medley of mores

"Culture" has, for me, become a dreaded word. People are hours late because it's their "culture;" men drink the days away, children ask for sweets and old women for snuff, boys fight with sticks to the point of needing stitches, couples rarely practice faithfulness to each other... and I always hear the excuse: "It's the Basotho way, it's our culture," whenever I address these things. But I've recently been reminded that there are beautiful traditions as well and even though it's not the pure and original form from before colonialism and missionaries, it is interesting and worth sharing here. (That's right, today I'm your ray of sunshine).

Last week a festival was held at our local primary school as a sort of preliminary to the Morija Festival which is a national arts and culture event held in October. Twelve schools converged on Fatima Primary and students participated in traditional dance competitions. Girls and boys separate, each has two basic types of dance, my favorite being the girls litolo bonea. The girls wear a skirt with dozens of bottle caps and a second skirt of grass and bounce their behinds to the rhythm of their classmates singing and clapping. Boys dances include molomus (fighting sticks) and jumping around, stomping and acting impressive. The students love it and people come from all over the area on foot or hitching rides in pickups to see the competition and show support for their local school.

Women came dressed in traditional outfits called Seshoeshoe. The dresses are painfully colonial in style with poofy shoulders and patterns in red, blue and brown. Everyone was showing off their Basotho blanket - also very English down to the royal crests on the wool. People were buying and selling makoenya (fat cakes, deep friend balls of dough) and "masimba," the local brand of msg-flavored puffs (think crappy cheetos). Candy and oranges were everywhere and one very drunk old grandmother sloshed her bottle of cheap brandy on a nearby woman when indicating to me where to watch the children in the middle of the large ring of people in which I was standing - tricky to spot if you're not sober... Many people topped their outfits with a Basotho hat, modeled off the shape of the mountain where King Moshoeshoe defended the country to keep the Kingdom of Lesotho a sovereign nation. The hats are woven from local grasses and are complete with a little pattern on top that makes the accessory look somewhat like a lamp shade.

Walking back up to my house from the festivities, I saw men in the cemetery digging a grave for a funeral the following day. Funerals are always on Saturdays and graves are dug by the men of the village the week before. Once the digging has started there's no stopping until it's complete - no matter what the weather does. Any man who doesn't show up to help can expect that his own grave won't be dug when his time comes. I knew about the upcoming funeral because one of the women I'm working with on a garden project came to me that morning as I finished breakfast (bran flakes, long-life milk, french press coffee, orange) to say she couldn't work with me that day as we'd planned. I was pleasantly surprised to get notice and asked why. She reminded me that Basotho believe you cannot work in the soil when a body is being prepared for burial as the spirit may enter your garden. I'm sure that same day a sheep (or cow if the family was wealthy) was slaughtered for a feast and another will be offered when the mourning period has come to an end. If the man left a wife behind, she will have to follow a strict set of rules for the mourning period, the length of which is determined by her husband's family. Women in mourning are easily identified by their dress which is dark and includes a cape and head covering at all times. Family of the deceased will have shaved their heads for the funeral (including eyebrows) and may repeat this event to mark the end of mourning.

But these traditions are will mixed with western culture and religion. Eighty percent of the country practices Catholicism, but one hundred percent of those mix it with traditional beliefs. Babies are baptised but also wear a string of beads around their waste to keep evil spirits aways. Young girls and women are not to eat eggs because this causes them to behave "recklessly" or "to run around" (ie, horny and in trouble). And while the Church has a strong presence and most schools and many hospitals are associated with a western denomination, monogamy is rarely practiced. A sick person is just as likely to go see a traditional healer (sangoma) as a nurse and may visit both to cover all the bases.

I make it a point to avoid church with the same dedication that I avoid walking in or near kraals -places where animals are kept - to avoid offending anyone believing that as a woman I might bewitch or bring sickness to the animals. I've become used to singing at every event and meeting. Women ululating and grabbing my chest as a sign of affection no longer startles me. And I can stare at people with the best of them without feeling rude or impolite.

And, of course, I still live each day (gardening, running, hiking, rain or shine) in that friggin' skirt.

** a few shots of our Maseru taxi rank and pics of areas on the way out of town...