Caregivers Day

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With an HIV prevalence over 20%, Lesotho has many children with HIV/AIDS. One of the Peace Corps Volunteers (PCVs) works at the Baylor Pediatric Aids Clinic, where they recently held a Caregivers Day event. Kathy and I attended, along with our friend and Kathy's colleague, Ulker, a doctor from Turkmenistan who came to help out in Lesotho for a couple of months this Spring.

Several organizations, including Peace Corps, worked on putting together the event, which featured both activities and informational sessions. We sat in on one of the informational sessions (on recognizing the signs of child abuse), and I was impressed with how full and detailed the presentation was. The session was given by local, i.e. Basotho, social workers, who had been trained by a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV).

The PCV and other volunteers involved in the project seemed really engaged in the work, and helped to put together some hard-hitting information for attendees. Later, one even confessed that she had been uncomfortable gathering some of the detailed health-related content off the web (but apparently had recognized it was important enough to see it through).

Here they are during some introductory exercises:


And some of their enthusiastic participants (including some folks from Sentabale):

And my wife, the Country Director, observing:


What the volunteers and staff of various humanitarian organizations, like Peace Corps, do here is hard. Then again, Peace Corps once had as its motto, "The toughest job you'll ever love." Here are four of these humanitarians, pausing briefly to pose:


Peace Corps and the other organizations doing work like this in Lesotho should be proud of their people and the work they do.

Stateside

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So, still getting caught up on the blog. This past Spring, only two and one-half months after arriving in Africa, I returned Stateside for two weeks. As part of my teleworking agreement, I promised to return twice per year. This time, I had two conferences to attend: the Internatinal Medical Workforce Collaborative (IMWC - held in New York City) and the Physician Workforce Research Conference (PWRC - held in Washington, D.C.). I presented at both, and moderated a session at the latter, as well.

The international paper was a cross-national examination of the relationship between the economy and the health workforce. Perspectives from Canada, the U.K., Australia and the U.S. were presented. The most salient points for me were that, despite our very different health care systems, we face very similar problems, and that policy, more than economy, affects health workforce supply and demand. At the PWRC, I simply gave an informational presentation on the basics of developing health professions supply projections. The session I moderated was also on projections and modeling.

As captivating as I found the topics of these meetings, I found the people more so. The international group was great, and very engaging. I got to make some new friends, and to get caught up with some old friends, with whom I worked in Albany, New York, years ago. I also got to see my sister, Beth, and my brother-in-law, Steve, which was fantastic. I never tire of their conversation and company. I see them too, too seldom. And, of course, I got to spend a few days in Manhattan. Loved it.

In D.C., I ostensibly spent a week in the office before the conferences, but it was more a week spent in meetings. I relished the opportunity to be in both spatial and temporal proximity with friends and colleagues, and I also stayed with my sister, Joanne, while I was there. It is just too bad I did not get more time simply to hang out with her, as she is one of my favorite people. We get along so well. She also has one of those homes, due in no small part to her menagerie of two dogs and two cats (the coolest on the planet), who magically prevent me from being bothered by the troubles of the world by means of devious strategies like constantly needing to be let out or in, or just leaning against me and giving me "the look".

During the D.C. conference, I stayed in Alexandria, Virginia, where I lived just prior to getting married. Old Town Alexandria should be on every D.C. area visitor's short list. I adore it. But more so than the location, the people I know in Alexandria are extraordinary. Joining us for that time was my father, who happened to be in the area at that time. This was remarkably good fortune, as he lives in Vancouver. I relished our time just sitting and talking, as well as one particular evening when my friends Cecilia, Stephanie, and Liza were able to join my father and me for dinner at a Moroccan restaurant in Old Town called Casablanca. My friends, who are part of a group I affectionately call the Old Town Book and Restaurant Club, wherein we read a book and visited a new restaurant every month (while I lived in the States and which I hope will resume upon my return), my father and I enjoyed an amazing meal, featuring more food than we could eat in two or three evenings... and live belly dancing.

