People Archives - Page 8 of 107 - Sonia Marsh

Cultural Differences in Lesotho-Gutsy Living

April 10, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 9 Comments

I found this sign staring at me as I closed the door in a ladies restroom at the shopping mall in Maseru. I could not resist taking out my camera.

The other day, Sister Bernadette, my Principal told me,

“The boys in grade 3 and up to grade 7, are walking to the clinic to get circumcised this morning.”

“What, they just walk to the clinic, have the circumcision and walk back?” I asked.

“Yes,” she smiled. “They are very proud and happy to go.”

“Do their parents go with them?”

“No. Maybe a teacher will go with them,” she said, like this was a school field trip.

I know the walk to the clinic, as I do it every day for exercise, and it’s a steep uphill walk coming home. Sister said the kids walk back to school after the circumcision.

Another Strange Sign, which I found amusing, at the gym in Maseru.

“Members, with foul smelling body odours will be requested to leave the club immediately.”

I can imagine staff sniffing club members, and requesting them to leave because they smell.

Here are two funny names of businesses as I pass them in the taxi to town:

“The Road Krill Grill,” a restaurant on the way to Maseru.
“The Vatican Car Wash” next to “Vatican Fast Food and Chips.” They seem to have a thriving business

Inconsistencies, and things I’m finding difficult to get used to culturally.

Transportation and Time

I’ve told Sheleng, my twenty-one-year old, taxi driver, to please call me when he’s close to my village, as it’s too cold to wait on the dirt road for an hour or so. One day he’s there at 6:30 a.m, the next day at 7:30.

He promised to do that, and when I didn’t hear from him, I called him to ask where he was.

I heard him say something like, “I come back.” I waited and waited, and since his English isn’t good, and my Sesotho isn’t good either, I got Mary (my host mother) to call him. She got off the phone, and couldn’t tell me where he was.

I heard a taxi, and ran to the road, but it wasn’t Sheleng; it was the other driver that stops a million times, trying to cram in as many passengers as possible; I hate riding in his taxi. I was desperate, so I got inside, and then Sheleng called me, and said he was in the next town, one hour ahead of my village. Why couldn’t he have told me that in the first place, instead of making me believe he was on his way.

The Basotho have no concept of time.

“I’m going to church now, and then I come get you.” Mary says. I look at my watch and it’s 7:40 a.m.

What time are you coming back so I know when to get ready?”

“I come back at 8,” she says.

“You can ‘t come back at 8. That’s twenty minutes from now.

“I come back at 9,” she then says.

It was 10:40, by the time she returned.

A Catholic religious radio station in my taxi in Lesotho.

Taxis always have their radios blaring either religious stations, accordion music and a man shouting words rather than singing, reggae, Whitney Houston and Mariah Carey, uncensored rap with specific words that would be bleeped out on American radio stations, and church choirs.

Here’s what I heard the other day from a female preacher. By the way, the preachers here sound so angry, like they are telling you off. Most of them are speaking Sesotho, but this one switched from Sesotho to English, and here’s what she said.

“You try to be the good submissive wife, but your husband gets the 2^nd, 3^rd, 4^th wife, so why bother?”

I have to say, I’m learning new things every day, which is why life is exciting when you’re out of your comfort zone.

My Weekend Routine in Rural Africa

April 3, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 5 Comments

Vincent the trainer at LeHakoe gym, proud to show off his muscles

A friend asked me to explain what my life is like in my rural village in Lesotho, “The Mountain Kingdom” in southern Africa, so I figured I would start with my weekend routine first.

It’s nothing like Orange County, California, that’s for sure, but here’s what I do to keep myself as “happy and healthy” as possible.

Saturdays, are my “luxury” days, and I usually wake up at 5 a.m., when the rooster alarm won’t shut up.

