Mapuleng (Mother of Rain)

I haven’t written any blog posts in a while, so this is my attempt to describe the beginning of my year, 2015:

The beginning of January was a nice vacation. I had an amazing vacation in Cape Town with some of my friends from home. I visited Kristy to celebrate her birthday; and we went to Thaba Tseka to visit Katie. I was getting settled back into my site and running my summer camp which went better than I could have imagined – youth were asking questions, participating in HIV/AIDS discussions and activities, and best of all, having fun.

On January 13^th, I called my supervisor to check up and let him know I was back. I couldn’t understand anything he said, but I figured I would see him soon. Later that day, my host mother comes home; she looks very distressed. Through translations, I find out that one of the teachers at my school met his wife’s boyfriend at the guesthouse near my house, stabbed and killed him, and was in jail. As I slowly absorbed what was happening, I realized that my supervisor was telling me the words “murdered” and “jail” and that I was physically unable to process the information.

The following week and a half, I wrestled with many questions: Did this really happen? How do you know if someone is capable of murder? Did I think that specific teacher was capable of murder? What happens if the teacher-murderer comes back to school? How would I feel about working with a murderer? How would I feel about leaving my community that I have been devoting that past year of my life to? How would I feel about leaving my students who might be stuck with this teacher? What type of example would I be setting if I stayed or left?

Less than a week before school started, the teacher was put on bail; and I was told that he was going to be coming to school. I think that people in my community were suggesting that was going to happen, but how can a murderer just be let out and allowed to teach? Even more questions flooded my head and sleeping for more than a few hours was next to impossible. The Peace Corps office told me I could leave site and go wherever I wanted, or stay and see what was going to happen.

January 26, the first day of school came and I decided to go to school. I think I still couldn’t grasp the idea that a murderer would be allowed to come to school; and initially, I was right. He wasn’t there. But my principal came into the staff room to tell us that the teacher-murderer was meeting with a priest for counseling. Later that day, a teacher confronted me about how I felt about the murder, at which point she instructed me that she knows the teacher-murderer and that he is going to counseling to make himself a better person and she is welcoming him back to school. I had to go to the toilet multiple times to keep my composure. But in the end, I left school early and went home.

The next day, I went to the Peace Corps office. I still wasn’t sure what was going to happen. As a development agency, Peace Corps isn’t supposed to interfere with any government or political actions, so all they could do is gather information on what happened and how the events at school would play out, and react accordingly. Being stuck in the middle is awful.

After the first week of school (that I mostly missed), my education group (ED14’s/Lesotho 81, the group of people who all arrived in Lesotho with me in October 2013) had our mid-service conference. After teaching for a year, we are supposed to evaluate our progress and mental health, get reminders about safety and security, and just reconvene together. It is supposed to be a time where volunteers realize how much they’ve accomplished and how much they have overcome and talk about how much easier the second and final year is going to be. It was nice to see people there, but that conference was exactly what I didn’t want.

At the end of the conference, I met with the country director, my program manager, and the safety and security manager.  We went over the situation: Lesotho’s Ministry of Education is in charge of the hiring and firing of official teachers; the Ministry will not fire the teacher until he/she is convicted; the justice system will take several years to convict; the teacher is likely to remain at school for the rest of my service. Those are the ultra-simplified basics, but with all the information, we came to the conclusion that I should move sites. I pretty much burst into uncontrollable sobbing in front of my bosses and within site range of many PCV’s. Then I got the worst headache imaginable and went to bed early.

The following two weeks, I was in and out of the Peace Corps office to discuss my site change, discuss other projects, and also get my mid-service (just a basic) medical checkup.  I requested to make my site change as fast as possible – I really wanted to begin to think about something else besides the teacher-murderer and my former students and my former host family and my former friends in the village that I was not ready to part with yet.

I got a chance to visit my friend, Robby, who lives in Semongkong. Semongkong reminds me the most of California – river, waterfall, trees, mountains, it was a beautiful getaway. But sadly, I only had time to spend one day there.

The rest of the time being in Maseru was kind of miserable. I was so anxious that sleep was hardly possible, which made me lethargic all day. The mosquitoes seemed to be out and ready to attack me – my body is covered with bites and scarring. There was a drought, so not only was the summer sun unbearably hot, but the running water in the hostel was pretty much nonexistent. That means no showers, boiling your drinking water, dysfunctional toilets and just overall feeling of yuck. Because I was forced to eat out for the bulk of the time, I was also stressing about running out of money and not having time to get my reimbursements. And to top it off, the teacher-murderer started to text and to call me incessantly for a few days to “apologize” or something I don’t know because I was instructed to change my SIM card or not answer (I chose the latter and he is no longer bothering me).

A couple days before moving to my new site, I was given less than 5 hours to pack up all of my things, tell people I was leaving and tell them goodbye. I didn’t go to school, but Peace Corps staff went to inform them about what was happening. I didn’t even get a chance to say goodbye to most people, but luckily, my friend Paula was there to help me pack (throw everything into piles) and to be an overall support. 

Exactly one month after this whole thing began, February 13^th, I was able to move to my new site. The new site is in a different part of the country in a totally new school. I am staying temporarily at a lodge nearby school while my house is being prepared. 

I arrived with a dramatic entrance – the dark clouds rolled in and a downpour of rain began. In Lesotho, rain is a symbol of life and prosperity; the grandmother who runs the lodge informed me that I am Mapuleng, mother of the rain, and the end of the drought. I am still in transition and adjusting to everything that has happened, but I hope that’s a good sign.