Sing the Hallelujah Chorus with me, people!

And gimme a big A-MEN!

Why?

Because the consumerism gods of the cosmos have looked down upon the people of Maseru and blessed them with the ultimate gift of indulgence and excess – a shopping mall! Yes, that’s right, Lesotho has its first and only “world class shopping mall.” It comes with a six-theatre cinema, endless boutiques and baby stores, and the crème de la crème – a Pick ‘n’ Pay grocery store! This is almost like spending a year buying your groceries from the Chevron gas station and suddenly a Whole Foods opens up next door! (Okay, no Maseru’s ShopRite isn’t that bad … but still, this is terribly exciting for us little people). Oh – and the best part?? The grocery store is open until 8pm every day except Sunday, when it closes at an astonishing and never-seen-before 6pm! You learn to wildly celebrate these sorts of things when you’ve been living in Africa for nearly a year.

Now, my first experience at the Pick ‘n’ Pay was both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time. Overwhelming because walking around in it almost made me feel like I was in an American store. (“They have French rolls!”) Underwhelming because the shelves were pretty empty (“Aw, out of stock of Diet Coke”). I can only hope that they’ll get better at forecasting and stocking.

My second experience was much like the first – with the added bonus of a confrontation with the plastic bag lady at the checkout aisle. I was purchasing only a handful of items with which to make myself a small lunch sandwich. The bag lady started to place my 5 items in a plastic bag and I said, “oh it’s okay, I don’t need a bag.” Both the cashier and the bag lady immediately halted in what they were doing and stared at me. The cashier sweetly and patronizingly explained “It’s okay. We don’t charge for plastic.” And I replied, “No, really. I don’t need a bag; you can save it for something else. It’s better for the environment.” The bag lady, holding my perfectly ripe avocado in mid-air, said in a rather harsh tone, “What?” Feeling totally judged and on the spot but determined to model environmentally conscious behavior, I tried again, “Well, plastic is bad for the environment and it takes up space in landfills. If I don’t use one, then you can save it for someone else. It’s only five items, I can carry them.” The cashier gave up, shook her head, and finished ringing up my co-worker behind me. The bag lady continued to stare me down in an epic contest of wills between Carefree-Consumerist -Enjoy-a-Luxury-Cuz-You-Can in one corner and I-Should-Do-the-Right-Thing-Cuz-We’re-Raping-the-Earth in the other corner. I made one last attempt to persuade her of the wisdom of my actions with an economic argument, “I’m saving Pick ‘n’ Pay money by not using a bag.” To which she replied, “It doesn’t cost much.”

*sigh*

Needless to say, I was unsuccessful in convincing her. But, I did walk out of there, plastic bag-free, with my five items clutched tightly to my chest. 

“That’s how you grow up in Africa,” explains Mr Mwape. “To be a man, you need to discipline a woman, give her a slap or two. You know, in our culture, it’s OK because that’s how we feel we love our women.”

Yes, that’s a real quote from a real Zambian man – a popular actor, as a matter of fact. And it breaks my heart. Not just for the women who suffer at the hands of these men, but for the young men whose perceptions of women and love and violence are perverted and twisted together into such a grotesque shape by the men they admire and emulate. Now, let’s be clear — it’s not true that every African man believes that a “slap or two” is how you demonstrate love to a woman. But a good many do. In Lesotho, a woman can be beaten for cooking a bad meal or for telling her husband that she is HIV-positive. Civil and political rights were granted to women here in 1993 but those constitutional amendments still recognize some traditional/customary laws that are discriminatory.

Here’s the real kicker when it comes to the confounding nature of gender relations in places like Lesotho. Many of the older men work in South Africa, in the mines or wherever they can find work. Many of the young men don’t finish secondary school because they are needed as herd boys or workers in the the family fields. So when I work with various officials in the government of Lesotho, I almost always work with women. And these are not low-level positions — these are women who write  national policy and influence how such policies will be implemented. It just boggles my mind that many of these women – strong and intelligent women – are quite likely to be victims of domestic violence, as well. But there are strong, wealthy and intelligent women in America who are victims too. I guess violence against women knows no ethnicity, education level, or economic status …

Read the rest of the story at BBC News – Zambia’s celebrity couple reveal wife-beating past.

