Did You Say Three Percent?

One of the most difficult experiences for me during my Peace Corps service was being in the presence of locals who thought I was Basotho.  You see, I am an African-American, and I was selected to serve in the small African country of Lesotho, near the southern tip of the continent. 

My first experience with miss-identification came during training.  In Peace Corps, you live with a host family for approximately 3 months.  Your family teaches you to cook, bathe, fetch water, and do other household chores, while the training staff teaches you language, safety and security, and integration, among other essential living requirements.  Local host families are also instructed in what to expect from a visiting American.

I had been in Lesotho less than a few weeks when this encounter took place.  A funeral for a prominent member of the village was scheduled for the coming Saturday.  Many people were traveling far and wide to attend.

When I arrived home from classes that day, there was a very old man at the homestead.  I was told he was a family member and was here to attend the upcoming funeral.   Of course since he no longer lived in the village, he had no idea what a Peace Corps volunteer was.  

As is customary for a volunteer, I began greeting him with my newly learned Sesotho phrases.  Sesotho is the first language of the Basotho. After completing the greeting, and exhausting my Sesotho knowledge, I begin to speak with my host mother very slowing in English, to help her to also learn my language and to better understand me.

Immediately, the old man started yelling at me to “Speak Sesotho! Speak Sesotho!”  Startled, I looked over at my host mother pleadingly.  She addressed this old man in Sesotho explaining that I was from America and did not speak Sesotho.  The old man wasn’t buying it.  He insisted that I was Basotho and should only speak Sesotho.  He was very angry.  All I could do to escape his wrath was to retreat to my room and lock the door.  I hid from him the remainder of the week.

This type of confrontation was to become commonplace during my 27 months stay in the Mountain Kingdom... be it walking the streets, visiting a friend, shopping, at the taxi rank, or in a taxi, I was expected to speak and understand Sesotho fluently.  (I once had a taxi conductor refuse to accept my money because I did not respond to him in Sesotho.)  I finally figured out that by speaking the little Sesotho that I knew to begin a conversation I was getting myself in a lot of trouble at the end, I decided that it was better for me to forgo the Sesotho lessons and speak English at all times.

I must admit that from the very beginning I felt a kindred spirit with the Basotho.  I studied their history before I arrived and as much as I could during my stay.  I know that they are a very proud people, dedicated to their heritage and their culture.  Legend has it that their tiny country was preserved after fighting off the Boers with sticks and rocks. They became my friends and my family away from home.  I love their country, and I love them.

I returned to America in July 2014 and I feel as though I am finally adjusted to the American way of life again.  Recently, I had the DNA of my mother and father tested.  And, after much anticipation, my mothers' test results have arrived.

I am 3% Basotho after all.  

Sorry old man... you were right.

My Ramadhan Experience in the Mountain Kingdom

Lesotho, Southern Africa

In the Name of Allah, the Beneficent, the Merciful,

I Bear Witness that there is no God but Allah and that Muhammad is His Messenger

When I decided to leave America as a Community Health and Economics Development volunteer in Africa, I envisioned that I might live in a Muslim country.  One where I would hear the call to prayer each morning, meet and mingle with Muslimah’s daily, and dress in beautifully colored garments.  This was not to be my fate. 

It is said that if you don’t overcome a trial, you are bound to repeat it.

In America, I struggled through many aspects of my conversion (reversion) to Islam due to perceived or actual pressures of work, family, friends, believers, and my own inability to defend the faith that I had chosen as a way of life.  Little did I know that I was destined to repeat this trial in my new home abroad, Lesotho, Africa. 

Lesotho is the small country near the tip of the continent, a country that is less than one percent Muslim.  Where tensions and hostilities among different sects of Christianity are so pervasive that in many areas, they refuse to work with each other; even to their own detriment.  Life as a Black Muslim would not, and has not been easy.  However, as I continue to face this and other challenges as a Muslim woman, both here and in America, I have come to know that these trials not only increase my faith, but also my belief in the oneness of God.

As I began my fast, I was delighted that I had found a way to listen to the replay of the Ramadan Prayer line each day.  It became my lifeline, my connection to Muslims around the world.  I too, like the Sister from the Virgin Islands, felt alone without it.  I would awake each morning and play the replay of the previous days recording, while preparing a meal and coffee.  Many days I hoped that Sis. Nisa Islam Muhammad would start from the bottom, when announcing countries with the greatest number of listener's to the broadcast.  For I was sure that Lesotho would be at the top of that list with 1.

During Ramadhan I experienced illness and I also had to travel.  Travel and sickness are two of the ways permitted in the Holy Qur’an where fasting is not required.  But Bro. Akbar’s words resonated with me, “do not look for an excuse not to fast.”  So I did not use these challenges as excuses, but monitored my condition and with the help of Allah, allowed my body to dictate my actions.  I thank Allah that my fast continued.

My travels took me to a village more remote than the one in which I now call home.  There I would once again reunite with my village family.  The same family that took care of me during my first 3 months in country.  The family who now calls me “Our first born from America.”  I knew they would welcome me back with open arms and …with food. 

