Sonia Marsh - Gutsy Living

A Hardship I Did Not Expect

May 22, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 10 Comments

Shaka, the skinny mutt, looks at me with her kind, hazel eyes. She’s starving, but she never begs.

She sleeps on the step in front of my rondavel, trying to grab some warmth from the gap under my door.

When I’m ready for my sunrise walk, Shaka, clings to my heels. I don’t want her to follow me. I want to be alone, in my own thoughts as I take a brisk walk downhill, to the village clinic, and push myself on the uphill trek home.

This is my time to meditate and enjoy the cool, crisp morning air.

“Stop!” I command, palm facing her.

“Go home!”

Shaka stops and sits down. I’m impressed. She obeys, and a few minutes later, she’s back at my heel.

“I don’t want Shaka, despite my love of dogs. She’s not my dog, and I made the “mistake” of feeding her dry bread soaked in sour milk, the only leftovers I had from last week’s grocery shopping in Maseru. Shaka eats anything. I wonder how many meals before her skeleton no longer pokes through her skin.

“Go home!” I repeat.

I hurry down the hill, no longer enjoying the peace and quiet I was longing for. Stress sets in as I pray that we do not pass any blanket-clad Ntates.

Shaka has chosen to protect me, and believes that any man wearing the traditional blanket, has evil intentions. Last time, Shaka charged towards Ntate covered from neck to toe, in his traditional Basotho blanket. She snarled, and I thought she would bite his hand as he bent over to grab a rock. In Lesotho, people pick up stones when they fear a dog approaching. I could not stand the thought of her being injured.

Shaka is not my dog. She is Mary’s dog.

An expat friend warned me, “If the dog walks with you, everyone assumes she’s your dog, and you are responsible for any medical bills.”

I don’t want that responsibility. I already take care of the orphans at my school, and do not want to adopt a dog at this time.

I told Mary about the incident. She laughed, and said she would feed Shaka.

“I only make enough papa for myself. When my family comes, there will be enough to feed her,” she says.

“What are we going to do about Shaka now?”

“Don’t worry,” she replies.

The following morning, I find Shaka on my doorstep again.

I am torn between wanting to exercise, and having Shaka follow me, yet again.

I cannot stand the stress.

I decide to risk it, and go for a walk keeping my fingers crossed that no Ntates will be walking close by.

We make it home, and I ask Mary to either feed Shaka, or find someone else who wants to keep Shaka.

She knows that in America, people love dogs, and keep them indoors.

Mary fills Shaka’s bowl and says, “She will be a good guard dog.” I just hope she continues feeding her, and that Shaka will see Mary as her rightful owner.

Is The Internet Preventing Community Integration?

May 13, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 6 Comments

One of the objectives of the Peace Corps is to have volunteers integrate into their communities, but I started to question whether the Internet is actually having an adverse effect on my ability to fully integrate within my community.

I arrived in Lesotho in October 2015, and have tried to be flexible, share and learn new skills, but I admit that remaining connected to the Internet has hindered my ability to fully integrate into my rural African community.

Peace Corps staff often warn our host families that Americans like their “alone time” and that this does not mean we are bored or unhappy, it’s simply a cultural difference. But unlike my friend, Ian Mathie, who lived in Africa for thirty years, when snail mail was the main form of communication, most Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) today have laptops.

Ian was fully integrated with the village folk. He spoke various African dialects, lived and ate what everyone else in his village ate, and there am I purchasing data to Google my lesson plans, read the news, and to stay in contact with my three sons, relatives and friends.

The good news is that I am fulfilling the 3^rd goal of “The Peace Corps Mission” with my blog, and FaceBook posts which states:

“To help promote a better understanding of other people on the part of Americans.”

WhatsApp seems to be the preferred method of connecting with other PCVs in Lesotho, and several groups have been created to communicate with one another. As a 50+ volunteer, I am not as involved as some of the younger PCVs who communicate daily.

I have added local Basotho to my WhatsApp contacts, and this at least makes me somewhat “integrated.” My counterpart teachers discuss what we’re going to teach on WhatsApp, and how I let the local public taxi driver in my village know that I hope he stops to pick me up.

Being in touch with family, friends and social media, is “safe.” It’s like a security blanket, and I admit that I like that feeling, especially after school, when I can come home and have my coffee and write.

When I lived in the U.S., I was actively involved in promoting my own books, as well as those of others. I also started offering Webinars and videos on book marketing and realized how the Internet allowed me to connect and form relationships with people from all over the world. The Internet was my close friend, and still is; only now, it’s for a different reason.

