A Tribute to Hitchhiking

For a while now, I've debated whether to come clean on this blog about my deep love of hitchhiking in Lesotho. For one thing, I wouldn't want to alarm people [too much]. But more importantly, I've been worried that Peace Corps might get angry at me for confessing.

You see, for a while now, I've been under the impression that hitching is frowned upon by PC Lesotho. We definitely have a rule about riding in backs of open-bed trucks - if you do that, you will be on a plane back home pretty quickly. And no driving either. No problem there, I do neither of those things. But I THOUGHT it was best if at least I don't go out of my way to discuss the fact that I hitch.

Anyways, I recently picked up the PC Lesotho Handbook to see what it says on the matter. Here it is:

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Hitchhiking
Catching a ride in a safe vehicle with a person known to a Volunteer may be a good option for transportation. In Lesotho, Volunteers are highly discouraged from standing along the side of a road attempting to hitch a ride with a person unknown to them. However, we understand that in certain circumstances, Volunteers might judge a private ride to be safer than a kombi. If you decide to hitchhike:
- Never take a ride alone. Always ride in a group of two, or preferably more.
- Never take a ride if the driver or other passengers are drunk or drinking alcohol in the vehicle
- Private vehicles such as cars or SUVs are preferable to larger commercial vehicles
- Always ensure that the vehicle is in good condition (e.g., tires in good condition, no major body damage, no loud noises, no giant clouds of black smoke, etc.)
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So, OK, it's "highly discouraged," except for when it's safer. But, within the context of those four bullet points (all of which I support)... I claim it is ALWAYS safer. Seriously.

Quite honestly, taxis/kombis are the unsafe mode of transport. These are 15 person vans, often packed with over 20 people (I've seen 26 once). Here is a picture of a kombi in unusually good condition.

Often times you are traveling on a route where there's only one kombi coming every hour or more. If you don't hitch, you take what you get. Sometimes this includes kombis that are barely functioning, kombis that are packed with sick people, drivers who are too young to have a license (but don't tell you), or drivers who are horribly reckless. Once two kombi drivers were so adamant that I should choose their kombi over a competitor that they assaulted me (I got away unscatched, thankfully). My friend had a screwdriver pulled on him in a similar situation. Fortunately, at this point we are all wise enough that, for the most part, we can spot a sketchy situation and find something better.

Not so ironically, yesterday I hitched with a guy who was returning from up north. There, he had been visiting a friend who had just been victim of a kombi that, when full of passengers, flipped over 4 times. She was badly injured, and a baby in the kombi was killed.

Now compare that to getting a hitch. While I can't prove that nothing unsafe ever happens in a hitch, I can definitely say that I've never heard of any PCV having a bad experience. People who own cars are almost always in the upper class of Lesotho. This means they are less desperate. It means they want less from you than, say, the drunk taxi conductor who tried to buy my female friend from me for 5 cows (a bad price, I'm told), or the abrasive woman who demanded that I give her money, then candy, then a job.   Plus there are seat belts.

And there are many other advantages beyond the safety.

1. It's cheaper. Occasionally a driver will ask for a few rand, but generally it's a nice perk to save some money.

2. It's faster. Kombis make tons of stops and break down quite often. Private vehicles don't really.

3. It's more comfortable. People won't angrily slam your window shut when you open it. You won't sit cramped between 3 obese women and their babies on a bench made for 3. There's no oppressively loud music.

4. The Restoration Theory. A friend of mine brought this up a while ago. When she said it, I immediately realized that I felt this way all along, only I never knew I felt it until she articulated it. The idea is that, as PCVs, we are always giving, and whenever we stop to take a breath, someone is there asking us to give more. Granted we came here expecting as much, but still it can be draining. So, getting a hitch helps to restore a sense of balance in our minds. It is genuinely fulfilling to be reminded that, as much as it feels like we are here to give endlessly to Basotho who were so recently strangers, there are Basotho who are willing to give something to us, even though we are total strangers to them.

5. It's fun! Among other reasons, I came to Peace Corps to meet new, interesting people, and to try to understand their lives. There is no better venue for a short interview with a total stranger than in a hitch. It's a captive audience, and usually they picked you up in the first place because they're excited to talk to someone different. Some of the interesting people I've hitched with:

• Members of Parliament
• A guy who owns a construction company in the capital of Botswana (who drove a $70000 car)
• The director of Lesotho's Outward Bound program
• A former soldier/former racecar driver (that is one person)
• A Phys-Ed teacher (probably the only one in this country, actually) who went to college in Cuba
• The director of the local funeral home
• An Indian Muslim shopowner, who told me a story about traveling to NYC 2 months after 9/11, and being arbitrarily thrown in jail for 2 months before being let go. He holds no ill will against America though, and he picked my friend and I up assuming we were American, but knowing we were in no way responsible for his imprisonment. He gave us his number in case we ever need a ride again. 
• A gay police officer (gay in Lesotho is rare)

And I'm sure I'm forgetting others. But mostly it tends just to be middle aged men, who are reasonably successful (enough to own a car and speak good English), who are married and have young children. These guys are always great to talk to, which leads to my final point...

6. Goal 2. Peace Corps is structured around 3 core goals:
"1. Helping the people of interested counties in meeting their need for trained men and women.
2. Helping to promote a better understanding of Americans on the part of the peoples served.
3. Helping to promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans."
I could write a ton about hitchhiking and goal 2, but I'll just say that some of the absolute best, most meaningful conversations I've had with Basotho have been while hitchhiking.

So, there you have it, my treatise on the merits of hitchhiking in Lesotho. Everyone back home, I miss you and hope you are well.

One Love

This week schools are on break. For PC Volunteers, who aren't technically allowed to leave their site for very long without either getting approved for some kind of work or burning precious vacation days, this forces the question of how one will spend their week.

For me, I spent the early part of the week bumbling around doing whatever I could find, but when Friday rolled around, bigger things happened.

A little background: when you drive around Lesotho, there are mountains every step of the way, and you often see writing on the mountainsides. People arrange white-painted rocks to write out things like "blah blah Barracks" or "blah blah High School." I've always found this pretty cool. So one day a few months back, it dawned on me that we should use this medium to make something like a PSA. I happen to live right by a perfect mountain right along the country's main highway, giving me a great opportunity to make such a "sign."

I decided to write "One Love Feela" with HIV ribbons. "One Love" is a big campaign in Lesotho that preaches monogamy and respect for your partner (multiple concurrent partners, or MCPs, are a huge contributing factor to the spread of HIV here). The "Feela" part is Sesotho, it kind of turns it into "Just One Love," though it sounds less weird in Sesotho than in English. At school, I teach my students "One Love Feela" as often as possible.

