Tag Archives: Peace Corps life

A daily outfit

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This morning I planned to go to school for a few hours to do some work on my computer while it charges. I just threw on some clothes, knowing I would bathe later.

Later on in the day I noticed that each piece of clothing carried some type of significance.

My shoes were an old running pair that I bought hours after completing my first half marathon last May.

The jeans came from a market in Rabat. I bought them with a cold weather allowance when Peace Corps Niger was evacuated and I knew I was returning to blizzard-infested South Dakota where my cotton skirts were not going to cut it.

My pale blue jacket had the South Dakota State University Jackrabbit embroidered on the left chest corner. I bought it with a gift card to the University Bookstore that I received when I was given an employee-of-the-month type award at the Foundation a few years ago.

And my scarf, a faded orange, was bought in Niamey, Niger, during my stay for Stephanie’s memorial. It was sort of retail therapy.

All of these things represent different pieces of my life, but when they come together they are a mismatched lot. Thinking about it now, “mismatched lot” is a perfect way to describe me.  A friend lovingly once said, “I think a put-together Heather would be boring.” I agree.

I like the idea that these things are all more than just an assortment of items pulled off the sales rack or were purchased on a regular day. Someday, I want a home full of everything that reminds me of a person or represents a special moment in my life. I rarely buy art or jewelry unless I am traveling. I don’t want something because I liked it; I want it because there is a story behind it.

Through this experience I am getting to know myself better and understanding what makes me happy. And with that I make smarter choices on how I want to live my life by what I do, buy, eat, where, read, watch, ect. It’s exhilarating and gives me a lot of hope in the person I’ll be at the end of this – the real version of me.

In the meantime these random pieces of clothes make me smile because they remind me of how far I’ve come. They remind me of me.

Sports Day

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A recent edition of my column for The Capital Journal.

t was nearing dusk as our worn bus tore through the low lands, trying to reach our village before all light was gone. It had been a long weekend – my school’s students had competed in a two-day sports competition and lost every match they played. Still, through the exhaustion and sweat-soaked clothes, they were dancing and singing like champions.

Just the chance to compete was worth celebrating.

At this past weekend sports events, my school joined a handful of others to compete in several events, however we only managed teams for boys’ soccer and netball, which is similar to basketball but without dribbling and only for girls. In each game they were overmatched. Every team had bigger players, shinier uniforms and larger cheering sections. My students looked like underdogs from those inspirational sports movies, yet with no Hollywood influence, they were not the Cinderella story.

But the losses seemed to barely faze them. Their faces flinched for a second after the final whistle but soon their were clapping and smiling.

As I’ve said before in this space, students in Lesotho live a hard life. In addition to their studies, many of them are responsible for much of the housework, such as cooking, washing and caring for animals. Many have lost a parent or both and have to travel long distances by foot to and from school each day. They get little time to be teenagers compared to their peers in America. Yet, scheduled sports time is their two hours a week to run around and forget about whatever else challenges them.

In a small way I can relate.

In the third grade a few girls at an after school activity were teasing me for having a “pillow stomach.” I went home that night and cried and dreaded each time I had to go back to that activity. The next year I asked my parents if I could swap those lessons for something else, swimming.

My confidence jumped when I joined the swim team. I could wash away bullies and school problems in the pool. For 10 years, swimming allowed me to be myself and have fun. It encouraged me to try other sports, including cross country which led to a life-long passion for running. It sprouted a courage within that would allow me to take big leaps later on in life, such as join the Peace Corps.

Watching my students compete reminded me all of my swimming and cross country meets. I felt awful that they couldn’t muster a win, but I usually didn’t either. Still, those competitions are some of favorite memories. Doing it was enough.

We often judge ourselves by the numbers of wins and losses, yet we forget that the real gift comes from the participation. Those two days were the happiest I’ve ever seen my students. They didn’t care if they lost 9-0. They were getting a break from life.

With half our trip left I joined their singing and dancing. Maybe my students won’t gain the same things that I did from sports but I know they got something, the main idea of athletics – the chance to have fun.

Sesotho

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NOTE: The following is an April installment of my column for the Capital Journal, the newspaper of my hometown and my former employer. There are a few that ran that month that I haven’t posted but will in the next coming weeks. The column runs bi-weekly as part of the Dakota Voices series on the opinion page. 

Ke bua Sesotho hanyenyane fééla.

That is a phrase I utter at least once a day. It literally means, “I speak Sesotho a little only.”

Lesotho’s national language is English, but the most spoken is Sesotho. During training all volunteers are required to learn the language and be able to easily communicated needs and wants before swearing in.

Many Basotho, the people of Lesotho, do speak English but not all. British English is taught starting at grade 4 and continues until the end of high school. Each student must pass English – if a student fails English but passes all other classes he still fails. Many people drop out after primary school, when education is free, or during secondary and high school because of the need to work, care for family or early pregnancy. In my village of 1,000, about a quarter of them speak English.