I have a policy. It’s called the No Drama in Lesotho policy, or NDL policy. It mostly applies to dating and hooking up in a small town and the drama that often accompanies such behavior. After all, we basically live and hang out with a community of about 50 people who all know each other and each other’s bidness. But lately, I’m discovering that I need to concentrate more on applying the policy to cars. Brief weekend recap:

Oct 30-Nov1: Went to Jozi with friends who were running the Soweto 10K and marathon. (No, of course, I didn’t run. Don’t you know me?) Had drinks with an Angolan and his Mozambican wife. Our group had two cars broken into, another car stolen, and wallets, ipods and money taken too. And I want you to know that because I don’t run and was sleeping when all crime occurred, I was completely unaffected. Except for feeling deep sympathy for my friends. Then rode back to Lesotho with a French woman, an Englishman, a Maltese,  and a Kiwi. Also, learned that a friend was nearly carjacked in downtown Maseru.

Nov 6-8: Baked 3 dozen bagels, 2 dozen peanut butter cookies, and 4 dozen chocolate Amarula truffles. Sold them all at a benefit bake sale to raise money for a home in Kenya for orphaned street girls and raised over $900. Clearly, we need a high-quality bakery in Maseru. Okay, no car drama here but it seemed silly to leave out a weekend.

Nov 13-15: Drove 1.5 hours to Ficksburg, South Africa, for a jazz festival. It was advertised to start at 12pm, we showed up at 3pm, and the music finally started at 5pm. Around 7pm, we heard that the parking area was getting full and that people normally stay at this festival until about 7am the next morning. Sure enough, our cars were almost blocked in, so we strategically moved them to prevent a full blockage. Three hours later, we discovered that the crazy Basotho drivers foiled us still. We had to convince a drunk man in a Jeep Cherokee to move out of the way so we could squeeze our cars thru the narrowest space possible. Then one of the cars broke down in the middle of the parking area’s dirt road, so we had to push the car out of the way using 45-point turn (push it forward, push it backwards, repeat, repeat again, and again). All while two South African policemen watched us from their truck. Two hours later, we abandoned the broken car and drove back to Maseru.

But next weekend!?! Next weekend, I will be visited by my old college roommate and two weekends from now, we’ll be in the lovely, beautiful and stylish Cape Town. What drama could possibly befall us there??

Reasons Why Life in Maseru Can Be So Entertaining:

1. We have a dive bar that’s been dubbed “Club Awesome.” It’s the kind of place where you don’t wear open toed shoes and girls are often groped by strange men (a few stern words and an evil look is more than enough to make them stop). But they play great hip hop music from back in the day, sprinkle in a few modern hits, and there’s a braai (bbq grill) that’s always on fire outside to keep people warm.

2. You can be 3 hours late and still be 2 hours early. Okay, this happened just over the border in SA (but close enough): We went to a jazz festival that was supposed to start at 12pm. We showed up at 3pm and the music didn’t actually start until 5pm.

3. Every once in awhile, the frozen food section at the grocery store is just empty. And while food shopping, I regularly exclaim things like “Oh! They have asparagus today!” It’s a good reminder that food doesn’t magically grow in the aisles.

4. Nothing in town is ever more than a 15 minute drive. Really. If I experience any reverse culture shock upon returning to the States, it will likely happen when it takes me more than 15 minutes to get anywhere. And you all thought I was chronically late before …

5. A wave and a smile generally gets you through the border between SA and Lesotho, even if you don’t bother waiting in line at immigration to get your passport stamped. Not that I would do such a thing, of course …

6. The local newspapers print headlines like these:

For those who have met me in person and met my father, it is clear that I am my father’s daughter. We have the same talkative nature, the same take charge attitude (although he’s probably wrong less frequently than me), and even some of the same mannerisms. He’s my best mentor for business, for faith, for life in general. So he’s pretty great. I aspire to be more like him in many ways and one of the things I’ve always appreciated about our relationship is that I’ve never felt the need to get out of my dad’s shadow.

Which is probably a good thing because today, I received an email from a headhunter who found me on LinkedIn. But he wasn’t trying to reach me … he was trying to reach my father:

Subject Line: If you’re Rich’s daughter

I’d appreciate it if you either send me his current contact info or tell him I’d like to reconnect with him. Last time I talked to him he was at The Company, but I don’t have his current email or phones. Also tell Rich Peter [surname redacted] would like to find him.

Thanks for the help,

Tim

Funny how an innocent and well-intentioned note can make one feel so used and yet invisible at the same time!