November

November was my last full month in Lesotho, and a number of notable things happened. But I’m too lazy to string them together into some kind of coherent narrative, so here they are in a sort of Stray Thoughts Omnibus:

Theater Club continued to have a couple meetings every week. We read through many of the scripts in Plays magazine, and then I asked the students who attended meetings most regularly to choose their favorite. We had read quite a range of works – dramas, comedies, historical plays, folk stories and book adaptations. But when asked to pick out just one, the group of teenage girls unanimously chose The Dowry, essentially a romantic comedy set in olden timey Spain. They got a big kick out of the play, but were mildly outraged that in some cultures a dowry was paid by a girl’s family. (Traditionally in Lesotho a boy’s family pays the bride’s in the form of several head of cattle.)

We didn’t really have time to put on a full production that we could perform in front of the school, especially once the Ds began taking their own final exams. But I did hold auditions and assign parts, and we had several long practices in which we blocked scenes. I worked with them on reading smoothly and clearly, projecting their voice, and reacting to the other actors in their scene. I’m pleased with the progress we made in the time we had, but I also really wish I had another year to keep working with these students, given all that I’ve learned about them. I suppose that applies to my classes and everything else I’ve worked on this year, too.

As the weather warms up I’ve been seeing a lot of these crazy rainbow-colored grasshoppers. I did a google search and it looked a lot like a rainbow bush locust except I’m not sure it had those red spikey things on its back. But it was big and had rainbow colored wings and was kind of awesome. I’ve seen a number of interesting bugs around St. Rods actually. On hot days when I’m walking along the dirt path to Mpatana to get milk and whatnot I’ll sometimes see dung beetles. One time I saw this crazy electric blue, furry spider that really stood out against the red soil. It also moved really fast and was pretty creepy looking. I haven’t even come close to identifying it (clearly my naturalist skills are pretty weak).

Earlier in the year I started thinking about how I could encourage my students to keep in touch with me after I returned to the US. One idea that occurred to me was to give each of my students a business card with my address, email, phone number, etc. on it. I passed this notion on to my family, and they did all the work for me. My parents brought a bunch of cards with them, including some that were laminated, and in the middle of November I received a package with cards that also had my picture on them. So by the end of the school year I had several hundred cards to hand out to the students, teachers, nuns, and pretty much anyone else I had met in Lesotho.

They were a big hit with the students. I met the E2s in their classroom after their penultimate exam (which happened to be their last math exam) and gave them the cards as well as gingerbread cake. As I handed out their cards they burst into a song that consisted solely of singing “M’e Gwen-y, ‘M’e Gwen-y” over and over. It was incredibly sweet but also hilarious, and that is why leaving those girls broke my heart. The word spread to other classes that they’d all be getting little tokens with my face on it, and I had only to walk into a class and pull a stack of cards out of my bag to trigger immediate applause.

Of course the real test will be if any of them contact me – but if I get just one letter or email or text, even if it’s ten years from now, it will be worth it.

One morning I was groggily going about my morning routine of putting water on the stove to boil and shoving food in my face when I heard what sounded like something heavy hitting the kitchen door. I was about to swing open the door and see what was going on, but first I peeked out the window. Several of the neighbor kids plus one teacher were standing outside, staring intently at our doorstep. Every now and then one of the kids would slowly raise a rock, take careful aim, and hurl it at our door. I thought better of my original plan and went out the back door and around the house to ask what was going on.

As soon as I rounded the corner of the house I understood the situation – there was small snake (maybe 1.5 ft long, not terribly thick) with its head reared back and hissing. The teacher was standing with a bucket, watching apprehensively. She had been on her way to get water from the tap by our house, spotted the snake, and called over the extermination squad.

The snake didn’t look poisonous to me – more like something that eats mice. But, as I’ve already shown, I am not to be trusted when it comes to identifying Lesotho wildlife. And anyway, the kids had already maimed it, so I just let them keep throwing rocks until it was dead. When I took a closer look at the snake I saw a couple really distinctive characteristics. There were red stripes on each side of its head near the mouth, and when it had reared its head back and hissed black folds of skin (or something) stood up behind its eyes to make it look sort of like a cobra (but it wasn’t quite a hood). From these details I’m pretty sure it was a red-lipped herald snake which, sure enough, is harmless to humans.

Seshoeshoes are traditional dresses worn by women in Lesotho. Many previous (female) fellows have purchased them in the past, and buying my own and wearing it to school was on my to-do-before-the-end-of-the-year list. The entire process involved talking to my fellow teachers, meeting with a woman in Maseru who sews seshoeshoes, having a couple meetings about exactly what I wanted (there’s very wide variation in the colors, patterns, and style of seshoeshoes), and finally picking them up in Maseru. I had two seshoeshoes made (one blue, one green) and managed to have them ready a couple weeks before school closed. Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite in time to wear them before the Es and Cs left. But all the other students (plus all the teachers, of course) were still around to bear witness the day I paraded to school in my seshoeshoe.

