teachers had shared traditional beer with him (in front of the pupils) we were accepted and went on to see the witch doctor! He showed his special witchdoctor house and threw his stones for good fortune. We felt safe! Next, a walk past traditional Basotho weapons, spears and shields, to pay the chief’s wife a visit. She had no less than 3 roundavels, enclosed in her own little courtyard surrounded by strong straw walls. She showed us the traditional women’s wear and served us sour porridge and crushed corn, salt and sugar powder. From here we ran passed some women smearing a floor with cow dung and a band playing traditional instruments before we had to go back to the bus to eat lunch…
Strangely there were still 33 meals still missing, because no one had stopped in Maseru KFC!
Somehow we managed to get some food from the village for the children, and half the teachers went to the nearby town to get extra supplies (and a probably very planned secret KFC visit!!!) Helek, what can one say… Everything goes in Sesotho, so it is not easy to understand what’s going on until it is already gone on…
The journey back was long but beautiful. I got to know my young teachers better, which was very nice, as in school I see mostly my fellow Standard 1 teachers. Me (Miss) Selloane lives next door to me, and it is great knowing some young people in the neighborhood.
The children were dropped off along the way, and picked up by dads and mums and sisters and brothers and aunties and uncles, covered in blankets and duvets and woolly hats and wellies, all having a great party waiting for their loved ones to return home in the dark. No winging here for bringing their children home about two hours after agreed time!
I crashed out early that night, my head full of new impressions, smells, tastes and rhythms.
The 5 am take off stretched closer to 6.30, before the 2 ½ buses were filled with children, teachers and food. God only knows how we got the right children on the buses as it was pitch black and we couldn’t really see who was who… A lot of the responsibility for being in the right place at the right time seems to be put on the children themselves, even at this early stage. I guess this is why they are so street wise!
So, at 6.30 we woke up the whole neighborhood, as the music was pumping out of the windows and 230 over-excited 6-8y olds were screaming and shouting and dancing their socks off (in the bus) on their first ever school trip!
And a long, adventurous journey it was… nearly 7 hours it took us to reach destination. Before that we’d crossed the border to South Africa, had one kid hit by a car!!!, had 230 children trying to push themselves into two toilets, breakfast served on the road side and numerous pee stops where luckily no children were left in the high grass! Fortunately after the first blast of excitement and Whop Whooping, most children fell asleep in big heaps everywhere, as there were at least two children pr. bus seat…
As we reached Maseru border post, many children (somehow!?!) manage to “escape” the buses to go to the toilet, and as I came proudly out of the passport office with my new ZA stamp well in place, Me Belina grabbed me and commanded me to look after a boy lying on the ground… A mass of adults and children had gathered and some were anxiously pointing here and there and loudly discussing in Sesotho. The poor boy was crying and shaking and I had no idea what was going on before someone shouts in English, “Me Silje, he was hit by a car!”
Shocked I ran for the first aid kit, as the school’s designated first aider was not to see, and started checking for broken bones. Not the most pleasant experience! Luckily nothing was broken, only a swollen, bruised knee and a shaken boy, which after a long sleep and a bandage, was ok to limp around with us at destination.
Just over the border we stopped for breakfast, all children having a goodie bag of polony meat, rolls, juice and an apple each, all distributed by the teachers. Everyone was happy again, dancing and singing to “I wanna fly, over the rainbow sooooooooooooo high!”.
We reached Quaqua after driving through some spectacular Drakensberg mountain sceneries. The children were amazingly still in good spirit after nearly 7 stuck on a bus… I’d like to see that happening at home!
Great village, a shame we have to rush through it all, as we are meant to reach back home for 7 pm! This is what we did:
First we visited the Chief to ask for permission to enter his village. After all teachers had shared traditional beer with him (in front of the pupils) we were accepted and went on to see the witch doctor! He showed his special witchdoctor house and threw his stones for good fortune. We felt safe! Next, a walk past traditional Basotho weapons, spears and shields, to pay the chief’s wife a visit. She had no less than 3 roundavels, enclosed in her own little courtyard surrounded by strong straw walls. She showed us the traditional women’s wear and served us sour porridge and crushed corn, salt and sugar powder. From here we ran passed some women smearing a floor with cow dung and a band playing traditional instruments before we had to go back to the bus to eat lunch…
Strangely there were still 33 meals still missing, because no one had stopped in Maseru KFC!
Somehow we managed to get some food from the village for the children, and half the teachers went to the nearby town to get extra supplies (and a probably very planned secret KFC visit!!!) Helek, what can one say… Everything goes in Sesotho, so it is not easy to understand what’s going on until it is already gone on…
The journey back was long but beautiful. I got to know my young teachers better, which was very nice, as in school I see mostly my fellow Standard 1 teachers. Me (Miss) Selloane lives next door to me, and it is great knowing some young people in the neighborhood.
The children were dropped off along the way, and picked up by dads and mums and sisters and brothers and aunties and uncles, covered in blankets and duvets and woolly hats and wellies, all having a great party waiting for their loved ones to return home in the dark. No winging here for bringing their children home about two hours after agreed time!
I crashed out early that night, my head full of new impressions, smells, tastes and rhythms.
Everyday life in Mohale’s Hoek
Since Durban we’ve had some quiet weekends back in the house. Some of our pupils are regularly around, to get help with home work, to play football or just to hang around for a chat. We learn just as much from them as them from us; they teach us Sesotho, traditional dances and games, how to cook maize on an open fire!, how to get rid of our rubbish, that our gate is NOT safe and that we should fix it, what plants are edible in the garden… you name it! These children are no older than 6-12, but they are incredibly streetwise. They report all neighborhood rumors about the Mokhoa (whities), back to us… very useful!
We are also happy to start making friends our own age. Some of the young teachers in our schools are nice to spend time with, and next weekend a bus load of us are going to Aliwal North hot springs in South Africa. Should be fun!
We are also getting more and more careful about of who we have around, and what things we show people. The word on the street is that the Mokhoa’s house has money from ceiling to the floor, unfortunately not true, but it has made us feel a bit unsafe! So now new locks have been fixed, our gate secured and the children are told to tell people that the rumors are not true.
Luckily we’ve got a good relationship with the big boss CHIEF, which people have a lot of respect for, so I think that helps on our security! (Apparently his interrogations involves a lot of beating!!!)
Getting to know the country better I realize the great contrasts here. Most of the time we go on with our everyday lives, go to school and teach, chat to the neighbors, enjoy time with friends, go to town for shopping, make our dinner, just to suddenly find out that the mother of a child in our class is dying (because the witches in the neighborhood has cast a spell on her…), another that the 10 year old boy visiting us after school is the head of his family, responsible for getting food on the table. The poverty we prepared ourselves for before we left, feels so different on the body than what we expected. It’s so different seeing it on TV and having it around you everyday…
What surprises me also, are the many witch stories we hear. They seem to be the way of explaining negative things that are happening, i.e. that someone has died of HIV/AIDS or that someone is mentally ill. The HIV/AIDS rate in Lesotho is close to 30%, and you see the effects of it in that people are often ill or run down and can not attend work, or that children are orphans and are taken care of by uncles or sisters etc. Young people are good at talking about it and are well informed, but there is still a great stigma around it, as it is so connected to multiple sexual partners. Something that seems to be more of a norm here, as both married men and women have concubines, and the unmarried ones have many boyfriends and girlfriends.
