Blog - Page 16 of 143 - Sonia Marsh

Moshoeshoe Day Celebrations: A Big Event in Lesotho

March 13, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 6 Comments

March 11^th, was Moshoeshoe Day, pronounced (Moshway-shway) in Lesotho. What is it? It’s the day the Basotho commemorate the death of the country’s founder.

All schools, including my small, Catholic school start preparing for this day, when school opens on January 25^th, after the summer holidays—yes, we’re in the southern hemisphere here in Lesotho, southern Africa.

It’s a full-day event where children from various schools participate in sporting events, and traditional songs and dances.

Here’s how my first Moshoeshoe Day took place.

“Are you ready to walk?” ‘M’e Mamoshaka, the teacher from my school asks.

“How far?”

“Over there, by the nipple mountains.”

I see those nipple mountains from my rondavel, and they are by no means next door.

“That far?”

Mamoshaka looks at my shoes. “Are you wearing those?”

Teva sandals are good for walking, but I notice her hiking boots. It’s too hot to wear boots, so I keep my open-toe sandals on.

We leave my place at 8:35 a.m. and take the short-cut up and down the rocky, red-dirt clay path; the one carved out by cattle and sheep traipsing to the pastures, as well as the children walking from remote villages to school.

After 45 minutes, we reach the main road. Mamoshaka is wearing a long-sleeved gray sweater, and complains about her new curly hair extensions she had braided onto her own half-inch long African hair.

“I’m too hot with this hair,” she says.

“But you look beautiful with your curls. How long did it take to have those extensions put in?” She missed school on Thursday to go to the hairdresser in Maseru.

'M'e Mamoshaka, I work with her at my school — ‘M’e Mamoshaka, I work with her at my school

“I was at the hair place for ten hours, and there is still a piece missing in the back, but I was too tired to stay longer.”

“Ten hours! That must cost a lot,” I say, knowing how everyone in my village keeps telling me they have no money, and yet, they get hair extensions, and buy the Seshoeshoe pronounced (Seshwayshay) traditional dress you see us wearing in the photo. All the teachers had them custom made, and I chose the color purple.

Had I known this walk was not what I call a “walk” but more like a mountain-climbing expedition, I would probably have stayed home; but I had bought the dress though, and promised the teachers I would be there.

Steep slopes to climb and I had to drag Mamoshaka up the hill.

Small children in their green uniforms pass us on their way to the school. We get there two hours later, all sweaty and exhausted, and then the poor kids start running the 100m-500m-800m and finally the 1.2km races. One of the girls from our school usually wins the races, however today, she was slower than usual. I am told this is because her parents did not feed her breakfast. Neither parent works, and they beg for food from their neighbors. As Mary, (my host mother explains,) they are both lazy. I felt sorry for the children, especially when lunch was served, and the teachers were given chicken, lamb, rice, carrot salad, vegetables and dessert before the children were allowed to eat lunch.

I helped serve lunch to the hungry children, and their food was in a large bucket. It contained samp, (a lumpy grain) mixed with a red sauce, and porridge. I felt guilty about eating better food, and being served before the children.

After lunch we changed into our Seshoeshoe dresses, and listened to the children sing and dance.

Sonia and Mamokete and Mamo — Mamokete (1st grade teacher, left) , me and Mamoshaka (7th grade teacher). I teach English in both their classes.

The children are performing and we watch all three schools compete.

Girls dancing.

Everyone is happy, including the nun, (Principal) of my school. Watch them sing and dance.

The hike back home was horrendous. I had to help ‘M’e Mamoshaka climb the rocky cliffs, and I am 21 years older than her. Now I know why it’s important to go for my morning walks, and why I need to keep exercising.

What an experience for me to participate in the Moshoeshoe festivities. Next year, on March 11th, everyone has to hike to our school, as we shall be hosting the event.

The Challenges of Teaching English in a Rural School in Lesotho

March 1, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 10 Comments

Here's what we did today in 2nd grade — Here’s what we did today in 2nd grade

I knew it would be challenging to teach English to the Basotho children in my rural school in Lesotho, but I never expected the level to be this low.