So I spent some time over the last few months planning and organizing to make this happen. This included finding a way to get funding for paint, getting approval from the local chief, meeting with the community at the foot of the mountain, coordinating with Phela (the organization that runs the One Love campaign, who were very excited to help), struggling to write letters in Sesotho, and so on. We finally set a date to do the project this past Friday. With schools on break, other PCVs could come help.

So five of my good friends came to my house the night before, and at 7am Friday morning, we climbed up the mountain and got to work. Two Basotho came too. We quickly discovered that the job was far too big for 8 of us, though, and we began hoping that more would come. We changed the plan to a simpler sign with larger letters, so that we would only write "One Love" with one ribbon. Then, over time, many more Basotho showed up - people from Phela, from Peace Corps staff, teachers and students from my school, and a number of villagers. Things took off, and from that point things went really well.

There were a few downsides. It turns out the red AIDS ribbon and the blue paint we used to write the word "One" (to be consistent with the campaign's logo) are less visible than white. Also the natural curves of the mountain obscure small pieces of the writing.

But overall it came out great. The response from the community and from Phela were excellent, and we had a lot of fun. And, no one broke any ankles on the mountain, which is slightly surprising. Following the event, my friends and I cooled off at my house for a while before spending the night braai-ing (aka barbecuing) singing and dancing in the late afternoon/evening.

When I wrote about building keyhole gardens at my friend Rory's place back in July/August, I mentioned how satisfying it was to spend time with volunteers both blowing off steam AND doing meaningful work. For me, this event embodied that idea to the fullest. Definitely a highlight of my service so far. And, I'm happy to now have a lasting piece of work to which I can stake my name and my service.

Well anyway, without further ado, here are lots of pictures from Friday.

View of the road and beyond, from the mountain, early in the morning. 

 Adam and I painting the ribbon (which turned out to be hardly visible... oh well).

Loads of people milling around working on various parts of the sign.

It's big.

As the work wound down, guys from the village took some extra paint and proudly wrote the village name on a huge boulder (note - the kid in the front in the yellow sweatshirt is Thabang, one of my favorite Form A students). 

Rory, Thabeleng (a 7th grader at my school... seriously!), Nathan, and Dustin taking a breather after a few hours launching rocks down to us from the top of the mountain (seriously, amazing that there were no injuries). 

Stopping for a minute to chat with Nthabiseng, a teacher from my school and my closest friend in my village. She helped a ton with the project.

Everyone celebrating the sign (and above all, hoping it will look good when we get down the mountain). At this point, all the Basotho in this photo have been shouting "One Love" down toward the village, to anyone listening, for hours. They're pretty amped up about it all.

Behold! Honestly this isn't the best picture... maybe I'll wander back and try to take a better one.

  

Relaxing at the braai - Nthabiseng, Bedtime Bear, Ntate Motlohi (another teacher), and Nathan.

Working the grill...

 

Rory, Dustin, Bedtime Bear.

Dustin, Shanthi, Rory. We returned to my house due to neighbors sleeping within earshot of the braai.

Oh, one final comment. There is a South African food called Braai Rolls that really should exist in America. They are just bread rolls stuffed with either garlic butter or herb butter that you cook on the grill. They are outstanding. So, to my friends at Tickled Pig BBQ - I know you don't win friends with salad, or even with bread usually, but I formally challenge you to come up with some American version of Braai Rolls.

Per The Request Of My Abuti

Dear Mike,

Heyyyyyy brother. Did you even know you were my abuti? Well, abuti means older brother, so you are. This post is for you.

Love,
Your baby brother (there's no word for that)

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Alright so, here's why this entry is for Mike. Shortly after my last post, we had a conversation on the phone. In discussing all the random stories I had just written about, he suggested that I keep a better record of the weird-and-random-yet-revealing stories that I live each day. He loves the weirdness, and I love the weirdness. I told him I'd try. And so, the following Monday at school, when that day's weirdness unfolded, I whipped out some scratch paper and wrote it down. Then I added to it Tuesday. And Wednesday. And almost every day since.

Now, there is one other element to this story that makes me happy. The night before I left Baltimore to join Peace Corps, we went out for a celebratory dinner. It was Mike, my future sister-in-law Becca, my mom, and I (it was a combination Eric's birthday/Eric's moving to Africa for 2 years tomorrow/Mike and Becca just got engaged dinner, so suffice it to say, we went all out, it was outstanding, and I've eaten nothing nearly as good since that night.) At dinner, Mike and Becca gave me a really great journal to take to Africa (black with gold-trimmed pages and a sewn-in bookmark, the whole 9 yards).

I was excited about it, but regrettably, I haven't used it all that much. I never really kept a journal at home, and I already keep up this blog here in Lesotho, so I just haven't quite pulled it together to write as much as they and I hoped. But... now I have the perfect use for it. So, thanks Mike for providing me with the inspiration to keep what will henceforth be called the Annals Of Weirdness (AOW), and thanks Mike and Becca for the means to do so in a highly tasteful way. Here's to hoping the weird never stops.

Below are the first few entries from the AOW. Looking over them, I'm surprised by what a good picture they paint of what much of my life here is like.

Disclaimer: The AOW is an expression of what is weird based solely on my own standards. Or, more accurately, what I remember my standards to have been before coming here. It is therefore highly subjective. If anyone reading excerpts from the AOW finds these things to be un-weird, you are invited to yell about it in the comments section.

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Monday, 20 Sept 2010
- Tsemase [a student] being punished with squats. Refuses due to leg injury. Alternative (my suggestion) is rolling around on dusty floor. Refuses that too, instead choosing 5 lashes with PVC pipe on the ass. After it's over I am cringing, and I ask if that was better than rolling on floor. He says yes.

Tuesday, 21 Sept 2010
- A major breakthrough - we begin scheduling meetings in advance, to hold them during break to reduce cancellation of class [I've been suggesting to my principal that we try not to cancel class for impromptu meetings quite so often]. But the meeting is to arrange a film show to raise funds, and in the end we cancel 3 classes for the film show. 1 step forward, 2 steps back...

Wednesday, 22 Sept 2010
- Decision to arrange "Fun Day" this coming Friday to raise funds. Students can wear "funny clothes" to school, but they must pay R1.00. Alternatively, they can choose to wear their uniform as usual, but they must pay... R1. If a student simply can't afford it, their best recourse is to skip school.
- The village drunk aggressively stops me as I'm walking at dusk, to introduce me to Bokang, the local shop owner, who is one of my closest friends in the village. He says that Bokang is his best friend, except that he can't even tell me Bokang's name.