Some of my pupils have had serious conversations with me about how to keep the witches out of my house; keep the windows closed and invest in a cross to keep by my bed. What confuses me is that these witches seem to be actual named women living in the villages around here, not just made up characters… Room for more investigation here… Meanwhile I’m trying hard not to make any enemies!
We are also happy to start making friends our own age. Some of the young teachers in our schools are nice to spend time with, and next weekend a bus load of us are going to Aliwal North hot springs in South Africa. Should be fun!
We are also getting more and more careful about of who we have around, and what things we show people. The word on the street is that the Mokhoa’s house has money from ceiling to the floor, unfortunately not true, but it has made us feel a bit unsafe! So now new locks have been fixed, our gate secured and the children are told to tell people that the rumors are not true.
Luckily we’ve got a good relationship with the big boss CHIEF, which people have a lot of respect for, so I think that helps on our security! (Apparently his interrogations involves a lot of beating!!!)
Getting to know the country better I realize the great contrasts here. Most of the time we go on with our everyday lives, go to school and teach, chat to the neighbors, enjoy time with friends, go to town for shopping, make our dinner, just to suddenly find out that the mother of a child in our class is dying (because the witches in the neighborhood has cast a spell on her…), another that the 10 year old boy visiting us after school is the head of his family, responsible for getting food on the table. The poverty we prepared ourselves for before we left, feels so different on the body than what we expected. It’s so different seeing it on TV and having it around you everyday…
What surprises me also, are the many witch stories we hear. They seem to be the way of explaining negative things that are happening, i.e. that someone has died of HIV/AIDS or that someone is mentally ill. The HIV/AIDS rate in Lesotho is close to 30%, and you see the effects of it in that people are often ill or run down and can not attend work, or that children are orphans and are taken care of by uncles or sisters etc. Young people are good at talking about it and are well informed, but there is still a great stigma around it, as it is so connected to multiple sexual partners. Something that seems to be more of a norm here, as both married men and women have concubines, and the unmarried ones have many boyfriends and girlfriends.
Some of my pupils have had serious conversations with me about how to keep the witches out of my house; keep the windows closed and invest in a cross to keep by my bed. What confuses me is that these witches seem to be actual named women living in the villages around here, not just made up characters… Room for more investigation here… Meanwhile I’m trying hard not to make any enemies!
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Sani Pass - Durban
Leaving to Maseru straight after school on Wednesday, waiting 45 min for the combi to move from Mohale’s Hoek as the bus took so long to fill up. Reaching Maseru in the dark, Catherine and me were relieved we have trustworthy friends to pick us up and get us to safety…
The next morning we meet our driver for the trip – Teboho – that managed to squeeze 7 of us and all our luggage into his 4X4 drive heading for Sani Pass and Durban. Yehaaa…the sea, here we come!
We drove through the Northern districts of Lesotho, Leribe and Bhuta Bhute on our way to the Sani Pass top nearly 3000m high. Beautiful little roundavel villages, breathtaking views and high raised mountains. We fitted in some altitude training on the highest point, running up the last hill, the muscles completely seizing up and very little air passing down to the lungs. We reached destination around 6 pm in a thick mist, nearly missing the sign for our mountain chalet.
Met some fellow Norwegians on the top. Somehow I was not surprised. Mountain chalet, cold and misty, rough and rugged… Lovely inside though, around the wood fire, and dinner and breakfast was deliciously homemade.
Driving down Sani Pass was an experience in itself. A steep, winding, zigzag gravel road nearly 2000m down. Glad the mist hadn’t disappeared in the morning. The road was too tough for our car in places, so we walked parts of it. I loved it… felt like the mountains at home. Same fresh air, light breeze and smell of mountain herbs. We saw little waterfalls, rivers, birds and plants. .. want to go there again!
Reaching the bottom we had a 2 hour drive to reach Durban, and we managed to squeeze in a puncture on the way. On the motorway that is, not on the dirty gravel roads! Good Teboho knew what he was doing.
We stayed at Banana Backpackers in Durban, a great, friendly hostel where we stayed for four days. The staff took us out to a local mixed bar after we had a lovely SEAFOOD meal by the beach! (ohh… been longing for that for ages…) We were pleased to find much less race issues in Durban than other places in South Africa (Bloemfontein). We met a lot of interesting people from different Southern African tribes; Qosas, Sothos, Zulus… starting to understand the differences.
Other great things to say about Durban… Great mix of people, rough and pulsating, great beaches, GREAT seafood, great shopping. Literally we had a GREAT time there! Wanna go back! Just the holiday we needed!
Hope your Easter was good!
The next morning we meet our driver for the trip – Teboho – that managed to squeeze 7 of us and all our luggage into his 4X4 drive heading for Sani Pass and Durban. Yehaaa…the sea, here we come!
We drove through the Northern districts of Lesotho, Leribe and Bhuta Bhute on our way to the Sani Pass top nearly 3000m high. Beautiful little roundavel villages, breathtaking views and high raised mountains. We fitted in some altitude training on the highest point, running up the last hill, the muscles completely seizing up and very little air passing down to the lungs. We reached destination around 6 pm in a thick mist, nearly missing the sign for our mountain chalet.
Met some fellow Norwegians on the top. Somehow I was not surprised. Mountain chalet, cold and misty, rough and rugged… Lovely inside though, around the wood fire, and dinner and breakfast was deliciously homemade.
Driving down Sani Pass was an experience in itself. A steep, winding, zigzag gravel road nearly 2000m down. Glad the mist hadn’t disappeared in the morning. The road was too tough for our car in places, so we walked parts of it. I loved it… felt like the mountains at home. Same fresh air, light breeze and smell of mountain herbs. We saw little waterfalls, rivers, birds and plants. .. want to go there again!
Reaching the bottom we had a 2 hour drive to reach Durban, and we managed to squeeze in a puncture on the way. On the motorway that is, not on the dirty gravel roads! Good Teboho knew what he was doing.
We stayed at Banana Backpackers in Durban, a great, friendly hostel where we stayed for four days. The staff took us out to a local mixed bar after we had a lovely SEAFOOD meal by the beach! (ohh… been longing for that for ages…) We were pleased to find much less race issues in Durban than other places in South Africa (Bloemfontein). We met a lot of interesting people from different Southern African tribes; Qosas, Sothos, Zulus… starting to understand the differences.
Other great things to say about Durban… Great mix of people, rough and pulsating, great beaches, GREAT seafood, great shopping. Literally we had a GREAT time there! Wanna go back! Just the holiday we needed!
Hope your Easter was good!
Moshoeshoe’s day
For the last three weeks many of the classroom doors have been secretly shut every day in my school, and one has heard steady rhythms, clapping, drumming and chanting voices in the air…
Tuesday was the day of reveal… Moshoeshoe’s day!
My school arranges a Parade of Nations every year, to honour the great Basotho leader King Moshoeshoe, so for morning assembly all pupils turned up in different tribal outfits, and in my international school, even some Western Africans, Indians and last but not least the Welsh (yeah, I do pretend I’m Welsh!).
