One more night, that was a good one

This happens to be one of those eerily serene moments in the VRC where I am compluetely alone at the computer. Usually, there is a bustle of volunteer activity, sometimes intimidating with their confidence and capabilities in their various projects, sometimes hilarious with the banter of the people that I love with my whole heart and respect unconditionally. So far, keeping it together has been enough. But have I really kept it together? Only if you consider three emotional breakdowns in six days “keeping it together.” My job hit some high spots, mostly at one of my schools where I have been helping out in the second and 7th grade classrooms, and one of the teachers has been really receptive with my help teaching poetry, which clearly they cannot grasp poetry if they dotn understand the words that are the beauty of the poem. Most of the poetry is shit that has no relevance to their lives whatsoever, and is intentionally vague. But I see hope at that school. The other school… puts a weight on my soul that I never thought imaginable. I keep thinking I am not trying hard enough, not putting enough of myself into the job, the teachers or the kids. But I feel physically ill when I go to that school. It’s a combination of the misery of the kids, the lack of motivation from the teachers, and the fact that there are 250 kids crammed into one room so I have literally no place to sit down. One day last week, the secondary schools were taking tests, and I was told that my school was as well, so I went for a run with Sam and then went to town and got a text message from my principal sayings “Where are you?? I’ve to tell Clement that you do not show up regularly and come and go as you please.” Clement is my “boss” at peace corps, who has been nothing but supportive with my struggles with my principal, which have been immense. But, all of my insecurities about my capabilities of being effective in any way have been rampant for a long time, and so I actually believed that I could get in trouble. I feel like I try so hard in my head, that I make myself tired. I am sensitive to everything, and feel so much of the weight of what is around me that I am completely ineffective at actually being proactive. I feel like if I focused on one thing at a time instead of looking at the big picture and feeling lost in the middle of the ocean, I would get my feet back on the ground. I used to have this picture of two massive orca whales in the middle of the ocean hanging above my bed (yes… in high school) and it always terrified me. Not because I am typically afraid of marine life, but because behind them is this giant void. I am terrified of being in the middle of the unknown. And right now I am so far in the middle of the unknown that I am losing myself. I find validation wherever I can get it. Sam, Rebecca, Lindsey, Tarsha, Madeline and I all drove down to Cape Twon last week for a much needed vacation. But instead of feeling the solace and rest that I so craved, I had two emotional breakdowns. I live in a country where my biggest splurge during the week is a Fanta, and where my choices of cereal are corn flakes or the bigger box of corn flakes. And its life. I love it. I love living in Thaba Tseka with my whole heart and soul. But then entering the world I took for granted with an entire row of cereals, a coffee shop on each corner, and white people galore, it was too much stimulation. It was too much to take. We did an amazing wine tour during the day where I just felt ridiculous the whole time. I couldn’t let myself enjoy it without feeling guilty for my gluttonous behavior. That night we went to a Cuban restaurant and sat around and as I looked at the people surrounding me, I realized how completely in love I am with each one of them. I would never have the opportunity to spend time with such a diverse and strong willed group of people back in the states. But in Lesotho, it works. And I was thrilled to see how it worked outside of our comfort zones. But that night, I was just overwhelled with nostalgia for the past, longing for nights out at bars dancing and people watching, and feeding my vanity. Feeding my vanity. I constantly repeat this concept to myself because its something I realize I thrive on. I need validation for my self worth. I need to know how much I mean to people. I need to feel. Tarsha Veiga is my rock. She calms my soul. One of the reasons I tend not to drink is because I completely lose control. And I am typically very astute of keeping my feelings under wraps, and my reactions to myself, and putting on a façade of whatever or whoever I need to be. But when I drink, the emotions of my soul are exposed for the unfortunate friend whose shoulder I drench in tears. Saturday night it was Madeline, who has the soul of a wise and beautiful angel. Her voice is as comforting as wrapping yourself in a down comforter and sitting beside the fire during winter. And then, I begged her to leave because I hate putting the burden of my ridiculous outbursts on others, I feel like such a weight. Sam came in shortly afterwards and I sobbed on his newly pressed shirt and expressed how weak I am. I don’t know how are where I am ever going to get the strength that I think I need to thrive. Sam’s girlfriend is coming next week and staying for three weeks and that puts a whole in a part of my heart. He and Rebecca are my rocks who I depend on to get me through the week. Instead of hiding in Sam’s house I am actually going to have to throw myself into the work that I have been so clearly avoiding. I have been shaking all day and am an absolutle train wreck. I let stress for the unknown inhabit my body, and don’t know how to breathe anymore. I know that all these struggles are making me a more complete person, but tell that to my shaking hands.
Anyways.
Sorry for the melodrama. Cape Town was incredible. It was the most beautiful city in the world and I fell deeply in love with my five travelling companions. We lost a hubcap on our rental car, got a speeding ticket, realized that 50% of our conversations are reciting of inside jokes, and laughed and laughed and ate until I couldn’t tell the difference between bliss and earthly living.
It was that beautiful.I am now in more training in Maseru and it has been incredible to see and hear from people I haven’t had contact with in two months and listen to their triumphs and their struggles, and reignite the solidarity that is so present. Yesterday at our Primary Resource Teacher reconnect, I had my third emotional breakdown but I felt completely safe in the eyes of the others. They didn’t judge me, they empathized and understood. And it was the best feeling.
So, yes there have been ups and downs. Sorry for only relaying the downs. I am living with a passion and fire burning in my soul, I just don’t know quite how to direct it before it loses its flame.
I will write more when surrounded by people who can spur me on to tell the numerous funny stories that I am withholding.