At school I encourage students to speak English, even outside of class. They often don’t like to oblige. Even my teachers, who speak fairly proficient English, will go back and forth between the two languages in one conversation without noticing the jump. Sometimes it’s just much easier to communicate in your mother tongue.

I understand that.

Most times I prefer to talk to those who speak English because my Sesotho is so limited that I can’t get beyond greetings, the weather and a few actions. With an English speaker, I can have a nice conversation and feel more connected to that person.

When my students and teachers ask me why I do not speak Sesotho, I tell them that it is more important for them to learn English than it is for me to speak Sesotho. Technically, that is true. I’ll never speak Sesotho beyond my service, unless with other former volunteers, but they’ll need English for university and to get a good job.

Still, that is a terrible way to embrace this foreign experience. By learning more Sesotho I can have better conversations with the men and women in my village, therefore, creating better relationships and work opportunities. This experience is once-in-a-lifetime and to not learn the language because it’s easier to speak my own is a waste.

Sesotho is not an easy language; some of the letters make clicking sounds that my native English tongue cannot recreate. Yet I can do more to learn it. I can practice sentence structure and the position of adjectives and pronouns while trading a bit of novel time for Sesotho study. It is difficult, but not nearly as complex as French, which I had to learn during my Niger service.

In my sixth month, I find myself trying more to go beyond hello with the Sesotho speakers. It’s rarely eloquent, but that doesn’t matter. I’ll never be proficient, but to try means something. It shows respect and Basotho are often thrilled when they hear me even utter a few words.

I don’t care if I will never speak Sesotho after 2013, it is important now and, therefore, important overall. Plus, back in the United States, it will make a neat party trick.

 

Lesotho vs. Niger

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In general I like to answer people’s questions about Lesotho and my life and work here. Whether through email or letters, I like to share my world with them and enjoy fulfilling their curiosity with anecdotes of everyday life.

Yet, there is one question I really don’t like: “Do you like it more than Niger?” Or the varied, “How does it compare to Niger?”

Yes, both countries are in Africa but they are utterly different, so is my experience. I thought maybe I would try to spell that out in a blog post, mostly for my sake.

In a few weeks I will be going to my Phase III training, the equivalent point at which my service in Niger ended. My time in both countries will then be equal but Lesotho will past that and my Peace Corps experience will be defined by time here with Niger as a side bar.

Looking back at my time in Niger compared to what I am currently living in Lesotho, it seems that this experience is much tougher. It could be I will forever look at Niger with rose-colored glasses because of how I left that country or that I feel the struggles of Lesotho because they are happening right now, but I don’t remember this many lows in those moments at site in Niger. I maybe had them but they don’t stick compared to what I feel right now.

Does that mean that I would rather leave Lesotho and go back to Niger? No. I do really enjoy it here. Lesotho is much easier on the eyes than Niger, with beautiful mountain and lush, rolling green pastures. Then desert has its own beauty but it can’t live up to this.

Despite that both countries rank high on the list of the world’s poorest, Lesotho is above and beyond Niger. For example, my school actually has classroom compared to the school in DanTchiao, which was made of sticks and thatch and the students sat on plastic bags. My students here have desks and even have a computer lab. They still don’t books and I look up most of my lessons on the Internet, the teaching conditions are much more favorable. Because the structure is better, I have the ability to do more. In DanTchiao I spent time looking for projects but here I have an actual job I go to every day and really have the potential to make a bigger impact than I ever did in Niger.

I also have electricity and better access to water. I still have to walk outside for phone calls but it’s far better than the 10-minute walk in Niger. Also, I have access to more and better foods. In my village I can buy tomatoes, potatoes, onions and cabbage or take a taxi to Maseru and get almost anything I want, including cheese. In my Niger village the only fresh food I could get was potatoes and oranges. Trips to Zinder allowed me to get a few more things but that was about six hours away compared to the two to Maseru.

Lesotho has a unique situation because of its enclosure by South Africa. Although some traditional songs and dance are present in the society, the culture has definite western influences. In Niger the culture is much more visible from the clothes to the traditional ceremonies to the trinkets and art sold on the street. Sometimes it feels like it is too western here and it doesn’t feel like Africa in the way Niger felt like Africa.

My experience and relationship with natives is also different because of the lack of language barrier. I can have deep and honest conversations with the Basotho in English that I could never have with Nigeriens because of my limited French and even less Hausa. I still can only talk with the educated members of the community because my Sesotho isn’t great, but the conversations that I do have include more of a cultural exchange than in Niger.

They are some things that are similar, such as the difficulties of transportation and the ability to get a Masotho or Nigerien to show up on time for anything. But those experiences feel very different.

Is one better than the other? No. They both mean something to me and I would never put a favorite label on them they way a mother won’t say which child she prefers the most. They are different experiences with different meaning to me and that is how I will always look at them. Niger and Lesotho will be tattooed on my heart in the same ink and stroke for the rest of my life, and although I sometimes compare the experiences in my head, it doesn’t make one better than the other.

