“If you want to bring happiness to the whole world, go home and love your family.”           Mother Theresa  

• Yes, my time living among the Basotho has ended.
• No, I’m not going back just yet (but hopefully in the future).
• Absolutely, it was hard to leave my new home and family.
• You bet, there has been some reverse culture shock since returning (much of which I am still processing and hope to share with you in the near future.)
• “What’s next?” you may be wondering and many have asked.

What’s next is family… lots and lots of family.

Serving in Lesotho, living with the Basotho, was a step, an attempt, to work towards peace, to become a global citizen and a neighbor, to love and know different tribes and nations, and in the words of Mother Theresa to “bring happiness to the world.”  In some respects it seems like a grand gesture, like a huge task to work towards the happiness of the world…. and sure moving 8000 miles might be classified as grand.  However, it feels like this: this loving on my family, this welcoming of babies into the world, witnessing of milestones, holding of sick children, sharing of meals with parents, this might be grand as well.

We aren’t all going to travel 8000 miles, we won’t all get the chance to immerse ourselves in a completely foreign culture, and even for those of us who do it comes to an end.  However, we all can love our families.  We all can show compassion to those we were given, or those we have chosen, to live life with, to break bread with.  We all have the capacity to do something grand, to work towards the happiness of the world, because we all can love our families, and love them well.

In Lesotho I didn’t solve any of the Basotho’s problems, I didn’t make any huge changes, or save anyone, what I did was love.  I loved the family I was given and the family I found in my village and community.  I went 8000 miles and now I just need to reach across the sofa but the work is essentially the same, to love.  Be present to one another, witness and walk through life together.  The world could use some peace, some hope and a perhaps a little more happiness, and it might all start in our homes, with our families.

Don’t wait to move across the globe just love. Love your family. Bring happiness to the world.

Blessings as you love,

Bren

Another misplaced elbow to my back and a bump from my right side as our overfilled taxi takes a sharp turn up the mountain.  Riding in my final taxi from Maseru (the capital of Lesotho) to my home district of Thaba-Tseka.   I’m aware of how normal this all seems: a lack of personal space, a cramped, sweaty ride, a sleeping passenger draped across the back of my seat, holding someone else’s luggage in my lap.  Public transportation in Lesotho is a hard pill to swallow for those of us accustomed to personal space, electric windows and adherence to suggested capacity.  However, I’m beginning to think it’s a pill worth swallowing.  In a space where you feel more like sardines in a can, rather than paying passengers you can’t help but smash up against each other.  It’s not a sensation I’m accustomed to… we don’t do a lot of smashing into humanity in my part of the world.  We do a lot of personal space.

We are told from an early age about personal space.  Yes, some of us require more, or attempt to take up less… but the concept is there.  It’s as if we each have our own little bubble surrounding us.  If there is not a physical space, we at least need or expect our time, our thoughts, to be ours and ours alone, how dare someone play their music too loud, or speak on the phone in a public setting.

One of the biggest adjustments I have had to make is my sense of personal space.  Sitting in a taxi designed for 15 but cramming in 20, no one has more room than is exactly necessary.  We complain about the space allotted to us when traveling in coach, but how much space do we actually need.  Standing in line I expect to not brush into the person before or behind me, so when I am jostled (which ALWAYS happens), I bristle as if that person maliciously encroached on my bubble. At church I can’t move forward enough to escape the drumming by hands and feet on the back of my chair.

It’s cultural here to greet almost all you pass and to engage in conversations with curious strangers.  Regularly I am grilled “U ea kae?” or “U tsoa kae?” (Where are you going? Where are you coming from?)  and on a good day I’ll recognize it for what it is, an attempt to connect… but on a bad day I can get myself worked into a huff- ‘why does that matter to you?, it’s MY business,’ and I’ll catch myself walking around with my head down, eyes averted or answering them in a less than graceful manner.

When I was back in the states for a visit I was struck by how clean everything is: how sterile everything seemed, how much space I was given on my flights, how far apart we sit in the pews at church.  I don’t believe personal space is the problem, believe me I still enjoy some space. The problem is when our bubbles become less malleable and begin cutting us off from humanity, when a jostle, a bump, a misplaced elbow can feel more like an attack and less like a connection—that is a problem.  When our understanding of our right to privacy convinces us we have a right to treat others unkindly, that is a problem.  The experience of someone else’s humanity smashing into ours is not an inconvenience, it’s an opportunity to feel, it’s an opportunity to know.  We need to smash back, feel their humanity and feel our own.

Blessings as you crash into others and smash against humanity. Blessings as you view that elbow to the back as someone deserving of your grace rather than your reproach. Blessings as you remember we’re all human sharing space rather than bubbles avoiding one another.