December 1, 2007

Chapter 1: Land of LeatherHoly smokes. I need to decrease my heart rate. Its been one week ofliving in the village, and we hav been in the city for 2 hours and ifeel like my pulse has gon through a blender and then multiplied by 2million. Speaking of two million, there are approximatly that numberof people lined up outside of the bank right now because it is thefirst of the month... payday suckas. Although i have no idea wheretheir incomes are from considering the number one economy ismarijuanna. no kidding. and water.Its about 82 degrees outside and ive counted 37 people this morningwearng leather jackets and ski caps. We have changed the nationalanthem to "Lesotho... land of ski caps and leather jackets" (it soundsa lot better with a collection of sopranos)Chapter 2: Meet the Shalley'sI never realized what a sissy baby I am until i had to cut theunbilical chord of my surrogate Basotho mother (M'e Mamothe... a largeand voluptuous Basotho dream/peace corps language trainer who coddlesme in her mountains) as she handed me off to my new family. Holy s.They handed me 8 buckets (as you will find out later come in VERYHANDY but not for the reasons expected), gave me a new name (Ausi MphoShalley... ausi means sister, mpho means Gift. Another volunteer wasgiven the name Dimpho... "many gifts" she is my enemy.) Anyways soafter watching a extravaganza of 16 half naked 12 year olds wearingonly a grass skirt and bottle caps dance for an hour... they took meto my new home. My dad worked in south africa in the mines until 1987when he was injured and he has a prosthetic leg now, and just kindawalks around all day. my mom doesnt speak a word of english, and cutstrees...sometimes. vague. i have like 7 brothers and cousins and theirnames are longer then the roman empire.Chapter 3: AztecapalooozaI live in a round hut with a thatch roof. It is heaven. It is the
coolest thing i have ever seen. I have no electiricty or runningwater, but i have never been happier. Everything is so functional. Ihave a gas burning stove and a parafin lamp and a table. The familycooked for me all last week, after the Peace Corps gave them a"suggested menu" of crap like beans and mayonaise. And boiled eggs.Chapter 4: This All sounded a lot better in my headSome quick stories... my sister is a 24 year old sassypot who has twoboyfriends, both who work at the Shopright... on works in the morningand one in the evening. Sly. Anyways, she lets me read her textmessages and one of them was "Luv, tke me 2 luvland, pop 2.. me+ u.swt drmz" Most of them she has no clue what they mean, but she hasbeen letting me text him and man, is it fun to come up with 700 waysto say "will u b my #1 boo?"Women and men are NOT friends here in our lovely country. I am in thevillage with 11 volulnteers, ten girls one guy. The other night Benand i went for an a-d-v-en-t-u-r-e to see his "foxy love interest"after dark.. (walking after dark, a huge no no) and got back about 10,which is about 2 oclock in the morning to basotho. when i was at thepayphone yesterday, the man, who i had never seen before looked at mevery seriously and said in perfect english "Ausi Mpho. It is notappropriate for you and Abuti Ben to be walking around at night. I sawyou."Moral of the story, these people know EVERYTHING that we do. We arenot to conspicous... (being white and all) and so if i forget to tiemy shoe, the chief will make a special announcement at the end of theday to tell everyone the name, make and model of said untied shoe.this may sound like an exaggeration. its not.Chapter 5: The Man and the MountainThere is an "initiation school" on top of the mountain where 18 yearold boys learn "secrets" and are circumsized. They told us if we go up
there we will be captured. So if you dont hear from me next week... Iwas feeling too adventurous.Chapter 6:Wrap uptop five facts for the week1) Basotho are OCD about cleaning. i have to sweep, mop, and wax myfloor 4 times a week.2) there are 19 children who have become my posse and they follow mearound everywhere and do handstands outside of my roundavel until icome out. and then they shout the months of the year at me.ehh, thats enough for nowI miss you all. GIve me updates about your lifedid i tell you there have been 2 hail storms this week??? its 80degrees ouside.LOVEausi mpho shalleyps kylie, will you send this to twongs? and i am still in shock overbo. thats sacreligious.