And because life is nothing if not surreal, the dancer worked her way over toward our table, asked if anyone felt like "having some fun", and everyone else at the tables pointed at me! So next thing I know, I am out on the floor, trying my best to mirror the moves she was demonstratig for me. Here is a sample of what that looked like (be thankful it was dark on my section of the dance floor):



The following evening, my father and I had a more low-key but no less enjoyable meal at one of my favorite Old Town restaurants, Mai Thai, then returned to the hotel lounge where we simply sat and talked for a while. That was when Cecilia and Stephanie drove all the way back to the hotel to drop off the video presented in part above, as well as a CD by Elizabeth and the Catapult (to which I listened non-stop for a few days after returning to Lesotho). Cecilia and I have very similar tastes in music, and she definitely got that one right.

Finally, I do not think I can close out my trip back to the States without mentioning Starbucks and my friend, Sarah Rockstar. I have a Starbucks addiction. No doubt about it. No apologies, either. Cannot find one in Southern Africa, though. So I have been doing without. And I have been doing well, in part thanks to a handy little device I discovered on the shelf at Cash Crusaders in Ladybrand. It is a frother, and with it I can make my own lattes right in my own kitchen. (Our friend Charles was so impressed with it that I got one for him, too, and he uses it as much as I do.) Yet whilst back in the U.S., I returned all too easily to my former Starbucks habits. However, one of them - meeting up with Sarah Rockstar to get some SBs and talk about life, literature and the meaning of caffeine - was amongst my favorite parts of the two weeks I spent back on the other side of the Atlantic.

The most significant sensation of that two week period, though, was missing my wife. It is bad enough being that far away from her for that long, but the phone connections were terrible. Frustration piled atop frustration. As much as I relished the opportunity to visit my friends and family, and to reconnect with my colleagues at AAMC, I would rather not have to make that trip three more times during the two years that Kathy and I are in Lesotho.

Like stars and old dreams
Too damn far away...

Speaking of which, for those of you who may be wondering, the trip itself is long. Really, truly, looooooooong. And they always have the same movies on the plane. So bring a book.

Dancing at the Sun

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Maseru is a small town. We live in the same neighborhood as the Prime Minister. Those are his cows. On our street. I know this because Ntate Eric told me so, and I believe him. Ntate Eric is one of our security guards. He works at our house two days each week. He also works at the U.S. Embassy. So he knows the Prime Minister's cows when he sees them. Ntate Eric is also one of the nicest people I have ever met. He takes his job very seriously, sometimes instructing me in how better to be a consumer of his employer's services. But he is also so very genuinely personable. The neighborhood children love him. He is that kind of guy.

Anyway, as I said, Maseru is a small town. So when there is a cultural event, my wife and I try to participate. Which is how, one Friday night, we found ourselves at the Maseru Sun, attending - along with a substantial portion of the expat community here and a few keen locals - a function organized and presented by the local branch of the Alliance Francaise. Specifically, they had brought in a Bretagne-based reggae band, City Kay, to perform. So, surreal as it seems, there we were, dancing up a storm to some fairly persuasive reggae music, sung in English, by a band from France, in the capital of Lesotho, alongside members of U.S. Embassy staff, a few dressed-to-impress Peace Corps volunteers who happened to be in town that night, and assorted other international and local music lovers.

Funny the things I find myself doing here:

• Dancing at the Sun.

• Saving string and rubber bands. I did not know how useful these things were until we moved to Africa and failed to pack some.

• Not feeling alone in walking. Most of the country does not own cars. So we see a lot more people out and about on foot. Rush hour is as much about the pedestrians as it is about the cars. And out in the country, miles from nowhere, we see folks on foot; and we know it has taken them hours to get where they are, and it will take them hours more to get wherever they are going. Sadly, it is not safe to pick up hitchhikers.

• Wondering why, in a nation whose dominant legal crop is corn, I cannot find corn chips. Or corn starch.