We paraded around the school in proper African style… no marching in rows, more a random mish mash of singing and dancing. After seating the parents under umbrellas in a big circle, the show began... Traditional stories acted out, stick fighting, ST1-ST2 boys jumping like frogs in traditional undies!?! (haven’t figured out this dance yet), little girls flicking and shaking their bottle top skirts, the tough ST6-ST7 boys doing Ndlamo, rhythmically slapping their massive! Wellie boots, threatening us with their molamu (shepherd) sticks, the older girls were dressed like their mothers, with Seshoeshoe dresses and padded bums and breasts, doing Mokhibo, a kind of housewife’ish dance, pretending to clean and sweep (I think…) Their mothers got totally overexcited during this dance and came running into the circle, screaming and shouting, with money and sweets for their daughters. I decided to keep myself in the background at this stage…
But, I had to force myself into the spotlight as the leader of the Welsh group. “Oh my God”, I thought, how can “Mi Villais Jackador” compete with these amazing rhythms and dances… (Sorry Welsh, not disrespecting your dances).
The novelty factor saved us!
I found out that a boy in my school owned a proper Scottish kilt (…again, flashbacks of “The Last King of Scotland”… happening a bit too often… ) so I decided on a little cultural mix of Welsh and Scottish… They’re all tribes on the same Island, right?... So, the Welsh group consisted of 5 boys dressed up in kilts and 5 girls in “Welsh” costumes, meaning kitchen towels for aprons and handkerchiefs for shawls. Very smart I have to say! They danced very well to the 20 man/woman Welsh choir, singing “Mi Villais Jackador” I don’t know how many times. Both parents and teachers were very impressed, so the concept will be carried on next year!
After entertainment it was time for food. The Welsh (me) dishing up Cawl for 500 people! The other groups were serving traditional Basotho food, including sour bread, sweet bread, fermented sour bread, fermented sweet bread, corn cobs, corn bits, corn + beans mixed, fermented corn + beans mixed, corn + sorghum mixed, corn+sorghum+beans mix, fermented corn + sorghum mixed… you get the idea… makes you feel pretty bloated after a while! I’ve never been so happy to see a pumpkin stew ever before!
After food it was time for the traditional beer, a thick misty liquid that makes you even more bloated and also drunk in seconds! Luckily our self invited guests drank most of it.
By this time most children had randomly gone home. Parents and teachers carried on partying together, becoming VERY excited when I attempted to join them on the dance floor… Ha ha, look at that Mokhoa (white person) trying to move like us. Embarrassing!
Just as most of the teachers had downed a few Smirnoff Spins each, and I thought the party about to really kick off, they all decided the party was over and it was time to go home… very confusing, but probably for the best! The beer had got to me, and at an attempt of a little nap back home, I didn’t wake up until the next morning ready for school again… Not needing to say, not much going on that day!
Sports day
Friday was another important event… Athletics day for the public primary schools!
I rushed to meet the girls and their pupils, as my school is private and does not attend the event.
The children have been training for weeks; the winners will compete against other districts, and finally go to the finals in Maseru. Apparently the boy’s teams are spiked up with shepherd boys, not attending school, but from the district and picked out for their incredible fitness and speed… And calling them boys, many of them are 18-25 y old men, competing for their local schools. Many of them do actually go back to school after working as shepherds, so it’s not unusual to teach married men with children in your class here.
I have to say a few words about the ground. Forget about perfectly painted lanes. The running track was more like a random grassy patch, filled with pupils, teachers, randomers and vans. The poor athletics were sprinting barefoot on stones of all sizes, broken glass and rubbish. But, helek! (oh my god) how they could run! And that in all sorts of random attires, old pyjamas, skirts, shirts, school uniforms, everything goes.
They would have completely overshadowed our children back home!
We left 10 min into a big row of who had won and not. Nothing seemed to be solved and no one seemed to have the authority to say the last word, so we thought the hotel bar was a better option on a Friday afternoon…
Tuesday was the day of reveal… Moshoeshoe’s day!
My school arranges a Parade of Nations every year, to honour the great Basotho leader King Moshoeshoe, so for morning assembly all pupils turned up in different tribal outfits, and in my international school, even some Western Africans, Indians and last but not least the Welsh (yeah, I do pretend I’m Welsh!).
We paraded around the school in proper African style… no marching in rows, more a random mish mash of singing and dancing. After seating the parents under umbrellas in a big circle, the show began... Traditional stories acted out, stick fighting, ST1-ST2 boys jumping like frogs in traditional undies!?! (haven’t figured out this dance yet), little girls flicking and shaking their bottle top skirts, the tough ST6-ST7 boys doing Ndlamo, rhythmically slapping their massive! Wellie boots, threatening us with their molamu (shepherd) sticks, the older girls were dressed like their mothers, with Seshoeshoe dresses and padded bums and breasts, doing Mokhibo, a kind of housewife’ish dance, pretending to clean and sweep (I think…) Their mothers got totally overexcited during this dance and came running into the circle, screaming and shouting, with money and sweets for their daughters. I decided to keep myself in the background at this stage…
But, I had to force myself into the spotlight as the leader of the Welsh group. “Oh my God”, I thought, how can “Mi Villais Jackador” compete with these amazing rhythms and dances… (Sorry Welsh, not disrespecting your dances).
The novelty factor saved us!
I found out that a boy in my school owned a proper Scottish kilt (…again, flashbacks of “The Last King of Scotland”… happening a bit too often… ) so I decided on a little cultural mix of Welsh and Scottish… They’re all tribes on the same Island, right?... So, the Welsh group consisted of 5 boys dressed up in kilts and 5 girls in “Welsh” costumes, meaning kitchen towels for aprons and handkerchiefs for shawls. Very smart I have to say! They danced very well to the 20 man/woman Welsh choir, singing “Mi Villais Jackador” I don’t know how many times. Both parents and teachers were very impressed, so the concept will be carried on next year!
After entertainment it was time for food. The Welsh (me) dishing up Cawl for 500 people! The other groups were serving traditional Basotho food, including sour bread, sweet bread, fermented sour bread, fermented sweet bread, corn cobs, corn bits, corn + beans mixed, fermented corn + beans mixed, corn + sorghum mixed, corn+sorghum+beans mix, fermented corn + sorghum mixed… you get the idea… makes you feel pretty bloated after a while! I’ve never been so happy to see a pumpkin stew ever before!
After food it was time for the traditional beer, a thick misty liquid that makes you even more bloated and also drunk in seconds! Luckily our self invited guests drank most of it.
By this time most children had randomly gone home. Parents and teachers carried on partying together, becoming VERY excited when I attempted to join them on the dance floor… Ha ha, look at that Mokhoa (white person) trying to move like us. Embarrassing!
Just as most of the teachers had downed a few Smirnoff Spins each, and I thought the party about to really kick off, they all decided the party was over and it was time to go home… very confusing, but probably for the best! The beer had got to me, and at an attempt of a little nap back home, I didn’t wake up until the next morning ready for school again… Not needing to say, not much going on that day!
Sports day
Friday was another important event… Athletics day for the public primary schools!
I rushed to meet the girls and their pupils, as my school is private and does not attend the event.