In Lesotho, all subjects (except for Sesotho, of course) are supposed to be taught in English, but most of the teachers are afraid of speaking English (so I was told) and so they revert to their own language. Another major problem is the “repetition” method of teaching. Some teachers think that the louder they, and their students yell, the more likely they are to remember. I was walking past second grade, and heard the teacher saying, “I have a right to an education,” and the children shouted this phrase ten times. I then asked the teacher if the children knew what they were saying in English. She asked them in Sesotho, and they had no clue.

I decided to teach English to Kindergarten, first and second grade, as they are not learning the basics. They all know how to respond to, “How are you?” they repeat this during morning Assembly, “We are fine and how are you?”

The first grade teacher admitted, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ve never taught first grade.” The kids don’t know the alphabet, and due to a lack of supplies, and a lack of teaching skills, memorization and repetition with the teacher pointing her long stick to numbers and letters on the blackboard, seems to be the only way that the kids are taught.

I subscribed to a website: http://education.com, so I could come up with some ready-made worksheets. The only problem is we don’t have electricity, or a photocopier or printer at school. Our Principal keeps telling me there is no money for supplies, photocopying, or printing. She does have a nice flatscreen TV and leather furniture in her convent though.

I want to show the teachers that there are so many other things we can do than simply repeat and “yell,” so I printed some worksheets in the capital city, and tested the second graders with an Alphabet Blocks worksheet. I was shocked to see the results. Not one child could write the upper case alphabet. There were 12 letters missing, and they were in sequence. Even though they can sing the “A, B, C’s” they have no idea how to write the letters. Some even put numbers instead of letters, or several lower case “h” and “ba.” They are so used to copying from the board, and not ever thinking about what they’re writing, saying or doing.

I decided to buy a few pairs of scissors, and some play dough, to cut the letters out and use their fine motor skills. The teachers have never tried these techniques, and the Principal laughed at me, as though I’m just making the children have fun, and not learn anything from the government book, that they are incapable of reading, let alone discuss any of the second grade assignments. (see the topics below.)

The second grade teacher did not show up today, (quite common for teachers to skip school) so we took out the scissors and felt pens, and I made them cut out a lower case and an upper case “A.” They loved it, and concentrated so hard on cutting out the letter, and coloring it. This was the first time they were given scissors and felt pens. I then played the ABC phonics song on my phone, and we sang together. Here they are working hard and enjoying it.

Concentrating and enjoying something different than repetition.

With a pass rate of only 17% in 7th grade, my school has to make some changes in order to improve. I’m helping my 7th grade English teacher, who is a young enthusiastic teacher. He is the one who asked Peace Corps to send a volunteer to the school. I admire his hard work and dedication to making changes at my school.

Getting Rid of the Evil Spirits With My Healer

February 19, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 8 Comments

Healer and Sonia — My village healer and me.

There’s a famous healer in my village in Lesotho, who can get rid of the evil spirits, and cure anything. People flock to him from all over Lesotho, where I’m serving as a Peace Corps volunteer as well as South Africa, to seek treatment, and cures for all kinds of ailments.

For weeks, I’ve been asking Mary, my ‘M’e, “host mother” to meet the healer and she kept telling me “He’s very busy.” It wasn’t until he wanted a solar battery, from my contact in Maseru, that I finally got my appointment.

I had no idea what to expect, but I was hoping he would predict my future. I wanted to hear something positive, about meeting the love of my life, and a fulfilling future job after the Peace Corps,

Mary and I walked along the red, dirt path to his tin-roofed house. He has nice leather furniture inside his one bedroom house. I sat down, and expected him to read my palm, or to sit opposite me.

Instead, he filled a plastic bottle with Coke, and told Mary in Sesotho, that he knows I wash my face every morning with a cloth. “Wow,” he knows I wash my face before I go for my 5:45 a.m. walk. I was already hooked. What else does he know about me? I thought.