I reach for my desk, tapping the surface until I find the switch for my solar lamp. Now I can see the kettle, turn on the propane tank and boil water to wash my face, and make a cup of coffee. It’s cold inside my rondavel, so I get dressed as fast as possible, but I cannot see a damn thing inside my closet. I flash the solar lamp inside the narrow space; grab my jeans, several layers of clothing, and a scarf.

The water is boiling, so I wash my face in a plastic basin, and add a sprinkle of the medicinal herbs the village healer gave me to protect me from the evil spirits.

While the coffee is brewing, I listen to BBC radio, and make sure I know what’s going on in the world, including of course the latest Tweet by Donald Trump.

Saturday mornings are always stressful in my village. How come? Because I never know when the taxi is going to show up. Please don’t think that taxi, means luxury, no, it’s the van that carries 22 people instead of 15, and you end up with passengers sitting on your lap, and you’re stuck with buckets, propane tanks, and live chickens for two hours.

TAXI parked outside Mary's — Taxi van that is supposed to carry no more than 15 passengers and often has 22.

The taxi shows up when it feels like it; anywhere between 6:15 and 7:30. I turn off my radio, and listen for the Toyota van climbing the hill in first gear. My hearing is nothing like the rural Basotho. They can hear a conversation from across the mountain, and they can also see in the dark; two things I lack.

I leave my door open, and I’m freezing, but it’s better than standing on the dirt road for one hour, asking each stranger, “Is the taxi coming?” and hearing the same answer, “Yes, it’s coming,” which actually means, “No.” I’ve now learned that when the Basotho say, “Yes,” to a question, it means, “No.” Why? I have no idea, but I no longer ask.

This is one taxi I took with my Basotho reatives.

Well, things are a little better now since I’ve been in my village for four months. I know the driver, Sheleng. He’s about twenty-one, and I have his phone number. In my basic Sesotho, I text him, “Want to go to Maseru today. Call me.” He doesn’t call, so I call him. “What time are you here?”

“Coming, coming,” he says, without telling me when. In Lesotho, “coming” could mean in one hour.

He calls me right as he’s arriving, and I dash out of my rondavel with my heavy backpack with laptop, radio, solar lamp and all the electrical cords and adaptors, ready for their weekly boost of electricity. I also have a gym bag and stuff to wash for my weekly shower.

Sheleng must feel sorry for me, as he now reserves the front seat, next to him, and I feel slightly embarrassed that I get the VIP seat. On the way to Maseru, his cell phone rings a thousand times, and his wife, who is about twenty, wants to speak to me in English. “How are you, ‘M’e Sonia?” she asks.

As we approach town, I climb out of the taxi, and stick my thumb out to catch a 4+1. (Those are taxis that carry 3 people in the back seat, and one in the front.) I usually end up stuck in the back seat with my stuff piled high on my lap, sandwiched between two large Basotho women.

Thankfully it takes no more than ten minutes to get to the gym, and the fare is only 44 cents. Any 4+1 taxi in town costs 6.5 Rand or 44 cents.

Now I’m happy. I can workout for two hours, and get a shower. I so miss my 24-hour fitness, but this gym has a ton of equipment, and it’s usually empty.

Vincent is the personal trainer here, and the first time I met him he said, “You show that there is still hope to be fit when you’re old.” At first I wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or not. I told him my age, 58, and I guess it’s because there are very few 50+ Basotho women who work out.

After the wonderful shower, I head over to Pioneer Mall, where I get my weekly chicken salad, and espresso with hot milk. That’s where I park my electronics for 4-5 hours, to charge. I know the manager, Wanda, of the coffee shop, and she allows me to leave everything there, while I do my grocery shopping.

Charging my laptop, radio, solar lamp, and phone.

I love “Pick and Pay.” They have everything you could wish for, from Feta cheese, to great coffee, to nuts and seeds and granola, and yoghurt.

I don’t own a fridge, but I have become brave as far as eating frozen fish, meat, and yoghurt, without refrigeration. I end up buying these items on Saturday, cooking them right away, and storing them in a container on my cold floor for 3 days. So far, I haven’t been ill, but I buy small portions of protein, and mix them with rice and lentils, or pasta and tomatoes and onions. I feel like a bear in winter, stuffing himself for the first 2-3 days, before hibernating until the next shopping spree.

