Maseru, I love you. (Part 1)

Lumela, all!

First I should begin by saying “mea culpa” for two things. Numero Uno: (disclaimer) I am colorblind.. Well color deficient to be politically correct I guess.. Many people have suggested I change the colors of my blog, and after short analysis I can see their point of view. The red:light gray color scheme of my background:font seems to be challenging, annoying, and painful for those other than myself. Again, mea culpa. I once had to restart an entire art project because I painted the entire ocean half of a sunset purple. I was twelve. So now, at twenty-three, I get to laugh at myself because it still gets me, in equally funny ways. (All my colorblind readers—zero—understand my dilemma).

            Numero dos: I want to apologize for not updating this blog sooner. I have very much to say on my time spent in Maseru, Lesotho so far. As I was warned, and quickly discovered for myself, Internet access here is in-and-out, and quite slower than in the states when it does work. However, I do consider myself lucky because I have wifi at my job. As promised, I will update this blog twice a month, with the intention of more frequent posts than that. A LOT has happened since I’ve been here, but I will try to spare every last unnecessary detail. Thus I will separate this post into two parts: the first part will be my “day to day” so far in Maseru (i.e. my work life and social life on any given day). Part deux will be about my three favorite days so far…

            So since the last time I wrote on this blog I was stuck in Joburg, counting down the time until I could finally fly to Maseru. Waking up after about two hours of sleep (jet-lag you win), I decided to stay awake and get to my terminal about three hours early just to be safe. There was no way I was going to miss another chance to get to Maseru. I figured I would just sleep another two hours at my gate. Wrong, didn’t sleep again until 12 PM that night (jet-lag 2, Shane 0).  Eventually I boarded my plane and was in the sky towards Moshoeshoe International Airport. While coasting towards the tarmac I was looking all around for a large airport, but after I looked again at my surroundings I realized my stupidity. There was nothing but tiny houses in villages scattered amongst the surrounding mountains. Moshoeshoe International airport has an international terminal the size of one of my elementary school classrooms. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that is the only terminal, and gate, in the airport. Customs consisted of one older Basotho woman, who checked and stamped everyone’s passport, and a few guards, who clearly did not care that we just landed in their country. Their disinterest was not meant in a bad way at all. More in a way of, “Hey, welcome to Lesotho. We would check your things, but we know that no one has ever heard of Lesotho, so how could you really have anything bad in your luggage?”

After going through customs, I was picked up by my new housemates, both of whom are former Kick4Life (K4L) interns, and brought to my new home for the year in a development known as Florida. I use housemates loosely because one of them was moving back to Canada in two days, and the other back to the states in two weeks. And I use the word development loosely because it is nothing like a development in the U.S. There is a guard at the entrance to the dirt road that leads to Florida (ironic because there are no oceans in Lesotho) and all of the houses have fences or walls lined with barbed wire, as to prevent robberies and such. Our compound (a one-bedroom house, a two-bedroom house, and a three-bedroom house) is guarded at night by a very sweet, older man we simply refer to as “Tate”, short for “ntate”, which means “sir” in Sesotho. There aren’t any cul-de-sacs, any 4-way stop signs, and there certainly aren’t any ice-cream trucks. But there are still kids playing games in the road, a nice constant I’ve come to appreciate.

I was driven to the K4L office after taking a nice long shower, and introduced to all of my co-workers. It turned into a marathon of being introduced to one Basotho man or woman after another, hearing their names, attempting to repeat them properly, being laughed at, and then forgetting them as quickly as I messed them up. I warned everyone that I am terrible with names, especially Sesotho names apparently, and asked for their patience. They of course smiled and said “Sharp, sharp”. Sharp is a term used in Southern Africa and seems to be used for any situation where something is good, okay, understood, awesome, happy, etc. I’ve never heard anyone use sharp in a negative way, and rarely is any other word used for one of the above feelings. Everyone says it, all the time, which makes me wonder what one would say if he or she wasn’t feeling “sharp” … Anyway, after being introduced to my co-workers, supervisor, and the country director of K4L, I spent the next few days in Maseru buying necessities, fighting jet-lag, meeting other expats, discovering the city, getting lost in the city, learning conversational Sesotho from my housemate’s boyfriend, etc. Basically “stuff” any new person in a new country would do. It was awesome.

