Sonia Marsh - Gutsy Living

When to Give Money and When Not To

August 21, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 10 Comments

One of the challenges I face while serving as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Lesotho, Africa, is when to give money and when not to. My views on this matter are constantly changing based on what I’ve learned during the last ten months.

Today I was put in a difficult situation. My host mother, Mary, whom I truly care for, asked me to visit her “sister.” Since Mary calls everyone in my village her “sister,” including me, I’m never sure who is a blood relative, and who isn’t.

This poor lady is 76-years-old, and due to the heavy rainstorm we had two days ago, the interior part of her wall fell onto her mattress.

She started crying, saying “Mathata, mathata,” (problem, problem) as I stood there not knowing what to say, except that she was fortunate it happened during the daytime, rather than at night. Even Mary said it would have crushed her ribs, had she been sleeping.

old lady wall collapsed — stone wall collapsed onto her mattress

Since I’m already involved with a community development project: to fix the roof and wire the school in my village through the Peace Corps Partnership Program (PCPP), I get the impression my village believes I’m going to fix their houses as well.

What is frustrating is that I would like to help, but as a Peace Corps volunteer, we are not expected to “give” handouts. We are here to work on sustainable projects where the community participates by offering 25% of the cost, either through funding, or through their time and effort.

I felt guilty when I left this old lady’s house, so I tried to think of other options. I asked Mary why the young people in our village—most of whom don’t work or go to school—don’t help rebuild this lady’s wall.

“They want money,” she replies.

“But they’re not doing anything all day except sitting outside and watching people go by.”

“Yes, but they don’t want to work,” she replies.

I admit to being surprised since I see the older people in my community supporting one another.

“Does she have children who can help her?” I ask.

“Yes, but they don’t have jobs,” she replies.

“So why can’t they come out and help their mother?”

“They cannot afford a taxi to come out.”

“Can’t they hitchhike, or ask a friend to drive them who has a car?”

Mary shrugs.

I’m almost certain I was taken to the lady’s house to give money. This happens to me quite frequently and I have trouble understanding the conflicting messages I hear from the Basotho.

I’ve been told not to help. “Why?” I asked.

“Because once you help one person, the whole village will gossip, and then they want you to help everyone. It’s because of the color of your skin.”

I remember when Mary told me not to feed the orphan in my village who was begging. “If you feed him, you’ll have all the children asking for food.”

So during my ten months in Lesotho, I’ve followed the advice given to me by my host mother, even in the case of this poor lady. I’ve learned the harsh reality that it’s impossible to help everyone.

My Community Development Project in Lesotho

August 14, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 8 Comments

grade 5 ceiling better — Collapsed grade 5 ceiling at my School in Lesotho

After ten months in Lesotho, I’ve finally figured out a community development project that the principal, teachers and parents at my rural school, show positive signs of being invested in.

My original project of starting a community center took a 180 degree turn following the heavy snows we experienced in July. After several days of continuous snowfall, the frosted pine trees started sagging, causing the loaded branches to snap onto the corrugated tin roof of my school. Imagine my 5^th grade students’ faces when they arrived at school on August 1^st, the first day of the new quarter, and discovered they no longer had a classroom. My thought was: How and where am I going to teach my kids?

I was given the hall to teach, but it’s next to the outdoor kitchen, where the papa is cooked on a wood burning stove for several hours, and the smoke enters the hall through the broken window panes, facing the kitchen.

Side view of Smoke from kitchen next to grade 5 closer — The outdoor kitchen. Smoke enters the building where I teach grade 5, on the right of the picture.

My eyes sting as I’m not used to smoke. The children cook this way at home, but are also complaining about the smoke in our classroom.

We put the blackboard up against the window to block the smoke. It still enters through the top of the window.

The snow also damaged village priest’s building next to my school. He kept his sheep inside, and they died when the roof collapsed. The community skinned the sheep and dried the hides on his roof.

Roof destroyed on building — Snow caused the roof to collapse on the Priest’s building where he was sheltering his sheep from the cold. They all died.

sheep skins drying on roof — Sheep skin drying on priest’s roof.

Everything takes forever to fix when you live in a rural village in Lesotho. There is no “Home Depot” or small hardware store, let alone skilled labor in my village. That’s not surprising, as there isn’t even a store to buy fresh vegetables, fruits or meat, unless you drive to the closest town: an hour by public transport.

The second problem, which I’m used to hearing at my school in Lesotho is: “There’s no money.”

I decided to prioritize the rebuilding of the classroom, and to add another pressing need I’m excited to share with you as the students are eager to learn this important skill.

The community wants to wire the entire school now that our village has electricity.

Only the staff room is wired for electricity at my school. It’s about time that all the classrooms get electricity. In winter, we have to keep the doors open to get sufficient light to see the blackboard. Icy winds blow inside the classroom, and both the teachers and a few students who can afford it, are wrapped from head to toe in the traditional Basotho blankets.