Anyway, I’m always happy after my workout, and cannot wait until gym day.

The Orphans and Vulnerable Children Are Grateful

March 24, 2016 by Sonia Marsh 5 Comments

clothes-1st grade-2 — First graders happy with their donated pants, socks and underwear

When I started teaching English at my rural school in Lesotho, southern Africa, I was shocked by the state of the children’s clothing and shoes. Many had holes in their sweaters, wore shoes with their toes poking out, and some children could not afford socks or underwear. 60% of the children in my school are either orphans or vulnerable children.

My immediate reaction was to write a blog post and share this with my friends around the world. I did not expect anyone to offer to send clothes or shoes, as I know how expensive shipping is from the U.S. to Lesotho. Some people ran to the post office to find out shipping costs, and then offered to send money instead, so I could buy the children their green sweaters, green dresses, khaki pants, and black socks and shoes in Lesotho.

When the donations started pouring in, I received a note from a former PCV that surprised me, as I was only trying to do the right thing.

We don’t want folks connecting PCVs with “getting things” — such a Western notion anyway, as is clothing as a status symbol. So, my curiosity is around what happens 18 months from now. What will these donations have brought about, other than additional clothing options?

I discussed this with the Peace Corps, and was told that I could not accept donations, and had to wait until my secondary project. I understand that Peace Corps has rules, so I had to take down my blog post, and write to my friends to explain the situation.

Those who had already shipped made some very happy children at my school. Many have sent books, which I plan to use for teaching, and for the library, that my teachers are requesting at my school. I plan to read to the children, something their teachers never do. It seems that most of them write on the board, and make the children repeat, and copy.

All the children were so happy with a pair of socks

First graders with new pants and other items

older girls with new underwear and socks

7th grade girls with donated hoodies and underwear

Limpho got a green hoodie. She was the one with the ripped green sweater. See photo of ripped elbow.

Limpho, my 2nd grader’s sweater is getting worse.

Thank you Jane Bayer for your donations.

My cousin, Pia, sent these fabulous erasable books for ABCs, Numbers, etc. from Costco

Thank you Kathy for the clothes and the classic stories for children and more.

Susan Jackson, you have sent so many wonderful clothes, shoes, and supplies. The children are so happy.

Susan Jackson sent school supplies as my 1st and 2nd grade class didn’t have scissors, glue, or crayons.

I was overwhelmed with the kindness offered by so many of my friends, to send clothing, shoes and school supplies, and found a way to get shipments sent through a South African lady who has done so much for the children in Lesotho. Jennifer Thorn is the coordinator of fundraising for Leratong Community Center, and has allowed me to use her mailing address for any clothing donations. She and her family, have been so kind to pick up the donations and drive them to a town close to me.

Sonia and Motena, the manager of the center

I volunteer at the Leratong community center for children, once a week, and this has given me an idea of possibly setting up a community center for the youth in my rural village. The teachers at my school like the idea, and I hope the villagers will help make this a sustainable project for the “bored” youth in my village, who have no books, no yarn to knit or crochet, no computers, no netball, or anything else to keep them occupied after school, and on weekends. More on that project after the Peace Corps volunteers have their meeting in June with their counterparts to discuss their secondary projects, and how to fund it through the Peace Corps website.

All the teachers wanted to participate and we distributed the clothes in the staff room, where the children tried on the donated clothes for size. One small boy, who received a new pair of pants, had to undress in front of his peers, and was so embarrassed as he did not have any underwear. We gave him a pair, and his face lit up.

I shall keep you updated when I start my secondary project later this year, and can start asking for donations through the Peace Corps website.

On behalf of all the children at my school, I thank you for being so kind, and several children will be able to walk to school in the rain and snow this July, as they now have closed-toe shoes.

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.