Blog - Page 17 of 144 - Sonia Marsh

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.

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Integrating into My Rural Village in Lesotho

January 11, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 6 Comments

The American built clinic in a rural village in Lesotho, southern Africa

Visiting my local clinic is an important part of integrating into my community as a Peace Corps volunteer. I live in a rural part of Lesotho, a small landlocked country in southern Africa.

I want to find out whether rural clinics are providing ARV’s (Antiretroviral) medication to HIV patients in my area, and if they teach sex education and condom use in schools. Peace Corps informed us that 30% of girls between 20-24, have HIV in Maseru, the capital of Lesotho, and 23% of the total population has HIV/AIDS, which makes Lesotho the country with the second highest prevalence rate in the world.

My host mother, ‘M’e, and I walk along the two kilometer stretch of dirt road to the clinic; the one I visited on a previous weekend, and discovered it was closed. (Apparently it’s only open on weekdays.)

The clinic is super modern, built three years ago, with U.S. funds. The waiting room has metal chairs arranged in airport-style seating, and I asked ‘M’e how does the staff know the order of the patients arriving, since there is no check-in system. “They just do,” she replied.

A flat screen TV with a Basotho soap, entertains the patients. They are laughing and chatting away and I feel like I’m inside someone’s house, waiting for the popcorn to be passed around.

‘M’e introduces me to the head nurse, and all of a sudden, I get the VIP treatment. I walk past all the patients, and follow nurse to her office. There another nurse is talking to a patient.

I feel uncomfortable knowing that twenty or so patients are sitting in the waiting room, and these two nurses are allowing me to ask them questions about the clinic.

In the three months I’ve been in Lesotho, I realize the importance of forming relationships, so I ask the nurses if they have children, and let them talk about themselves first, before interviewing them about their work.

The younger nurse is six-months pregnant and is sitting on the edge of the desk, holding a blood pressure cuff. I joke around and ask her to take my blood pressure.

“The batteries are dead and we don’t have other batteries,” she says.

“Do you have a manual one?” I ask, demonstrating the pumping action with my hand.

“No.”

I know ‘M’e came along to get her blood pressure checked so they could give her medicine, so I’m concerned for her.

Peace Corps informed us that local clinics are supposed to send nurses to schools to talk to the children about HIV/AIDS, several times a year, and these nurses told me they had only been out once last year, for three hours, to my assigned school. They taught sexual reproduction health and HIV/AIDS to grades 4 through 7.

“We do not do condom demonstrations because we are Christian,” the nurse said, “We encourage children to come for voluntary HIV testing at the clinic. They have to come with their mother,” she continued.

I was happy to see the shelves fully stocked with ARVs, and other medications which are delivered monthly through NDSO (National Drug Service Organization,) according to what I was i

My ‘M’e sticks her head through the door and says, “People are waiting.”

I feel guilty taking up so much time.

“They wouldn’t let me go,” I said in the hallway.

She returns to watch the soap, and arranges for the cleaning lady/pharmacist, yes, they wear many hats in this clinic, to show me around.

She takes me on a tour of all the buildings, and I’m in shock. There is a delivery room with a baby monitor, and apparently only 7 babies have been delivered there since the clinic opened, three years prior.

There is also a room with a fridge and gas stove, all equipped with brand new cooking pots, and this room has never been used, and when I ask her why? she says, “There aren’t enough nurses to take care of the women who are waiting to deliver their babies.” There is a ward with eight brand new beds, which is not being used. Another building has a shower, a toilet and a sink, and the floor shows signs of a previous leak, so I ask if they have running water, and she says, “No, because of the leaking toilet.”

Mother-baby packs available, but not sure if they are given away

Sonia — A nice workshop room at the center

I am happy to see that ARVs, and being given to patients with HIV, but due to a lack of government funding, there is a shortage of nurses. This is what I was told.

Home can be anywhere you choose it to be.