Thursday, 23 Sept 2010
- At 6:45am, I'm walking to school with a student and the same village drunk screams to me from far away, "I am from Switzerland!!" I tell the student that this is why you shouldn't drink alcohol.

Friday, 24 Sept 2010
- "Fun Day" is a Halloween day basically. There are cross-dressers, wigs, bizarre masks. But about 25-30% of students seem to have skipped school. Principal gets up at assembly and makes a powerful speech about time running out before exams, but is wearing a plastic clown mask the whole time. After assembly we are all so entertained that no one bothers to have classes.

Monday, 27 Sept 2010
- Going on a run down the road, nearing the end and feeling tired. A group of barefoot orphan girls between Standard 1 and Standard 5 [1st-5th grade] start jumping up and down as they see me approaching (I've met 1 of them before). As I pass they start running with me. I try to run fast uphill, just to see if I can outlast them. I cannot. They are grinning and laughing the entire time (about 3 minutes).


Tuesday, 28 Sept 2010
- One of my favorite students, Palesa, is about to write an English test that I'm helping to invigilate [ie catch cheaters], but she has her head on the desk and she is crying. I take her outside to talk and she tells me she has such horrible pain in the bones of both arms that she cannot hold a pencil. She says it has happened in the past. I suggest that she goes to the doctor, but she says her mother does not have the R15 [$2] to pay. I tell her I'm sorry, and to go to get some medicine. I'm pretty certain I'll give her R15 tomorrow. 
- Went running, same route and time as yesterday. Instead of 3 girls following me like yesterday, it is now 6. They are really impressive, and though it's a bit embarrassing running past my students with 6 small girls following, they are adorable and it's kinda fun. They run all the way to my house and I invite them inside for a glass of water.

Back to "ordinary" PC life

In the interest of moving forward following all that happened 2 weeks ago, I will bump that last post one notch farther down. To replace it, here are a couple of highly random events that I witnessed/took part in this week. I've said this before, but once again, such things almost become ordinary events precisely because of how far out of the ordinary they are. I know I forget many would-be great stories for this blog, because I sometimes fail to recognize even as noteworthy what only a few months ago seemed so remarkable. Things just seem to go that way - random is the norm. At least I remembered a few here.

1. Wednesday - My boss tells me he'd like to petition the local construction company to help out with some small projects at our school (nice idea).  He claims they'll do it for free out of moral obligation. He asks me if I could come with him to their offices. He explains that my being white will give us an advantage, will get us more credibility and people will take our requests seriously. I feel terrible hearing this, though really it sounds farfetched. I go anyway. I plan to convey strength - I will stand, arms folded and flexing, as my boss lists our demands. But when we meet with the higher-ups at the office - some white South Africans - my boss immediately defers to me to speak. I hardly even know what we are asking for, but nevertheless I clumsily attempt to ask for vague construction jobs to be done for free. I wait for my boss to bail me out, but he goes silent. The Afrikaaners look right through him, only acknowledging me. They couldn't care less about my boss, despite him being older and more knowledgable on the subject. I feel awkward being something like the beneficiary of such blatant racism, but, its all for my school, so I go along.

In any case, the relevant decision maker was not there so we were told to come back the next morning, which leads to...

2. Thursday - The short story is, I kidnap a girl while sporting a goatee. But if you're curious here's the more complete version. My boss says he'll pick me up at 6am to go back to the construction company. By 6:30, I haven't heard from him, so I decide I better just start getting ready for school (this is a mistake, I should have learned Africa Time by now). I start to shave. My left cheek is half shaven when my boss calls - he's outside waiting. I sculpt the fastest thing I can that leaves me looking non-crazy, which happens to be this truly hideous goatee. We have some luck at the construction company, with the result of a representative coming with us to see the school. So now I am headed to school with my ugly facial art.

We do our business at school, then drive to drop the representative back off. On the way, a young primary school girl is very late walking to her own school (which is about 2.5 miles away). My boss points this out and I convince him to give her a ride, since we'll be passing her school (this is pretty common practice). We're driving a converted flatbed truck with a front cabin that's more or less sound-proofed from the rear. The girl sits down in the rear. We then forget about her. We pass her school, pass that village, and reach the construction office. Only when we're all getting out of the car, the girl knocks on the window and yells, "Sir!" We all look at one another in shock - she is now nowhere near her school. But my boss wants to carry on, and have one more meeting before we go. So the girl just sits locked in the back of the truck. Remember, I still have a goatee. When we finally get going, my boss lectures the young girl for not alerting us when we passed her school the first time. This all comes to a merciful end as she gets out, and I head home to shave more completely before finally going to teach at 11am.

3. [WARNING - GROSS AND SADISTIC] Friday - A cow is being slaughtered to prepare for a funeral tomorrow (Quick tangent - 3 weeks ago a girl from our primary school was hit by a car - horrible story. From a selfish standpoint, I feel fortunate in that I didn't know her, but it's still really tragic). We're at the family's home saying some prayers, and that's where the cow is being killed. It falls down after being jabbed in the base of the neck. As it lays dying, it's tail is chopped off. Men then pick up the tail... to use it as a whip, to beat the dying cow. I feel sad for the girl's death, and now sad for the cow. Then I ponder whether a cow (any cow, let alone a dying cow) can perceive the irony of being beat with it's own severed tail. I sigh, and watch the men skin the cow for a few minutes. Finally, I head home.

In Memory of Tom Maresco

By now many of you have heard of the tragic events which occurred here the night of Friday, September 3rd. Tom Maresco, a fellow Peace Corps Volunteer here in Lesotho, was shot and killed in an apparent robbery attempt, one block from our training center in the capital city, Maseru.

At this time we have been asked not to discuss details of the case, as the investigation is ongoing. But you can read Peace Corps' press release here, and you can find other related stories via Google. But, while I can't get into specifics of what transpired on Friday night, I can try to shed some light on what an outstanding person Tom was.

Tom and I came into Lesotho together 10 months ago - he was one of the 29 members of the "ED10" class of PCVs, as we're called. On the night we met in Philadelphia, he rallied as many of us as possible to stay out late into the night, enjoying our last taste of quality beer. And so it was immediately obvious that Tom was a natural leader, with the charisma to become the focal point of any social situation (this was only proven truer over time). Quick tangent: the bar had darts, and as I bragged about my darts prowess and convinced everyone to come play, Tom beat me with ease and with a laugh.