One of the greatest gifts that a village family can offer is the gift of food; and it is an even greater insult to reject a gift that is so precious, so scarce.  How would I communicate in my limited Sesotho, the idea of fasting for 30 days during the day light hours?   I had packed fruits for my morning meals and instant noodles for my nightly meals.  In additional to as much water that I could drink before dawn, I wondered, will this sustain me?  Or would I come crawling into the kitchen in the middle of the night begging for the traditional papa and moroho?  Staples in the life of the Basotho.

When I arrived at the home of my host family, there were 2 new family members living at or near the main house.  Both proved to be blessings.  The first was a host sister whom I had never met, Mapaseka.  Mapaseka speaks English well enough to translate.  She will be attending university next semester.  The second was Lipuo (pronounced Dipuo), the Muslim sister of my Christian host father. Imagine that!  

In the year that I have lived in Lesotho, Lipuo is the first Muslim that I have formally met.  She traveled from South Africa to attend a funeral, a common occurrence in Lesotho.  As Mapaseka translated what I was saying, Lipuo explained to my host family in the local language the fast of Ramadhan; and in such a way that my host mother expressed her understanding with a smile, and a bow.  Lipuo also told me where I could buy halaal meats!   Another blessing.

It is also said that there are no coincidences.

As I prepare for vacation, to Safari in the Serengeti with members of my family, I am both excited and renewed.  I will pursue business opportunities in the Muslim country of Tanzania, and discover more about Islamic history in the Christian country of Ethiopia.  A country that sheltered Muslims during the time of the Prophet (peace be upon him). 

In’shaallah I will return to the United States in August 2014.  Through prayer, fasting, reading the Holy Qur’an from cover to cover, and listening to Muslims from around the world share their knowledge; this Ramadhan has given me strength, determination, and a greater resolve to continue to strive in the way of Islam. 

I am also comforted and encouraged by the closing words of the prayer line as spoken by the Honorable Minister Louis Farrakhan enjoining us to unity and to patience, and reminding us that we are students of Islam from the cradle to the grave.

As-Salaam Alaikum

 

 

The Early Bird Gets the Water!

     When I lived in the village, my host brothers fetched water for the family.  The water was pumped from a natural spring to an outdoor tap which was about 30 yards from the house.  They hauled four 10 gallon containers in a wheelbarrow and placed them outside my door.  In the mornings, I would open my door and fill both my 5 gallon containers.  I would then fill a 2 gallon kettle and set it to boil.  Even though the spring water is crystal clear, I boiled the water for 3 minutes as required by Peace Corps.  The boiled water from the kettle was used for bathing, cleaning, and washing dishes.  By evening, what was left in the kettle was cool enough to pour into the water filter, provided by Peace Corps, to be used for drinking and cooking. 

     Today, I live in a Camptown.  A Camptown is where the villagers come to buy goods.  There are also banks, bars and buses; and taxis headed to many different villages and other Camptowns.  You can also get to Maseru, the Capital city of Lesotho.  There is a local government in the Camptown where I live, and water is provided by the water company.  However, in most homes, it still comes through a tap in the yard.  My tap is about 5 yards from my door.  Once I moved in, my organization decided to put a tap in my kitchen so that I would have easy access to water from inside my house.   This water is not so clear.  Since I live across the street from the major grocery store, I purchase my drinking water, but other than this, my basic village routine remains the same.

Lately, we’ve been having water problems.  The taps are dry; especially the one inside my kitchen.   Apparently, after a substantial rain fall, the water company’s filters get clogged with silt and must be cleaned.  At least this is what I I’ve been told.   In order for me to get water, I must again use the tap outside which for reasons I can’t explain, has a little bit of water every afternoon when I arrive.  I must use the water sparingly.  Bath water is used to flush the toilet, (I’m lucky, to have a flush toilet), and water used to wash dishes is then used to clean to house.  Recently I have discovered that if I get to the tap around 5:30a the water is running rapidly and I can collect a full bucket.  I suspect that the old man next door was taking advantage of my ignorance and has been beating me to the tap every day.  

     I’ll be going back to my village on Sunday for another week of training.  And as always, I will remember to thank my brothers for providing water in abundance for me to use on a daily basis.

_______

Some people see the glass as half full, others see the glass as half empty, but a Peace Corps volunteer sees the glass and says, “I can bathe in that!”

Xoxoxo

Wedding Day Blues

I attended my first African wedding last Saturday.  I was the plus 1 of another volunteer who had an invitation.  Not unlike most American weddings, the day started out with hair, nails, and pampering of the bride and bridal party.  We, who have lived in this town for about 3 months, were the honored guests from America.   We were picked up by the father of the bride at around 9a and taken to their home where we were served tea cakes and ginger beer while curtains were being hung.  In an effort to not look and feel so out of place, I took pictures like I was paid to do so, and also helped to wrap the party favors.  Around 1p the village was filled with the sounds of women singing as they danced toward the home of the bride. 