January 3, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 15 Comments

Around 10 a.m., an old blue truck makes it way to the top of the hill, and stops a few feet from my room. It’s Sister Bernadette, the Principal of the Catholic school where I shall volunteer as a primary education teacher with the Peace Corps, and her driver. When I see the empty truck bed, I’m no longer upset that Sister came along. In fact, having a nun with you in Lesotho is an asset, as everyone is eager to help her.

We load the truck, and I’m crammed in the back seat with a large cardboard box, and my stainless steel water filtration system. I’ve finished my ten weeks of Peace Corps training in a rural village and cannot wait to move to my new village which will be my home for the next two years.

Sonia's space — My space on the back seat

“Would it be possible to do some shopping in Maseru? I’d really like to go to Pioneer Mall.”

“Yes, no problem,” Sister Bernadette replies, which I barely hear as the radio is cranked up so loud, it sounds tinny.

The driver, a large man, reminds me of a black version on my ex-husband. He cranks the radio up and I can no longer hear myself speak. What the hell is wrong with people’s hearing in Lesotho? My sons used to make fun of me back in the U.S. saying that I must be getting old as I kept turning the volume up on our TV, but here in Lesotho, everyone must be deaf.

“Is that a soap opera?” I ask Sister Bernadette. The man is yelling, and it sounds like he’s telling someone off.

“What’s he yelling about Sister?” I repeat.

“It’s a prayer,” she says.

I forgot how Sister always has a million errands to run when she’s in the capital city. Fortunately they drop me off at the mall.

“Is it OK if I take a couple of hours to shop?” I ask, feeling like I’m asking a huge favor.

“No problem,” Sister says.

I run around getting everything done, as well as my “must-have” cup of drip coffee at the Renaissance Café, and then I call Sister. Within five minutes, they pick me up at the mall, with my duvet, pillows and extra bags of goodies.

I apologize for taking too long, and Sister does not respond, so now the guilt sets in.

I’m so looking forward to heading home to my new rondavel, and I check my watch; we should reach my new village by 4 p.m.

After ten minutes, Sister says, “I need to stop and deliver some papers for our school.”

I sit in the car with the driver, and she returns ten minutes later.

Okay, so now we’re on our way home.

“You wait here,” says the driver, as he parks his car on a busy main road, and he and Sister get out.

It’s about 90 degrees outside and he’s parked the truck in the direct sun. I open my window, and there’s no breeze coming through. I open my door, and two young Basotho men start chatting with me. They want money, and while talking to them, I slide my purse under the water filter.

I make small talk to distract them.

“What do you do?” I ask,

“We deliver,” the young man says.

“What do you deliver?”

“We help you carry from shop.”

I then realize I’m at a Lesotho “Home Depot” and these guys deliver goods to their home or business.

“I need money. I have a child to feed.”

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Twenty-four.” He looks skinny and has deep wrinkles for a man his age. I compare him to my middle son who is twenty-five.

At first I’m scared of these young men, and think they want to steal from me, but then I take a different approach; I decide to motivate and guide them, so I ask if they have business cards.

They look at me unsure of what I mean.

“You want customers. So you need to give them a business card so you are more professional than all the other men doing the same as you.” I show him my business card so he knows what I mean.

“You need to offer them a discount on their first ride if they pick you.”

The young guy’s face brightens up, and thanks me. Now I’m no longer afraid of these guys, and I do hope that I offered them something they may use to stand out from all the others lining up to help customers.

I’m baking in the back of the truck. When are they coming back? I’m afraid to leave the truck as it’s unlocked, and all my stuff is visible inside.

I wait and wait forever, melting in my seat, feet sticking out of the open window, and my water bottle is now hot enough to make instant coffee.

The driver walks back, and I tell him about the men harassing me, but that doesn’t faze him. He gets in the seat and I ask, “Where is Sister?”

“We go inside,” he says.

He drives the truck into the “Home Depot” parking lot, just a few feet away, and parks. Why the hell couldn’t he have done that in the first place so that I could cool off inside the building with Sister. I find her sitting on a bench inside, drinking a soda.

“What are we waiting for?” I ask.

“I buy some wood and tin for the Priest’s house,” she says.

“What? Is there room with all my stuff in the back?”

“No problem,” she says.

