My first Moshoeshoe's Day

I know you have all been on the edge of your seat to find out how Matholeng did in the district-wide cultural dancing competition in Qachas Nek, so it is with hat in hand that I inform you that said dancing competition did not, in fact, occur.

It was a rainy, cold day, and by the time we got to the site of the competition, Qachas Nek Airport (probably not even half as big as Newark Liberty), the situation outside was very disagreeable for humans. The spectators formed a square on the tarmac and we spent some time trying to jab the points of our umbrellas into each other's eyes. One school's team danced (and well, to their credit), but after this performance, a man came out and informed everyone that the event would have to be cancelled. I was disappointed that I would not get to see my students perform, but also a little relieved to be out of the freezing rain.

We went to a nearby school and waited for a few hours while food was prepared, and then enjoyed a delicious meal. Because many of our students rarely have the opportunity to go to toropong (what you would call Qachas Nek camptown were you in the know), our teachers decided that we should walk around a little and visit the Snake Park.

This is the only Snake Park in Lesotho, and most Basotho are very skeptical of the idea. In one write-up in a local magazine, an anonymous woman said about the Snake Park's founder, "I'm not even sure he's a human being." Many people around here are not fond of snakes, and are disinclined to spend their leisure time and money looking at them. So it was a great adventure to visit the park with about 50 schoolchildren, and our guide had a great time taking out the snakes and showing them to the kids. Taking the snakes out of their homes was quite easy, because the locks were not being used as such, and the doors were kept secure with the combination of a stick jammed in front and a brick.

Well we certainly don't have to worry about this Python, which as an adult will reach 27 feet in length, going anywhere!

 So all told, it was a nice day. As a postscript, let's look at King Moshoeshoe I, founder of the Basotho nation.

King Moshoeshoe I

I'm not going to give you a whole biography, but I can tell you a few things that I've picked up from our Social Studies textbooks and osmosis. According to a guide at the mountain fortress (Thaba-Bosiu, as you avid readers will recall), Moshoeshoe had "only" 148 wives, which were married strategically with an eye toward consolidating different factions under the Basotho umbrella. Moshoeshoe I was a peace-loving ruler, who, when told that enemies had eaten his grandfather (remember, sir or madam, that this is the period of the Lifaqane wars, when many resorted to cannibalism), he refused to retaliate and kill them, as this would be "desecrating the grave of his grandfather."

Funny English phrases

Translation is always somewhat imperfect, with phrases and words at best being approximated in another language. So there will always be little oddities like the fact that saying “Ke kopa something” is the politest Sesotho way to ask for something, but translates literally to “I am asking for something,” and so a native English speaker hears it and naturally thinks, “Ok, so ask for it, what’s the problem?” But many of these translations end up being more amusing than annoying.

For example: I was walking around the school, unlocking the classroom doors one day, when I went past two third-grade boys and one of them shouted to me “Sir! Sir! He is scandalizing me!” Of course I was forced to turn around and say, “scandalizing you? Now boys, this is a very serious allegation. But, it’s my first time hearing from you, so I’ll let you off with a warning. However, I do not want to hear about anyone scandalizing anyone again. Do you understand?”

And very frequently during class a student will come up to me, holding his or her pen like a particularly smelly worm, and say, “my pen. It refuses to write.” And I say, “well, have you tried reasoning with it?” And they say, “some pens aren’t looking for anything logical. Some pens just want to watch the world burn.” “Very true,” I say. “You can borrow mine.”

Going to move into the country

If you’re anything like me, you grew up hearing the story that peaches come from a can, and that they were put there by a man. Well it turns out that the peach cause-and-effect chain goes even farther back than that. Peaches, before any man or can-related happenings, grow on trees. Many such trees (I’ve taken to calling these peach-producing trees “Peach Trees,” and have sent a form in to the U. S. Copyright Office) grow in Matholeng.

Every so often, ‘M’e Sekatle will take a few of the WFP burlap sacks and some students and collect a few sacks full of peaches, and after school the teachers distribute 4 peaches to each students. The students absolutely love this, especially because they can get in trouble for taking peaches without asking, and they line up and push and shove each other and it’s generally a raucous good time. It also makes me laugh to imagine schoolchildren in the United States lining up for fruit.

My teachers are very pro-peach consumption, and I have been asked several times if I like the peaches, and if so why is one not in my hand right now, etc. One of my colleagues told me that peach season will last only a few weeks, and so we need to eat as many possible now so that we have something good to remember during the winter. Ntate Shakhane is a big proponent of this theory, and will frequently come into class with a bowl of about nine peaches.

I have been doing my level best to join them. For whatever reason, I didn’t eat many peaches before coming to Lesotho, but being able to pick them fresh off the trees has made me a convert.