Visitors

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This past week I had my first visitors to Lesotho: my friend Will and his two travel companions, Danielle and Rachael.

The first time I met Will was at the Philadelphia International Airport. It was July 5th. I noticed the lanky blonde because he was holding a book I knew well: The Peace Corps Handbook.

As it turns out, Will and I were two of four Peace Corps Invitees that just walked off the plane from Denver. We all happened to meet at baggage claim and took a bus to the Historic Holiday Inn in Downtown Philadelphia. Two days later, we were all on a plane to Niger.

The last time I saw Will was at the hotel in Rabat, Morocco. He was about to get on a plane, well a series of planes, to start his Peace Corps journey over in South Africa. He was worried that he didn’t have the right shoes.

When I got my invite to Lesotho, Will was one of the first I emailed; we were going to be PCV neighbors. He was ecstatic and we both made promises for a meet up or two while living in southern Africa. It was just a pipe dream, especially for me being on lockdown for what seemed like an unfair amount of months (three), until I got an email. The title: “I AM COMING!”

Will and two of his PC South Africa friends wanted to see the Kingdom in the Sky and it worked out that he knew of a place they could stay for a few days. We exchanged emails back and forth for a several weeks, making plans and giving out directions. Late Sunday, in a rented silver Volkswagen Polo, they arrived.

In between Niger and Lesotho, I was able to see a few of my Niger friends. Alex and I, both proud natives of the Rushmore State, had a brief catch up at a bar in Sioux Falls before he moved to North Carolina. Known in the Zinder hostel for his baking skills, he brought me truffles.

And last March, we had a mini-Zinder reunion at South by Southwest. Sean, Audrey and I all made the trip down and we stayed with Laura, an Austin native. (I actually went down with some other friends but I got to see this group a lot and spent a night at Laura’s). Still heartbroken in Niger, we consoled each other with good music, memory stories and plans for the next thing.

Yet, I hadn’t been reunited with anyone from my training class. Most of them direct transferred or re-enrolled quickly and were gone before any meet ups could be arranged. Also, I was in the middle of the country without transportation, so a quick trip up or down the coast wasn’t a possibility for me. I was eager to see Will, to see a piece of that life that means so much to me.
Danielle was also a PCV in Niger, but she had only been in her village eight days when we were ordered to evacuate. I wasn’t in the mood to meet many new people in Morocco so most of the new group went unknown to me. I was eager to meet Danielle and hear her perspective of life after Niger.

Also, it’s always fun to meet other PCVs and, as PCVs of the country that completely surround mine, I thought they would have some good insight.

There were only around my area for two nights but it was fabulous to share stories, compare PC Lesotho and PC South Africa and talking longingly of Niger. We spent a good chunk of the time in my house talking and cooking. I had prepared quite a bit of food and they brought sacks full of groceries so we were never hungry.

They visited one of my classes and my students were more well behaved then I have ever seen. They even paid attention and really focused on their work. After the lesson I invited the students to ask our visitors questions and, in typical Basotho fashion, they asked them to sing the national anthem. They only agreed if the students would sing Lesotho’s, which they did and it was breathtakingly beautiful as always.

Before my guests arrived, I asked the teachers if it would be OK to have the last hour of class for PCVs from South Africa to make a HIV/AIDs presentation. They agreed and we gathered all the students for a game that demonstrates how HIV/AIDs inhibits the immune system. Their presentation also talked about how ARVs can help a person and prevention.

After we took a walk in the village, exposing them to this beauty that I get to live with everyday. At one point, Will said to me, “I know you may not feel like it, but this experience is very close to Niger.” They all commented on the calm and serenity of this place I call home.

They wanted to experience a traditional Basotho meal so I asked my ‘m’e to cook papa and meroho (spinach with pumpkin) and she prepared pieces of pork that I bought at a butchery in the next village over. It was a delicious meal and my host family was delighted to have the guests. They beamed and kept saying, “We are happy.” So were we.

After we polished off a chocolate cake that I made from scratch in a dutch oven and drank the most delicious Merlot I’ve ever tasted. We talked more and then settled in for a good night’s rest. The next day they were off to explore more of the country.

The days leading up to their visit were stressful. I was so worried about getting food, cleaning my house and giving them proper directions that I completely lost the excitement for seeing my friend. But, once they got here, those things didn’t matter and what did was the ability to spend time with someone I wasn’t sure I would see again.

Their visit was nice breather for me as I end Phase II and prepare for Phase III. It was a break from daily work to actually see my village and my life for what it was. I saw my village and work through their eyes and I realized that I have a pretty darn good life here. I was blessed with a genuinely kind host family and given the opportunity to live in a gorgeous village. I have incredible students who are motivated when I stop yelling at them. My life here is very good, which I couldn’t see on my own.

Hosting others was more than just a few days of chatting and good food. It was a reminder of where I came from, where I am and where I can go. It was exactly what I needed at this point in my service, and seeing an old friend is the best type of fertilizer for the heart.