He told Mary he had a plant for me to add to my water to get rid of the “negativity.” I had mentioned to Mary, that I wanted more positive thoughts and that I wanted to think about everything going well in my life.

“He knows,” she said.

I asked, “How much does he want?”

“20 Rand.”

That’s only $1.28.

“He wants to give you a special remedy to get rid of all the evil while you’re here.”

“Ask him why I always think of the negative rather than the positive.”

She told me that his “medicine” which I shall put in my water, will get rid of that forever.

I could not wait to see what happened.

Mary told me the healer gave her the plant, but that she had to dry it first. After that she used her stone mortar and pestle to make something that reminds me of “Herbes de Provence,” to put in my early morning water to sprinkle on my face.

The healer's mixture — The healer’s mixture

It’s been two weeks now since I’ve used it, and I have not met Prince Charming, but I have had a nice sight-seeing trip to Kobe caves and a home-made espresso with a British/French photographer.

(More on that trip in another post.)

Coffee in his car — An espresso in the back of Rene-Paul’s Jeep.

HIV/AIDS Orphans: Interview With Prince Harry’s Sentebale Staff

January 31, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 2 Comments

Sentebale guy and me — Sekoate from Sentebale, Prince Harry’s charity. I love his T–shirt.

There is a beautiful clinic in my village in Lesotho, Africa, funded by the U.S. Millenium Challenge Corporation.

As you may have read in a previous blog post, I visited it a few weeks ago, and discovered that once a month, Sentebale, the charity Prince Harry and Prince Seeiso of Lesotho started, runs a workshop for children and orphans with HIV/AIDS at the clinic. Sentebale means “Forget-me-not,” in Sesotho.

As I approach the clinic, I hear children singing in the main building. The door is open and I peek into the workshop room and notice two women talking to a large group of adults. One woman takes my hand and whisks me away from the room. I explain why I’m here. She then leads me to a white truck parked inside the property, where I find a man asleep in the front seat. His foot is bandaged and he says he cannot walk, but is willing to be interviewed from his car.

Sekoati is his name, and he tells me he is the program coordinator for Sentebale, responsible for the monitoring and evaluation of the children’s adherence to medication.

Sentebale partners with clinics around Lesotho and forms clubs for HIV/AIDS children aged 9-18. They offer several programs, including one specifically for the herd boys who attend a nighttime program, since they tend to the cattle and sheep during the day. (More on the life of the herd boys after I finish reading an interesting book written by a herd boy.)

The program Sekoati is responsible for is called the Mamohate program; the name given to the new children’s center in Thaba Bosiu, inaugurated by Prince Harry on November 26^th, 2015. This center provides emotional and psychological support to children affected by HIV/AIDS.

Once a month, clinics around Lesotho run these clubs to distribute free ARVs, (antiretrovirals) to the children. They make it a fun day of games and offer snacks and food. They also reimburse transportation for the orphans, as some have to walk 2-3 hours to reach the clinic.

“What are your main challenges?” I ask Sekoati.

“The record keeping of how children are taking their medication. It’s very challenging to monitor their CD4 count, which we do twice a year. The blood is sent to a local hospital, but the machine is often broken, and we don’t get the results back.”

He tells me that many clinics don’t understand the benefits of the clubs, so they don’t support them.

“What about the adults I saw in the workshop?” I ask.

“Those are the caregivers. They meet four times a year, and they don’t always give the necessary support to the child.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

He explains that many orphans have behavioral problems, and are violent, troubled kids. The caregivers don’t know how to handle the behavioral issues, and the children are stigmatized; caregivers often use scare tactics with the children.

I ask Sekoati whether they teach the children sex education and condom use. He said in general, “No,” as this is a cultural/religious issue, “but things are changing.”

I mention what I’ve heard from many Basotho young women, including one expert on sexual harassment in schools and universities. Many girls have sex without protection in exchange for money or gifts. I wonder how can we make a difference in reducing HIV/AIDS in Lesotho when there is extreme poverty, starvation, as well as religious and cultural issues about not using condoms.