The Minister of Energy donated four computers and a printer to our school when the electricity was officially turned on. I haven’t been able to set them up. Why?

1). They’re locked up in the principal’s convent.

2). We don’t have burglar bars installed on the windows so they might get stolen.

3). We don’t have electricity in the classrooms; only the staff room.

Computers from Minister-3 — 7th grade students showing off the new computers, printer and monitors , donated by the Minister of Energy.

We just received the new curriculum from the Ministry of Education, and teaching students how to use a computer is now on the syllabus. There are no more excuses for not removing the computers from the convent, where they are collecting dust.

If I can raise enough money, the principal and teachers would also like to have linoleum floors installed on the broken concrete slabs in the classrooms. Only the staff room and grade 7 have linoleum floors, but all the other classrooms have these ugly, cracked, cold floors.

One of the key components to the success and sustainability of a community development project is to:

Form a community committee with specific roles for volunteers
Ask for community contribution, not necessarily in cash, but in preparing lunch for the workers, painting the classroom, offering any skills they may have
Try to get the community to help with transportation of supplies and labor

After my counterpart, the principal and I put together a community committee to determine the goals and objectives, receive quotes for the repairs, costs of materials, supplies and equipment, and all has been approved by the Peace Corps, I am going to accept donations for my school, through the Peace Corps website.

I hope you will be able to help make this community development project a success, and promise to do my utmost to speed things up, and give the kids a better learning environment.

I will keep you updated once everything is approved, and we can start the community development project. Please be patient, (something I’m still learning) everything takes time here. Please share my post if you know someone who might like to help with my community development project.

My First Basotho Funeral

August 7, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 3 Comments

The traditional Basotho blankets — Mary and Sonia in their traditional Basotho Blankets

It’s very sad but there seems to be at least one funeral every Saturday in my village in Lesotho, Africa, and I experienced my first Basotho funeral yesterday.

My counterpart, the 7^th grade teacher at my school, lost her husband to TB. He was only 37.

Funerals are important community events in Lesotho, and I’ve become aware of the multiple billboards in the capital city, as well as the ads on local television for funeral insurance.

It seems that even the poor, spend at least 10,000 Rand, or $700 on a funeral, and that is a ton of money for a family that cannot feed itself. I admit, I’m not familiar with the details, however, my first Basotho funeral, was elaborate, with numerous priests, a choir, and a brass band.

Mary, my host “mother,” wanted me to wear the traditional Basotho blanket, and I’m glad I did, as it was important to fit into the community.

Numerous tents were set up in the compound where my teacher and her mother-in-law live, and women were busy breaking twigs to keep the fire going under the cast iron pots. They prepared a traditional meal of beef, samp (like hominy), rice, carrots and beetroots, to feed everyone after the service.

Lines of buses and cars flocked the dirt road, and Mary and I arrived a little late, at 10:30. The grieving wife and mother-in-law, sat on a mattress, next to the coffin, and at one point, the wife covered her entire body and face with the blanket.

When she spotted me, she gestured for me to come and sit next to her on the mattress. I was embarrassed, as I had to walk in front of the entire congregation, including the choir and the priests to reach her.

“Can you please take photos of the coffin and my husband’s photo,” she said. “I do not have a camera.”

Her husband’s framed photo sat on top of the casket, with a bouquet of artificial flowers propped up next to his picture.

I did what she requested, but being the only white person in the entire congregation, I felt conspicuous, especially acting like a paparazzi standing in front of the coffin.

A man distributed the folded program listing the names of the speakers at this Basotho funeral, and I had no idea this would be an all-day event.

The choir sang intermittently while the brass band played, and everyone stood, swaying to the music. I watched my teacher in tears, and it seemed more like a festive celebration for the attendees, while she sat, distant and numb, in her own thoughts.

Click here to listen to choir singing.

After everyone had spoken, we followed the pallbearers up the hill where the casket was laid to rest in the ground. Two beautiful marble headstones were unveiled, while mourners sobbed at the graveside.

“Let’s go home,” Mary said.

I was expecting us to go back to my rondavel, but then Mary said, “We need to wash our hands.”

She led me back to the tent where the food was displayed in various oversized plastic bowls.

“Follow me. We have to wash our hands first,” Mary said.

She showed me what to do. I had to bend over a plastic tub, scoop cold water into my cupped hands and throw the water onto the dirt, so as not to contaminate the water in the bowl.

With wet hands, we proceeded to get a plate of food.

Mary was proud of me wearing her blanket, as her friends complimented her on the way I looked. It means so much to the Basotho when you wear the same as them.

