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.
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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!
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