I Solemnly Swear…

It’s official! I have now completed training, passed my language tests, and been sworn in as a Peace Corps volunteer. We had a big ceremony on Wednesday. It was attended by all the PC staff, the current volunteers who have been here for a year, and many dignitaries. These include and are not limited to the American Ambassador, the Prime Minister, and the King! In addition to being our Swear-In ceremony, the shindig was also a celebration of 50 continuous years of Peace Corps operating in Lesotho, hence all the high rollers. We had a great time meeting all of the other volunteers, watching and participating in performances all day, and (of course) eating food. We all looked amazing, dressed in seshoeshoe (proncouned seh-shway-shway) – the traditional dress of the Basotho people, notable for the colorful patterned fabric more than any particular style. We had all had some made for us, tailored to fit just for this occasion. Rest assured, I will be acquiring more during my time here. We were addressed by the dignitaries, sang both the Lesotho anthem and the American, and then we all held our hands up and repeated after Ambassador Gonzales, swearing to uphold the honor of our position as Americans serving overseas and to do our duty on behalf the Basotho who have invited us here. So there it is. I am a Peace Corps Volunteer!

The next day we were picked up by our supervisors and taken to our new homes. I shared the truck with another volunteer who lives near me. Oddly, YaYa is the one person I knew before arriving in Philadelphia, a friend made at the University of Washington when we found out we were headed to Africa together after we graduated in June. One of life’s funny turns is that she is the person in my cohort who now lives nearest to me, though as I found out yesterday, that is a very relative term. But I’ll get to that shortly.

After a full day in the car, made infinitely more entertaining as she had that morning acquired a kitten that she was taking to site, we arrived in our new mountain home. I was dropped off first, my piles of stuff hauled out of the truck and into my house. It smelled strongly of straw and dust and mouse, but it was mine. With a little help, I moved some of the furniture that day and set to making up my bed with the comforter and sheets I’d bought on a shopping trip to the capital, Maseru, earlier in the week. That done I sat and enjoyed being in my own space for the first time in months, not sharing an open wall with anyone and being able to play music and sing as loudly as I wanted.

The next day I went about making the space feel like home. I unpacked and decorated. This is the first time in months that I have not been living out of a suitcase and it is amazing! The most key of the decorations were the photos from home that I had not hung in my room in the training village. I don’t why I hadn’t hung them there. I suppose it just felt too much like I was a house guest and not that it was my home to do with as I pleased. Anyway, they are up now and are a vast improvement over a blank wall. With some serious dusting and sweeping, the place smelled much better and looked much better. At night I read by candle light or watch movies on my computer, charged during the day by the solar panel I brought with me. Now that the unpacking is done, there’s little do to. School does not start for another month, so I’ve been filling my days listening to audiobooks and doing craft projects or drawing in my sketchbook.

This past Sunday, I made plans to go one of the two camp towns near me. A camp town is a PC approved larger town where they set up an office for the volunteers to get packages and have internet access. Camp towns also have approved hotels where volunteers who have approved hotel stays can spend the night. Hotel stays are given to those who are too far away or have infrequent transportation to town, making necessary shopping trips infeasible to do in one day. I am one of the few volunteers approved for a hotel stay. YaYa is as well, so we went together, content to share a room at the hotel. We met some other volunteers who live near the camp town (or in it, in Chelsea’s case) when we arrived and went shopping for supplies and groceries. The thing about Sunday was that is was my birthday. My first away from friends and family and I had been rather dreading the prospect of spending it alone in my house in a community I didn’t know yet. So meeting up with friends was fantastic! Even more amazing was the cake they bought, the pizza and cider we shared, the movies we watched on the computer, and the spontaneous party of an afternoon. It was perfect.

The next morning, YaYa and I took our sweet time checking out of the hotel and getting to the taxi rank. We picked up a few more supplies on the way and arrived in perfect time to finish filling the taxi going to her village. I think that is the shortest wait for a taxi I’ve had since arriving here.

It has occurred to me that there is some confusion over the use of the word taxi. A taxi here is not a little yellow sedan as you would find in New York City. That role is filled by the 4+1s (named for the four people they fit plus the one driver), the local method of transport in larger towns and cities much like an American taxi. A taxi here is the main mode of transportation over long distances and can best be described as the unholy offspring of a minibus and tuktuk. They are built to hold 15 people in cramped comfort. I have been in them as they fit up to 24, plus baggage. They are cramped and smelly and the music is played at deafening volume constantly. They are exhausting to be in and you are always in one for several hours, even for short trips. Anyway, enough of the taxi ranting.

YaYa and I had decided that because I had literally nothing better to do, I would stay the night at her place instead of pressing on past her to my own village. The night included house projects, playing with her two cats, and some great cooking. We had a grand time, minus finding out how much water her door lets in during a storm. That was an adventure all of its own.

The following afternoon, we tested how long it would take to get back to my village. As there is only one taxi in and out of my tiny village everyday, I would need to get a taxi from her village to a junction between us and then wait there until the taxi going to mine came by. This only happens when it fills up in town and finally starts driving the hour to the junction. As it turns out, I only waited about an hour and half, sitting at the base of a sign, watching the clouds blow over the mountains as the sun inched downwards, and talking to the many curious local kids who came by to gawk at the white girl.

It has been accurately described as living in a fish bowl, with people staring constantly, oblivious to the fact that this unblinking attention can be very uncomfortable. More uncomfortable is the attitude towards women. It is not uncommon for men to propose to female volunteers and claim love after sitting next to them in a taxi for but a few minutes. I was proposed to three times on this trip. The simplest way to shut down this line of conversation is claim that I’m already married and my husband is in America. This however can lead to the response of “you have an American husband and I can be your husband in Lesotho”. Not exactly what we girls have in mind. Sometimes this attitude can also lead to sexual harassment, something I personally have not experienced yet but some of my comrades have. It’s depressing and stressful, but when situation allows, we try to make it into a learning experience for the men of this country.

Eventually I made it home, tired but very pleased that I had not spent those few days alone. I’ll be here at home for about a week before I take off to spend Christmas with friends. We’re talking about maybe going camping as we have not quite figured out how to feel about it now being summer and Christmas at the same time.

The only other thing to add to this crazy crazy week was the fact that the night before Swear-In, I sprained my ankle rather badly. So now go back over everything I’ve done this week and do it with a wrap and a limp and a lot of ibuprofen. Part and parcel of the whole ups, downs and in-betweens of life here. So now I’m here, water dripping in a bucket as it leaks through my thatch during the storm outside, my foot up, my music playing, and a nice cup of tea in hand as I type on my phone. I have plenty of time to sit and get better now that I’m here.

So that’s the update. Khotso!

I’m Official! (note the very fashionable hiking boots, the only shoes that allowed me walk on my ankle that day)