The children have been training for weeks; the winners will compete against other districts, and finally go to the finals in Maseru. Apparently the boy’s teams are spiked up with shepherd boys, not attending school, but from the district and picked out for their incredible fitness and speed… And calling them boys, many of them are 18-25 y old men, competing for their local schools. Many of them do actually go back to school after working as shepherds, so it’s not unusual to teach married men with children in your class here.
I have to say a few words about the ground. Forget about perfectly painted lanes. The running track was more like a random grassy patch, filled with pupils, teachers, randomers and vans. The poor athletics were sprinting barefoot on stones of all sizes, broken glass and rubbish. But, helek! (oh my god) how they could run! And that in all sorts of random attires, old pyjamas, skirts, shirts, school uniforms, everything goes.
They would have completely overshadowed our children back home!
We left 10 min into a big row of who had won and not. Nothing seemed to be solved and no one seemed to have the authority to say the last word, so we thought the hotel bar was a better option on a Friday afternoon…
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Three girls, one man and a goat
Sunday evening as we were peacefully planning our lessons, our neighbor Sebongile dragged us and our cameras over to her house because we HAD to see something…Thank God for that!
The first thing we spot is a dead goat!
The lovely, fluffy goat I passed earlier in the day, strapped to a pole in the garden. Now slaughtered and split open on the ground! Not a favourite amongst the veggies in the group.
Next we see the whole extended neighbor family, standing in a circle around a lady sitting on a chair, only wearing a skirt and bra. She’s surrounded by pots of liquids, herbs, plants, bones and a bottle of whisky and coke! A group of women are dancing rhythmically and steadily, whistling and shaking. A growing group of curious children are forming on the other side of the fence.
… And in the circle, there is the traditional medicine man! I tell you, if you like me, picture an old bearded man with a stick in his hand and beads around his ankles you are totally wrong! This man … the local witch doctor… is VERY good looking… and young!!!
Well, sorry the digression … The ceremony was to bring back the ancestors after our neighbor’s uncle passed away. Apparently they leave when somebody dies and need to be brought back to the family again after the funeral. This is how to do it if you feel the need:
Put a woman, a relative of the dead, on a white plastic chair in the middle of a circle of people.
Smudge her body and hair with the bile from a goat’s gall bladder and a good few liters of goat’s blood.
Wash her with a foamy herb mix.
Light a herb bush and let her breathe in the smoke from it.
Spit whisky and coke in her face and on the burning bush, whilst singing and dancing rhythmically.
Cover her ankles and neck in beads. (The ancestors will then recognize her soul and find the way back to her).
Bring out a gas cooker and put a pot of herbs to boil.
Cover the lady and the pot under several heavy blankets for half an hour steam bath. Make sure you check whether it is hot enough…
Check that she’s properly steamed before removing the blankets.
Let her shake and twitch and scream like possessed!
Let the dancing witch ladies throw themselves around, screaming and shaking like possessed.
Let all relatives throw themselves around, including the very drunk cousin and the 80y old grandmamma with no teeth and nose full of snuff like possessed.
Stop suddenly, and let the ancestors successfully return, conveniently just before dark.
I write it jokefully, but it was pretty amazing to witness a ceremony like this. And that, not in the middle of the jungle, but in our neighbor’s garden. I’m very thankful to them for inviting us over and allowing us to be part something that was very special for them (…and us.) An experience never to forget!
*
Apart from this the highlight of this week has been teaching the children Welsh dances and songs, preparing for the “Parade of Nations” to be taking place on Moshoshoe’s day (equiv of St. David’s day/ 17.Mai) Tuesday 11. 03.
Hope you’re all fine.
The first thing we spot is a dead goat!
The lovely, fluffy goat I passed earlier in the day, strapped to a pole in the garden. Now slaughtered and split open on the ground! Not a favourite amongst the veggies in the group.
Next we see the whole extended neighbor family, standing in a circle around a lady sitting on a chair, only wearing a skirt and bra. She’s surrounded by pots of liquids, herbs, plants, bones and a bottle of whisky and coke! A group of women are dancing rhythmically and steadily, whistling and shaking. A growing group of curious children are forming on the other side of the fence.
… And in the circle, there is the traditional medicine man! I tell you, if you like me, picture an old bearded man with a stick in his hand and beads around his ankles you are totally wrong! This man … the local witch doctor… is VERY good looking… and young!!!
Well, sorry the digression … The ceremony was to bring back the ancestors after our neighbor’s uncle passed away. Apparently they leave when somebody dies and need to be brought back to the family again after the funeral. This is how to do it if you feel the need:
Put a woman, a relative of the dead, on a white plastic chair in the middle of a circle of people.
Smudge her body and hair with the bile from a goat’s gall bladder and a good few liters of goat’s blood.
Wash her with a foamy herb mix.
Light a herb bush and let her breathe in the smoke from it.
Spit whisky and coke in her face and on the burning bush, whilst singing and dancing rhythmically.
Cover her ankles and neck in beads. (The ancestors will then recognize her soul and find the way back to her).
Bring out a gas cooker and put a pot of herbs to boil.
Cover the lady and the pot under several heavy blankets for half an hour steam bath. Make sure you check whether it is hot enough…
Check that she’s properly steamed before removing the blankets.
Let her shake and twitch and scream like possessed!
Let the dancing witch ladies throw themselves around, screaming and shaking like possessed.
Let all relatives throw themselves around, including the very drunk cousin and the 80y old grandmamma with no teeth and nose full of snuff like possessed.
Stop suddenly, and let the ancestors successfully return, conveniently just before dark.
I write it jokefully, but it was pretty amazing to witness a ceremony like this. And that, not in the middle of the jungle, but in our neighbor’s garden. I’m very thankful to them for inviting us over and allowing us to be part something that was very special for them (…and us.) An experience never to forget!
*
Apart from this the highlight of this week has been teaching the children Welsh dances and songs, preparing for the “Parade of Nations” to be taking place on Moshoshoe’s day (equiv of St. David’s day/ 17.Mai) Tuesday 11. 03.
Hope you’re all fine.
Sore bums and rock paintings
What a great weekend!
Zoozy Sue’s birthday, so we decided to celebrate it in Malealea lodge where we could do horse riding. The lodge was very atmospheric and friendly. We stayed in little traditional mokhoro’s (round huts) big enough for two - three people. Lovely to catch up with the “urban” Mafeteng crew and hear news. Compared to us they have both INTERNET!!! and Shoprite, a well stocked supermarket with cheese!
We hired a combi to take us the 3h journey to the lodge, viewing an amazing sunset over the stunning Lesotho mountains along the way. The beauty of this country is difficult to describe and I wished I could show you some pictures. Hopefully soon…
Saturday we spent on horseback. We rode through beautiful mountain landscapes, up steep ridges and down river passes, to a long drop waterfall for a swim. Here I met a fellow Norwegian randomly! In the afternoon we climbed through a proper “Lion King” landscape with huge rocks and ridges, even an echo cave, to see some 25 000 y old rock paintings. They were not even barred of, so we could go straight over to them and touch. Not overly touristy here!
Another fascinating thing about riding through this landscape is that you realize there are villages around you that blends so perfectly into nature that you can’t see them. People pop up from nowhere, carrying out their daily life, platting each others hair, having a chat with the neighbor or riding to the village for supplies.