But while my new friends and I recognized his charm and energy from the get-go, it was not until later that we came to learn what a truly impressive guy Tom was. As it turned out, he was exceedingly bright. He was a great cook (we never got the chance to compete in the Iron Chef match we talked about, but had it happened, I'd have put my money on him). His ingenuity was unmatched, which I learned as he used the random junk around the training center to build a makeshift obstacle course, kiddie pool, slip and slide, fire pit, and more. He was an outstanding guitarist, harmonica player, singer, and he was hilarious as a freestyle rapper. One highlight from back in training is when we sang together as he played one of my favorite songs, La Cienega Just Smiled (Ryan Adams). He was an excellent teacher, and a passionate volunteer, who loved his service and his life as much as anyone.

So, long story short, I'd be lying if I said I never envied Tom. We once had an obstacle course that 8 guys participated in. Out of 8 guys competing, I finished 7th, Tom 8th. I was relieved not to be last; Tom laughed hysterically (sadly I'm pretty sure he wasn't trying).

I've tried, unsuccessfully, to make some sense of why this happened. I think about bullies, who beat up kids who are prettier than them, or who smile too much - internally weak people who are jealous of the better fortune of others, who try to even the slates by bringing someone else down. I wonder, is this the mentality that leads someone to so coldly murder a well-meaning aid worker? Yes, Tom was dealt a sweet hand in life. But one can only admire a man who so fully embraces his innate gifts and runs with them at full speed. Tom was living his dream, and was touching so many lives in the process. Like all of us, he came here to help and to see the world. But unlike most of us, Tom would likely have bought that guy a drink if he only asked nicely.

This last week has been a whirlwind. I learned the news by a phone call from our country director, which woke me up Saturday morning. I spent three days with the rest of the volunteers, leaning heavily on this family we've become, alternately giving and receiving support. We've all spent these days remembering Tom, laughing, crying, and deeply questioning our service here. From here on out I'll be having a pretty quiet weekend with just a few close friends. I've taken the week off school - many in my village suspect that I'll leave Lesotho after this. But I will stay.

I have also heard Basotho express shame in response to Tom's death. To any Basotho who might read this, please do not feel ashamed, guilt by association does not apply here. To my friends and family, please do not be scared for me. As difficult as it is to say right now, I still love this country, despite its flaws. The actions of one Mosotho man will not change that. Know that I have no intention of traveling at night in the area where this occurred, or really anywhere at all. I feel extremely safe in my village, where I know so many of the people, and where so many look out for me. Most volunteers will say the same.

Most importantly, to friends and family of Tom, I am so sorry for this indescribable loss. I can only say that Tom will live on in our minds. I feel confident speaking for the rest of PC Lesotho when I say that his memory will inspire the rest of our service.

Thank you all for your love and support during this wretched time. We will come through it.

Couple of random things

Fine and you? If all goes well, I'll be back next week (or even as soon as tomorrow) with another post, something kinda new and exciting (at least, I hope it excites everyone).

But for now... a couple of random thoughts and anecdotes.

- I think my official favorite misuse of English that I hear all the time is when someone walks up to me and greets me by saying, "Fine and you?"

- A sad, frustrating, revealing story that I've been meaning to tell for a while: At the end of 2nd quarter
back in June, all the teachers compiled the students' grades from semester exams. We average them out, sort them, rank them, and hand write individual reports for each student in the school, with comments from each teacher for each student. This took many hours. This culminated in a day over winter break when parents (or guardians) were told to come and collect reports. Teachers were all on hand to give comments.

Roughly 30% of the students had someone show up. Bummer, right? But wait... turns out, we only give them their kid's report if they're up to date on school fees... which most are not. So the day went something like this. We sit around for a while. Someone shows up asking for a student's report. I find it and take it out. I hold it in my hand for 5 minutes as conversation ensues, in Sesotho. I am told by a teacher that we are not giving the form, please put it back. I put it back. In the end, I think we gave out less than 50 reports (there are over 300 students). That's how few students have both a) someone looking out for them and b) enough money for school fees.

Now, students and parents who are behind on school fees are unable to find out the child's performance, and how they are doing compared to their classmates. I see this as a waste of valuable information that is both wanted by the students and useful as a motivational tool (and motivation is in short supply already). So, I've taken it upon myself to discreetly tell my students about their ranks, and load up the conversation with as much personalized motivation as I can. I hope it's helping.

- On Monday, a group of boys shoved a donkey into their classroom, in the middle of history class. Their parents or guardians were called to the school today, and both parties were spoken to firmly. The boys were subsequently beat with sticks.

- I learned recently that Basotho use the word "crocodile" to mean "prostitute." Here is why. The Lesotho soccer team is called the Crocodiles. And apparently, they are bad, and are beaten by everyone. When you are beaten, the term that is used is the same as saying "you were eaten by" that team. But, there is a lot of redundancy in Sesotho, and apparently "being eaten" is also a term form being... well... there might be kids reading this... let's say for being cuddled. So it's like, the crocodiles were cuddled by everyone they played. So crocodiles are prostitutes.

- Over winter break I spent some time at my friend Rory's village, building keyhole gardens to feed local orphans. Another friend, Shanthi, posted something about it here, with a good photo, and apparently is going to upload more photos soon. It was a great experience. Usually, spending time with other volunteers is more about taking a step back from everything and blowing off steam. But it was wonderful to spend my time with them actually doing productive work.

I had one more thing I wanted to write about, but now I have forgotten it. Darn. Maybe I'll remember by next time. Everyone in America, I love and miss you!

One Day in the Life of Eric Pierce(ovich)

Today was in some ways a fairly typical work day, and in other ways pretty weird. Though, the weirdness is, in itself, pretty typical. So yeah, it was a fairly typical work day. I will recount today's events...

I hit snooze about 3 times and finally got out of bed at about 6:50am. I hurriedly dressed and ate, managing to barely get out on time.

(It was cold this morning, but in recent days the temperature has risen quite a bit from as midday has approached, so I left my house without a coat. Turns out today was an exception, so I was pretty cold all day. When students and teachers asked me throughout the day if I was surviving without a coat, I lied, saying "No, I did not miscalculate, I meant to be dressed like this in this weather." I feel strangely compelled to maintain my "Makhooa don't get cold like Africans" appearance).

Monday is supposed to be my most hectic day - I teach 6 periods. I spent some time lesson planning before heading to Form A Maths, where I began teaching about symmetry. Behavior was the worst it's been this semester. I nearly left the class in anger, but held it together because we are already in such horrible shape (I am guessing I'll finish 60% of the syllabus this year).  With 30 minutes left in class, my vice principal knocked on the door to say "Please stop teaching, we're having a staff meeting, it is beginning right away." To much applause, I dropped my lesson and went to the staff room... where I sat for 25 minutes waiting for the meeting to begin. Needless to say, not a great start to the day. Questions of "If the students don't want to learn, and the administration doesn't want me to teach... then why am I even here?" raced through my mind.