Young women tell me that in some (many?) primary schools, 7^th grade girls will fail their exams if they refuse to have sex with their teachers. One woman I interviewed who is passionate about this topic, and is devoting her time and money to making a difference, told me that sexual harassment happens at universities and in some cases, if the young women talk about this, their teacher will flunk them, and they won’t be allowed to pursue their studies.

I am learning so much and want to help the orphans at my school. Please read next week’s post on what I hope to do in my community to help the orphans.

I Have No Privacy

January 20, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 20 Comments

Where I burn my trash, and silver door is my toilet — My latrine and where I burn my trash

When you live in a rural village in Lesotho, southern Africa, you soon realize that everyone knows your business, and that you have no privacy.

In the morning, I peek out my door to see if there are any bo-‘m’e, bo-ntate or bana (women, men or kids) sitting on Mary’s (my host mother) porch, chatting, singing or shouting, as that’s how most people communicate in my village. Mary’s radio is tuned in to her favorite religious station, and I have no idea how her visitors can hear one another speak. Many people stop by for a chit-chat, and sometimes I see a stranger, leaning against the bricks in her yard, scanning daily life in the neighborhood.

When I think the road is clear, I dash out with my pee bucket and make sure it’s on my left side when I pass Mary’s porch, as I don’t want Mary to see how full it is. I’m scared the village will gossip about how much I pee during the night, even though I dump bleach and dirty dishwater into my pee bucket to rinse it out.

Oh dear, a woman is walking towards me. Now I have to greet her. Greeting people is important to the Basotho culture; they are insulted if you don’t stop and ask them,

“How did you sleep last night?”

“Very well thank you, and you?”

“Oh, I slept harmoniously well (hamonate) thank you,”

“Thank you ‘M’e.”

All this conversation with my pee bucket in hand, trying to hide it while smiling, is something I don’t think I can get used to.

View to the right of my latrine and where I burn my trash

My latrine is 50 metres from my rondavel, and faces the main road. People know exactly when I enter, and when I exit my latrine. I have a lock on my latrine’s metal door which makes a hammering sound whenever I unlatch it. Even the horse turns his head to look at me when I use it. For some reason I haven’t seen any Basotho use their latrines in my village. Am I the only one who needs to pee? My ‘M’e even asked me one day if I had a (mathata) problem, because I visited my latrine twice in one morning.

When I walk around my village, I see kids run to the side of the road and pull down their pants and squat. I’ve even seen men, including my taxi driver, stop the car and pee on the side of the road.

People know everything about me in my village. Even my ‘M’e said, “I know you drink a lot of coffee.” How does she know? Perhaps from the wet coffee filters full of ground coffee that I throw in the trash, or the fact that I use my latrine. They also know I drink red wine, as they see the empty box when I burn my trash.

I hate burning my trash as I’m worried that I’ll start a brush fire, and I’m concerned about breathing the toxic fumes from burning plastic bags, containers and metal cans. I tear my grocery and bank receipts into tiny pieces before burning them. I know children, and sometimes adults go through my trash, as they collect items they can use.

When I received my package from the U.S., everything was wrapped in cardboard and beautiful packaging. The kids love to keep boxes, tissue paper, yoghurt containers, empty wine boxes, and create dollhouses, and make “pretend” beds and furniture out of anything they find in the trash.

When Karabelo, Mary’s eleven-year-old granddaughter, showed me where and how to burn my trash for the first time, she squatted next to the flames. With her bare hands, she removed objects that she wanted to keep. The tips of her toes were less than an inch from the flames, but this did not bother her.

People want to come inside my rondavel. I have a laptop, books, an exercise ball and a nice duvet cover with pillows. My host mother warned me not to let anyone inside, except for her, and her granddaughter, because once I allow one person inside, the whole village will stop by to “see” what I have in my room.

I guess I have to redefine privacy, and realize that it will be non-existent for the next two years I’m serving as a Peace Corps volunteer in Lesotho.