I’ve seen countless variations on seshoeshoes worn by women around Lesotho, and nearly every outfit differs a little from the next. They’re all made with the same seshoeshoe material, which comes in many colors, but most commonly blue and brown. There are also many different patterns, but they’re all very small and subtle – they remind me a little of the patterns I associate with Japanese fabrics (not that I know very much about Japanese traditional attire).

The dress itself can be almost any style, but most have elaborate embroidery, especially around the neckline and pockets. It doesn’t even have to be a full dress – I’d seen many women wearing a seshoeshoe skirt paired with some other top. This is what I chose for myself, because I thought I’d be more likely to wear it back home. Women also frequently wear a headscarf, called a luku, made out of the same fabric of their seshoeshoe. As I was getting my seshoeshoes custom-made, I made sure I also got matching lukus for my skirts.

I was a bit nervous the morning I donned my seshoeshoe and luku for school. It was certainly a departure from my usual wardrobe, and I had no sense of whether I looked awesome or ridiculous. The reaction when I arrived at school, however, was resoundingly positive. Students burst into applause and cheers as I walked down the hall. If you’ve never had that response to your choice of outfit for the day, I can tell you it does wonders for your self-esteem. My favorite moment might have been when I was in the staff room, and one of the other teachers walked into the room. As soon as she snapped eyes on me her face broke into a big grin and just shrieked at the top of her lungs. I also received lots of expert advice on how to properly tie my luku.

My other seshoeshoe skirt was in a very traditional style, and it received an even more enthusiastic response, if that’s possible. I wore it on the last day of classes, so the general euphoria of students anticipating summer break may have also been feeding their goodwill. I think the students also liked the fact that I had bought two seshoeshoes, because they took it to mean I really like seshoeshoes (and I do). They made me promise that I would wear them in America, which I fully intend to do.

I’d been looking forward to Thanksgiving since, oh, April because it is definitely one of my favorite holidays, and I couldn’t wait to celebrate it Bo Grinnell-style. I figured by November I’d be a pro at cooking without refrigeration or electricity, and all year long I scoped out grocery stores in Lesotho and South Africa for Thanksgiving-y ingredients. I even recruited my family into sending essentials that were difficult to find in Africa (namely cranberries, canned pumpkin, and evaporated milk).

For the last couple years the Namibia fellows have visited Bo Grinnell on Thanksgiving, and I looked forward to meeting the new Namibia fellows (they arrived in July) and whipping up a big feast. Unfortunately the Namibia fellows couldn’t make it because of work (they work at a desert research station and thus have a less predictable schedule than those of us at a school). So we invited a couple friends from Maseru who had been hoping to come visit us and see St. Rods sometime anyway.

We planned to have our Thanksgiving meal on Saturday. Our friends would drive out that morning, bringing poultry and other refrigerated Thanksgiving essentials, and stay at Bo Grinnell overnight. I woke up Saturday morning and looked out the window to find a completely overcast sky. (I’d been hoping to do some solar charging.) Well, I thought to myself, at least it’s not raining. And of course a giant crack of thunder immediately responded and basically set the tone for the rest of the day.

Rain soon followed and barely let up for the rest of the day. I had a strict schedule of food preparation to follow, so I hurried to the kitchen to get started. That was when I discovered that we were completely out of gas. My visions of a holiday feast were rapidly dimming, and my co-fellow texted our friends to let them know the situation. It turned out that one of them (the driver, as it happens) had gotten sick. We had so many reasons to cancel our plans it felt a bit like overkill. So instead of a Thanksgiving celebration we spent a rather gloomy rainy day feeling sorry for ourselves because we couldn’t make hot drinks.

We did get a new tank of gas eventually, and I was determined to have some kind of Thanksgiving meal. After all, we had all those cans of pumpkin from the US sitting around. So on Sunday I woke up early and made a super speedy day trip to Maseru to buy chicken, butter, green beans, sour cream, and other Thanksgiving-y things. Normally it would have been way too hot for those things to sit in a taxi for several hours, but I bought a couple bags of ice from the movie theater and stuffed them in my tote bag, which worked pretty well.

I arrived at Bo Grinnell around 6:00pm, and my co-fellow and I proceeded to stay up late making our Thanksgiving feast (finally). Our menu (for four in theory, two in practice) included barbecue chicken (cooked by Pick N Pay), corn casserole, green beans, mashed potatoes (with butter!), cranberry sauce, homemade bread, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie (with whipped cream!) and sauvignon blanc (chilled!). The cream unfortunately had a pretty strong UHT flavor, but I was still super proud that I’d been able to whip it by hand. (I used the remaining ice to chill the bowl for the cream.)

It was nearing midnight by the time we actually had our feast, three days late, but it was still very satisfying. And candlelit, naturally.