I admit that my lack of full integration can be attributed to the fact that I am lousy at speaking Sesotho. If I were fluent, I could speak to everyone, and joke with them, but I think that’s highly unlikely during my two years of service.

The good news is Mary, my lovely “host-mother” speaks English, and at least I can say I’ve been accepted within her family. At least that’s a good start; I’m close to my teachers, Mary and her family.

Lineo is one of the Vulnerable Children at My School

May 7, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 2 Comments

Lineo and Sonia

On the first day back to school, after a public holiday, Sister B. decides to send the vulnerable children home to collect money for a field trip to Katse Dam next month.

Many students have a one and a half hour trek over the mountains to school, and now she orders them to go back home and collect the money.

They’ve been reminded about the 200 rand ($14) bus fare at least ten times, and Sister is well aware that more than 60% of the children at our school are orphans and vulnerable children, so most will return empty-handed. Only ten out of one hundred and seventy students have been able to pay for the field trip.

Sister knows the children are hungry when they get to school, yet she does not allow them to eat the heavily-sugared “soft” porridge—sorghum based cereal—served without milk, which is cooling off in their plastic bowls. None of these vulnerable children dare question authority; they obey the rules and charge home in worn shoes, often held together with broken shoe laces.

Two girls remain in the classroom with ‘M’e Mamoshaka, the seventh grade teacher, and me. Lineo is twelve, and the other nine. “How come they don’t have to go home? Have they already paid?” I ask the teacher.

“This one,” ‘M’e Mamoshaka says pointing to the older girl, “She looks after five children.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“She takes care of five children alone.”

I prod ‘Mamoshaka for more information.

“Is she an orphan?” I ask.

“No.”

I stared at Lineo’s shoes.

‘M’e Mamoshaka explains Lineo’s story.

Lineo takes care of her eight-year-old sister, and her six-year-old brother, as well as her three cousins aged, eleven and nine, and another nine-year-old. In all there are four girls and two boys.

They all sleep on one mattress, and Lineo burns twigs to cook their evening papa (maize meal.) Sometimes, when they are lucky, the villagers offer merojo, (shredded spinach and mustard greens, usually heavily salted and cooked in oil) to add to their papa.(photos)

Madam cooking Papa — This is my neighbor cooking papa with twigs for fire outside/year round, even when it snows in July.

Lineo is not an orphan; her father abandoned his three children, and her mother works in South Africa, and sends money for Lineo to buy maize meal. Their mom only sees her kids once a year, when she travels back for Christmas.

“How come Lineo also has to take care of her cousins?” I ask.

‘M’e Mamoshaka explains that their mothers also got pregnant at 15 or 16, were abandoned by their boyfriends/fathers of the children) and then they head off to South Africa to get jobs, often as maids.

As I sat in the classroom with ‘M’e Mamoshaka and the two girls, I asked them if they wanted to look at some books. Their eyes lit up, and they immersed themselves in the pictures and I asked Lineo to read to me.

girls reading — Puseletso and her nine-year-old sister reading

Three hours later, most of the students returned to school where Sister sat waiting on a stool, pencil and notebook ready to collect money. Only seven children brought the $14.00 for the field trip, out of about one hundred who ran home. Another twenty or so, brought hand-written notes explaining why they couldn’t afford the trip. “Ha ke na le chalete,” or “I do not have money.”

It was such a waste of a day where there was absolutely no teaching, and I went home after lunch. Why couldn’t these vulnerable children ask their parents/guardians for money after school, and bring the “no chalete” notes on the following day?

I am still trying to understand the Basotho culture at my school.

Children Debate Major Cultural Differences-Gutsy Living

April 27, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 11 Comments

Team A proposing that "Yes" teachers are to blame for the poor performance of students. — Team A proposing that “Yes” teachers are to be blamed for the poor performance of students.

As a Peace Corps volunteer teacher in Lesotho, I’m discovering major cultural differences, even in the classroom. What may seem, “normal” in a school in Lesotho, would be cause for jail, in the U.S.

I’m helping grade 7 prepare a debate on, “Are teachers to be blamed for the poor performance of students?”

While brainstorming points on the affirmative side, one girl, Lineo, who is smart and ambitious, brought up the following points which no longer shock me, as I’ve heard them before.

“Teachers fall in love with their students. This can lead to the poor performance of learners as learners would concentrate more on their affairs with teachers, than on their school work. Apart from that, it would not be easy for teachers to correct their learners when they are in love.”

