Lesotho 101

Welcome to everything-you-know-about-the-world-is-wrong.

I'm not just talking xmas in summer time or winter without central heating and insulated buildings, but basic logic, too. You don't count on your hand starting with your index finger, you start with your pinky and work towards your thumb (or else you get blank stares). If it's raining, don't go to work or try to meet with people 'cause you'll get wet. There's only one correct way to sweep your floor and hang laundry to dry. If you're out of firewood for cooking (it is scarce), look around you.. that spinning wheel that CARE Lesotho (an NGO) gave you and 159 other people in 1981? You don't use that anymore... so stay warm instead. Then, 25 years later when the market for mohair picks up and you want to start spinning it again to sell to weavers in Maseru, you'll think another one will simply be delivered to you again. It happened once, right?

Okay, sarcasm aside. It's tough because people have to take each day as it comes and planning ahead isn't at all valued or even considered. I acknowledge that people must do whatever they can to get by day to day, but I also think the problem is bigger than that. What happens when you ("you" as an NGO, expat, aid worker, etc.) swoop in to deliver a building and 160 spinning wheels as an income generating project? For a while, it works great and people meet there to spin mohair and CARE comes to buy it from them and then sell it to weavers in Maseru. The building is also used as a place to hold community meetings. But the community has invested nothing in this - just reaped benefits. So when something hits the fan and things begin to fall apart there's less motivation to do something about it. Not only are people not invested in the project, but they know that eventually "you" (a different NGO, expat, etc) will come back and fix everything for them.

Enter Casey Bartrem, PCV.

The CARE building is falling apart and is now only used by kids to play in broken windows during the day. It's filthy, the dung floor has long turned to dirt, not a single pane of glass remains, graffiti covers the walls, the roof tiles are disappearing one by one and cracks are beginning to outnumber stones in the walls. People want to fix it, though. They want to have a community resource center where HIV/AIDS support groups can meet, people can spin mohair once again, village health workers can receive training, and where a library can be safely located for children and adults. There's huge potential for the building - no question - and after several pitsos (community meetings held by the chief) I'm satisfied that people genuinely want this to happen, that they're serious about keeping it safe and functional this time.

The plan is this: they do all the work. Labor, including construction and hauling sand and rocks up from the river, pouring a new floor, repairing walls, painting, as well as clean up and continued maintenance. The money I'll find - enter those from home who've mentioned wanting to help. I'm writing a grant for a 'Peace Corps Partnership.' Basically, I can't take direct donations for the project and if I could it wouldn't be a tax write off for donors. So I write the project proposal with my community - which we're working on now - and then if PC approves of the sustainability and intention of the proposal, they'll set up a website for the project. I'll put the URL up and if you feel it's a solid project and your money would be well spent, you can donate that way. It'll be a while yet, but we're working on it. Honestly, it's a lot of work to both organize this because as tempting as it is to just do it myself, I know better. So it'll be a slower process, but fingers crossed, it'll be better, too.We're putting in a cement floor, replacing every pane of glass, rotting beam and missing roof tile. And we're installing a security fence to keep such damage from occurring again. They do the work so that, in theory, they have a vested interest in keeping it in good condition. I'll keep you all posted as we get this in motion.

Until then, we're swinging into winter here. The sun is noticeably less intense - and therefor I'm noticeably less cranky - the breeze has a sharp bite to it and the nights now bring frost regularly. It's snowed higher up in the mountains now and it's only a matter of time before it finds Ramabanta. It's the end of fall without Thanksgiving or bad holiday music. Instead, we just celebrated Easter (mine was quiet but really relaxing). We're coming up on our one year mark in country and already planning training for the new group of trainees due to arrive in June. In the span of ten months here, I've grown to love many odd things about life in Lesotho, including sounds. I hear my neighbor cracking sticks and I anticipate the smell of a dung fire. I love hearing cowbells ("gotta have more") from herds bouncing towards us from somewhere in the valley. As night closes in earlier each day, kids are laughing and yelling as they play soccer on the dirt road that runs through the village and right past my house; then first thing in the morning I hear birds scratching on my roof to announce the sun with the roosters. I'm no longer phased by car horns announcing an arriving or departing taxi or by pigeons that sound like baboons. I fall asleep to the sound of my water filter dripping. Yet I'm never interrupted by a cell phone and I'm realizing that while I miss many things about home, the lack of certain noises is comforting, too.