At the end of the school year, when all the teachers have finished marking exams and filled out report cards, we have a meeting called Promotions. This is where the teachers meet to discuss those students who did not pass outright and decide whether they should move on (be promoted) to the next form. Passing was based on a cumulative grade – I was never clear on exactly how this number was calculated. But if it was over 40% the student passed. A significant number of students did not meet this standard, especially in the upper grades. Only 11 Ds out of 60+ passed (although many more were promoted).

In deciding whether a student should be promoted, teachers evaluated her potential for performing well in the next form. This was especially important to consider in the case of Bs and Ds, whose advancement the next year would be determined solely by standardized tests. Very few students ever repeat form E, so teachers are hesitant to promote a student in form D unless they’re very sure she’s ready for form E.

If a student had a cumulative grade somewhat close to 40% (35% or higher) and passed at least four subjects, one of which was English, then she was promoted with no argument. The more in-depth discussions of a student occurred when students didn’t quiiite meet even that standard. Then teachers started comparing their impressions of that student in class, her improvement/decline over the year, and whether there were home/personal issues to take into account. Some students had been held back for multiple years, and we discussed whether it was better to pass a student if she would otherwise become discouraged and drop out of school altogether.

As the only math teacher of the A1s and A3s I was proud to be able to vouch for a couple of my students. One of my students had been struggling at the beginning of the year, but recently made huge improvements. She was asking me questions outside of class, doing her homework, and improved her final exam score over her midterm by about 35 percentage points. We ultimately decided to hold her back, thinking she would perform better overall next year and be better prepared for form B than if we promoted her now.

Another student consistently did well in my class, always doing her classwork thoroughly and promptly, and asking questions when she didn’t understand. I believe she passed all of my exams and finished with a strong pass in math overall (55% or thereabouts). I was surprised to see on her report card that she had only passed one other class. I don’t remember which subject it was, but it was not English, which would have helped her case greatly. All the other teachers said that she was lazy in their classes and that she should repeat the grade. I spoke up because she’s easily one of the best five students in that particular class (in math). It seemed that she was very bright and capable, but apparently unmotivated in her other classes. We decided to promote her, under the condition that she work hard and apply herself in form B.

I felt really good about being able to contribute to the conversation and help create a fair depiction of each student. And it was even more gratifying to have the other teachers listen to my perspective and give it equal weight, even though they all have much more experience with promoting students than me. The meeting started in the late afternoon and ended well past 8:00 (my first experience lighting candles in the staff room). At the end of the meeting I regretted that I wouldn’t be able to stick around for a few more years and continue to watch these students grow and improve. I hope those address cards work, and that I’ll be hearing from both students and teachers so that I can cheer them on from afar.

October 31

As soon as classes resumed after Independence holidays the Cs and Es started taking their final exams. Now, St. Rodrigue High School is usually a pretty laid-back place. Teachers aren’t coming to assembly because it’s raining? No biggie. Want to dismiss class early so students go gape at the landing helicopter? Sure, whatevs. But when the time came for testing the Cs and Es (“externals”, as we call them – because their exams come from outside sources) the entire process was very stringent and official.

The assembly hall became our testing center. Assembly was held outdoors for the rest of the year, which was fine because the weather was warm and lovely. (If it happened to be raining at 7:40am students would just have assembly in their classrooms.) Instead of long tables scattered around the room there were neat rows of 50-odd desks labeled with each student’s name and identification number.

The exams themselves arrived in sealed envelopes to be opened only on exam day. Students took no more than two tests per day, and followed a schedule set to correspond with all other schools. So Cs across Lesotho would take their physics exam at the same time on the same day (much the way AP exams are administered in the US).

There was also a schedule on the staff room chalkboard for us teachers, indicating when we needed to invigilate the Cs. (Outside officials came to invigilate the Es.) I was signed up for invigilation duty twice over the testing period. If you’re wondering whether “invigilation” sounds less hilarious after repeated exposure: it does not.

My first experience with super-official invigilation was much the same as regular invigilation (in which I sit at a desk and read a book, glancing up now and then to make sure there’s no shenanigans going on) except I had to fill out some seating charts and get signatures from students. Something about holding the examinations in the assembly hall made the environment feel more austere and ponderous. Maybe it was the fact that I was sitting at a desk on a small stage, glaring down at several dozen heads bent over their papers and scribbling away. On that first day of invigilation a big afternoon thunderstorm rolled in, so students had to tune out the sound of howling wind and rain crashing against the corrugated steel roof. The assembly hall is often somewhat dim anyway, and the storm blotted out so much daylight I was worried about students’ abilities to read their papers easily. But none complained; they carried on with their exams as though nothing were happening.

Initially invigilation wasn’t too much of a chore, and had the added perk of coffee & biscuits in the principal’s office afterward. But then my co-invigilator and I found out that we were not allowed to read a book (or use a phone) during super-official-invigilation. So my second round of invigilation duty was a pretty dismal affair – basically 2.5 hours of staring blankly into space.

