Category Archives: Living

They are hope

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It’s the stereotypical story, and all too common, of the young adult in the third world nation.

A young girl, coming from a broken home but with enough intelligence for a bright future, meets a boy. He, also smart, skips school and runs with the wrong crowd. Soon she is pregnant and both of their futures are much dimmer. They drop out of school and live at home, stretching family support as much as possible and understanding that their dreams of being different than the rest have now collapsed.

You want it to have a happy ending, but it often doesn’t. Instead the ending is riddled with poverty, disease and, eventually, death. Or so they tell you.

A few weeks earlier I noticed that two of my Form B students – the equivalent of 9th grade – stopped coming to school. The boy is an occasional attendee as it is and far too influenced by his bad-behaving friends. He has a new girlfriend each week along with an excuse for his unfinished homework. He could be smart, but he doesn’t want to be.

The girl is a double orphan, living with another family. She is quiet, yet smart. Her family situation and intelligence earned a government scholarship until she completes the final year of high school. A few journal assignments revealed that her home life is not very good and she may be depressed.

After a few absences I asked others in the class why they were no longer attending Married, they said. And then I asked the question that I already knew the answer to: “Is she with child?” I said, making the outline of pregnant belly with my hand.

Yes.

It hit me hard. This girl needed to be in school. She wants to be a nurse. She deserves a good life. She isn’t ready to be a mother, but is any 18 year old? The other teachers assured me this happens often, but that didn’t make me feel better. Those other girls are someone else’s student. She is mine. What could I’ve done to prevent this? Did I fail her?

Sure, that’s putting too much pressure on myself, but I came here to do something. Maybe I couldn’t prevent it, but I could at least attempt to help in the aftermath.

The principal told me that the parents had been called – the guardian for the girl – and were told that the students should still continue with school. But because our school is a church school, the two teenagers should marry and present a certificate of that marriage. The principal encouraged them to do a traditional marriage over a church one because it takes less time and money. The church one, she said, could come later.

The students still didn’t come to school and other students said that they had not officially married, in either the traditional or church sense.

I decided I should talk to them and asked a few students, who live in the same village, to accompany me there. One day after school we walked the 40-minutes to their small village. I was nervous. Who am I to intervene in their personal life and was nervous they would not appreciate the unexpected house call.

The girl now lives with the boy and his grandfather and sister (his mother works elsewhere and sends money home). The boy was at a neighbor’s when we arrived but saw us coming and greeted us at the door. He was a bit shocked to see me. I said I came to visit him and the girl.

The girl came out of a small hut near the main house. Her appearance threw me off. Instead of the usual school uniform, she was wearing a sweater, pants, blanket wrapped around her waist and a headscarf. She seemed older. Another teacher later told me that this is the attire of married women and her dress is indication of her change in relationship status.

“We miss you,” I began. My hands were shaking, but I told myself I couldn’t let the thoughts of what was happening stop me from doing it.

I told them that it didn’t matter why they are not in school, but they need to come back. Their futures depended on it. It was a bit awkward because my two escorts were there and the students were nervous to talk about it in front of them knowing it would be the next day’s gossip.

Seeing their hesitation, I pulled the girl aside.

“Are you with child?” I asked.

“Yes, Madame,” she said diverting eyes downward.

“Why have you stopped coming to school?”

“Because it is my first and the other students will laugh at me.”

“Yes, they probably will. But that will stop after a few days. However, you having an education will make your child’s life better. To be a good mother, you need to go to school.”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

I then told her that she could come to me if she needed any help. I would even go to the clinic with her.

They were still uneasy with my presence so I said goodbye and hoped that I would see them soon. On Monday, they promised.

They didn’t come Monday, or the next day or the next day. A full week elapsed and I was positive that they had decided to drop out.

Today was the first day of exams and, although I didn’t need to be there because it was not my day to oversee the test taking, I came to school anyway to finish up preparing my tests and work on a few Peace Corps projects. I was returning from the toilet as the students started to make their way from their classrooms to the testing area.

“Hello, Madame” he said with a giant smile.

At first I failed to recognize my greeter, then I saw him. It was the boy. I leaped to give him a hug, screaming, “You are here!”

“Yes, I am here.”

I then asked if the girl was here and he pointed to her. I ran across the school grounds, yelling in delight. The other students started to laugh but pointed her out to me. I gave her a hug.

“I am so happy you are here,” I said.

Typically shy, she said a quiet, “yes” behind a soft smile.

I walked back to the teacher’s room and had to hold back the tears. They came back.

Another teacher told me they arrived yesterday, but I was attending to work in Maseru so did not meet them. They presented a letter of marriage and, although not signed, the principal accepted it and said they could write their exams.

I have no idea if my visit did anything to persuade them but I don’t care. All I care is that they came back. They wanted to finish their schooling and they are. Their story is different and the potential for their happy ending still glows.

In this job of ups and downs, frustration and uselessness, these are the moments that keep pushing your forward. In every essence, they are hope.