The funeral ended around 4:30 p.m., when the choir ladies boarded the bus, and the brass band, priests and local chief, headed home. I asked Mary if this was a traditional Basotho funeral, and she said yes, apart from the brass band. That was different.

I cannot imagine attending a funeral every Saturday, however, when I ask the teachers at my school how they are spending the weekend, I often get the following response, “I’m going to a funeral.”

My Marriage Proposal in a Taxi

July 31, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 15 Comments

TAXI parked outside Mary's — A marriage proposal in a taxi like this one. Very Romantic.

Today was one of those “rare” days in Lesotho, were everything fell into place, and to top it all off, I received a marriage proposal. I’m not sure how this happened, but it might have something to do with a change in my attitude since I got back from a much-needed vacation in Paris and California. For some reason, I’m far more relaxed in Lesotho than I was before I left. Why? I’m not quite sure, but knowing that I still remember how to drive a car, that the world back home has not changed—even though mine has—that my three sons love and miss me, and that I have some amazing friends who truly care about me, has boosted my confidence in a country where I often wonder whether I’m making a difference.

So what does this have to do with the marriage proposal during my taxi ride?

Well, for the first time, I was able to communicate in English with my new taxi driver, Elliott (his English name) and John (the man who proposed to me.) Apparently my favorite taxi driver, Sheleng, crashed his taxi during my vacation, and is at home recovering from some minor injuries.

John opened the front passenger door, and scooted over when he saw me waving down the taxi on the side of the slushy, dirt “path.” He happened to be a retired primary school teacher in the next village, and I was relieved to finally engage a Mosotho in a conversation, other than the formal greetings.

Elliott started the conversation. “Do you like Eminem?”

“Yes,” I said.

“I know all the words to his songs,” he continued and proceeded to sing.

“Have you met him?” he asked.

A question that did not surprise me as previous Peace Corps Volunteers said they’ve been asked if they know Michael Jackson. Apparently he’s still alive.

John then asked me where I was from, and where my husband lives.

I told him I was divorced and he asked me why?

I told him to ask my husband, as I had no intention of getting into that discussion with this man.

“I have ten children,” he said.

“Wow! How old are they?”

“I cannot remember.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Fifty-eight,” I said, “Any you?”

He wouldn’t say.

“I guess you’re sixty-eight,” I told him. His face was heavily wrinkled, and he looked older, but I was trying to be polite.

When he didn’t reply, I said, “Older?”

He then told me he was younger than me: fifty-four.

“Will you marry me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to get married.”
“You don’t want a nice man, and to stay in Lesotho?”

“No. It takes a while to get to know someone,” I replied.

“You don’t want to live in Lesotho?” he continued.

“Have you ever traveled outside Lesotho?” I asked.

“No.”

“Come and visit me at home,” he continued.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

He would not stop, so I finally told him that I only like tall men.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because I’m tall.”

That finally got John to stop asking me to marry him.

Meanwhile Elliott was laughing, and he finally said something that surprised me,

“It’s impossible to get a white person to marry you. If a Mosotho woman (person from Lesotho) is asked by a white man if she will marry him, she will not hesitate to say yes, immediately.

So this was an interesting taxi ride, and I made sure I got Elliott’s phone number, as I like the fact that we can have a conversation in English, plus he’s a much safer driver than Sheleng.

Panic Mode The Morning of My Peace Corps Presentation

July 22, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 10 Comments

To say that I was in panic mode the morning of my Peace Corps presentation is an understatement; I couldn’t open any files on my computer. Fortunately my local Geek Squad came to the rescue at my local “Best Buy” store.

I had not prepared or practiced my presentation, as I wanted to enjoy my holiday with my sons in San Clemente, but thanks to Julia Capizzi, the Orange County recruiter who set-up my event at Mimi’s Cafe in Irvine, California, my Peace Corps presentation was well attended, and a lot of fun.

I couldn’t believe how many friends, and people I’ve met online through my blog postings, wanted to attend and learn more about the Peace Corps, and my life as a Peace Corps volunteer in the Mountain Kingdom of Lesotho.

I had over 100 slides, and shared the application process, the ten-week training in Ha Koali, and our host family photos, followed by the swearing-in at the U.S. Ambassador of Lesotho’s home, and my life teaching the orphans and vulnerable children at my site.

There were many questions about the Peace Corps which Julia Capizzi answered, and I had several questions about my school, the children and my daily life.

Most of the attendees were 50+, so a good crowd to explain the benefits of serving as an older volunteer.

So many brought donations for my school, especially books and DVDs, which I had requested for the children in my community.

I am at LAX as I write this blog post, waiting for my flight back to Lesotho. My first flight is 16 hours long, and my second flight is 8 hours, plus a third one that’s only one-hour. So this is half way across the world from California.

Thanks to all who are interested in following my adventures, and next post will be about my village and the children.