“Whack”, I wince as much as the child does whose fingertips are being canned for being late for school.
“Ntate what exactly is happening this morning when the British High Commissioner arrives?”
He pauses before replying as another child runs the gauntlet and tries to slip inside the school gate without being noticed. Unfortunately for the child the teacher is not distracted from his early morning duty to punish unpunctual miscreants
“Whack”, “Don’t worry Mme Jan it will all be sorted I think”
“But the visitors will be arriving from 10.30am, and nothing has been organised yet”
“Whack”, “Don’t worry Mme Jan it will be okay”
My stress levels are rising. The British High Commission (BHC) will shortly be arriving to open the new APT and wheelchair training centre which they funded with a grant award, and we’ve built at Abia high school this year. I asked the high school principal to organise an appropriate list of guests and media for the opening but it’s all very last minute (like I was sitting in her office yesterday while she was on the phone to the ministry of education suggesting the minister might like to come giving him less than 24 hours’ notice)
The APT centre is all decked out with a red ribbon to cut at the entrance, a flower bed planted and the APT chairs on display, while the school is looking like a war zone. The school “hall” has a roof and a concrete base but no walls and is filled with broken desks and discarded bricks. I decide to calm myself by running over to the primary school to make sure the primary principle is coming, who I fear is another victim of the last-minute guest list. She is in her office and says it’s too late for her to come because she is in her ordinary clothes, and it would be too shameful for her. She sees the disappointment on my face, “Okay Mme Jan I will come but only for you” It’s a big deal and a big sacrifice because Basotho ladies usually spend hours doing their hair and clothes for such an occasion.
Relieved I run back to the High School to find at 9.30am it was decided to cancel all lessons and hundreds of students are running around everywhere, moving the broken desks from the hall, bringing in seats for everyone and digging and tidying the grounds like a horde of ants. Remarkably we only start 15 minutes late at 11.15am and everything runs quite smoothly. The BHC makes a speech, cuts the ribbon to the workshop, admires the chairs, watches a bit of live action APT and meets the children.
Euphonious African singing fills the air as we enter the school “hall”. The few glitches go unnoticed as the school choir mesmerises all the visitors with their wonderful harmonies and dancing. The African skies are framed perfectly by the roof with no walls and the BHC are so impressed by the choir that they invite them to be part of the commonwealth choir celebrating the Kings coronation in May. Hurray! What a result! Not only has the BHC project has been successfully completed but Abia High School are on the map. No stress at all
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_VZ-2hH_Po
The roll of thunder, crack of lightening and lash of heavy rain accompany us we carry an assortment of food parcels up a slippery hillside. I have thought to give the other two ladies extra clothes but forgot to change my flip flops before coming out on this mission. I wonder if I will break my ankle or get struck by lightning first.
Yesterday I took a girl home who I found out on the road in her wheelchair being pushed by the care father at Saint Angela. She was sick and being sent home because Saint Angela had no food or medicine to give her. Today her cousin has returned and has been waiting outside my flat to tell me there is no food at the girl’s house and she hasn’t eaten for the last 24 hours. I’ve got the car as close as I can, but the track runs out and we are now on foot. Yesterday the mother came to meet us and carried her daughter on her back for the final part of the journey, so I haven’t been to her home before.
A black tin shed appears out of the apocalyptic storm clinging onto the hillside, and we crash through the door before getting eaten by a snarling dog. The girl is in bed with her mother, they are both weakly coughing under the covers. The girl has TB, and it sounds like the mother does too. TB, disease associated with poverty and HIV, both rife in Lesotho. I have brought enough food for about a month, after that I don’t know what will happen. Many of the children at Saint Angela live in equally challenging circumstances and it would present me with a dilemma if all their relatives start turning up on my doorstep asking for food. For now, the girl can have a hot meal for the next few weeks and the immediate crisis is solved. We leave in the rain, its dark by the time I get back and just another day in Lesotho
Thud, thud, thud the sound of earth on wood, earth on a coffin. Mournful singing surrounds the grave of Sello who at last has been laid to rest. He has been dead for some weeks, but dad was thrown into prison trying to cross the border with an out-of-date passport. The family have waited for the funeral until they could raise the fine for him to be released to attend his son’s burial. There are hundreds of people attending from the village as well as relatives. Funerals are big in Lesotho, and it seems like more money is spent on the dead than the living. I am worried about how this poor family will feed all these people, but Mme Maja tells me not to worry as they belong to the village funeral association who will pay for it.
I feel numb and try not to dwell on what Sello suffered. At last, the grave is full of earth, the singing stops and there is only the sound of silence. The sounds of March and extremes of emotion are over. It’s time to move on to April.