• Taking up baking. Seriously. That is how I noticed the absence of corn starch. I moved to Africa and took up vegan baking. Kathy loves it but gives me grief at the same time. Ah, love. Besides, the guards have enjoyed the cookies, the pecan bars, and the chocolate muffins, too (which is all I have tried so far). As have my wife's co-workers. And the new volunteers, who received a batch of my snickerdoodle cookies their first evening here.

A small town, but a good one. Life will seem empty in some way once we leave, for then I will no longer be able to walk down to the corner of our block and chat with 'M'e Thabiseng and her daughter, Memello. 'M'e Thabiseng practices her English, and I practice my Sesotho. Ausi Memello sings. And just like Ntate Eric, they are amongst the nicest people I have ever met...
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Vuvuzelas

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So I know I still have some catching up to do on this blog, but I feel compelled to skip ahead to today - the day after the opening ceremony for the World Cup. Kathy and I watched it on television (while we worked on a presentation she has to give to her newest volunteers today). Highlights for me were Vusi Mahlasela (whom I had seen perform live at a free concert in Washington Park in Albany, New York, years ago - and whose sticker I have on my guitar case) and, of course, Shakira (especially the official 2010 World Cup song, “Waka Waka This Time for Africa”, for which she was joined by the local South African group, Freshlyground). I think Kathy best liked "Sign of Victory".






There is no doubt that World Cup fever is taking hold here. Even Kathy bought a South African flag for our new car (we seldom see any other flag flown for World Cup around here), and everywhere we go we see Bafana Bafana's colors: yellow and green. More and more conversations turn around World Cup: who is going to which games; who is watching which games where; and so forth. Kathy and I are even going to the Cameroon versus Japan game in Bloemfontein on Monday. Of the games being played in Bloemfontein, it had the best seats still available when we finally decided to go. I am mostly going because she wants to go, and she is mostly going just because... It should be fun, though, as long as the crowd manages some level of decorum, and the border crossing is not too, too horrendous.

Speaking of which, we got a security warning informing us that our six month passes into South Africa have been rendered invalid by the South African government for the duration of the Cup. This will likely turn a fifteen minute wait at the border into a two to three hour wait at the border. Each way. Just lovely. We also got a security warning yesterday to stay away from the mall today because they will be showing one of the games there - and we are to avoid crowds.

But the most salient aspect of World Cup for me is the vuvuzelas. I have been hearing them in the afternoons for days now, as I sit in our dining room and try to work. But this morning, they started at around 6:00 am. Kannete?!? (Really?!?) I am already looking forward to the peace and quiet that will follow World Cup. Meanwhile, my Monday World Cup adventure with my wife should be grand, and I wish all the best to Bafana Bafana!!

Malealea

Back in April, Kathy and I spent a wonderfully romantic weekend at Malealea Lodge. The route from Maseru to the Lodge is mostly paved, though the last little bit is best driven in a vehicle with high clearance. Along the way, we went through the Gates of Heaven Pass:

And, of course, generally encountered spectacular views... I know, I know - my descriptions of the views are getting redundant. But it is like that here. Each time my wife and I go out to explore Lesotho, we are taken again by how strikingly gorgeous this country is. Quite telling, I think, is that the Peace Corps Volunteers here argue regularly about whose site is the most beautiful!

The Lodge itself was comfortable and quaint, affording us our first opportunity to stay in a rondavel. (I had been looking forward to staying in a rondavel, and I think I could happily settle into one - or at least keep one as a vacation home for my love and myself as an idyllic little getaway residence.)

The view from our rondavel was enough to cause me to pause and breathe a bit more deeply:

The views from all around the lodge grounds were a wondrous reminder of why Lesotho is called the Mountain Kingdom:

While pony-trekking rides and guided hikes are available through the Lodge, we opted to set out on our own. Perhaps not the wisest decision, as you will see… Nonetheless, we wanted to explore, and to go on our first true hike in Lesotho. We chose Botsoela Falls as our destination, and began walking down through Malealea Village:

We passed a cute little school along the way. Most of the schools I have seen in Lesotho are not nearly this well-maintained. They tend to be cinder block walls, windows and ceilings that may or may not be holding their own...