America Time

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The Peace Corps Volunteer job comes with lots of frustration and loneliness and the best, sometimes the only, remedy is America Time.

America Time is when PCVs get together to watch American movies and television and cook meals that aren’t readily found in our village life. Many times it’s nothing more than a single night of beers and swapping stories from the work zone, but it’s often the refresher one needs to get through the next week.

In the last month I’ve been out of village exactly four times – two were sports days with my students (post on that is coming later this week) and don’t really count, one was a Peace Corps committee meeting and the other a movie date with Hannah. They were all day trips and didn’t extend beyond 12 hours. Like a new mother, I needed a night out.

Our country director, a former volunteer, is pretty great about allowing us an occasional night out of village for this precious America Time. Early last week I sent out a desperate message to my closest neighbors about the need for a get together. Thankfully for my sanity, they agreed and we made plans for that Friday.

When I walked into another volunteer’s house  – after getting lost along the way and being forced to give some bo-me my popcorn in exchange for a guide to his house – Grant and Evan were huddled around three screens: one with an early ’90s version of NBA Jams, another with Tosh.O and the third with some type of kung fu movie. I grabbed a Black Label and collapsed on the couch next to Hannah to share gossip and frustrations. Ariana showed up a bit later and the five of us spent the night discussing TV shows, books, the PC life and whatever else seemed appropriate at the time.

The next morning we woke up and headed to the mall in town. The mall seems like cheating in the hard-knock volunteer life, but I am fortunate to often have a small escape into the first world because I only live a few hours away. In two floors it houses an Apple Bee’s-like restaurant called Spur, fast food joints such as KFC, the best grocery store in the country, an Old Navy-type clothing shop, an office store great for markers and poster board, a movie theatre, a spa that I could never afford on my volunteer salary and a few house-hold item department stores. They also have an ATM, which allows me to avoid dreaded trips to the bank, and real bathrooms, which is a nice treat when you are accustomed to latrines.

Because it can be expensive, I don’t often eat at one of the restaurants and opt for something from the grocery store or a pizza. But it had been a long time since I was in town and with friends so we decided to stop at Renaissance, a charming café with decent coffee. We ordered up greasy breakfasts like the ones I long for from Fryin’ Pan or Cooks.

At 11, Evan, Hannah and I went to the lower level to catch the early show of “The Hunger Games.” I didn’t know anything about this movie (apart from that it is a book and there was a ridiculous explosion on Twitter and Facebook when it opened in The States) but anything is good in this theatre. Hannah and I’s first time there was to see “New Year’s Eve” – a likely terrible movie at home, but here it made us cry, laugh and deeply miss America. Movies treats that I will splurge on because they don’t make me feel so foreign and act almost like a temporary portal to home.

After the movie – which I did enjoy – we went to the grocery store. I browsed the aisles, dreaming of what I wanted to buy and I what I actually could on my volunteer salary. Still, I filled up four sacks, all of my necessities for the next month, including popcorn, lentils, ground coffee and soup packets. For some reason, like the movies, grocery stores make me think of home and wandering Hy-Vee at 11 p.m. on Sunday nights.

Once satisfied with the amount of retail therapy, Hannah and I went to the PC office to meet Grant and take advantage of the somewhat fast Internet. The office is the only place we can stream online videos so we watched “The Five Year Engagement” trailer because I am mildly obsessed with Jason Segel.

Before heading to our respective villages, the three of us went to a hidden gem we lovingly refer to as box-box and drank one more Black Label. We huddled into this small shelter built of sticks, plastic bags and boxes with some bo-ntate while a man serenaded us with cooing and light guitar.

In America all of these things are normal day activities, but in my village life they are luxuries. These 24 hours of American-like activities felt like a mini-vacation, one I desperately needed.

But, luxuries are only great because you don’t get them every day. As much as I miss some of America’s conveniences, I like the idea for an extended time away from them, living a life beyond the one I always knew. It makes me see the world in a simpler view and, when I do get to go to the movies, eat in a restaurant, chat in fast American English and shop in a grocery store, I am amazed and struck by wonder that these things were once the norm to me. And that’s kind of a fun way to live.

 

“Why did you join the Peace Corps?”

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My most recent column for the Capital Journal

I’ve never had a definite answer to the question, ”Why did you decide to join the Peace Corps?”

“To help people” and “to see the world” are my most used answers but neither really sum up why I am here.

Peace Corps was something I casually considered in college but, with the encouragement of looming school loan payments, I chose employment. Yet, the desire to serve overseas never went away, even as I did a slight career change from newspapers to non-profit. Eventually, I realized that if I didn’t join the Peace Corps I would regret it and even pictured myself on my deathbed saying, “I wish I would have.”

To become a volunteer, I gave up a lot, more than just fancy coffee drinks and hot showers. I had a great job, a furnished apartment, an active social life and close proximity to my family. That all changed in order to reside in a third-world country and live on $9.13 day.