We had our meeting. It was a little bit productive.

[A brief background to understand the rest of today: We are hosting a big cultural festival at school on Friday, where our school will compete against 5 other schools in traditional games, dances, and other events. To create time for practice, we have decided to cancel 2 hours of class every day for the last 3 weeks running. Roughly 70% of the students are involved in 0 of the activities, so they spend this time wandering the schoolyard or playing soccer. Such use of time does not lend well to teachers finishing their syllabi.]

Following that meeting, classes were cancelled for the rest of the day to prepare for Friday (for a total of 2 hours of classes today).

With no teaching to do, I went to another meeting with a few teachers and some members of the community. These folks are trying to find ways to help local orphans (awesome), and I was invited to pitch an idea I've been developing. I am hoping to build a playground at school, which will be open to all local children outside of school hours, and will be covered in HIV/Healthy Living information. I am hoping to fund this project with a PEPFAR grant (US government money for HIV/AIDS projects). With my coworker and friend Nthabiseng translating for me, we pitched the idea, and were given a hearty ovation in response, ululations included (traditonal throat howling sound, used when something is really exciting)! People are enthusiastic about helping, which is great.

Following this meeting, I played a little frisbee (thanks everyone back home!) and wandered around the throngs of idle students. Two students handed me bottles of motoho - traditional sour porridge made from sorghum, which (to the shock and awe of my fellow PCVs) I absolutely love. I have a standing offer to them that if they bring me motoho, I will buy them lisweets (candy). I cashed in on this today. I was thrilled to skip Monday lunch - Undercooked White Rice with Gross Sauce - and chug some motoho instead.

In the afternoon, I watched 5 girls practice liketoana, which is a lot like jacks. I'm told we are gearing up to dominate in liketoana. After some time, a Form A student approached me for help with science. This was a rare treat - if only all students had the courage to admit when they need help, Lesotho would be a different place (Note, I'm not sure where the blame goes here. I might also have said, "If only teachers didn't strike such fear in the hearts of students that they are all terrified to seek the help they need and deserve." But I digress.). As students realized I was explaining concepts that they, too, were struggling with, a crowd formed. In the end I think some genuine learning took place.

The schoolday came to an end. I headed home, picking up some veggies along the way. At one shop, I got a chance to snag another Form A student, Zyphiwe (favorite name in my class, really fun to scream in a high pitched voice). I forced her to listen to me as I used the shop's fridge and freezer to explain the concept of melting point. I knew she didn't want to be learning after school, so I apologized - she laughed. But also on the way home, I encountered a particularly troublesome student doing some very loud imitations of me ("Do you think it is funny that you are failing! No one will pay your school fees next year if you fail!" Somehow she thinks this is hilarious, despite it applying to her perfectly). I told her she must now write "I will not make fun of teachers" 100 times before I let her back in my class. A sour end to the day.

So with all said and done, I can sum up today much like I would sum up most days in my American life - some really good things happened, and some really not good things happened ("...but either way, things happened" - thank you DP). And at the end, much like in my American life, I took some time to relax and reflect on it all over some hot, delicious, home-cooked dinner.

Basotho kids are cuter than your kids (unless you're Mosotho)

Since I've realized I can post video right now, and I happen to have all my videos with me, I didn't want to miss the opportunity to share some kids being silly. I'm digging deep here...

First, we have my brothers and sisters (and 2 neighbors) from when I was living in Maqhaka for CBT back in December. Notice the little guy, Morapeli, chilling in the back, eating a sock.

Next, this is my little buddy Selebalo, who I've talked about before, struggling with another neighbor, Bonolo, who is trying to keep her still.

Felt it, it was here!

Ha ha I'm so clever.

OK so, here's what I think. My trek up to Rustenburg for the US-Ghana game was outrageously fun, and despite the tragic ending, I think I couldn't possibly have had a better trip (well, unless we won obviously. At least I like Ghana, though). But, I'm not going to write about it.

Instead, I'm copying the entry from my friend PH's blog, with whom I went to both games. I feel as though his shorter sentences and his selective use of commas really reflect the excitement that surrounded our journeys. That and I'm lazy today. But he really did sum up both World Cup trips well, and touched on a lot of stuff I might have forgotten. Only thing I'd like to mention is, when he writes about chocolate chip muffins, imagine he's saying "bacon cheese muffin," and consider how much I love bacon and cheese.

PH put a link to his picture site, which you can check out. But just in case I ever turn this blog into a book (apparently you can do that), I'll post a few at the bottom here. Maybe it's more convenient for you as well.

So, here goes. Thanks PH!

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Fuuuutbooolllll


So being in Lesotho, I had the opportunity to attend two world cup matches. I have posted pictures on my shutterfly. I once again messed up the address. It is adamlesotho.shutterfly.com. That is the correct address. Please disregard the first two.

The first game we saw was Greece versus Nigeria in Bloemfontein (shortened to Bloom). This is a small city only an hour and a half from the border of Lesotho. We took a bus from the border, but before getting on the bus we had to take a taxi from the boarder to the bus. There happened to be a few cops in a truck present when we crossed the border. They offered to give us a lift to bus! So the pics of me in the back of a police truck were of us getting a ride…I swear I didn’t do anything wrong. My favorite part of the city is the cooling towers of a coal power plant (I think it is no longer operational, but I could be wrong). The cooling towers are painted with designs. They are very pretty. That coupled with my power engineering background makes them special to me.