Reaching back to the lodge we were pretty knackered and sore bummed after 7 hours of baking sun and newly learnt trotting skills, but a birthday party was still to be had. To cut a long story short, it ended in a very jolly night with lodgers from all over the world joining in on communal sing a songs. I have to say the Welsh and Irish where the most impressive, putting the rest of us to shame with their Folk tunes and choir skills.
Sunday is not too much to say about, apart from that the salty breakfast tasted good and the journey back was painfully long.
… Hope I get to an internet soon as I really miss hearing news from back home and want to update you guys on what I’m up to here.
Salang hantle!
Zoozy Sue’s birthday, so we decided to celebrate it in Malealea lodge where we could do horse riding. The lodge was very atmospheric and friendly. We stayed in little traditional mokhoro’s (round huts) big enough for two - three people. Lovely to catch up with the “urban” Mafeteng crew and hear news. Compared to us they have both INTERNET!!! and Shoprite, a well stocked supermarket with cheese!
We hired a combi to take us the 3h journey to the lodge, viewing an amazing sunset over the stunning Lesotho mountains along the way. The beauty of this country is difficult to describe and I wished I could show you some pictures. Hopefully soon…
Saturday we spent on horseback. We rode through beautiful mountain landscapes, up steep ridges and down river passes, to a long drop waterfall for a swim. Here I met a fellow Norwegian randomly! In the afternoon we climbed through a proper “Lion King” landscape with huge rocks and ridges, even an echo cave, to see some 25 000 y old rock paintings. They were not even barred of, so we could go straight over to them and touch. Not overly touristy here!
Another fascinating thing about riding through this landscape is that you realize there are villages around you that blends so perfectly into nature that you can’t see them. People pop up from nowhere, carrying out their daily life, platting each others hair, having a chat with the neighbor or riding to the village for supplies.
Reaching back to the lodge we were pretty knackered and sore bummed after 7 hours of baking sun and newly learnt trotting skills, but a birthday party was still to be had. To cut a long story short, it ended in a very jolly night with lodgers from all over the world joining in on communal sing a songs. I have to say the Welsh and Irish where the most impressive, putting the rest of us to shame with their Folk tunes and choir skills.
Sunday is not too much to say about, apart from that the salty breakfast tasted good and the journey back was painfully long.
… Hope I get to an internet soon as I really miss hearing news from back home and want to update you guys on what I’m up to here.
Salang hantle!
The cannibals – A true story
In the 1800 century poverty was severe in Lesotho and some people chose to become Cannibals to survive. They moved into caves in the mountains and only came down to the villages to catch people for food. The villagers were… understandably… petrified to walk around on their own in fear of becoming today’s special on the menu… and never went out after dark. The story has it that they had a ropes outside their caves attached to catchments nets!!! (Those Donald Duck pocketbook writers had really done their research…) so when it tightened and shook they knew that a new victim was caught.
If you happened to be one of the unlucky ones you had two hopes:
One - If you were a quick runner, you’d be used for catching new food. (I can just picture them sprinting down the mountain, grab a few unfortunate ones and run back up again to put them in the pot).
Two - If you were beautiful, you’d become the Kings new wife. (I guess better than being eaten).
The other day I saw a painting of them. They look pretty grotesque, munching away on their breakfast human skull. A bit more hardcore than Norwegian sheep heads.
… Here I have to add that sharing your lunchbox with colleagues isn’t always the most pleasurable experience, although I’m learning a lot about the local cuisine and generally enjoy it a lot. I am a true believer in eating the entire animal when you’ve first killed it; but I have to say I’m struggling a bit over the chicken necks, intestine tubes (looking VERY similar to worms) and chicken hearts which they so kindly offer me.
*
The Mohale’s Hoek chief came on an unannounced visit today, to check up on our bites and the house (and probably our biscuit tin). Very nice of him!
He cracks me up laughing every time he’s around, sitting there squinting and picking his nose as he’s talking. But really, he is a very lovely and respectful man. He is a retired policeman and is very involved in community issues like teenage drinking, pregnancies and HIV/AIDS.
As the protective dad of 4 girls, he told us that a lebolla (brides price) under 30 cows would not be accepted from his side. The bailers would have to fork out big style. Molikeng, that has helped fixing a few things in the house, were flashing his eyes in the background, mumbling that 10 cows is the going rate and more than enough; he’s still paying installments to his parents in law after a 2 years of marriage.
School’s been ok. Now teaching 2 hours English in Class 1 every day and most days 2 lessons of Art. I’m very pleased to learn how to teach basic reading and writing skills as I’ve never done it before, and the children are learning quickly.
They are quite naughty though, mostly because they’ve realized I’m not going to beat them like the other teachers. It’s hard competing with all the beating, because the children don’t know any other way of punishment. They think everything I do is a game, but slowly and surely they are responding to the “deadly stare” and the “don’t disappoint me” look.
Hopefully my colleagues will take notice and realize there are other methods than the stick, as it is agonizing to see the children being properly smacked around the head and hands or pinched in the arm or ears for very insignificant things.
Looking forward to the weekend when we are celebrating Sue’s birthday at the Malealea Lodge!
If you happened to be one of the unlucky ones you had two hopes:
One - If you were a quick runner, you’d be used for catching new food. (I can just picture them sprinting down the mountain, grab a few unfortunate ones and run back up again to put them in the pot).
Two - If you were beautiful, you’d become the Kings new wife. (I guess better than being eaten).
The other day I saw a painting of them. They look pretty grotesque, munching away on their breakfast human skull. A bit more hardcore than Norwegian sheep heads.
… Here I have to add that sharing your lunchbox with colleagues isn’t always the most pleasurable experience, although I’m learning a lot about the local cuisine and generally enjoy it a lot. I am a true believer in eating the entire animal when you’ve first killed it; but I have to say I’m struggling a bit over the chicken necks, intestine tubes (looking VERY similar to worms) and chicken hearts which they so kindly offer me.
*
The Mohale’s Hoek chief came on an unannounced visit today, to check up on our bites and the house (and probably our biscuit tin). Very nice of him!
He cracks me up laughing every time he’s around, sitting there squinting and picking his nose as he’s talking. But really, he is a very lovely and respectful man. He is a retired policeman and is very involved in community issues like teenage drinking, pregnancies and HIV/AIDS.
As the protective dad of 4 girls, he told us that a lebolla (brides price) under 30 cows would not be accepted from his side. The bailers would have to fork out big style. Molikeng, that has helped fixing a few things in the house, were flashing his eyes in the background, mumbling that 10 cows is the going rate and more than enough; he’s still paying installments to his parents in law after a 2 years of marriage.
School’s been ok. Now teaching 2 hours English in Class 1 every day and most days 2 lessons of Art. I’m very pleased to learn how to teach basic reading and writing skills as I’ve never done it before, and the children are learning quickly.
They are quite naughty though, mostly because they’ve realized I’m not going to beat them like the other teachers. It’s hard competing with all the beating, because the children don’t know any other way of punishment. They think everything I do is a game, but slowly and surely they are responding to the “deadly stare” and the “don’t disappoint me” look.
Hopefully my colleagues will take notice and realize there are other methods than the stick, as it is agonizing to see the children being properly smacked around the head and hands or pinched in the arm or ears for very insignificant things.