A kind woman ('M'e) allowed me to take this picture of her in a traditional Basotho dress:

This was possibly the first real moment when I felt as if we had stepped out of more modern Lesotho and into rural, village-oriented Lesotho. No cars, no power lines, no sounds of industry or its fallout. Everyone we saw was travelling on foot or by pony, and many waved and greeted us in friendly fashion. Folks were out in their yards, where I could easily imagine admiring the view and the tranquility all day.

Some of the homes have a more modern look and feel about them, but these folks still have no more access to power or water from anywhere other than the local well than do their neighbor sin more traditional structures.

After passing through the village, we found our way down into the valley, at the end of which we expected to find the waterfall that was our intended destination. We mostly followed herd trails, pausing regularly to admire the countryside.

As we entered the valley, we found our trail following the course of a stream so clear and pristine I might not have believed it had we not seen it ourselves. We encountered hardly another soul, though we did see the occasional herd boy (molisana), including one who waved rather vigorously at us from the top of a cliffside as we passed underneath.

You may even be able to see the molisana waving if you look closely, just left of center, on top of the ridge:

Of course, this waterway eventually caused us a bit of trouble. As we hiked along it, our path became less about traversing fields and more about how to stay dry, until... we hit a patch of streamside stone that was covered in water, draining from the surrounding heights, and moss or algae that had grown there as a result. This patch of stone, then, was slick.

In fact, it was impassable. We both fell, and I experienced a brief moment of panic as I thought I was about to slide off and over the edge. This would not have been life-threatening, as we were at most ten feet above the water, but it was still a bit nerve-wracking. Fortunately, while the treads of my shoes were useless, once I fell the fabric of pants held fast. Kathy made a similar discovery.

It was at this point we noticed the aforementioned waving herd boy bounding down the mountainside toward us. As it turns out, he had not been waving at us as a greeting , but as a warning. We were going the wrong way. Pretty funny, in retrospect. We must have struck him as typically clueless tourists. However, he was quite kind to us, rather than reveling in mockery as he might have done. He greeted us graciously, mostly in Sesotho, and offered to guide us to Botsoela Falls. In our humility, we accepted and followed along. When we arrived at the Falls, they proved worth the effort to get there:

In the hollow beneath the falls we met another molisana, apparently familiar to our guide, who was playing a handmade instrument for us and a few other toursists we found there. They had driven around and walked a brief trail down from a parking area near the top of the falls. Theirs had been a simpler and easier route than ours, but they also had two small children with them. The musician and our guide kindly posed for a picture:

The musician asked that we leave a copy of the picture at the Lodge for him to pick up. A week or so later, Kathy was back at Malealea Lodge for a work event, and she did leave the picture there for him. I hope he got it. I like to think that there is a wandering minstrel herd boy somewhere near Malealea Lodge carrying a picture that I took.

We offered our guide payment for his services (he never asked), after which he kindly guided us back to the main trail to the Lodge. He took us past his own home, a small stone rondavel tucked into the mountainside, and eventually bid us farewell when we reached the village proper. here he and I are along the way:

And, of course, some cows (dikhomo) which were apparently having an easier time negotiating than valley than my wife and I had:

Back at the Lodge, dinner was served cafeteria-style in the Lodge itself - and was quite good. On the grounds, there was also a small coffee shop. Why do I need Starbucks when I can sip my coffee in spot like this?

After dinner, we watched the peacocks that grace the grounds for a while:

Then, we were treated to two live presentations of song and dance. A local school chorus and band of musicians each perform daily at Malealea Lodge. Below are videos from those (the full file for the band is just too big for our pay-as-you go internet service here), though the sun had set by the time the band began, so it is difficult to see them. The choir featured one young woman whose voice stands out (as Kathy said, "Girl got pipes"):

The band played only handmade instruments, and the chorus performed a dance during each number. I would love to go back, during the summer when it is light later in the day, to capture a better video. But even more than that, I want to take my audio recording gear out there and get a really good recording of their songs!

So, this is our married life in Lesotho...