Returning Home

Many people ask me if I miss “home”. I know they mean the states… Idaho etc. Yes, I miss family & friends but right now my home is Africa. The remote village of Mashai is my residence and community for at least 20 more months. I have no idea where I’ll call home after that. Recently I spent several weeks in the hustle & bustle of Maseru and I was so happy to finally return to my home.

There is only one bus that goes past my village everyday, so if I missed the bus it means I’d have to wait until the next day (or several days if the bus isn’t running). I had spent the night before returning home to my village at a Peace Corps party at a nice hotel in Maseru. One of the volunteers rented a huge sweet for the night and stocked an entire fridge and freezer full of liquor and soda. We spent hours visiting, eating and dancing. It was a long, memorable and fun night. There was a little political unrest before I returned home and I didn’t want to get stuck in Maseru so I jumped on the bus even after a long night of partying with other volunteers.

I had had about 3 hours of sleep and nothing in my stomach as I walked through the “taxi rank” at 6:00am. It was still early in the morning, so I didn’t attract as much attention as usual but I was still cranky, tired and a little hung over, so I was not your typical friendly Pam. I probably “snapped” at a few Bo-Ntate and kids begging for sweets. The taxi rank is my least favorite place to be, especially alone. I stepped onto the bus after a swift walk through the taxi rank.

After handing my huge backpack to the Ntate on top of the bus I eased onto the green metal seat and greeted everyone around me. I was fortunate to get a seat and to have several familiar faces of other teachers or villagers I recognized. My stomach and head were pounding so I sunk down low in seat, hoping to draw the least amount of attention as possible. The bus had a familiar smell of gasoline, body sweat, exhaust and livestock.

We sat on the bus for an hour or more before leaving the taxi rank. Women carried baskets of fruit, bread, plastic combs, mirrors and many other random items to purchase past our open windows. You could hear the murmur of voices on the bus, the honking of other buses preparing to leave, taxi conductors yelling locations, chickens clacking, babies crying and lambs baying.

After about 1.5 hr of pavement and accelerated speeds over the “God Help Me Pass” we descended into the river gorge near Mohale Dam, this is where the pavement ends. The bus goes much slower on the gravel roads, but it’s still scary at times. The huge buses carry about 80 passengers – both sitting and standing and various livestock and baggage. It curves around sharp bends in the road, blind corners and non existent guard rails. On my bus, we have to ford a river when it’s flooding (or get off and ride a boat if it’s too high). The shocks are non existent and you get bounced around on your seat or off your feet if you’re standing in the bus. During this particular trip the bus broke down once and we also had a flat tire. It took 10 hours total from the time I left Maseru to the time I arrived to my village. The sun was beginning to set behind the Maloti Mountains as I walked to my house.

I had spent almost 3 weeks in Maseru & visiting other volunteers, so I was nervous returning to my village after such a long time away. I wondered if my community would forget who I was, if my garden would be ok, if my cat would end up dinner for someone and if the lizards, ants and spiders had taken over my house.

As soon as the bus stopped below the hill to my village, several kids ran down the dusty red road to help me carry my bags and everyone greeted me as I hiked up the hill. I was still not feeling well 10 hours on that road, trying to talk Sesotho and sitting on metal benches is exhausting. For once I was glad for all the attention though. It was a nice welcoming from everyone. Many people asked if I’d brought them gifts, but everyone was really happy to see me. My Me’ greeted me with a big Basotho hand shake, hug and plate of papa (cornmeal). Several neighbors stopped by to visit as I was sweeping out the red dust that had accumulated in my hut. I got several comments about how boring things were while I was gone. I can only imagine… they didn’t have someone to watch and talk about while I was gone J.

Soon after returning home I sat on the stones outside my hut with my journal and watched the sunset over the mountains, my kitten was curled up on my lap purring away.

I was happy to be home.