Blessings Friends,

Bren

A not-so-exhaustive list of Frequently Asked Questions… Got a Question?  Comment Below and I’ll reply with an answer!

• How’s Africa?
  • That’s a difficult question to answer. You see Africa is a continent, of which I have seen relatively nothing so I can’t really say.  I can answer questions you might have about Lesotho, or traveling in and around Southern Africa.  But speaking about Africa as a single unit is like speaking of South America as all one thing.
• How’s Lesotho?
  • Thank you for asking! Lesotho is many things, it is lovely and familiar and foreign and new.  Lesotho is beautiful!  The people are hospitable, the women are strong, the love is overwhelming.
• What’s the hardest part?
  • The hardest things have not been material or physical. The hardest part is always being the outsider, the other, different.  We are all one, and yet sometimes our differences draw unwanted attention, or the feelings of alienation.  It has been helpful for me to experience this feeling of otherness to make me aware of those who are feeling this way in my own country and community.
• What’s next?
  • Iced Coffee, Chinese Take Out and Hallmark Christmas Movies
• Are you ready to come home?
  • I feel as if it is time to come home. While I love Lesotho and have thoroughly enjoyed my service, part of our work as Peace Corps volunteers and as witnesses to other cultures and countries is to share what we have seen and experienced, and it feels like it is time to do that.  Short answer though, I am ready for iced coffee and chips and salsa!!
• What do they eat?
  • The Basotho eat a hearty diet of Papa – a cooked corn mill, moroho- something like collard greens or cabbage, linao- beans, peas.  They make the most delicious bohobe- bread, and they thuroughly enjoy meat any time they get their hands on it!
• What do you do?
  • I serve as an Education Volunteer.  I am English and Life Skills Teacher in a rural primary school.   I work with Host Country National Teachers in the area of English and Life Skills to improve both learning and teaching.
  • I partner with the staff at my school and members of  my community to work to provide a more student friendly school, through projects, trainings and conversations.
  • But mostly I learn, I learn about the Basotho culture and I share my American culture.
  • Peace Corps is working towards peace and friendship… most of what I do falls in the “friendship” category.
• How do you spend your free time?
  • Domestic chores take up a lot of my free time, but I do spend a good amount of time: reading, watching movies and shows on my laptop (when it is charged), visiting with my neighbors and village kiddos, hiking/ exploring
• Would you do it again?
  • YES.  And I’d encourage others to as well!
• What’s your favorite part?
  • The friendships and the family that I have formed here.
  • The rhythm and speed of life.
  • The views.
  • My sweet round home.

When I present the students at my school with a heart and ask them to identify the shape they without hesitation respond “LOVE.’  To them before the shape in front of them represents a heart it represents love.  Hearts have been closely associated with the concept of love since, well as long as I can remember.

During my time in Lesotho love has taken on a different shape.  Love is a rectangle, a cube, a square.  More specifically… love is a: box, an envelope, a parcel, a screen.  Living 8000 miles from friends and family love takes on different shapes, the screen of a phone on which my nieces are pictured, a box full of treats that make me cry and smile, a padded envelope with valentines candy inside, a book of sermons that comes just at the right time, gifts for my Basotho family and friends, too many peanut butter m&ms and smashed pop tarts..

My two years abroad have been littered by love in all shapes and sizes. Packages, cards, notes, emails, messages, likes and prayers.  I have been loved well.  Mail has been slow, calls have been dropped, internet has stalled and still love shows itself at just the right times in just the right shape. I have been loved well.

Cheers to you, the letter writers, package senders, email messengers, and prayer warrior, thank you for your love.  You have loved me well.  You have shown me the many shapes of love.  This two years is just as much yours as mine.

Much Love,

Bren

A photo of the Grand Canyon is not the same thing as being there, as leaning over the edge, stretching just beyond the railing.  A still image, even a video, cannot fully convey the majesty of such a site.  Even the most skilled photographer cannot capture the splendor that is the Grand Canyon.  Yet, what is the first thing we do when we hop out of the car at the canyon?—“but first let’s take a selfie!!”  Before we even allow the engine to cool, the breath to get knocked out of us in awe, before we stretch beyond the railing we start shaping the memory that we will share with the world.  We start reflecting, we start commentating.

It is only natural to want to share, to show.  But in the land of status updates, live streaming and beauty filters I fear sometime we move to the sharing, before we do the living.  We post and ponder prematurely, we reflect rather than experiencing.