If I’d known that it would take three hours to load up the truck with wood and tin roofing, which seems to almost fall off the back of the truck, I would have stayed at Pioneer Mall. At least it was cool and comfortable there.

Sister and truck — My Principal Sister Bernadette and our truck

I cannot imagine how this overloaded truck will climb up and down the steep mountains to my village, and how we shall be able to keep the tin and wood from sliding off, when we hit the rock and pebbled dirt road for 5 kilometres.

I am amazed by the amount of stuff people cram into cars, and by the risks they take, especially when people have to sit on top of one another inside a taxi or hang out of vehicles. The police don’t care whether a car is overloaded to the point of it being a safety hazard, even with children and babies inside.

I can’t believe it. We make it to my new village without a single mishap. The only problem is when we reach the peak; we seem to be at a complete standstill. What if we roll backwards? Will we make it, will we make it? I keep asking, and miraculously, we do, and then we slide down the opposite side like a roller coaster, gathering momentum for the next peak.

state of road — This is what the road is like to my village

My lovely new host mom is there to greet me when the truck pulls up. I’m so glad I get dropped off before the wood and tin panels. I’m exhausted from this entire day of waiting, shopping and sweating.

Everyone comes out of “m’e Mary’s house to help with my bags and suitcases.

I’m home.

TV and glass cabinet. No electricity, but solar may work one day.

I have found my home in Africa. I have a habit of wanting to make each place I live in, feel like home; Africa is no different.

Maliba: Christmas At The Best Resort in Lesotho, Africa

December 26, 2015 by Sonia Marsh 17 Comments

The brilliant Chef at Maliba Lodge, Nico Vorster

This Christmas, I decided to give myself a gift of love, luxury and to be completely responsible for my own happiness.

I admit, I felt sorry for myself, especially without a home to go back to, and I missed my three sons during the holidays. I’ve been on the go all year, starting with my divorce after a 28-year-marriage, studying for the TESOL certificate in London, volunteering in Spain, Thailand and a school in California, applying for the Peace Corps and then moving to Lesotho, Africa, in October 2015, I can say this has truly been the “Gutsiest” year of my life.

2015 is Chapter One of my new life, and I look forward to making the next two years of my Peace Corps life meaningful. I want to learn about the Basotho culture, to speak Sesotho and to start working on my secondary project which I want to benefit the people in my rural village. I’m drawn towards helping girls and women start a business that can offer them an income, so let me know if you have any suggestions. I have some ideas, but I’m curious what you think. It has to be sustainable.

This Christmas, I wanted to pamper myself, after ten weeks of intense Peace Corps training, and living without electricity and running water.

Why Maliba Lodge?

Because it is located in the beautiful mountains of northern Lesotho, and I needed to relax and get showers, baths, and meat and fish, which I haven’t had in my rural village since I don’t have a fridge.

So I ordered a private taxi to take me there, which happened to be a joke, because private, means 4 of us inside the taxi, 4 in the truck bed, and then stopping to pick up a dead pig to deliver at the next village.

Pig loaded onto my "Private" taxi which I paid for. — Pig loaded onto my “Private” taxi which I paid for.

I finally got my private taxi in Maseru, and the drive took three hours. We listened to Whitney Houston, and Mariah Carey, all the way to Maliba, and I think Whitney sang “I Will Always Love You” fifteen times.

Maliba is like being on another planet. My room is so beautiful, that I keep taking photos from every angle, saying this is how I want my shower to look when I move back to the U.S. Who needs a shower door when the open concept works?

Can I get a thatched roof in the U.S.? This is how I shall get an architect to design my bedroom and I love these doors made of solid wood, and the light coming in from the patio. This room could be my entire house, and I’d be so happy when I move back, to design it just like this. I fall in love with the room and forget how expensive it would be to have a custom designed small home.

Video of my morning at Maliba. So quiet and peaceful.

When I walk outside the main lodge overlooking the mountains, I find a group from Australia, South Africa and Europe. They are all related and I ask them if I can join them as I’m alone. They say “Yes,” and I end up looking at Eland through binoculars on the mountain slopes.