Some male teachers will fail female students who refuse sex or who report them. I have not had anyone at my school report this, but this seems to be common in high schools as well as with professors in college. The problem is that once the girls fails, they lose their tuition fees in college and are forced to quit. One woman told me about this at the college level and is helping college girls win a lawsuit.

There was a scandal recently when a teacher killed one of his students in high school, after she told her parents she was pregnant. He wanted to “hide” the evidence.

Lineo also wrote about alcohol.

“Use of alcohol by teacher. When drunk, a teacher would not use the appropriate language or examples to learners. In addition a teacher would not prepare his/her work well.”

Lineo brought up a third point regarding teachers checking their cell phones during class, and not paying attention to their students.

In my school, none of the children have cell phones; their parents cannot afford them, however, all the teachers have one. I agree with Lineo, they are addicted to their phones, and although they don’t use them to Google lessons or to show children photos relevant to what they are teaching, they are constantly checking their phones.

Some of the other points the students brought up:

The teachers are not interested. They are bored.
Teachers test their students on topics they have not taught
Teachers arrive late at school, or do not bother to show up
Teachers hit the children with sticks. (I’ve seen this happen.)
Teachers don’t speak English to the children, even tough the curriculum is in English
The teacher is not qualified, or does not teach well
The teachers are often in conflict with one another

We did a mock debate, and I was teaching the kids how to project their voices, and become more confident in expressing themselves. I can see light bulbs going off in Lineo’s head. I cannot believe her mother died a few days ago, and yet she doesn’t seem to show any sorrow. How come? Was she not close to her?

There are so many things I’m learning about the Basotho culture, and many that I cannot understand.

Luxury in Ladybrand-Gutsy Living

April 18, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 8 Comments

After six months in Lesotho, I was finally allowed to leave the country, and spend a luxury day in Ladybrand, South Africa. I took one vacation day to cross the border for a haircut, a massage a pedicure, and some good food.

Thanks to another Peace Corps friend, I booked a room at Cranberry Cottage, a serene, boutique-style hotel, with beautiful gardens, the sound of water trickling from fountains, and a spa.

My room was pure luxury with a shower, TV and a firm mattress. I could not believe how lucky I was to find such a deal for $32 on the website: Agoda.com. My Peace Corps friend, Marybeth, told me about this site.

The first thing I longed for after crossing the border was a good cup of coffee. I headed down the wooden steps to the coffee shop, nestled among the trees, where the fountain and soft music put me in a relaxed mood. I had one hour before heading to the wellness center for my massage and pedicure, and decided to do something quite unusual for me; I ordered cake for lunch. I normally order healthy salads, but the waitress told me their carrot cake, and cheesecake were the best, so I thought, what the heck, I haven’t had cake in ages.

After my massage, pedicure and yes, I added a facial, all for less than $60, I called the artist I wanted to meet who lives in Ladybrand.

Her name is Thandi Sliepen, and I found out about her paintings from the French lady who owns Morija Guest House, where I stayed during Easter. Thandi invited me for dinner, and I had a wonderful time looking at her art gallery, and discussing life topics. We have become good friends, and I am taking some of her prints back to decorate my “future” home, wherever I end up after the Peace Corps. I love African art, and portraits like the one of this man.

Thandi told me that she met him, took his photo, and this has turned out to be one of her most popular portraits. I just love the expression she captured in his eyes.

It was late when Thandi drove me back to Cranberry Cottage, but that did not stop me from ordering a drink at the bar, and going to my room to watch CNN. I have missed the news on TV for the past six months, however, CNN kept showing the refugees on the island of Lesbos, and I was craving some U.S. political news about the upcoming elections.

The following morning, I had another amazing cup of coffee, with real cream, and fresh yoghurt, fruit and granola.

I could not wait to meet Joan, the English hairdresser recommended by several expats in Lesotho, and to get my first haircut and a weave since I came to Lesotho. I don’t care if you think this is luxury and a waste of money for a Peace Corps volunteer, but I still want to look my best. It makes me happy, so why not do something that makes me feel good about myself. As the ad says, “I’m worth it.”

I felt as though Joan and I have been friends for a long time. She has her own salon in Ladybrand, called “A Cut A-Buv.” She trained in Liverpool, London, Paris and Berlin, and worked in a salon in a 7-star hotel in Dubai. I didn’t know that 7-star hotels existed.

I wish I could pop over to Ladybrand to spend time with my new friends, but this means taking a vacation day, and Peace Corps only allows us two days a month. Weekends do not count as holidays so I have to save my 2 days a month to visit my dad, three sons, and all my wonderful friends in Paris and California, this July.