I wanted to make sure the Es had the best possible chance of doing well on the first of their two math exams. They were testing in the afternoon (2:00-4:00 or something) and I didn’t want them to do math on an empty stomach, so I baked a couple loaves of bread and took them out of the oven just in time to rush them up to the school. The students were pretty thrilled, and hopefully it helped them relax a little bit before plunging into their exam. Here’s a pretty good example of the type of test they were taking. (The CIE website has exams from previous years, but I couldn’t find the exact version St. Rods students take. Anyway, this one gives a good sample of the types of questions, but the actual exam is much longer.)

I’d been giving out a lot more treats in class recently, actually. Maybe my looming departure date made me feel more generous. The As suggested that the math exam they took before Independence break be a competition between the A1s, A2s, and A3s. The reward was a popcorn party for the class with the most passes (40% or higher) and a discount on printing photos for any score over 60%. The A2s wound up being the winners, so as promised I popped a whole bag of popcorn (over the stove, of course) and carried it in two giant bowls up to their classroom.

Word soon spread to the other classes, and I found myself constantly hounded by girls shouting, “‘M’e Gwen! The popcorns! We want the popcorns!!” I don’t know where they picked up describing popcorn in plural with a definite article, but it was adorable.

The most persistent of the popcorn hunters was the B1 class, who mentioned the popcorns! every time I saw them. They also happened to be one of the most unruly Guidance & Counseling classes, so I cut a deal with them. I walked into their class, prepared to discuss passive and aggressive behaviors, and wrote “POPCORN 1 2 3” on the board. I told them that every time someone talked out of turn, worked on homework for another class, put their head down to sleep, or did something else that annoyed me, I would erase 3…2…1…popcorn. And if “POPCORN” was still on the board by the end of class I would bring an actual bowl of the stuff to their next class. This is basically shameless bribery, but it worked. They were perfect angels for the whole 40 minutes. (I only had to move threateningly toward the 3 with an eraser to restore peace.)

Popcorn days were bright spots in my routine, but even they were not nearly as much fun as Halloween. I essentially abandoned all my regularly scheduled lesson plans and decided nothing was more important than educating my students about the glories of Halloween. I only had As that day, and they were really an ideal audience. This was their first year of having Grinnell Corps fellows as teachers, so I was fairly certain they had minimal exposure to the concept of Halloween. And they’re also the most game for listening to whatever crazy thing I bring up in class.

I started each class by asking if they knew what today was. They looked at me blankly and a few ventured,”…Wednesday?” All Saints Day sounded more familiar, and I explained how Halloween is derived from All Saints Day, and is a day to celebrate everything spooky and scary and wicked. When my parents were visiting they brought me a bag of candy corn, which I had scowled at (seriously, it is sugar-flavored wax), but it became a useful prop in my Halloween lesson. I reminded my students that although it was late spring in Lesotho, it was autumn in America. (I’ve explained this several times, but I guess it takes awhile to wrap your mind around the concept.) And because Halloween is an autumn festival, we have special sweets that represent the season. In reality candy corn looks almost nothing like actual corn, but when I asked them to guess what it was they caught on pretty quickly. The pumpkins were a lot easier.

Before handing out the candy I explained that kids in America would put on scary costumes, then go to their neighbors’ houses and knock on their doors. They would say “Trick or Treat!” and their neighbors were then obligated to give them candy. My students seemed fairly awestruck by this idea. After all, it is a pretty brilliant tradition, as holiday celebrations go. They wanted to test-drive this practice immediately, and rushed to the staff room to yell “Trick or Treat!” at my co-fellow. He was disappointingly lacking in candy, and he cited their absence of costumes.

This did not daunt my last class of the day, the A2s, who promptly began to assemble costumes. They threw whatever blankets they had over their shoulders and smeared chalk dust all over their faces. The results were pretty adorable, and my co-fellow and I spent the rest of the class taking pictures of them and showing them how scary they looked.

I heard lots of students wishing me “Happy Halloween!” after classes were over for the day, but if we had trick-or-treaters at our house we missed them because of a long staff meeting immediately after school. There were a lot of events coming up in November (the last month of the school year!) so being stuck in a long meeting was the scariest thing that happened in St. Rods on Halloween night.

Stray Thoughts:

