Home is supposed to be comfortable. People are speaking my first language, doing things the way I grew up doing them, and so therefore I should be relaxed and feeling coordinated, fitting in. I'm only feeling shy and amazed.
My brother picked me up from the airport in his Ford Excursion. I'm used to traveling in Toyota minivan taxis throughout Lesotho, where you're stuffed inside with about twenty other passengers. Matt's Excursion felt more spacious than an empty house.
There is a new group of volunteers in town, and they are sharp. Some groups have quite a few strange ones, but this one seems better than average. I spent yesterday and today with them, telling them about the geography of Lesotho, about my life here, about what they can expect their life here to be like, and learning about their Pre-Lesotho life.
Nearly everyone around me now knows that I'll be going home in early December for a month visit. People's reactions have been amusing. Most say, "So short! Only a month!" But how long can you visit home for until your visit ceases to be merely a visit?
Some ask to borrow my stereo while I'm gone. One girl offered to water my garden. The 8th grade class simply applauded when I told them I'd be returning in early January. Suppose they thought I was going for good. Suppose they like me being around. That made me feel nice.
Some of the most enjoyable moments for me in Lesotho come after school when I am able to talk to individual or small groups of students about anything and everything, in Sesotho. This is when we all really learn. Or should I say this used to be when we all really learn?
Second languages are funny. You can cuss in them and not feel like you're cussing. The offensive taste of many Sesotho words has not yet been ingrained in me, so there have been times when I've said some nasty things that I didn't know were so nasty at the time. My words offended people unintentionally because I literally didn’t know what I was saying. And conversely, much of the sting has been removed from four-letter words in English for me as well. I cuss more these days when I think aloud to myself in English while in my house.
I've brought a student named Moraba Mokhele to the office with me so he can type on some computers for his first time. Here's a message from him:
HOW is Life over there? here every thing is nicely going on,
And we are living nicely with Sir Greg,and we are proud of
him because since he is here we managed to print a school
magazine,so I Just want to thank you because you have brought
to us the gift which helps in the development of our schoool,
so I want to give You this prayer:
MAY THE GRACE OF OUR LORD JESUS
THE LOVE OF GOD AND THE FELLOWSHIP
The illness started last Saturday and I'm still not fully recovered. Sore throat, achey body, stuffed up nose, painfully dizzying headaches. Just a cold/flu thing, but a particularly violent one. It kept me in bed for nearly a week. The whole time I never felt like I was sick alone in Africa and get me out of here though.
I can't play soccer. I can't sing. I don't know how to herd animals. My Sesotho is still pathetic. I'm still a novice when it comes to teaching English. And therefore, I've spent the last two years feeling awkward, not quite competent in life, nowhere near stylish.
I'm visiting home in America for the month of December, and I've imagined how neat it would be to bring someone back with me. I'd especially love to bring a student back and show him around and watch his reactions and listen to his questions. It won't happen, but if it did I would offer him the following advice before we got off plane.
1. Do not not simply turn your back to people and urinate whenever the urge arises. At best, people will think you're disgusting. At worst, you'll be arrested.
My last few days were spent in the Maseru Sun hotel for a 'Close of Service Conference'. All members of the group of volunteers I came to Lesotho with gathered to reminisce on our last two years and prepare for our re-entries into America. We should all be going back in early December. Some have said they're off to graduate school while others will find new work. Abruptly, on the first morning of the conference, in front of the group, I received my official acceptance to extend my stay another year, and so became the oddball. Everyone but me would be going home for good in December.