We arrived in Bloom the day of the game. I think Bloom has a fair amount to do, such as a zoo (but I hate zoos because the animals look really sad), but we didn’t have a lot of time so we went to two malls. Ha. The first mall was called Mimosa mall and OH BOY was it shiny. I am not used to such cleanliness and bright lights. It was a sensory overload. We perused bookstores, clothing stores, and the food court. The highlight of this mall was the muffins. I know this is quite a bold statement, but I will say that the chocolate chip muffin I consumed was the best muffin of my life. It was huge and warm and fluffy. It came with a side of butter, jelly, and cheese (yes cheese…I’m not sure why). After the bliss of muffins, we walked to the waterfront mall, which was situated close to the stadium. I figured we would be able to buy vuvuzelas (those annoying horn things you hear on tv that sound like bees) there, but apparently everyone and their mothers had sold out of them! I volunteered to run back to mall number one and bought four from guys selling them illegally on the street (we saw these same guys being chased away by the cops later, turns out you can’t sell merchandise within so many kms of the stadium). I ran back and met up with my group. They came bearing face paint! We entered the stadium two hours early, expecting security and lines to be long. It took us about 30 seconds to get in. There is tighter security at White Sox games. Sooo with our ample time, we drank Budweiser (go America!), painted our faces and practiced using the vuvuzelas (They are harder than they look…the key is to motorboat those things!). We found our seats which were on the first level and only about 12 rows up. I rooted for Greece while my friends rooted for Nigeria. The stands were not filled. I find this a bit embarrassing. This is supposed to be the biggest sporting event in the world and they can’t sell tickets? I know South Africa has been praised for how they have handled the world cup, but after the hassle we went through with tickets and the fact that there were empty seats gives me the opinion that South Africa should not hold this major of an event for a long time.

After 90 mins of excitement and much vuvuzela blowing, Greece won their first ever world cup match! I was pumped. We walked to a resturaunt where I ate the greatest burger of my time in Africa. Then, influenced by a drink or four, we thought it wise to go to McDonalds and eat yet another burger (I got the mega mac…4 patties…yes I regretted this the next day). We then returned to the hostel where I got to take a shower! It’s great to have running water. I find it interesting that the actual game part of this trip excited me less than the shiny mall and many food options.

The second game was slotted to be the winner of the US/England group to play the runner up of the Ghana/Germany group. I watched the US/Algeria game with great excitement. I was pretty distraught, thinking there might be a chance we see Slovenia, but thanks to Landon Donavon in stoppage time, we were off to see the US!

We took a similar trip to Bloom (minus the police escort) where we had a rental car waiting for us. We drove from Bloom to Rustenburg in a few hours. We stopped for food and bathroom breaks (turns out gas stations are just as exciting as malls). Along the way we listened to music, played car games, decorated ties and vuvuzelas, and shared in the general excitement of getting to see the US. We got to Johannesburg and promptly got lost. The signage was terrible! We got through some of the city and my friend (the only one who knows how to drive stick) was feeling sick. I had expressed interest in learning so she put me behind the wheel. What a scary experience. I stalled the car at least a dozen times and three times pulling out of the gas station where we switched. I did have a few good accelerations and once I got going it was easy. Stop signs have never been so scary. We did make it however and now I have a new desire to learn stick! We got dinner that night at yet another shiny mall then rested for the big game the next day.

We woke up the next morning nice and warm (it’s really cold in Lesotho at the moment) and proceeded again to the shiny mall where we found the same place with the muffins (I guess it’s a chain). After stuffing ourselves with muffins, we went in search for America decorations for the game. My friend really wanted to wear a flag. There was one store that sold flags, but they were out of US ones. I spied a US flag in the window of a bakery. I smoothly greeted the owner and said, “I have a bit of a weird question, is there any way you could sell us your flag?” I think she thought I was a bit nuts, but agreed to swap for a different flag if we were willing to take the US flag down and put the other one up. So we bought an Argentina flag and switched them, earning us a cape! We also bought a fair amount of paint…

We then returned to the hostel and commenced decorating ourselves. It took several hours that is all I will say. It is a bit of a travesty that we did not wind up on tv. If you check shutterfly, you will understand. We drove to the game, parked, and took the shuttle to the stadium. There were a few England fans on the shuttle who gave us grief. I would have gotten mad, but I was too excited about the game.

I imagine our walk to the stadium is how celebrities feel walking down the red carpet. Everyone gaped at us and took dozens of pictures. Everyone wanted their pictures with us! I think part of it was amazement at how we looked and part of it was amazement that I wasn’t wearing a shirt in pretty dang cold weather. It was nice talking to other Americans as well. The game was one of the most invested I have ever been at a live sporting event (save maybe Stagg bball games haha). I lost my voice during the first half. When Ghana scored the first goal only a few minutes in, I felt like I had been punched in the chest. I was stressed the entire game. When Donavon scored his PK, I felt like I could never be happier. Waiting for the start of overtime was like waiting for the results of an HIV test (maybe that’s a bad analogy). When the final whistle blew, I was devastated, not to mention freezing and a bit intoxicated after a few beers to help keep me warm. We drove to find dinner. We stopped at a place that had chicken and I got a whole chicken, four dinner rolls, fries, and a 2 liter of coke. My rationale was that I could eat some the next day, which I did. The next day, we woke up way too early, hit the road, and made it back to Lesotho. I learned something from this trip. And that is that I really like America. It took being away from it to really appreciate how awesome it is. I think my extreme disappointment at our loss is really telling to my newfound pride in my country.

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Some banana getting pumped up for the Greece-Nigeria game. (Banana is Sesotho for girls, which makes me laugh a lot. I love walking up to groups of my students and shouting "Hi banana!")

Goofing around after the Greece-Nigeria game ended. Somehow I sensed what game I would be seeing next, and dressed accordingly (much to the confusion of those around me).

ROAD TRIP TO RUSTENBURG! Driving in a car, even in the cramped backseat of this little compact Chevy, was truly transplendent.

All dolled up for the big game.

Feeling like a C-list celebrity walking to the stadium, still not sure why.

In true Peace Corps form, we wrote this in tape, which was quite inexpensive.

Since I'm at the Peace Corps office today, it occurred to me that I can upload video for free. This is Landon Donovan scoring on a game-tying PK in the 2nd half - the US' lone goal. Enjoy!

Here I come, America!

OK that title is a little deceptive, I'm not coming home anytime soon. But I've just learned I'm going to see the US play in the World Cup on Saturday! This all became official an hour ago, when the US beat Algeria in stoppage time, and England beat Slovenia, but not by enough to overtake the US in total goals scored, thereby leaving US as the top team in their group! For some time now, I've had tickets to go see the Round of 16 game between the Group C winner and the Group D runner-up. It was a longshot, but in the end, we won Group C.

Look how happy my next door neighbor is for me!

That's Relebohile Mpopo and her daddy, Tumelo. He's another Maths/Science teacher at my school. She was born the week after I moved into my house. Many Basotho toddlers reach a stage where they cry when they see a lekhooa (white person). I pride myself on helping to raise Relebohile with a familiarity with makhooa, such that this might never happen to her.

But I digress. Point is, a couple friends and I are heading up to Rustenberg, a small city outside Johannesburg, on Friday, to go to this game, and I really can't wait.

