Blog - Page 14 of 143 - Sonia Marsh

Working as a Peace Corps Volunteer Can be Tricky

June 5, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 5 Comments

Working as a Peace Corps volunteer in a foreign culture can be tricky. On the one hand, you need to be respectful and not impose your ways on the people you work with, and on the other hand, you want to improve things. It can be a frustrating balancing act, and last week, I had a moment when I spoke out, because I knew what would happen if I kept my mouth shut.

My rural school in Lesotho was hooked up to electricity two weeks ago, and the Minister of Education donated four computers and a printer. My counterpart could not wait to learn how to use a computer, and to show educational videos to his students. He asked me to set up the computers, and to offer a workshop on how to use a computer to the seven teachers at my school.

I set up one computer, just to make sure we had Windows 7 and Office 2013 installed, and then noticed that the printer was missing a cable.

Our school already had one laptop, a projector and speakers, donated a couple of years ago, but they were sitting in my Principal, Sister B’s convent, collecting dust.

The day after I tested the computer in our staff room; the only room where we have electricity, Sister B returned the equipment to her convent for security reasons.

Proud of setting up computer in our staff room

Our winter break starts in less than two weeks, and I knew that if I didn’t say something about getting burglar bars set up on the window in the staff room during the holidays, nothing would get done. Once again, the equipment would collect dust in the convent.

I’ve noticed how the teachers do not speak out during a staff meeting. Things never seem to get done, yet they often complain when we’re alone.

So this time I said what I thought needed to be said. “Sister, why don’t we get a quote for the burglar bars. I heard it doesn’t cost a lot, and that way, we can set up all the computers and the printer.”

“The school has no money,” she replied.

I’m so used to hearing that all the time, so I decided to try another approach.

With the help of a male teacher, we set up the laptop, speakers and projector, and got the system working. The teacher placed two large white sheets of paper on the wall, and the kids brought in rows of wooden benches. I found a Shrek Christmas preview DVD and “Pitch Perfect” about college kids and their acapella singing competition, which I borrowed from the Peace Corps resource center in Maseru.

As usual, I hate to admit this, but it’s the truth; three teachers did not show up at school on that day. So my counterpart suggested we show the movies, and I did not realize that for many of these children, this was their first time watching a movie. We crammed in three grades at a time, and the other children were trying to get in, but there was no room.

When the 6^th and 7^th graders finished their exams, they too wanted to see Shrek, and “Pitch Perfect.” Even the teachers sat inside the room, and Sister B. loved Shrek. The kids couldn’t believe a donkey could “talk.”

Kids watching Shrek video-2 — Kids watching Shrek Christmas preview video 5 times in a row.

So my approach of showing the entire school two movies might have done the trick as most have never seen a film, and would tell their parents about it. Sister finally seemed ready to ask the parents to help raise money, and said she would call them to a meeting before school is out.

My counterpart and another teacher thanked me for telling Sister that we need burglar bars on the windows, and that if we don’t get this started, the computers will remain in the convent collecting dust for years to come.

REQUEST

If you have any used educational DVDs, phonics DVDs or any children’s or pre-teen DVDs that you no longer need, please e-mail me (Sonia@Soniamarsh.com) as I’ll be in California this July, and can bring them back in my suitcase, when I return to Lesotho.

Electricity Has Arrived In My Village-Gutsy Living

May 30, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 13 Comments

Computers from Minister-3

I did not want to make any announcements about the arrival of electricity in my rural village in Lesotho, until I could switch on a light in my rondavel.

Other Peace Corps Volunteers told me not to get my hopes up when holes were being dug for the electric poles in February.

“I’ve had poles in my village for more than a year, but there is still no electricity,” one volunteer explained.

We kept hearing that the Minister of Energy would “turn the switch” on May 23^rd, but I kept thinking this would be postponed. I was wrong! The Minister arrived at 3:30 p.m. on Monday, 23^rd of May, and that evening, we all had light.

Not every villager opted for electricity. Some of the poorer families could not afford the deposit of 580 Rand, ($37) together with the Ready Box (which has three plugs and one light,) that the LEC (Lesotho Electricity Company) installed on my wall. Fortunately, Mary, my “host mother” wanted electricity in her own three-bedroom cement, brick house as well as in my rondavel. She has a satellite dish, like so many in my village, and a TV, which does not work on solar power.

I am surprised by how many of the “poor” villagers have satellites dishes, stereo equipment, cell phone, and nice stoves with ovens, yet claim that they have “no money.” I guess electronics take priority over food. Besides, all their equipment is crammed into one room, where the mother, father and children sleep, eat, bathe, watch TV, and cook. Everything is clean, tidy, and clutter-free.

None of the teachers at my school taught for three days prior to the Minister of Energy’s visit. Why? Because the Principal wanted the children to practice singing and dancing for the event. On one of those non-teaching days, the children were sent home to collect 2 Rand (13 cents) to buy a gift for the Minister. It took them three hours to trek home, get the money, and come back to school; another wasted day, which bothered the seventh grade teacher, and me, as they have exams in June. The school managed to collect $35 in total, and one of our teachers suggested buying the Minister of Energy a wall clock, and a bathroom scale. I asked if the Minister needed to lose weight, which caused laughter among the staff.

On the morning before the Minister’s arrival, the gifts were displayed in the staff room. Four AA batteries were attached to the Minister of Energy’s bathroom scale. Three teachers assisted in the gift wrapping process, and writing a note with a purple felt pen to thank the Minister for bringing us electricity. This took one hour away from teaching, but since the children practiced dancing again, it didn’t make much difference.

After my excitement of finally having a light bulb and being able to see my clothes in the closet without a flash light at 6 a.m., I arrived at school and was told that four desktop computers and a printer had been donated to our school by the Minister.

“’M’e Sonia, we want you to install all of them,” the Principal said.

“I will try, but just because we have computers doesn’t mean we have Internet. The school has to pay for data,” I told her, knowing full well, that her response would be,

“The school has no money.”

One of the male teachers, took out his penknife and started opening boxes of monitors, keyboards, computers, and even the mouse (mice?) etc. After each box had been opened, and unwrapped from its plastic covering, he called seventh graders to pick up a computer component, and stand on the hill above the morning Assembly. They were to display what we had received. I could tell their eyes saw free movies and videos, magically coming alive on the screens.

Computers from Minister-2

As soon as I entered the staff room, I noticed wires dangling from the new Ready Box we have installed on the wall. Our staff room is now hooked up to electricity, and all the teachers are charging their personal cell phones. We only have 5 Maluti (equivalent to 32 cents that the LEC (Lesotho Electricity Company) donated to each household to check that the electrical system in functioning properly in our village. Only the staff room has electricity, as our school did not want to pay for the other classrooms to have light.

“That’s for the children, and for using our brand new computers to teach our students. It’s not for personal use. We have our own 5 Maluti at home,” I said.

“No, that’s for me,” one of the teachers yelled.

I was able to set up one computer system at school, just to make sure that everything was working, and I’m happy to say, Windows 7 is installed, and Office 2013. I could not hook-up the printer as one of the cables is missing, and I’m sure it’s hidden in one of the other boxes.

I laugh at myself, as I imagine my three sons back in the U.S., thinking, “Did Mom really set that up herself?” A few years back, I had no clue how to do this, and would ask my kids to help. Now I can do it myself, and that feels so good.

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.