• I’ve resurrected Theater/Drama Club! Another item in my parents’ suitcases o’ goodies were copies of the magazine Plays, which publishes a variety of short plays for middle school and high school students. Because the Cs and Es are testing and As and Bs are shy, the meetings mostly consist of Ds. Which is fine, because their reading skills are pretty good and it keeps the group to a manageable size. I’ve really enjoyed doing some table reads with them, practicing sight-reading skills and hashing out dense dialogue. So far we’ve read through plays called Puzzling It Out, Echo & Narcissus, The Dowry, Trapped, Perfect, The Little Princess, and The Peasant and the Lion.
• One of the drawbacks of using a giant tank of gas for cooking is that there’s really no way of telling that the gas is running low until it’s completely gone and the stove won’t light up. This is exactly what happened just three days after my parents left (we had been using that tank since February). It took a couple days to get a replacement tank, and during that time my co-fellow and I ate mostly granola and apples. I was just really glad it didn’t happen while we had guests (FORESHADOWING).
• My ballot for the general election arrived in St. Rodrigue on October 18th and I promptly mailed it from Maseru the following Saturday. It felt pretty remarkable to participate in the election from so far away, and I was extremely excited that my ballot arrived in time to do so, because my hopes had not been high.
• Back in April or May my co-fellow and I had acquired badminton rackets and birdies, but the weather was turning cold so I didn’t have very many opportunities to actually play. Now that summer’s arriving badminton sounds much more inviting, and the neighbor kids have started to become really enthusiastic about it. They’re frequently knocking on the door asking for “the rackets” (birdie implicit), and we’ve had some pretty good matches using the fence around the yard as a net.
• The neighbor kids have been over at our house a lot more in general now that the weather’s warm and the evenings are long. Sometimes we’ll invite them in and let them poke through our stacks of magazines and look at all the postcards taped to the walls. If they’re being particularly good I might let them sample something from the kitchen that’s not common fare in St. Rods (e.g. pumpkin bread, honey). One day I was walking home from school with an umbrella (the rain had long since stopped) and showed the youngest of our neighbors how the open button works. They would make a whooshing sound as they pushed the button and then stumble back giggling every time the umbrella exploded open. The point here is that those kids are reliably cute.

 

October 10

Back in July my parents bought plane tickets to come visit me during the first week of October, when school would be on break for Lesotho’s Independence holiday.  As soon as I heard they were officially coming to visit me I started madly planning all the adventures I wanted us to have and all the things I wanted to show them. I got a huge kick out of going about my daily activities imagining my parents’ reactions to them. So, as you can imagine, actually having them with me in Africa was just about the most fun (albeit surreal) thing that’s ever happened to me. Anyway, the following is an account of our little vacation.

My parents arrived in Maseru on the first Saturday of my break, and I met them at tiny Moshoeshoe International Airport. After hugs and lots of ecstatic jumping on my part we all piled into a taxi to take us straight to Morija. Every year Morija, a town about an hour’s drive south from Maseru, hosts a festival celebrating Lesotho’s arts and culture. It happened to be the same weekend my parents were arriving, and I thought it would make a good introduction to Lesotho. Plus I had been meaning to visit Morija, home to Lesotho’s only museum.

However, at this point I had been living in Lesotho for nearly eight months, and evidently I had started to take for granted the adjustments I had made to life here. In retrospect I did not quite fully allow for the fact that things that seemed reasonable to me were a bit more challenging for my jetlagged, culture-shocked, disoriented parents. To wit, I was more concerned about missing out on the festival than letting my parents catch their breath, so we went off on our merry way to Morija.

Actually, in many ways the first couple days of our trip were the roughest and least planned – partly due to lapses in my judgment and partly due to Lesotho being Lesotho. Morija is far from a large town, and only has a few regular guesthouses and B&Bs. By the time I’d made arrangements for our weekend, all the prime options had been booked long in advance. Luckily the festival was arranging homestays, so we wound up staying with a very nice family that was helping organize the festival.

Their house was similar in size to Bo Grinnell and had electricity, but did not have running water. Its best feature was definitely the commanding view from a hillside overlooking the town and the mountains beyond.

The festival itself was lovely, with plenty of great music and dancing and traditional wear, although it was all much more novel for my parents than for me. I was more impressed by the Morija museum, which has some very informative displays on Lesotho’s history as well as a number of fascinating books and other printed materials on Lesotho (published in Morija). Plus dinosaur bones!

We all turned in rather early (after I gleefully rifled through the suitcases filled with presents for me) – my parents because they were exhausted, obviously, and I was still on my sundown = bedtime schedule from St. Rods. Our accommodation was quaint and pleasant (a beautiful sunset goes a long way), but I was looking forward to getting back to Maseru because it would mean a less demanding schedule and cushier environs. The reality was not quite this easy, as it turned out.

The next morning things seemed to be going swimmingly (lovely sunrise; our hosts kindly heated a big pot of water so we could wash up) until the power went out. I wasn’t terribly concerned by this at first – we were heading to Maseru in a few hours anyway. But gradually I learned that the power outage was affecting all of Maseru and the surrounding area. Apparently it was a planned outage, lasting from 8:00 am to 5:00 pm – hadn’t I heard about it on the radio? (I had not. Even if someone I knew had, such things do not make big news in electricity-less St. Rodrigue.)

This was a bit more of an obstacle. I had counted on going straight to an ATM upon arriving in Maseru, and the inability to do that put a severe wrinkle in my plans. (There are even more details to this comedy of errors that I can regale you with privately should you choose, but to prevent this post from reaching an obscene length I’ll simplify the story.)

Fortunately for us our taxi driver was very understanding and not only trusted me to contact him when the power came back but also ferried us around between guesthouses when there was a little mix-up about our reservations. All in all it was a much more tiring day than I ever could have anticipated, but in the end we wound up in comfortable rooms (with electricity, water, and internet) with food in our bellies. Although I would have been perfectly fine skipping this lesson for my parents, those two days were illustrative of how the best-laid plans can go awry in Lesotho and patience is vital to survival.

