Greg's blog

Your welcome,
Ursula

. . . to distinguish between the different sounds that come from my tin roof. We have pigeon footsteps, pings when the tin expands under the summer heat, and rain drops. I no longer mistake one for the other. This is a fact which brings me an inordinate amount of satisfaction.

. . . that even here all storms come from the West.

. . . that many foods remain edible much longer than I once thought. Meat can sit around for quite sometime. Cheese gets pungent and moldy, sure, but you can still eat it. And do eggs ever go bad?

I went to Durban, on the Indian Ocean, for Easter break. I went for, among other reasons, surfing. I thought I wanted to simply be in the water but after a week of that I realized what I really wanted. I had to prove to myself that I could still surf well.

'They took Motsilisi,' said a female student as I was on my way off campus to buy some milk at the shop. There was even an undertone of laughter when she said it. So when I got to the school gate and saw what was happening I didn't know how to react.

Down in the fields, sure enough, two guys in blankets carrying thick sticks were dragging off a screaming, wriggling girl: Motsilisi. 'Ba mo shobelisa,' said another girl watching. They are kidnapping Motsilisi so one of the guys can 'marry' her.

Ke qetile lilemo tse peli Lesotho ke sa ngole Sesotho ka journaleng mona. Ke bua ka Lesotho empa ke le buisa Sekhooa mehlaena. Kea tseba, boholo ba lona ha le tsebe Sesotho. Leha ho le joalo, ke phoso. Sesotho se monate 'me kea se rata.

Ekaba ntate Rethabile kapa motho e mong a ka bolela batho hore na ke ntse ke reng mona. Hape, a njoetse na ke fositse kae. Ke se ke lebohile.

The big, multi-school debate on corporal punishment was held yesterday. The students were to have prepared for both sides of the debate motion, and then they would be told minutes before speaking which side they were on. We were given the opposing side.

Someone once said:
One can't forever stand on the shore. At some point, filled with indecision, skepticism, reservation and doubt, you either jump in or concede that life is forever elsewhere.

I'm eating my dinner. Three female students are over, visiting. One girl is busy constructing envelopes using magazine pages, as I've taught her to do. She's cutting and taping away. Another is relaxing, listening to the music on my radio. The third is playing with my hair. "It's like the one of a baby," she says as she glides her fingers through it.

In 12th grade literature class we ran across the personal description, "Lellie had pale skin." I told the students it meant very white. I could tell they didn't get it.
"Look at my arm," I said as I walked around displaying the tan skin on the top of my forearm. "That is not white. You hear me? That's called tan. It is not white."
I rolled up my sleeve and flashed the ghostly pale skin under my bicep. They gasped, all of them, and I swear some of them covered their eyes, blinded. "That is white."

My school belongs to an association of 41 secondary schools which holds a debate for all 8-10th graders in the area each year. This year's motion will be 'Corporal punishment should be re-introduced in schools.'

I said to the students, "Do you understand what this means? This motion implies you are not beaten by teachers now." Looks of confusion. "But you should be beaten." No! they yelled.

I think this debate motion is funny, I told them. Of course, I then had to explain why I thought it was funny. I hate explaining why I think things are funny.

Do your teachers beat you?