I actually was able to visit Bloemfontein to see the Greece-Nigeria match last week, as well. It was an awesome experience, though surely not nearly as exciting as the next one will be. We all supported Nigeria (Africa pride, I guess). Validating our pro-Nigeria sentiments, the Nigerians we met were joyful, friendly, and really pleasant to be around. They added a lot to the experience. The Greeks, on the other hand... well, I don't want to say anything. It's best not to make any rash judgments based on a first impression, right? Or on a second, or a third, or a fourth impression, right? In any case, the game was really something to remember (sadly, Nigeria lost 2-1). 

In other World Cup related news, World Cup fever in Lesotho is raging strong. The official slogan, which you hear on TV/radio commercials as well as on sports shows, is "Feel it. It is here." But it's said with a really thick accent, and it's REALLY drawn out for effect, so it sounds more like "Feeeel EEEET! Eet ees HEEYEHHHHHH!" It's become such a household phrase that I frequently see one person say "Feel eet," and everyone else in the room will gleefully yell, "Eet ees heyehhhhh!" I love it. Once, a PCV friend and I were watching a game, but evidently weren't enthusiastic enough. Our Mosotho friend told us, "It is here, but you are not feeling it." A good laugh was had.

Also, let me just put it on the record, vuvuzelas at the World Cup are awful. I hate them. People in my village blow them regularly, at times waking me up in the morning, and they drown out all other sound both on TV and at the games live. Made of materials that range from plastic to cheap flimsy plastic, they play a single, highly grating tone. And to those who say its a meaningful part of the culture, that's a pretty big stretch. Animal horns by the same name were once used in village life, but we're dealing with neither animal horns nor village life. Not to mention, it demeans the richness of the culture that South Africa doesn't find something less abrasive to trumpet (no pun intended) as a cultural icon, like, I don't know, singing. Or face painting.

So, what else? I haven't posted much recently, because, frankly, not too much has been going on. We finished up classes for the semester. My class of 118 Form A's is on pace to have 10 students pass to Form B (and if it were based on Maths/Science alone, that number would be 5).  I am on break until late July, at which point, our new buildings will be complete. Then, my class of 118 will turn into 2 classes of 59. I can't wait for that.

With all that said, here are two anecdotes, one sad, one comical.

- There's a really nice kid in my Form A named Paseka. He's 13, I think, but looks like he's 9. He lives alone with his younger brother, up a mountain about 40 minutes walking from school. He tries harder than almost everyone in the class, and though he isn't passing yet, I'm optimistic he will pass when finals come around in November. But he's got it pretty rough. One day I found him cutting school, walking home by himself. I was shocked, because he's such a well mannered kid. I asked him what he was doing, and he explained that he was too hungry to stay in school, and he was going home to eat. My heart broke a little bit. Surely I couldn't punish him. I told him I'll keep it a secret, but he can't do it again.

The point of the story is, last night he knocks on my door after dark (again, very out of character). He tells me he has no light in his house, and he is asking for a candle. Now, I make it very clear to everyone that I have a firm policy of not giving money, food, or anything else to students, regardless of their story. I've never broken this policy. But somehow, I know how sincere Paseka is, and when I picture him and his little brother in the dark, in the freezing cold, I can't help myself. I can't send him back outside with nothing. So I give him the candle and tell him I can't do this again.

It was an awkward, sad situation, one that I only hope doesn't come up again.

- Everyday, I bring a Nalgene to school, full of filtered water. There's a tap where everyone else gets water, but us makhooa are better off with filtered (think Montezuma's revenge). But there's this one teacher who, for some reason, frequently asks to drink some of my water. I begrudgingly agree every time, hoping she won't take too much. Well, the other day, we're standing outside when this happens. She takes a hefty swig. Then she stops, and deliberately pours about half the water onto the ground. I stare at her in confusion. She looks back at the bottle, and pours nearly all of the remaining water on the ground, handing me back about an inch of water. I ask her, as politely as possible, "Why did you dump it?" To which she casually responds, "I like dumping." Then she turns and walks away. We're still friends though.

OK that's all for now. By the way, I love reading your comments, so keep em coming!

My house is so cold... ["How cold is it?"]

1. My house is so cold, I woke up to find a semi-conscious mouse shivering uncontrollably in the middle of my floor a few days ago (I proceeded to perform a cervical dislocation to humanely put it out of its misery). 

2. My house is so cold, I left a raw hamburger wrapped in foil sitting on my floor for 48 hours, and it was still 100% perfect for dinner tonight.

3. My house is so cold, condensation forms on my corrugated tin roof every night, and then drips all over my floor, my bed, and sometimes even my face every morning.

Only one of those three stories is fake. Can you guess which one?

OK just saying hello, and rubbing it in your face how much character I'm building. Tomorrow is the last day of school, then I have off until July 21. Gonna be a nice break, but I'll miss all my little @#!%ers, as I've come to call them (affectionately of course).

Mantis and Moon Pictures!

As this was one of the best vacations I will probably ever go on, it warrants reliving it once more on the blog, this time in photos. Also a good way to introduce some my close friends here.

Abortion is illegal in Lesotho, but legal in SA. So Basotho will at times cross the border to get the job done. Here, at the border gate, is an advertisement for abortion doctor, Dr. Mama Lerato (lerato being Sesotho for "love"). Kimiko is doing something here with her hands, maybe illustrating the Circle of Life, since Lion King took place in Africa... I'm not sure.

Insert your own "Why did the baboon cross the road?" joke here. Seriously though, this was the defining "Welcome to South Africa" moment for us, about one hour into the drive.

I'll just say, it was a long ride to Mantis and Moon.

This is actually what it looks like in South Africa. This is not fake. Hamonate, e??

Durban. Our first time in a real city since leaving New York, though we were only there to change taxis. While most of us were busy saying things like "Where the hell is the taxi going South?" or "We are all about to get robbed," or "Someone just stepped in a puddle of urine and splashed it all over my leg," good old Kimiko was wandering around joyfully taking photos. Thanks Kimiko!


HOSTEL

Seriously, treehouses in the middle of the jungle. Absolutely incredible, I might just apply to work here one day. 

Oh, and the food here is awesome too. Here are two fellow maths le science teachers, Shanthi and Party House (aka PH aka "Fuhh" aka Adam).


BEACH

Rory - Smarter than he looks. You can also see him in action here: http://stuffwhitepeoplelike.com/2008/09/23/110-frisbee-sports/ He's the white people who loves frisbee.

What you see here is a really ugly ocean, not to mention a putrid sunset.


GORGE

Hiking through the jungle on the way to the gorge (Kimiko, Dustin's shoulder, Shanthi, PH, me in the back).