The experience left me a little disgruntled with Lesotho, so I was somewhat relieved to cross the border into South Africa the next day. We spent something of an in-between day in Bloemfontein waiting for our bus to Port Elizabeth. As I’ve mentioned before, there’s not a lot to see in Bloem, but it’s usually a necessary stop on my ventures into SA. There are also a lot of foods and stores there that don’t yet exist in Lesotho, so it’s good for restocking.

We had an overnight bus to Port Elizabeth, and upon arrival went straight to the beach. When I visited Port Elizabeth in July I spent quite a bit of time walking along the very pleasant boardwalk. The weather had been particularly clement and the walkways were filled with families riding bikes and walking dogs. And I was all alone. (June and July were largely solo months for me.) So it was very emotionally satisfying to be strolling down the same beach a few months later with my parents in tow (on an equally gorgeous day).

In the afternoon our ride to Chrislin Lodge (in Addo) picked us up at the beach. For much of my year I’d been hoping to visit one of South Africa’s many national parks and see some animals. In particular, elephants were really what I cared about seeing, so I thought Addo National Park would be a good option because it’s relatively close to Lesotho and not a malaria-risk area.

Our arrival at Chrislin commenced the luxurious portion of our trip. I just can’t do justice to what a stunning little oasis we found there. We stayed in spacious, classily decorated African mud huts based on traditional Xhosa building methods. (This sounds spartan, but I assure you, they were well equipped.) The grounds were completely surrounded by orange groves, which were heavy with fruit and gave off an intoxicating scent that mixed with the fragrances of vibrant springtime blooms. The entire setting was more than a little surreal for me. Needless to say it was worlds away from life in St. Rodrigue, but also a far cry from the backpacker dorms I usually frequent on my travels.

And the food! We had our meals in a lovely dining area that had a thatched roof like our huts and was completely open on one side (though there was canvas that could be rolled down when the wind picked up). I haven’t had too much trouble making decent meals at Bo Grinnell, but they do sometimes get repetitive, and the restaurants in Maseru are barely worth mentioning. So the truly wonderful meals I’ve had this year stand out vividly. All the cuisine at Chrislin easily made the grade. Our feasts included kudu potjie, braai, onion & brie hors d’oeuvres, butternut squash soup, strawberry tarts, and malva pudding. Breakfast was also a gourmet event, with eggs to order and very local fresh-squeezed orange juice.

Wednesday was devoted to the elephants! The sky was rather cloudy that day, and when I woke up I was terrified that our safari was going to get rained out. Fortunately it merely stayed overcast and never really rained. Our guide picked us up at the lodge just after breakfast, and as it was just the three of us he gave us a really personalized safari. He was extremely warm and knowledgeable, and really made our visit to the park. Plenty of people drive themselves through Addo (and other SA national parks), but I definitely would not have spotted nearly as many animals, or appreciated what I was seeing, without our guide.

Right from the beginning we saw plenty of birds, kudu, zebras, warthogs, and tortoises. All of these were exciting to see, but after an hour or two without seeing any elephants I was beginning to get a little worried. Our guide was very sweetly conscientious, assuring us that he would find the elephants.

And then there they were, a big herd of them! I suppose a little suspense made our first sighting that much more satisfying. I can’t really explain how excited I was to see them – I’ll just say that there was a fair amount of squealing on my part. We ended up seeing several herds throughout the day, and I just loved watching them playing and eating and drinking. They even passed right in front of and next to our vehicle, which was a jaw-dropping experience. Once again, that was really thanks to our guide, who was bent on strategically moving our vehicle to where he thought the elephants would go so that we could get the best possible view. He also kept saying, endearingly, “I want you to be close enough to smell an elephant! I want you to wink at an elephant!”

Later in the day we saw a large herd of water buffalo (at least 100), and also a bunch of guinea fowl, which I have a huge soft spot for. I just think they have such pretty feathers and they look so funny when they run – they’re adorable and they always make me giggle.

Overall the safari was absolutely one of the highlights of the trip, and even my whole year. It was completely amazing and unforgettable, and I’m so glad I had the chance to experience it, especially with family. Although we didn’t see all the “Big Five” I still felt I checked off an essential part of a trip to southern Africa. And as I said before: elephants. All I care about is elephants.

Thursday we had to go back to Port Elizabeth, but before we left Addo we visited the nearby reptile & raptor center. I had really just expected this to be a way to kill time, something to do before starting our travels back to Lesotho. In fact it was unexpectedly fun and interesting, due largely to our very enthusiastic and informed guide. She was a fount of information about snakes in Africa, several of which she let us hold/slither around our shoulders. We also held a gecko and a meerkat and saw a porcupine, crocodiles, lots of owls, and other birds. I was actually regretful when the hour we’d allotted was up – I could have happily stayed much longer.

