I remember riding by ntate Santu's house in a taxi last month. He had just returned from South Africa, where he tried to get medical help; he had been sickly for a while, thin, wheezing, I'd guess from tuberculosis. Still, he was tall and had long red- and white-beaded locks, making him look African regal. He was perhaps 45 years old.
"When are you going to come see me?" he heaved to me from his house.
"I'll visit you! You'll see me, I'll visit you!" I yelled out the taxi window.
When Lefike told his friend he was going to walk to Maseru his friend said, "No you won't. You'll turn around before the mountain pass. You'll never make it." But we did, and it only took 8 hours.
From my house I walked to the road, and then I walked up the road to the shop. There I found a taxi. It would take me to Maseru, the capital.
Taxis in Lesotho are white Toyota sixteen-seater vans. This one had "King of the Boys" painted on the front. After I sat down in the second row I saw a sticker on the first row's door: "Fat people are not wanted up front." I guess they must crowd the driver. Sure enough, two skinny men were sitting next to him.
Upon completion of my medical exam with the Peace Corps nurse, I was handed a form: Authorization for Payment of Medical Services. It read that the US government would pay a psychologist or psychiatrist for "three one hour sessions" once I returned to America.
Below that it continued, "Problems/Symptoms: Lived in Africa for 3 years as a Peace Corps Volunteer."
On December 1 I COSed, which in the lingo means I'm no longer a Peace Corps volunteer. I went through exit interviews with my supervisors, I closed my Lesotho bank account, I took a medical exam, I handed in my key to the office and received money for a flight home to Los Angeles. After three years, it all wound down as fast as that.
But I haven't booked that flight home just yet.
Ntate Makoanyane lives near our school and is paid a small sum to watch over it each night. He always stops by my place when he arrives in the evening. He asks me for some newspaper with which to roll a cigarette, he gets tobacco all over my floor, says he is tired and has a cold and complains about the lack of rain.
Sometimes he also brings me spoils from his fields; a few weeks back I got a bag of corn. When I go out of town I often pick him up some dried meat.
I'm here showing Lemeko, the best little climber in Lesotho, how to use a computer. He'd like to give you a message:
I am realy greatful that I contacted you today telling you about my climbing epic which atended few weeks back.It was realy tough as I fell off the rock a number of times.I had a great time in climbing rocks.Do you enjoy climbing rocks like I do?
A three day hiking trip up to the waterfalls around Qhoasing in the Mohale's Hoek district reassured me that the best thing to do in Lesotho is hike. And the best place to hike is in Lesotho. When will the rest of the world discover this?
A crew of singing and dancing students, teachers and friends from my village ran to meet me on the road when I arrived Friday morning. The school cook was banging on a tin lid. A few boys up front held a sign: "Tsela ts'oeu, Ha e hole Ngoana Jesu, Mahlohonolo le katleho li be le uena ntate Thabang." Good luck, in short. This is my farewell party.
'M'e Tsita, the small sweet principal of Ngoana Jesu High School, shuffled up to me this afternoon and asked, "Ntate Greg, can I expel you from school? You can come back Friday morning."
I instantly knew what this was all about. I've always had a problem with stealing. Not true. Fact is, my school and village consist of generous and festive people, and they are putting together a farewell party for me on Friday.