The gorge! It's big. You dive into it. Lush foliage, waterfalls, and chirping birds surround you as you swing around helplessly across the bottom.

Taking a nap on the side of the gorge before my dive. Though it looks a bit like I'm clutching my head in anxiety, I'm actually sound asleep here. Sara is testifying how peaceful the moment was.

Just before jumping...

Sadly, EVERYONE with cameras spaced out when I jumped and forgot to take pictures. So here's my friend Katie jumping, and you can pretend it's me. I swear I jumped though.

OK Computer dying! That's all.

Pictures!

Finally! Thanks Mom for funding the External Hard Drive that made this possible. Now, without further ado, some pictures from my house and my school. Pictures from vacation will come next time.

So, I'm actually at the PC Training Center here, on the day of Swearing In. I'm pinning my name on the big Lesotho map where my site is. Not sure if it's usually a ceremonial thing, but about 4 of us pretended it was. Notice my Seshoeshoe shirt (very popular with the Bo'me) and my back sweat - apparently, it was really hot here once. Seems like a distant memory.

School

A view from my school on a cloudy day. I teach on top of a mountain, though in Lesotho terms, it's called a hill. Here you see one of the toilets, not very exciting. The point is, look, I'm in the clouds!

But when the weather is nicer, it's quite beautiful up here. On a hot day, the wind you get on the mountain top is refreshing.

"Lesotho, Fatse La Bontata Rona..." 

These aren't my students - this was on a school field trip to a Cave Village called Ha Kome, where we saw many other schools too. Some kids were sitting hanging over a ledge overlooking this expansive mountain landscape, and I thought the silhouettes made for a nice picture. This is currently the wallpaper on my computer.

This is just a completely silly response to a recent test question. Actually it's kind of cute. Nevermind that the answer to "Organ that produces sperm" is "male and female." In case you can't read it, the question is "Describe, in detail, the process of fertilization in humans." The answer is "human have a baby and have a big house. Human have money but not all. The want a work because she want a money." This was FAR from the worst answer I got to this question. The worst was "Tail. Uclens. Tail. Uclens. Tail."

FASFAC - Form A Super Fun Academic Competition

I had a competition in my classes for a month. I divided the class into teams of 9, and the team with the highest test average for the month won. The winning team got a pen, a goofy certificate, and got to come to my house for home-made chili. It was a blast.

Here's one of the certificates. Palesa Mokete is the "magrabilitationalism" girl. I drew everything on the certificate, then gave it to another teacher who helped with the compteition, to add some color.  She unknowingly drew a Jewish star (in Christmas colors, no less) which gave me a good laugh.

5 of the winners, at my house, eating chili and showing off their sweet new certificates. From left to right, Ntsoaki Morake, Palesa "Magrabilitationalism" Mokete, Dimakatso Nkabane, Puseletso Lentjeka, and Mankoane Maimane. All really good kids, and some of them are really bright (hence them winning).

Showing the kids my music, and pictures of my family and America. A very Peace Corps picture, no doubt.

They took my camera and started playing with it out on my front lawn. This is just a ridiculous picture that I can't stop laughing at. In my head, Palesa is screaming "Magrabilitationalism!" and Puseletso is saying "What the F are you thinking?" 

Finally, one last picture, this one of Selabalo, the 4 year old I talk about from time to time. This is also on my front lawn.

Enjoy! Ke tla ngola hape haufinyane (I'll write again soon).

The Good, The Bad, The Weird

Good: My principal and I have agreed on what we hope will become my secondary project as a PCV. It's a lofty goal but we're optimistic. With the help of some students and probably some other PCVs, I'll be writing a series of study guides for maths/science courses. We will distribute them to our students, and what's better, we aim to publish them professionally, and sell them around Lesotho. The money will be reinvested in our school, which, since it's still brand new, has all kinds of worthwhile uses for it. Today we took the first steps to begin the project, by soliciting students who want to join the team. Response was positive.

Bad: Yesterday, some of our primary school students attempted to rape one of our secondary students. Somehow school staff caught them, and fortunately the girl is okay. The punishment for the guilty students? We call their parents... that's it. I'm definitely not in Pikesville anymore.

Weird: I've been trying to teach Selabalo, the adorable 4 year old chatterbox across the street from me, basic greetings in Sekhooa (English). Now when I say "How are you?" she knows to reply "I am fine." Lately I've been struggling to get her to ask me how I am back. It's turned into a sort of Abbott and Costello routine, where every time I explain that she should say "I am fine, how are you?" she hears the "how are you?" part, and just shouts "I am fine!" and laughs. It's a lot of fun for us both. So, I was at Selabalo's house the other day, chatting with her mom, as she sat on the kitchen table echoing various English words she picked up as we spoke, and also shouting various terms she's overheard elsewhere (once she randomly screamed "conference center!"). As I said goodbye to them both, and as I was about to pull the door closed behind me, Selabalo looks at me and yells "They slept together!" and grins innocently.

You are my magrabilitationalizm!

Here's the contents of a composition written by one of my Form A students in her English class. I was bored one day and started reading some of these essays, and really loved this one. Besides typing it, I haven't changed anything.

Note: This received a 66%, one of the top in the class.
Also note: I have no clue what magrabilitationalizm is, except that I've since asked the girl, and she says she read it in the dictionary, and it means love.

A day I will never forget in my life

A day I will never for get is this, when I come to school on food I found that its too late so I see a van coming on the rode my heard becomes as white as an angles' kiss , so when this van is near to me I ask a lift to that men so he said: 'Get in my child , I was so terrified of this men because his face was not happy ,  his eyes was red and I think that he is a criminal person

When the van is near to the board which is written stop , I ask him to stay there so his face changes and shouted at me , I was so terrified I was asking GOT TO HELP ME , I was taking a big stone in my school bag and that man was driving this van so fast and he looks so very dangerous when I take that stone and he did no see me when he was doing this nonsense. I broke that window with that stone and jump out of that van I was so happy . My words were this to got  : "GOT I LOVE you, you are my magrabilitationalizm who I am proud by him and who I trust him Thank you for taking me out of this van

I was disgusted about that men that he is a bad behaviour men he was going to kill me and I was disgusted him so fastly because he become agumentative when I ask him to get out and thinks that he is an informer because he talks too much .

I found myself wondering because I was late to school . I found my teachers in the office roon and I was going appologise because I was late . I was telling them what is has happen . They were happy to me because I pass English club by Top 10 Sesotho by 6 stars   I was so happy

so when we arrive home I tolt my parents that has has happen when I comes to school and when I am at school . And my father make sure that he pay bus fare for me every day They were happy when I tell them that I have pass my exam