But it was time for us to head back to PE so we could repeat our journey in reverse. Our second visit to Maseru was much more relaxed than the first, and we caught Platoon to St. Rodrigue just as planned. I’d kept my fingers crossed that the minibus taxi wouldn’t be too terribly crowded or loud, but as there were plenty of students and teachers and nuns also returning to St. Rods from their holidays, this was too much to ask. We managed to all squeeze in with our big bags full of goodies from America, and it was otherwise a fairly typical taxi trip from Maseru to St. Rods. Which is to say that it was routine for me and fairly traumatizing for my parents.

When we arrived at Bo Grinnell it was dark and we were beat, so my parents didn’t get to see much of the house other than to find a bed and crash. The next morning I gave them the complete tour of both the house and the school, which was a load of fun. Most of the students were still gone, but that actually gave us a chance to get a good look at the school without a couple hundred curious pairs of eyes watching our every move.

As I’ve mentioned several times before, having visitors at St. Rodrigue is always an educational experience for me, giving me perspective on the place and my work from a fresh source. But introducing my parents to my home and coworkers and students was its own special experience. This was especially true when my parents accompanied me to school on Monday.

My lessons plans for the day basically consisted of “Look, here are my parents! Ask them questions!” The students were, of course, very obliging and had plenty of questions for my guests. They seemed most interested in hearing about their jobs as well as trying to wrap their mind around the long journey from America to Lesotho. I did manage to do a little bit of actual teaching, so they were able to see how I usually spend my time.

Also fun was introducing my parents to my fellow teachers, although not all of them were around. (First day after any break is not a peak day for teacher attendance.) We rounded out the day with tea in the principal’s office, where we had a lovely chat about the history of St. Rodrigue and all that’s been going on here recently.

Mostly I spent my parents’ visit basking in the glow of having their company after so long apart and thoroughly enjoying watching them experience St. Rods and Lesotho and southern Africa for the first time. When it was time for them to go home I accompanied them to Maseru and helped them pick out gifts to take home. I also proved that I had not been exaggerating when I raved about the glorious food at Ladybrand’s Living Life Café.

Saying goodbye at the airport was a little difficult, but it was also a brisk reminder that it wouldn’t be long before I was departing from that same airport myself. Two(ish) months suddenly didn’t seem very long at all. But the thought of my parents arriving at home and enjoying all the things I miss most about America also made me somewhat anxious to return home. In the time since then I’ve been swinging back and forth between those two emotions – excitement about returning home and anxiety about leaving Lesotho. I simultaneously can’t wait to go home and never want to leave. Of course the only sensible response is to cram as much as I can into the time I have left, and that’s what I’ve been attempting to do.

September 27

I mentioned in the previous post that at school the spotlight has really been focused on the Cs and Es as they prepare for their exams. In September these forms took their mock exams, which were copies of last year’s exams from the Lesotho Ministry of Education (for the Cs) and Cambridge International (for the Es).

I was eager to see my students’ results, but not surprised to find that they all had a lot of room for improvement. However, I think the exam gave them a realistic idea of what to expect on the official exam without shattering their confidence.

After mock exams the Cs’ and Es’ regular class schedules were essentially abandoned. Instead, teachers would wander into their classrooms whenever they were free and have marathon study sessions with them. Of course, it seemed to me there were never any teachers supervising the Es except when I wanted to have my own study session. Then someone else had inevitably booked them for the entire afternoon.

On the bright side, with the specter of their final exams specter looming ever closer, my Es showed a renewed interest in what I was trying to teach them. Somehow vectors were  much more interesting than when I had introduced them back in April.

The “final” of final exams bears a lot of weight here. The Cambridge exams are not only the final exams of the year, but of their time in high school. The scores on these exams will determine whether or not they’re admitted to university, which will shape what jobs they can get in the future. Their employment opportunities could mean the difference between whether they lead a relatively affluent life in Maseru (or perhaps South Africa) or live in a small village with no electricity. Of course, a number of other factors are at play here, but the results of their exams are still significant, and the students are aware of this. As someone who never took a final exam until college, I can’t imagine facing that kind of pressure at 18. (I don’t consider the ACT/SAT similar because they’re aptitude tests, whereas the Cambridge measures acquired knowledge.)

Lesotho’s Independence Day is October 4^th, and school closed for that entire week. When students returned to school the second week of October, Cs and Es would begin their exams. Not all Es took exams in the same subjects, so some students would complete their exams at different times. Cs and Es were free to go home when finished with exams. For this reason, the school organized a graduation ceremony (called Farewell) to be held just before Independence break.

The Farewell ceremony was definitely one of the highlights of my semester. Classes were cancelled for the day and all the students and teachers gathered in the assembly hall. The school had hired the dj who lives in Mpatana to bring all his sound equipment and play music throughout the show. Each class had prepared a song or skit or both to entertain the crowd and send off the Es in style. Most of the songs were Sesotho hymns, but the one that brought down the house was English. Its refrain was very simple: “Remember, I remember, you remember, I remember you.” And on each verse a student sang a solo to the Es, wishing them success and telling them to make St. Rodrigue proud. Students and teachers went nuts over that one, and I can confirm that it was very, very sweet.