The food is outstanding.

Breakfast is a buffet with cheese, smoked salmon, yoghurt, cereals, flaky pastries, nuts, meats, bread and butter.

Then a cooked breakfast of your choice.

Lunch consists of salads, gourmet burgers, and a dessert.

Dinner is filet mignon, rack of lamb, fish with asparagus, and tarte tatin, all beautifully prepared and presented.

I interviewed the chef, Nico Vorster, who is only 28, the age of my oldest son.

He is South African, from Cape Town, and at such a young age, he’s worked in Orlando, for Disneyworld, at the Animal Kingdom Lodge. He also worked on Disney cruise ships as a chef, and was hired by the Ruperts in South Africa, (one of the wealthiest South African families.) Nico was also a chef at Terra del Capo, and a private chef for two wealthy South African families.

Nico has been the chef at Maliba lodge for 5 months, and I asked him if he is bored being isolated in the mountains of northern Lesotho. He says, he loves nature and, “You must adapt to your location.” He also loves hiking with friends, and eating lunch at the top of the mountain. He has many creative ideas for his restaurant and says it’s important to “Bring the warmth into the place from the outside.”

I am now back at my rural village and shall blog about my new home next weekend. Please come back to see photos of where I live, and how I’ve started decorating my rondavel.

Swearing in Ceremony with the U.S. Ambassador of Lesotho

December 18, 2015 by Sonia Marsh 9 Comments

I was sworn in as a Peace Corps Volunteer, by the U.S. Ambassador of Lesotho, Matthew Harrington, on December 16^th, 2015.

Our pre-service training lasted ten weeks, and I found it far more intense, and stressful, than I had anticipated.

Our schedules were jam-packed with workshops on all sorts of topics related to health, security, culture, and learning Sesotho, the language of Lesotho.

My final two weeks flew by with practice teaching grades 4 and 5, at a Catholic school, as well as our final language test, setting up our banking with Peace Corps ATM cards, shopping for pots, pans, mops, buckets, and all the necessities for moving to our new sites. Peace Corps vans dropped all 36 of us trainees off at a mall, and gave us two hours to shop and eat lunch. All of us ended up in the same store, looking for the same items.

What a hectic experience, especially as the mall had “no water,” so the restrooms were closed, and I could not get a coffee to perk me up, so my lack of caffeine migraine set in. We did not get home until dark, and I ended up packing with candlelight as my solar lights quit working.

The following morning was swearing in, and all the women in our group wore traditional Seshoeshoe dresses.

Bo-M'e dancing and singing — Bo-M’e dancing and singing

We were driven to the U.S. Ambassador’s house in our Peace Corps vans, while our host mothers, (Bo-‘M’e), and language teachers, boarded a private chartered bus. They wore their best dresses and the singing, dancing and whistling sounds were loud and festive already at 7:30 a.m.

We entered the tall black gate with security guards at the Ambassador’s house, and white tents offered shade during the ceremony, and lunch. The American flag, and the red, white and blue draped chairs, created an official setting.

Local Lesotho TV crew was there to film the Ambassador, as well as our Peace Corps Country Director, Wendy Van Damme, and the Honorary Deputy Minister, Thabang Kholumo.

The ceremony lasted two hours, and our host mothers danced and sang for us between speeches. I was so proud of one of our PCVs, Katie DuBose, who made a speech in Sesotho. She mastered the language during our ten-week course, and if only I could speak Sesotho, half as well as her, I would be able to communicate well with the Basotho.

Ambassador Harrington did the swearing-in, and we each received our official Peace Corps certificate.

A catered buffet was offered to all, and it’s amusing to see how much we PCVs appreciate a real meal, with meat and fish, after eating eggs, lentils, peanut butter and bread for weeks.

After lunch, the Ambassador allowed us to swim in his pool. I decided to chat with Wendy Van Damme, in the Ambassador’s back yard.

It was a special day for all of us, and now I’m as happy as can be at my new site where I shall be teaching English for the next two years as a Peace Corps Volunteer.

I shall post about my new rondavel (round) house and how I have made it cosy in my next blog post.