WOO Maseru, very cold

Man, i used to think i would rue the day i began a blog. So impersonal, so lazy, so much ramble room. Not that i dont ramble in my emails anyways. But to share the ramblings to the world? A little vain, I daresay. But also, to deprive the world of the inner thoughts of one of its most loved creations?? A travesty. So here i am. A blogger. I might post the emails that I have been sending since November, but i might just start here. Who knows. Suspense is what keeps the bills paid, no? Well, what would I know about paying bills. Absolutely nothing. Im living in my first home ive ever known not to inhabit at least 3 beautiful, talented, life changing roomates (cough, cough, shoutout) and it is a round hut with a thatch roof. And it is mine. Its beautiful. I spent an entire day painting it blue, and then splatterpainting the walls. It looks like Figment and the magician got into a fight, and there is purple and blue blood splattered on the walls as remnants and evidence of their obvious animosity towards each other. My boss came over last week and told me it was "artistic." At least he didn't say autistic. (cite kk, page 3) I am in Maseru right now for a plethora of reasons, mostly for my sanity, which I dont really feel like i've had a grasp on since i've been here anyways, but its always nice to have that fact shoved in your face. My job is going... well, not so well. I have two schools that I am working at, and one of them is an old church hall cement building with a wall to split into two rooms, and 450 kids inhabiting the space. In one class, there is four seperate classes going on at the same time, one in each corner. In the other classroom, there are three seperate classes. The kids dont have desks, dont have rooms to breathe let alone move their elbows to raise their hands. My other school is a palace. Nicer than half the classrooms in America. Yet, there is no electricity, desks, lunchroom, library. What both schools have in common is a plethora of apathy. Maybe its just my American mindset that schools are a place to LEARN, to be productive, to socialize, but these schools are accomplishing none of the above. And when my job is to go into these schools and work with teachers trying to promote the aforementioned things, it makes my job a little difficult, borderline impossible to do, when the teachers have no interest in being at school. When they DO show up, they go through the motions, sometimes not even bothering themselves to do that. One of my teachers wants to be a soldier, but failed his entrance exam 3 times. The entrance exam has math and history questions... did I mention he is a teacher. And he asked me for career advice. Since I was not feeling entirely obliging, or had any remnance of the social filters I try to maintain, I told him that he should not be alowed around children considering his obvious apathy towards his job, and towards anything without semiautomatic in its name. Hopefully that didnt translate. But when Clement (peace corps staff, oversees the education sector) came to my site last week i had a nervous breakdown after seeing the children be kit over the knuckles repeatedly for doing something they had not been warned not to do. I am not going to get into corporal punishment here because i would like to keep the bran muffin in my stomach, but really. I cant stand it. I told my principal if she chooses to incorporate corporal punishment into her school, I would like to be warned so I can be absent on those days. They dont take me seriously. But, I digress. I am in Maseru today because I am spending a few days with another volunteer whose been here for a year doing this job, to see how she handles things. Is it just my job, the teachers, the schools that I cant handle, or a combination of the above. But its just nice to be in a city again, as much as I LOVE Thaba Tseka. Its nice not to have to stop every three seconds to explain who I am, where I am going, why I am white, why I will not give them candy or money, and why I dont carry around jobs for them in my back pocket. Yestderday when I got off the bus, wiped the drool and sweat off my shoulder, compliments of a lady and her 2 year old son, I was excited to fall back into the Maseru routine. But I find myself a little disoriented and lost without the peopple who I have been accustomed to surrounding me at all times in this city. And then to show up at the Peace Corps hostel to realize that yes, I am new, and still on the bottom wrung of the totum pole is a little disjointing. I abused to intestines out of the landline phone calling all of the people in my pledge class (i know, it makes people sick that i use the term plege class to refer to my group, but it makes sense, doesnt it??) to tell them that i cant wait to fall into the routine of seeing them in Maseru instead of the vague familiarity of Americans that I dont know, but have a common bond with.
My Thaba Tseka life is borderline wonderful. It it wasnt for my job... well, we can just hope that eaither it gets better, or my standards for "better" are drastically reduced. Sam and I were training for the half marathon in Cape Town easter weekend, but after realizing it took an hour and a half to run, and then about 7 hours to get the feeling back in our legs, we have reduced it to just running three hours a week to keep our sanity and our lungs in order. I go into town pretty much everyday to spend time with Sam and Rebecca, to decompress and eat cookie dough, and just to be in their presence. Ive realized that so much of my time here is reliant on them. I dont even like to enter the realm of my mind that sees the possibility of one of them elaving, or us being seperated. That would force me to completly reconstruct my comfort in this contry, and I would have to stand on my own two feet, which I am not ready for, and will avoid at all costs. I know, I am maturing before your very eyes. I just read Gone With the Wind for a second time with freshman year, and had a dream last night Rhett and I were at a Magic game, and I swooned at halfcourt after reading one of his text messages. Im assuming it was dirty.
We had our initial "theater in the roundavel" a few weeks ago, and tried to act out a Basotho play called "Hope Dube" that ended in a musical montage. You will see us on Broadway.
I wish I could do this every week. I wont have internet again for about two months, but I will have a letter, a spotty pen, and words pouring our of every cuticle. So write to me. The mailbox is about 45 minutes away from my house, but when I am walking to town, I can feel my soul immersed in the universal current of the mailsystem, and have an intuition of whether i have a beautiful recyclable piece of paper with my name on it in my little box. I have been right 6 out of 7 times.
Once again...
PO Box 93
Thaba Tseka
Lesotho
Southern Africa
I love and miss all of you.
Please contiue to send me email at gmail, and im sorry if this is so impersonal, but i will write you back through gmail.