Looking forward to the weekend when we are celebrating Sue’s birthday at the Malealea Lodge!
South Africa, water and cannibals.
So, after the shopping spree in South African Bloemfontein, it was a relief getting back to Lesotho. The people are much friendlier and more open here and the natural beauty of this country is unbeatable… saying a girl from Norway. Also I find that the Basotho people live in tune with nature and have a strong community spirit, while Bloemfountein felt a little like being on a Hollywood film set with staged white people living the “perfect” lifestyle… In the middle of Africa. Apparently there have been racially motivated demonstrations recently in this town and it doesn’t surprise me, having felt the atmosphere in this town.
Church is a very important part of people’s life in Lesotho, just as much for the community spirit as the religion I’d say. This is where people meet, and almost every weekend our colleagues will go to either weddings or funerals. Not that I think that many more people get married or die here than back home, but people seem to participate in everyone’s services. “We can’t say no to the free food!” my deputy head explained… That just before we were holding a “St. David’s day” party for our colleagues, hoping for a joint effort on the food front…
God knows how people can afford holding these massive parties, as they are expected to provide the food (which has to be meat) and alcohol for all the guests.
*
It is a relief being back in our house! It feels much cleaner now as we’ve thrown away the heavy dusty curtains, dried flower arrangements and random plastic decorations. New bed sheets and mattresses also helped.
Our posh house has electricity, indoor toilet and hot + cold water compared to our neighbors. They seemed very impressed. The only thing is that our area often has a water shortage because of the many thunderstorms!?! Yeah, with all this water streaming down it doesn’t make sense, but apparently the water pumps are turned off during rainfall because the pumps brake when they get mud stuck in them. And mud there is A LOT OF here. Brings back those happy summer festival feelings, sliding around in flip flops!
Anyway, this means that a lot of the time there is no water at all in the taps, hot or cold, neither in our Water Closet! So, really, we’d probably be better off with an outdoor toilet… We’ve become very good at “showering” in a small bath tub and I decide to not mention the state of our hair. I’ve really started considering dreads! Drinking water we fetch in real African style in big containers at the communal borehole tap by my school.
I don’t mind doing this as we really experience how valuable water is and learn not to waste it.
This weekend Catherine’s friends have visited from UK. It’s been great to read the gossip magz and… ohh… News! There really is a world out there!?!
Today we took our guests for a real taste of Mohale’s Hoek… the Cannibal Caves!
We started up with 8 of us and ended in about 25 people, children and adults joining us on the way. It turned into a great party of games, dancing, songs and cream crackersJ as we reached the caves… so we kind of forgot about the cannibals altogether. Further research need to be done!
Church is a very important part of people’s life in Lesotho, just as much for the community spirit as the religion I’d say. This is where people meet, and almost every weekend our colleagues will go to either weddings or funerals. Not that I think that many more people get married or die here than back home, but people seem to participate in everyone’s services. “We can’t say no to the free food!” my deputy head explained… That just before we were holding a “St. David’s day” party for our colleagues, hoping for a joint effort on the food front…
God knows how people can afford holding these massive parties, as they are expected to provide the food (which has to be meat) and alcohol for all the guests.
*
It is a relief being back in our house! It feels much cleaner now as we’ve thrown away the heavy dusty curtains, dried flower arrangements and random plastic decorations. New bed sheets and mattresses also helped.
Our posh house has electricity, indoor toilet and hot + cold water compared to our neighbors. They seemed very impressed. The only thing is that our area often has a water shortage because of the many thunderstorms!?! Yeah, with all this water streaming down it doesn’t make sense, but apparently the water pumps are turned off during rainfall because the pumps brake when they get mud stuck in them. And mud there is A LOT OF here. Brings back those happy summer festival feelings, sliding around in flip flops!
Anyway, this means that a lot of the time there is no water at all in the taps, hot or cold, neither in our Water Closet! So, really, we’d probably be better off with an outdoor toilet… We’ve become very good at “showering” in a small bath tub and I decide to not mention the state of our hair. I’ve really started considering dreads! Drinking water we fetch in real African style in big containers at the communal borehole tap by my school.
I don’t mind doing this as we really experience how valuable water is and learn not to waste it.
This weekend Catherine’s friends have visited from UK. It’s been great to read the gossip magz and… ohh… News! There really is a world out there!?!
Today we took our guests for a real taste of Mohale’s Hoek… the Cannibal Caves!
We started up with 8 of us and ended in about 25 people, children and adults joining us on the way. It turned into a great party of games, dancing, songs and cream crackersJ as we reached the caves… so we kind of forgot about the cannibals altogether. Further research need to be done!
The bug story – chapter 2
Ok – So it wasn’t animal lice after all!
After internet research in Maseru we decided on bed bugs. Not the easiest bugs to get rid of, apparently, but after all the work done to the house including fumigation, painting, varnishing and carpet cleaning, we hope they are long gone! ALL our clothes have been washed and ironed and we are getting new mattresses and bed sheets. We’re moving back in after a trip to Maseru to renew our visas and a shopping spree in South African Bloemfountein.
On Sunday we were invited to a meeting with the people of Mathlakeng, our neighborhood. It was held on a grassy patch in the end of the village. First hardly anyone turned up because of a torrential thunderstorm, but when the rain had stopped the Chief himself appeared, and we, the four white girls, were sat down on white plastic chairs in the middle of the circle. Proper modern twist tribal style!!! This was followed by a long speech in Sesotho, where people nodded and agreed. We smiled and nodded back, hoping for the best. (…hmm, didn’t they use to have cannibals in this area!!??!) Then we were asked to speak… They seem to accept our smiles and thank you’s, and we were officially welcomed to the area and dismissed from the meeting.
We were taken back to the hotel on the back of Frans, our South African handyman, bakkie. He and his family have been very kind and helpful to us when this bug story really kicked off, and it’s good to know that people are looking out for us, even though we find the Afrikaans way of treating the local people hard to swallow. Hopefully we can influence at least their children a little when it comes to racial equality!
School is good some days and frustrating others. It is hard to teach little 6-7 y olds when you can’t speak their language and they run riots around you. But they are very willing to learn, and respond very quickly to songs and rhythms. Like Norwegians born with skis on their feet, these children must have popped out dancing and singing. They are used to copy everything the teacher says, so I have a class echo every time I open my mouth. Even my mimics are thoroughly copied. Now the little 6 y olds are walking around greeting each other “Hello” “How are you?” “I am very well thank you, and how are you?” in a high pitch voice. Comic!
Sometimes I think the children make bets on us whities, as we experience children running up to us to touch the “mohora’s” skin, then sprinting away giggling. We’ve also heard that our hair is worth 10 rand a straw, as it is used in traditional medicine to make people rich! Great to know in case our funds run low… but thinking of my financial situation at home I’m worried the medicine will turn out to be a bad batch.
I hope you are all fine! I have to admit that I feel homesick now and again and that I miss you all, even though it is a great adventure being here.
x
After internet research in Maseru we decided on bed bugs. Not the easiest bugs to get rid of, apparently, but after all the work done to the house including fumigation, painting, varnishing and carpet cleaning, we hope they are long gone! ALL our clothes have been washed and ironed and we are getting new mattresses and bed sheets. We’re moving back in after a trip to Maseru to renew our visas and a shopping spree in South African Bloemfountein.