This I surmised was a signal that it was time for us to leave for the church.  The festive crowd grew quite large as it arrived in front of the house singing and dancing until the most beautiful bride appeared in the doorway.  Everything was perfect except for the missing smile that normally accompanies such a joyous occasion. 

It is not uncommon in most parts of the world to arrange marriages for financial and security reasons, and we suspected that this was the case.  Why else would there be such apparent despair?  None the less, the cars were sprinkled with Holy water, prayers for our safety were offered, and we left for the church.  Once we were on the road the need for the car ritual became obvious.  The entourage began playing a dangerous game of “dice”; swerving from one side of the road to the other, sometimes barely missing the head-on car, as we snaked around the two-way road through the mountains.

As though intruding during the brides’ preparations wasn’t embarrassing enough, when we arrived at the church we were promptly escorted to the front.  No, really, I mean the front, front.  You know, next to the pulpit, facing the bride and groom.  Why…all because we are the Americans.

The wedding went off without a hitch and within hours we were back on the road to the house where the ‘reception’ was held.  My only prayer was that the Holy water car bath was still in effect.

Despite the somber moods, I’m willing to bet that in 50 years, they will look back on this day with fond memories. This couple may have a better chance of going the distance that those who marry for lust or love. Besides, who better to find your perfect mate than the 4 people who love you the most and “know you better than you know yourself”?

Xoxoxo



 

Proud to be an American!

 

OBAMA WINS AGAIN! – I was just as proud of sending my ballot from the other side of the world, as I was when I stood in line the first go ‘round! 

This is not the first time since moving to Southern Africa that I have felt proud.  I am fortunate to have been able to step out of the United States mechanism and to take a look at who we are from the outside in.   

Life without television, radio, and newspapers has allowed me to see the good in who we are and what we do.  I couldn’t follow the campaigns, or watch the debates or the conventions but when I talk to the local Basotho and expats it becomes clear just how grateful they are for American generosity. 

I can see Americas’ foreign aid working in Lesotho.  From food security, to roads, to water projects, and HIV/AIDS prevention, things are getting done that would possibly not have gotten done without foreign aid.   Money, technology, and the skills of many volunteers and paid employees are helping to bring change to far away villages in The Mountain Kingdom.  My organization is a prime example of what the generosity of Americans’ can do; and the orphanage that we feed into is funded by an organization from England.

Not only do I see Americans doing great things here, I am also comforted in knowing that I am protected by the most powerful government in the world; and access is just a phone call away.  In the event that I get sick, a phone call is made to the nearest hospital so that they are expecting me when I arrive.  (Since we speak so little of the local language, we are provided an escorted around the maze of a hospital.)   If the country becomes politically unstable, and it is deemed necessary, I could be airlifted out, if there is an emergency at home or I just don’t want to live here anymore, one phone call and I’m on a plane home within 72 hours!

 America it is a great country, but it can also be better.  It is my hope that during Obama’s second term, we as a nation will pull together and work for the good of all humanity.  I know, that sounds pretty lofty, but who would have believed 5 years ago that I would be living on the African continent, bathing in a bucket!  Anything is possible.

So yes!  Today like many other days in Lesotho, I am proud to be an American!

Xoxoxo

 

About My Work

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, I work as a Community Health and Economics Development Advisor.  I live and work at the Trust for Africa temporary shelter for children in Lesotho, Southern Africa.  The happy children that you see in my pictures have suffered recent emotional and/or physical traumas; neglect, abandonment, and sexual assault, to name a few.   Many are HIV positive. The children have been removed from their homes or from the streets by the Police or Social Welfare.  They are brought to us while their cases are being investigated with the hope of returning them to a family member within 6 months; otherwise they will leave our home and be placed in an orphanage.  My immediate responsibility is training the office staff on record keeping, filing, reporting, and data base tracking, among other things.

The organization that I work for is funded by The Faith Foundation of Central Florida.  Tax deductible donations are made to the Foundation in our name and the funds are used to finance the non-profit organization here in Africa.  Trust for Africa also sponsors what are called “Feeding Groups”.  These groups consist of men and/or women who live in villages where children may be head of households.  They are sometimes as young as 10 years old and trying to care for even younger siblings.  They are referred to as “vulnerable children”.  These men and women invite all of the vulnerable children in their village to their home once a day for a meal consisting of maize, a green vegetable, and beans.    There can be anywhere from 30 to 80 children in each feeding group.  Trust for Africa may supply some of the food, the gas for cooking, or even utensils and pots.  Vegetables are usually grown in the village. 

At the beginning, I mentioned that the children are happy, and they are.  To hear them singing after a day at school is priceless and you wouldn’t know their circumstances by looking at them.  No, you won’t see runny nose children with flies on their eyes here.  Once the children are found, we provide them with food, clothing, shelter, and lots of tender care; they become part of a new family, a family that loves them, and they love each other. 

Xoxoxo