My work at K4L started slow, which was to be expected. By slow I mean I didn’t have anything to do for the first few days. At all. So I would spend my hours playing soccer with the street kids on our 5-a-side pitch (see picture attached below). On my first day of errands I was brought to a part of town where most of the street kids live, which is an over-sized ditch/land hole off of a street in downtown Maseru. It’s filled with trash, lean-twos, covered with ratty paper and cloth, and kids aged 5-18 playing dice for cash, sleeping, socializing, and searching the trash for left-over braai. Braai, which is short for the Afrikaner term braaivleis, meaning “grilled-meat” (braai is essentially the same idea as BBQ food, but we will get to that later) is a common dish in Lesotho.  The biggest difference I’ve noticed in poverty between the States and Lesotho is the age of the homeless. Most homeless in the States are adults; most in Lesotho are children. They are commonly referred to as street kids, or at K4L as OVCs (Orphans and Vulnerable Children)… After meeting one particular gang of younger boys (I called them the “Rude Rabbits”, no one got it) I spent the next few days hanging out with them and playing soccer at the Kick4Life office on our 5-a-side pitch.  It was a pretty easy few days, but fun none-the-less. The kids were very talented individually, which is shocking considering they’ve never had any formal coaching. But they were terrible when it came to tactics and a sense of team, which is not at all shocking considering they’ve never had any formal coaching.  These first few days went by slow, which was fine with me.

My first few nights in Lesotho were more exciting and very comforting because I felt like I was immediately welcomed into a new, friendly, weird family: the expats.  Each night of the week it seems you can find a group of expats doing something together. Tuesday nights are cheap movie ticket night at the theater. (Seriously, no matter where you go in the world, Tuesday night is always cheap movie ticket night).  Wednesday nights there is a knitting club known as “Stitch and Bitch”.  “Stitch and Bitch” was started by my supervisor’s wife actually—name dropper, I know—and the hats and scarves made are donated to the street kids. Luckily for them winter seems to be ending, the nights are now getting warmer, and the days are quite hot.  I was taught how to knit by a 50-something-year-old Irish expat who had been knitting since she was but a wee lass. She taught me some crazy rhyme about a bunny going around a tree, which coincides with the steps of the knitting pattern. It’s safe to say my bunny had too much Sangria because my pattern was not straight and had lots of gaps. I’m not sure you could even refer to my knitting as having a pattern, and I ended up doing more bitching than stitching. But whether you knit successfully or not, it’s always a good night because of the company. It rotates from house to house every week, each host making dinner for the group (I can feel myself becoming more and more African: if there’s food provided, I’ll be there)… Thursday nights are even more fun because it’s poker night. Same concept, rotating host who provides food, but infinitely more fun, because I’m okay at poker; I’m horrible at knitting. The usual poker group consists of a few Americans, an Indian, a Mexican, a Scot, an Australian, a Norwegian (I think), and an Englishmen. Now when you play poker with a lot of guys late at night, there is naturally going to be trash talk. Now imagine that same trash talk, intensified by national pride. Awesome. No one EVER misses an opportunity to make a comment about someone’s country, or culture, but it’s all in good fun and no one ever takes offense… On other nights of the week you can usually find a group of expats having a braai.

Braai, like a said before, is a term similar to “barbeque” in the States: it’s the actual act of grilling food, and it’s also the name of the food you eat. It usually consists of a piece of meat (chicken or pork), papa, which is the base of any Basotho dish and is made of corn meal with a similar consistency to that of mashed potatoes, diced veggies, and chakalaka, which is a mix of beans, spices, and veggies, in a tomato-soup-ish sauce. Braai has become my new favorite food for three reasons: one, the plates are always packed full of food; two, it is the cheapest food I’ve ever eaten (twenty rand, about $2.50 per plate); three, the street outside of the K4L office is lined with about 5 different braai cooks to select from. Oh, and four. How could I forget the fourth reason? Four: you eat it with your hands, not utensils. I know it sounds a tad unsanitary, but there is something so unbelievably satisfying of eating an entire meal with your hands as an adult… So now that it’s culturally acceptable, I do it all the time.

My first weekend was focused on catching up on sleep, relaxing, and discovering the city. Maseru is not a city in the sense that a westerner may picture a city, but there is still  a state library, courthouse, royal palace, parliament, hospital, mall, gym (frequented by King Letsie III himself... there I go name-dropping again), grocery store, KFC, movie theater, which still has yet to show the new Batman, and a handful of bars.  For all of the poverty in Maseru there are still some things that are, sometimes, shockingly nicer than their U.S. counterpart. The gym is beautiful, and similar to an L.A. Fitness; the mall is comparable in size to the old Camp Hill mall, circa 1994; the government officials drive brand new Mercedes Benz’s or Range Rover’s; there is one digital billboard as you enter downtown, or as some Basotho like to refer to it, Time’s Square.  The only similarity to Time’s Square that downtown Maseru has, other than one digital billboard, is the taxi service. Taxis are everywhere here, and their drivers are even more inept. A three-point turn in the middle of an intersection is quite normal as is stopping in the middle of the road to try and flag down customers. Turn signals are never used, and speed limits are more like speed suggestions. To my surprise I have yet to witness any significant road rage…

