No photos with this post, Casey? Why ever not? What's that --- oh ... right! You dropped that nice camera of yours in the tiny mountain stream. Nice hands, feet. So no way to take photos on your upcoming trip to Cape Town then? That kinda sucks, eh?

Moving on, but not to a happy topic. WARNING: This post is depressing. Sorry, guys.

I've really enjoyed the last week in my village. I've been busy, things have been moving along, it's rained nearly every day and I've had tons of fresh food (cucumbers, zucchini, basil, parsley, cilantro, carrots, onion, baby spinach...) from the garden. My good friend Lineo is home on holiday from school in Cape Town and I spent time reading to kids in our new library. Early morning walks to beat the heat of the day and productivity to fill it afterwards. I almost felt bad about leaving for Christmas -- it means I'll never spend that holiday in Ramabanta but instead with friends elsewhere in the region. Yet on the day I left, the drunken men staggering from the shop to yell inappropriate and obnoxious phrases my way validated my leaving; Christmas is a time to get rip-roaring drunk. Not being in Ramabanta means not tainting my image of the village I so love.

The events on the day I left are what I want to rant about now. The previous day, men had been crowded around a new grave and digging in turns to ready the plot for the following day's funeral. When I went to say goodbye and "happy Christmas" to my friend Lerato I stumbled into the funeral ceremony at her neighbor's home. The women were screaming and crying loudly in what translates in any language to sorrow and pain. Otherwise people were quiet and reserved with only small smiles and soft 'hellos' as I passed them. The wailing and entire atmosphere dampened my farewell to Lerato, but she wished me a safe journey and I knew she was glad I'd stopped to let her know I'd be away for a little while. I asked who had died ("a man"), how old he was ("maybe 25"), and then how ("they say he had TB, then got very sick and was put on ARV's [for HIV] but then died a week later"). I finished talking with her and quietly walked home. The man's wife is working on craft projects at the lodge and is even younger than he was. Rapolang, one of my small toddler friends, grabs my hand as I emerge from Lerato's compound and slowly walks with me as I suddenly get really angry.

All this mourning and intense sadness - all of the rituals for loss and spiritual cleansing - it's all so depressing and overwhelming. The women's screams and gasping sobs and everyone's sorrow are all incredibly real and valid and understandable. But then this: why? COME ON, GUYS. How often do we go through this? We worry as someone gets sick and then they go to the doctor but it's too late so we worry more and then they die. And if we're brave enough to admit that it was the "three letters" and don't call it a cold or flu that kills him we still don't connect our intense suffering with our actions. This epidemic has been here long enough - too long - for people in their 20's and 30's (or any age, really, but I'm being generous here) to keep on acting in a way that puts them at such risk. If you're 25 years old and have been to... what? 50 funerals? 100? ... in your lifetime and yet you still continue to sleep with multiple partners, what the hell are you thinking? I'm still reliving walking past that funeral. Did you not really live it? Any of them? Didn't they affect you at all? The cries and tears and orphaned children? If that doesn't get some sort of message across, then what am I playing at here? Talking to people about condoms and faithfulness can't even remotely compare to the emotional wreck that I saw on Saturday. We cry, we mourn, we struggle to move on without those we love and yet we continue to make bad decisions. If people can see that on a regular, often more than monthly, basis and still put themselves at risk then I can't compete for their attention or conviction.

I was talking to a friend about this and saying that I'm not judging the culture of having multiple boyfriends/girlfriends but I can't really believe that no one is willing to give that up for the chance at living to see children grow up - or the chance to have children at all. She broke in and said, "I am. I'm judging people. The life expectancy has dropped to 37 years from 60 some years in the past decade and the population is between 1.6 and 1.8 million, down from over 2 million. I'm saying change it or be ready to see your country completely die out."

And, yeah. It's true. Look around you, look at all these people dying and crying and growing up with out parents and tell me that having sex with a few extra people is worth it. Tell me that using a condom is such an inconvenience that you'd risk your life - and the lives of the other people you're sleeping with - in order to go without. "But Ausi, they are not nice. You do not eat a sweet with the wrapper still on do you? It is the same!" Right, candy and HIV are easily comparable. Great analogy, guys. Ask me again why I don't want to be your girlfriend.

I'm writing this and re-reading it and I know it sounds condescending and very judgmental. I have no intention of acting superior, but I can only take in so much "culture" before I lose it and say: "Your CULTURE is flexible! Your music involves accordions and your blankets are decorated with a royal British crest and airplanes! CHANGE AGAIN!"

Dear Lesotho: I'm affected by this - I'm sad and angry and confused - I know you are too. I know you're even more upset because you knew that person and their family. Now connect the funeral you went to last weekend and the two last month and the 16 last year... connect all of those to your own life. Look at what you've lived through and then think about whether you want to keep living.