On Sunday we were invited to a meeting with the people of Mathlakeng, our neighborhood. It was held on a grassy patch in the end of the village. First hardly anyone turned up because of a torrential thunderstorm, but when the rain had stopped the Chief himself appeared, and we, the four white girls, were sat down on white plastic chairs in the middle of the circle. Proper modern twist tribal style!!! This was followed by a long speech in Sesotho, where people nodded and agreed. We smiled and nodded back, hoping for the best. (…hmm, didn’t they use to have cannibals in this area!!??!) Then we were asked to speak… They seem to accept our smiles and thank you’s, and we were officially welcomed to the area and dismissed from the meeting.
We were taken back to the hotel on the back of Frans, our South African handyman, bakkie. He and his family have been very kind and helpful to us when this bug story really kicked off, and it’s good to know that people are looking out for us, even though we find the Afrikaans way of treating the local people hard to swallow. Hopefully we can influence at least their children a little when it comes to racial equality!
School is good some days and frustrating others. It is hard to teach little 6-7 y olds when you can’t speak their language and they run riots around you. But they are very willing to learn, and respond very quickly to songs and rhythms. Like Norwegians born with skis on their feet, these children must have popped out dancing and singing. They are used to copy everything the teacher says, so I have a class echo every time I open my mouth. Even my mimics are thoroughly copied. Now the little 6 y olds are walking around greeting each other “Hello” “How are you?” “I am very well thank you, and how are you?” in a high pitch voice. Comic!
Sometimes I think the children make bets on us whities, as we experience children running up to us to touch the “mohora’s” skin, then sprinting away giggling. We’ve also heard that our hair is worth 10 rand a straw, as it is used in traditional medicine to make people rich! Great to know in case our funds run low… but thinking of my financial situation at home I’m worried the medicine will turn out to be a bad batch.
I hope you are all fine! I have to admit that I feel homesick now and again and that I miss you all, even though it is a great adventure being here.
x
Saturday, February 2, 2008
First teaching week
My first experience teaching the young ones (6-7 y) today. Interesting! They don’t understand a lot of English, so I’m becoming very good at singing silly songs and doing clapping games. I love the art lessons! It is becoming clear that the children are NOT used to using their creativity and independent thought in school (picture our schools 50-100 years ago), so the challenge will be to “defrost” them a little and getting them to believe in their own thoughts and ideas.
My principle started first day in school reading out a letter from the Chief of Mohale’s Hoek pleading the pupils to stay away from drinking and unhealthy living. (Same guy that was pissed when he came to our house) She also told the teachers not to use corporal punishment, something very common here BUT actually illegal. Already seen a few slaps, and the stick is out most of the time! As adults, so children…I have had to lay down the rule in my classes… any child that hits, beats or kicks another will not be taught by me!
So far our experience with the wildlife of Africa has encountered the Wild Life of crawling insects in our rooms. The problem has become more serious as the week has passed. First Danielle and me got covered in rashes, something we though was an allergic reaction to new bacterias, but then Rachel and Catherine got them too. We were told by the doctor it was bed bugs! …and yes we had to admit we had seen a few crawling creatures. So, we got the house fumigated, but it didn’t seem to work. Things were still crawling around. Then our South African lock fitter came to the house. He stated that the little darlings were not bed bugs but animal lice!!!!!!!!!!! … and that we should get ourselves out of this house as soon as possible! Our organization has now moved us into the posh… and only… hotel in town, while our house and all our belongings are thoroughly poisoned and washed, the walls painted and carpets rinsed!
In the weekend we are going to Maseru to watch England-Wales playing rugby and shop for new bedding and mattresses and hopefully in the start of next week we’ll be back on track again. The very good thing that’s come out of this week is that we’ve met a bunch of very kind, helpful and reliable people, so we feel very safe and looked after. We’ve also had a chance to hang out by a pool, get a sun tan and eat lovely foodJ.
So don’t worry about us back home! We are in good spirit and are looking forward to new (but hopefully less crawly) adventures.
Miss you all!
My first experience teaching the young ones (6-7 y) today. Interesting! They don’t understand a lot of English, so I’m becoming very good at singing silly songs and doing clapping games. I love the art lessons! It is becoming clear that the children are NOT used to using their creativity and independent thought in school (picture our schools 50-100 years ago), so the challenge will be to “defrost” them a little and getting them to believe in their own thoughts and ideas.
My principle started first day in school reading out a letter from the Chief of Mohale’s Hoek pleading the pupils to stay away from drinking and unhealthy living. (Same guy that was pissed when he came to our house) She also told the teachers not to use corporal punishment, something very common here BUT actually illegal. Already seen a few slaps, and the stick is out most of the time! As adults, so children…I have had to lay down the rule in my classes… any child that hits, beats or kicks another will not be taught by me!
So far our experience with the wildlife of Africa has encountered the Wild Life of crawling insects in our rooms. The problem has become more serious as the week has passed. First Danielle and me got covered in rashes, something we though was an allergic reaction to new bacterias, but then Rachel and Catherine got them too. We were told by the doctor it was bed bugs! …and yes we had to admit we had seen a few crawling creatures. So, we got the house fumigated, but it didn’t seem to work. Things were still crawling around. Then our South African lock fitter came to the house. He stated that the little darlings were not bed bugs but animal lice!!!!!!!!!!! … and that we should get ourselves out of this house as soon as possible! Our organization has now moved us into the posh… and only… hotel in town, while our house and all our belongings are thoroughly poisoned and washed, the walls painted and carpets rinsed!
In the weekend we are going to Maseru to watch England-Wales playing rugby and shop for new bedding and mattresses and hopefully in the start of next week we’ll be back on track again. The very good thing that’s come out of this week is that we’ve met a bunch of very kind, helpful and reliable people, so we feel very safe and looked after. We’ve also had a chance to hang out by a pool, get a sun tan and eat lovely foodJ.
So don’t worry about us back home! We are in good spirit and are looking forward to new (but hopefully less crawly) adventures.
Miss you all!
Arriving Mohale’s Hoek
We arrived to our house in Mohale’s Hoek during one of the many torrential rainstorms here. Under the thunder and lightning we ran with all our bags and suitcases, while our drivers/helpers were having a nap in the front seat of the combi (minibus type car). Great, big house, and all fine after Me Lineo, our Lesotho-Wales Link representative, talked our landlady out of having her sister living in our garage!
Our neighborhood is very welcoming. Colleagues, neighbors and pupils are all looking out for us and we are not often left alone in the house… or when we go shopping. We’ve got many new friends, especially round dinner time, but people are also very good at sharing and are opening their homes for us any time.
A few days ago we had the Chief himself coming to meet us. Very comic, as he’d obviously had a good few drinks before coming and didn’t make too much senseJ.