After settling in for the first few days and a relaxing weekend I was briefed on what my job would entail. K4L, as well as teach youth using GRS’ HIV curriculum, does a lot of work focused on the community. We have different programs such as HIV testing and counseling, OVC (Orphans and Vulnerable Children) care, and an entire social enterprises initiative. The social enterprises work is focused on raising money in-house through different programs such as our recycling program, ReCYCLE, a soccer league for the community on our brand new five-a-side pitch, and, coming soon, a restaurant and catering business. The idea behind social enterprises is to raise our own funds so that we don’t have to be as dependent on donors. The money we make goes directly back into our HIV programs, as well as the OVC program, or to our ReCYCLE participants. The employees are strictly Basotho, with the aim of capacity building so that eventually they can manage the programs independently. It’s also a great way for many of the older street-kids to find work when they are no longer enrolled in school (either because of tuition costs, or being expelled). My main responsibility will be heading ReCYCLE, and, secondly, working with the HIV curriculum. The ReCYCLE program is actually a fairly revolutionary idea in this country. There isn’t much of a concept of recycling in Lesotho, let alone any idea of “going green”. The participants ride bicycles around the city collecting recyclables from different homes and business. They then bring the recyclables to a new recycling plant, where they receive points based on the type of material and weight. And we also charge the customers a monthly rate for the service. The points are then converted into money, with which the participants can use to either pay for school, driving school, food, or a home. Sadly, we can never give money directly to the street kids because it may get spent on drugs, alcohol, or gambled away. I believe fully in this program and have already directly experienced its benefits. This past Friday I spent the entire day helping one of our participants move into a new home (one room, no lights, no furniture, no appliances, no running water), after weeks of searching for his own place. He’s twenty-two, has lived on the streets for a long time, and couldn’t have been happier just to have a roof over his head. But, sadly, I must save more on this story for part two of this post… The first two weeks of my job were spent trying to organize and consolidate the ReCYCLE program, as well as help teach our new HIV intervention curriculum to our coaches. I went from having nothing to do, to having a very full plate every day. I spent my mornings working with the ReCYCLE program, attempting to decipher old excel sheets, match receipts to payments, consolidate our collections list, etc. In short, the materials I was left with were very disorganized, and not much matched up.  Eventually, now two weeks later, I’ve almost completely revised all of the excel sheets and chased down customers for payments…

 Aside from the ReCYCLE program, I spent my afternoons/evenings helping teach our new HIV follow-up curriculum to our Kick4Life coaches. While the original interventions that are used in schools now by K4L are great and extremely beneficial, there was a serious lack of follow-up education. Basically many kids were learning the information, but were slowly forgetting it as months went by. You can get away with this type of forgetfulness in the states, but when the education is focused on HIV/AIDS the results of forgotten knowledge can be life threatening. So from the necessity for a follow-up came our new HIV curriculum, “Club Talk”.  It was developed by a woman at K4L named Leila, and a guy by the name of Lou, who helped construct the original GRS curriculum. (Yes, unfortunately I don’t know their last names). Peer-educators, which is the name we give to original intervention graduates, had to write an essay on why they wanted to be in the club. Once in the club the main theme is openness, where peer-educators would discuss—in groups—topics such as HIV/AIDS, sex, gender, risks, relationships, and friendship. Luckily I got to tag along and help out wherever needed at the ToC (Teaching of Coaches).  The ToC is something like an overnight camp or retreat for the coaches.  According to Leila, having everyone spend the night at the retreat, for the entire week, is the only way to make sure everyone is there, every day, on time. In Africa, there is this sense of slowness known simply as “Africa time”. In the Caribbean they refer to it as “Island time”. Basically it means there is a decided time for something to start, and then there is the time something actually does start (e.g. if you’re meeting someone, add about 30 minutes to the meeting time; if there is a time for an event to begin, add at least an hour). People are always late to everything, and nothing starts on time. It’s not a good thing, nor is it a bad thing. It’s simply Africa time.  And anyone who knows me well, especially my friends, will realize that Africa Time is perfect for me. I like to take my time doing things, hate deadlines, and am often late to meet people. Others may refer to it as “procrastination”; I like to think of it as “a relaxed approach to an increased attention to detail”… Because of this everyone has to stay the night for the week so everyone is there, every day. The way they get everyone to start on time is they have a meal before each session begins. I’ve quickly learned that if you need a large group of Basotho to show up on time, say, “there will be food for all.” They will all be there pretty damn close to on time... The first few days of the ToC were spent with us teaching the curriculum, the club concepts, and the games to the coaches. We would role play as the coaches and run the sessions as if we were facilitating an actual session to the students, played by the coaches. For the last two days the coaches taught back the curriculum, facilitating it to each other. Aside from minor issues, the ToC was a great success, and I was blown away by how well the coaches could facilitate a session. They were timely, knowledgeable, fun, engaging, entertaining and hysterical. Naturally they excelled at any games that involved signing or dancing. Any Basotho can dance—very well—and most can sing too. Basically anything that involves rhythm, they excel. On the other hand, they love to watch me, a tall white man, dance like an idiot… Although I was incredibly busy my first week of work it was nice to settle in, but as always, it was much better to relax…

TO BE CONTINUED…

-Shane