Four months into my 27-month commitment, there are days when I do ask myself why I am here. Many volunteers join under the premise that they will “change the world” but the reality hits quickly that won’t happen. As I become more familiar with my school and village, I’ve realized that the big issues – poverty and the devastation of HIV and AIDS – are not things I can fix. I am just one person here for a short time and, eventually, I will return to my privileged life in the United States. What good can I possibly do?

Since the beginning of the school year, I noticed one student constantly behind. He often fell asleep and rarely cared to take notes. After class one day, I pulled him aside and asked him what was going on. He said he had a hard time understanding me through my accent and was unable to keep up with the lesson. I told him to always come to me when he didn’t understand something and that I believed in him.

The next week, I gave the students an assignment on tenses and expected that he would struggle the most of my 23 students. But, he surprised me. He had a few simple mistakes, but really understood the concept and put more effort into it than I had seen all year. Maybe I didn’t do anything, but something snapped within him.

As I try to grasp my role as a volunteer and in the village, I know the real reason I am here is because of that one student. I may do nothing else of importance in my service, but to see a slight improvement in just one person is enough to make the world better. For two years, it is worth all that I gave up to be here and serve my country as a volunteer.

March 1 is International Peace Corps Day and I am wildly proud to be part of this organization. Wherever I go and whatever I do beyond Lesotho, I will carry this experience. I am tied to Peace Corps for the rest of my life.

 

 

 

Teenagers

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When I was a teenager I had a car, a cell phone and my own room with a television and phone.

I was part of the cross country, track and swim teams. I was an editor for the school newspaper and a member of the yearbook, National Honor Society, choir and band. I had a part-time job that paid for gas, fashionable clothes and popcorn chicken from the gas station down the street from my high school.

My biggest worries were science tests, whether or not I overdrew on my checking (which I did A LOT) and why my so-called friend wasn’t talking to me. At the time, my problems felt insurmountable. Yet, I didn’t drink, do drugs or have sex. I lived with my both of my parents inside a warm house. I got good grades, traveled around the state and to a few major U.S. cities with school organizations, wore a letterman jacket plump with athletic honors and went to prom. Eventually, I won several scholarships and went off to college. I had a pretty nice run at the teenager years.

My Basotho students, who range form 12 – 21, only use computers in their typing class and don’t know the ends of the Internet like American teenagers. Some walk two to three hours one way to school, no matter the weather. They eat the same dry maize and oily vegetables for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Their only activities are dedicated sport time two hours a week. When not in school, they must look after animals or do the family’s washing. Some have lost their parents to HIV/AIDs and must scramble to pay fees. Some could eventually become prostitutes to earn money. Teenage pregnancy and overuse of drugs and alcohol are problems they share with American teenagers, but here they aren’t some local news story to scare parents into caring or a show on MTV. It’s a fact not talked about.

My students worry about being left alone to fulfill their own basic needs while students. They worry about were the money will come for their education. They worry about not ever breaking out of poverty and fulfilling their dreams. They worry that one day HIV/AIDs will carve their grave too.

They don’t think these things are abnormal. They act like immature teenagers, flirting with each other and laughing while a teacher is disciplining them. They frustrate me the way American teenagers would if I was there teacher. They don’t know life any different and it makes me cry thinking they never will. And yet, they act happier than I ever did.

Happy International Peace Corps Day!

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Every morning I walk through a pile of horse crap to get to my latrine, which is infested with insects I can’t identify.

I barely remember the last time I took a shower or the actual color of my feet.

Last week, a drunk man passed out on me in a taxi. A day before, I was on a taxi that came to a screeching halt when the wheel and axle flew off.

At least a dozen times a day I catch someone staring at me, and not just a casual glance but a full-on, mouth-open stare that often lasts as long as I am in the persons peripheral.

A rooster wakes me up each morning and, thanks to the dozens of animals that roam my yard, my roommates are hundreds of flies.

The other day I wanted to do a track workout and shared an inside joke with myself, both signs that my sanity may have walked out the door.

Still, this is the best job I’ve ever had.

When I landed in Philadelphia for staging of my Niger service, I was filled with intense emotions. As I passed through the terminals to get to baggage claim, I came across a poster for Peace Corps. “Never start a sentence with ‘I wish I would have …’” it said. It was a sign that I was on the right path.

Despite all that I been through with Peace Corps, I’ve never been more proud to belong to an organization. The PCV behind my name means more to me than anything else I’ve accomplished in my life and it’s something no one can take from me, not even Al-Qaeda.

Within my 10 and half combined (Niger and Lesotho) months in Peace Corps, I met incredible Americans and Africans. I’ve learned three languages and how to do daily chores without the conveniences of modern technology. I’ve been more engaged with the world and myself. Mostly, I feel like I am contributing something to humanity.

It’s not easy and some days do end in tears, but I’ve never had substantial doubt that I shouldn’t be here. This is right.

Today is International Peace Corps Day and I’m blessed to be one of the lucky few to call themselves a Peace Corps Volunteers. To all of my fellow PCVs and RPCVs, you are an amazing group and I’m humbled to be included with you. You make the world better.