The first day in town we were taken straight to the District Administrators office (picture a scene from “The Last King of Scotland”), as well as the police station and a meeting in the District Education Office. All to the benefit of our safety! And safe we feel, especially after receiving 4 emergency numbers to the police, in case we can’t get through on one of them…
The first week in school has been painfully slow, as the teachers don’t do their planning before the children arrive. This meaning the children are left to themselves a lot of the time. I’ve spent the week observing different classes, trying to learn the teacher’s names (with little luck so far… Me Moroahae, Me Matumelo, Me Mararararhaholololol… you get the idea…)
A little action satisfaction Thursday morning, as the Honorable Minister of Education herself decides to pay our school a visit. Teachers and pupils clean franticly, only to hear a few hours later that she will not come until the next day!?!! TIA (this is Africa).
Tomorrow I will start teaching. English in Standard 1 and Art in all classes. I am excited to see how the children will react to me, as so far they giggle shyly and don’t dear looking me in the eyes.
Until next time. Sala hantle! Go well.
We arrived to our house in Mohale’s Hoek during one of the many torrential rainstorms here. Under the thunder and lightning we ran with all our bags and suitcases, while our drivers/helpers were having a nap in the front seat of the combi (minibus type car). Great, big house, and all fine after Me Lineo, our Lesotho-Wales Link representative, talked our landlady out of having her sister living in our garage!
Our neighborhood is very welcoming. Colleagues, neighbors and pupils are all looking out for us and we are not often left alone in the house… or when we go shopping. We’ve got many new friends, especially round dinner time, but people are also very good at sharing and are opening their homes for us any time.
A few days ago we had the Chief himself coming to meet us. Very comic, as he’d obviously had a good few drinks before coming and didn’t make too much senseJ.
The first day in town we were taken straight to the District Administrators office (picture a scene from “The Last King of Scotland”), as well as the police station and a meeting in the District Education Office. All to the benefit of our safety! And safe we feel, especially after receiving 4 emergency numbers to the police, in case we can’t get through on one of them…
The first week in school has been painfully slow, as the teachers don’t do their planning before the children arrive. This meaning the children are left to themselves a lot of the time. I’ve spent the week observing different classes, trying to learn the teacher’s names (with little luck so far… Me Moroahae, Me Matumelo, Me Mararararhaholololol… you get the idea…)
A little action satisfaction Thursday morning, as the Honorable Minister of Education herself decides to pay our school a visit. Teachers and pupils clean franticly, only to hear a few hours later that she will not come until the next day!?!! TIA (this is Africa).
Tomorrow I will start teaching. English in Standard 1 and Art in all classes. I am excited to see how the children will react to me, as so far they giggle shyly and don’t dear looking me in the eyes.
Until next time. Sala hantle! Go well.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
First update
First little update!
We’ve arrived safe and sound in Maseru.
At the moment we are staying in the Scripture Union Centre where we’ve had 3 days of training. We’re now fluent in Sesotho, saying “Good day, madam. How are you?” and “I’m fine, thank you.” to everyone we meet, receiving mostly giggles and great smiles. We’ve also learnt about Lesotho’s history, culture, customs, HIV/AIDS and the socio economic challenges of the country.
Yesterday we had a day off and went to see the Mohale Dam in the mountains. Water is gathered here to make electricity for the country and are later sold and transported in underground pipes to South Africa. Our Basotho mums, Me Chabalala and Me Flora had brought lovely lunch for us (as well as a little stop at Nando’sJ)
The four hours car journey took us through the breathtaking nature of Lesotho “The Mountain Kingdom”. High mountains rising up from the green fields of crops, deep ridges and rivers, little villages scattered around in the valleys and hills. Absolutely beautiful! We drove up to 3000 m above sea level and still the mountains stretched higher!
On Friday we met our principals to discuss what classes and subjects we will be responsible for. So far I’m the English teacher for Standard 1 (Class1-Y ish 7), 95 pupils!!! Apparently we’ll split them into two groups, I’m having my fingers crossed! Also I’ll be teaching Art in ALL the classes, yeahh, and support other teachers in science and SEN (special needs) teaching. I’m very happy with that!
We are departing tomorrow (Sunday) to our new homes in Mafeteng and Mohale’s Hoek, so today we have been shopping our essentials in the capital and even had time to be interviewed on Lesotho National TV evening news! So, we’re NOT succeeding in hiding very well. Monday we are scheduled to meet the Chief of the town and the police AND a plead was sent out by our Lesotho representative on the news to people of the village to look after us, so I think security is as high as we can get it!
I’ve heard that our house has a large garden with crops, running water and electricity, so I’m looking forward to getting there now and settling in to my new “normal” life. My school is only 200m from our house and our next door neighbor will be my principal, so if you need to get hold of me here are the alternative phone numbers. School address for parcels:
My mobile: 00266 (country code) 63 25 35 87.
From Britain you can call 0871 343 1616 before this number and it will be much cheaper.
My principal, Me Anna Moroahae, home number: 00266 22 78 08 58
School address:
Mohale’s Hoek English Medium School
PO Box 393
Mohale’s Hoek
800, Lesotho
Tel: 00266 22 78 53 66
We’ve arrived safe and sound in Maseru.
At the moment we are staying in the Scripture Union Centre where we’ve had 3 days of training. We’re now fluent in Sesotho, saying “Good day, madam. How are you?” and “I’m fine, thank you.” to everyone we meet, receiving mostly giggles and great smiles. We’ve also learnt about Lesotho’s history, culture, customs, HIV/AIDS and the socio economic challenges of the country.
Yesterday we had a day off and went to see the Mohale Dam in the mountains. Water is gathered here to make electricity for the country and are later sold and transported in underground pipes to South Africa. Our Basotho mums, Me Chabalala and Me Flora had brought lovely lunch for us (as well as a little stop at Nando’sJ)
The four hours car journey took us through the breathtaking nature of Lesotho “The Mountain Kingdom”. High mountains rising up from the green fields of crops, deep ridges and rivers, little villages scattered around in the valleys and hills. Absolutely beautiful! We drove up to 3000 m above sea level and still the mountains stretched higher!
On Friday we met our principals to discuss what classes and subjects we will be responsible for. So far I’m the English teacher for Standard 1 (Class1-Y ish 7), 95 pupils!!! Apparently we’ll split them into two groups, I’m having my fingers crossed! Also I’ll be teaching Art in ALL the classes, yeahh, and support other teachers in science and SEN (special needs) teaching. I’m very happy with that!
We are departing tomorrow (Sunday) to our new homes in Mafeteng and Mohale’s Hoek, so today we have been shopping our essentials in the capital and even had time to be interviewed on Lesotho National TV evening news! So, we’re NOT succeeding in hiding very well. Monday we are scheduled to meet the Chief of the town and the police AND a plead was sent out by our Lesotho representative on the news to people of the village to look after us, so I think security is as high as we can get it!
I’ve heard that our house has a large garden with crops, running water and electricity, so I’m looking forward to getting there now and settling in to my new “normal” life. My school is only 200m from our house and our next door neighbor will be my principal, so if you need to get hold of me here are the alternative phone numbers. School address for parcels:
My mobile: 00266 (country code) 63 25 35 87.
From Britain you can call 0871 343 1616 before this number and it will be much cheaper.
My principal, Me Anna Moroahae, home number: 00266 22 78 08 58
School address:
Mohale’s Hoek English Medium School
PO Box 393
Mohale’s Hoek
800, Lesotho
Tel: 00266 22 78 53 66
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