The skits were also very popular. There were two, both in English, and both moral tales of students who didn’t work hard at school, got involved with drinking and boys, and met a horrible demise. The dramas were complete with costumes, including some good old-fashioned cross-dressing and super fancy high heels and makeup to distinguish the teachers/mothers from the students/children. The Oscar went to a girl who dressed up as a herdboy (blanket, stick) and did a flawless impression of the grunts and whistles herdboys use when driving cattle, to everyone’s delight.

In between the songs and skits there were dance routines from students in all forms doing what was listed in the program as “jive”. Basically the dj put on an endless beat and the students, dressed in their identical St. Rodrigue blue track pants and white polos (but with the collar popped), showed off their very best moves. Which I have to say, were much more impressive than anything I could do on stage. The students all had a blast and their classmates rewarded them with riotous applause and cheers.

There were also speeches from one of the priests and a member of the school board. Much of it was in Sesotho, but it all seemed very heartfelt. At the end of all the performances Sister Tsiki gave her own speech and handed out the diplomas to the Es. (I was told that they had satisfactorily completed the work for their classes, and would graduate from St. Rods regardless of the scores on their Cambridge exams.) Watching each student shyly approach the principal, shake her hand, and extend both hands to receive her diploma was especially moving.

After the ceremony, the Es shared a meal with all the teachers in the library. (The other forms received food also, but not as much and not with the teachers.) We moved to the library just as a storm started kicking up, and as we ate our chicken and vegetables hail began thundering against the metal roof. So we had an excellent excuse to detain the Es and celebrate with them a little longer.

Independence break began shortly after Farewell, and I had fabulous vacation traveling with my visiting parents (!!). More on that adventure in the next post.

Stray Thoughts:

• I forgot to mention in my last post that I really, really missed attending the Iowa State Fair. This was the first year in living memory that I hadn’t gone to the fair, and August didn’t quite feel right without it. I had to restrain myself from chasing after livestock with ribbons and eating all my food on a stick.
• One day I walked into a Guidance & Counseling class, and my co-fellow was already looking over their word journals. The students (As) were standing in a line at his desk, and were doodling on the chalkboard as they waited for their turn. When they all sat down I saw that one of them had written “Kuen Valley too much talking”. I had just taught this class math earlier in the afternoon, and this is apparently the phrase they associate most with me. Anyway, it cracked me up and made my day.
• Spring has arrived in St. Rodrigue! It looks like someone took a highlighter to the landscape – the mountainsides are dull and brown, but there are shrubs bursting with fluorescent yellow flowers, lime green willows along the riverbeds, and neon pink peach trees everywhere.
• On an ordinary Saturday evening as I was contemplating what to eat for dinner, I looked out the kitchen window and saw that the neighbor kids had set our yard ablaze. I went outside and calmly asked the little arsonists why they were starting a prairie fire in front of our house. Turned out it was a carefully controlled burning, designed to encourage new growth, which is reasonable enough. (Translation: their mom wasn’t around and they were bored.) But I wished the 4-year-old would wear two shoes instead of just one when stomping out the flames. (All was fine in the end, and no one got hurt.)
• I happened to be in Maseru on the afternoon (night in Lesotho) of the Iowa/Iowa State game, which I followed obsessively online. Just wanted to confirm that I was representing Cyclone nation in southern Africa.
• In one Guidance & Counseling class, my co-fellow and I introduced the As to using encyclopedias. Lessons learned from that class: 1) Students all over the world will find and giggle at the art with naked people in it. 2) While there is a North America and South America, there is no East America or West America. 3) The students thought sloths look very creepy, and wanted to know if I was afraid of elephants.
• On a trip up the hill to buy candles I ran into some little kids (8 years old tops) on their way to do their own shopping. When they tried to purchase their snacks, the shop lady noticed that one of the coins was neither loti nor rand. She gave it to me for inspection, and I declared it to be from Mozambique. So she turned to the little girl and said, “Go to Mozambique! Walk to Mozambique!” It was very cute. I walked back home with the kids, and all the way they were shouting “mo-zam-BIIIIIQUE!”
• Another fun quote from the form As: When they were being particularly loud and unruly, one girl turned to the others and said, “Be quiet! Do you want to give ‘M’e Varley high blood?!”
• I’ve been experimenting with making a traditional Lesotho bread called liphaphatha. It’s a flat bread made using fermented dough called tomoso. I’m not sure how authentic my creations have been, but it has made me more interested in making sourdough in general.

Disclaimer

I’m working on updating this blog with all I’ve been doing over the past couple months. That means my writing will be a combination of remembering what’s happened and transcribing what I wrote in my journal at the time. So my tense will almost certainly be inconsistent and my chronology confused. Sorry about that.