So many projects...

The work at Help Lesotho is multilayered and at any one time there are 5 people working on several different projects each. One of them was obtaining solar cookers for 39 grandmothers last year. I heard them discussing the project and planning the follow up for the donors , which involves a Basotho staff member traveling to many villages, as there has to be a way to see if indeed the grandmothers are using them and saving money and time. Similarly, other projects must be followed up- desks for one school, book
shelves for another, a renovation after a fire and so it goes. Laptops whir and click, cell phones ring, all interrupted constantly by kids coming for clothes and older people coming to ask for help for their children. Peg is working on politics, permits and estimates for 2 community centers, a slow process as the land has to be secured and all takes longer than expected. However, it does march forward. The pace does not allow a lot of time to think about Canada, other than the evenings when we are all off the street, sharing stories and plans and watching movies on the laptops- I read into the night and try not to worry about things at home.

Yesterday, I went to Ficksburg South Africa once more to use the internet there to send photos and have a day out. Bruce, an engineer from Ottawa, and I walked across the border unchecked via the express lane as 200 others stood in the sun for hours waiting for customs. He has an express pass, tho I don't, and I ended up there with no stamp and worried about the return the entire time. The visit was good enough and the return across the SA border uneventful as we walked across again with no inspection of passports, me cruising nervously on his coat tails. Felt decadently privileged to be able to skip the brutal lines.

The day was almost ruined by the taxi ride back- a half hour turned into almost 2 hrs as the taxi van driver went back and forth , up and down the one bustling street of the border town Maputsoe, yelling out the window and cramming more people in. It was very hot in the window where I sat and as people got in and out he collected more instead of leaving the town and going to Leribe, ½ hr away. Near the end of the filling process he put 3 young men, Rastafarians I think, with fighting sticks , in the back seat. Fighting sticks are carried by young men and herd boys, showing aggression and a willingness to fight- you might say they represent machoismo. They may have been high on moonshine or pot and the trip home was horrible and a bit scary- they laughed loudly but also shrieked and yelled the same sharp HAH! chant word over and over- the rest of the 15 people crammed in the van, including old men and children, sitting resignedly with heads down wishing for it to end . It ruined the day.