A while back there was photo floating around the internet depicting a crowd of people pressed up against a barrier gate straining to get a glimpse of an event taking place, just beyond the frame of the picture.  What’s striking about this image is that while the event/ person is just beyond the frame, perhaps just feet away, everyone is viewing it through the lens of their phones or devices; everyone  is attempting to capture the moment digitally, everyone but one.  In the midst of the crowd there is only one who is engaging and experiencing the sight without the added channel of the phone.  There is only one who is fully present to the present.

Thomas Keating said: “Reflection is one step back from experience.  As soon as you start to reflect, the experience is over.”[1] While Keating was speaking in regards to prayer and the experience of the the holy I think it has a broader application as well.

During my time in Lesotho I have been forced to put down the phone, keep the device stored and be mindful of the moment, engage the present, experience the experience.  My phones have broken, the electricity has been turned off the very limited network has been down creating a space where that perfect post, that clever caption, have been put on hold, the pressure to share has lessened and the moment is mine alone. In being in the moment, in experiencing life more fully, I find myself wanting to draw out the instant, to lengthen the experience, to savor every second, to lean in rather than step back.

These days however, I’m doing a lot of reflection. As my time in the Mountain Kingdom draws to a close I’m taking a step back and looking at my experience.  I’m writing it all down, snapping as many pics as I can (knowing they won’t do justice to any of it), I’m sharing and remembering.  As I do I am realizing there are holes, missing pictures and journal entries of memories, of people, and things that have shaped and sweetened my time here.  Rather than kick myself for: failing to keep up a journal, writing too few blog posts and missing photo ops, I’m reminding myself that I have drunk deeply.  While the evidence may not be there I have fully experienced my life here.  I have leaned over the partition, I have tasted it all, felt the wind on my face (often while being pelted with dirt).  I have not viewed Lesotho from behind a screen; I have not been burdened fiddling with a phone (mostly because I broke them all).

No Time Hop will remind me of the day I met my Basotho Mother, I’ll have to remind myself.  No number of likes will convince you that the view out my window needs #nofilter, you will just have to trust me on that.  No #tbt (Throw Back Thursday) can communicate the transformation taken place inside of me, I am all the evidence there is.  No amount of blog posts can fully communicate the reflections I have had of my life among the Basotho, but I’ll keep writing.

Put down the phone—not because it is broken—but because you want to experience rather than reflect.  Stay in the moment just a tad longer than you feel is necessary, lean in before stepping back.  Experience life even if there is no evidence, drink deeply friends.

Blessings as you savor.

Salang Hantle,

Bren

[1] Thomas Keating, Open Heart, Open Mind (New York: Continuum, 2006), 124.

Cleanest my clothes have been… Bo-Ausi (the girls) came over to help out!

My bestie carrying my water home for me… the journey was twice as long but so much more enjoyable.

Even in Lesotho I’m an Aunt… Meet Baby Holly (That’s what I’m calling her!)

On my trip to America I shared the Basotho culture with friends, family and two of my favorite Bo-Ausi!!

No words…

On vacation in Mozambique

Pre cursor to delicious rhubarb jam!

That’s a flower I’m putting in my mouth.

Moments before I lost my bus ticket and wasnt allowed back on the bus. Yeah that happened as well.

On my way home to Lesotho,from a recent trip to America, I had a ten hour layover in London.  A layover I dreamt about and planned for.  Ten hours in the land of double decker buses, Kate Middleton and everything sophisticated.  I willed myself to sleep on the plane in preparation for the lovely London day I had in mind.

Ten minutes after disembarking I stood holding a soggy phone fished out of the airport toilet.  As my phone over heated in my hand, (apparently you’re not supposed to try and turn it on) I approached customs in shock, this was my lifeline.  While I contemplated sitting in the terminal stewing over my misfortune for the next nine hours and fifty minutes, I remembered the resiliency I’ve learned in Lesotho, so, chin up.

I made my way to a kiosk selling cell-phones in brands and makes I had never seen before.  In far too much detail, I explained my predicament to the unimpressed salesperson, and was directed to a phone that was the best value.  Not even bothering with the exchange rate I purchased my new phone, and as I fished out my wallet, the ever helpful shopkeeper made sure to inform me I had of course over paid on the train ticket I now held in my hand.  Chin up.

Walking away from the kiosk phone in hand, overpriced ticket safely tucked in my now lighter wallet, I took a deep breath.  Surely the worst was behind me. (Ha)  While following the signs to the underground train I quickly attempted to connect my smartphone to the WiFi, no luck, my luck. Chin Up.  Then as if on cue the zipper on my singular bag gave way spilling all my belongings onto the floor of the tube platform. Chin. Up.

Clutching my belongings to my chest as I rode the tube into London proper I couldn’t help but replay the day’s events and how London seemed to be beating me up. (I would find soon enough that the bad luck had not run out.) I thought of each opportunity I had been given to turn around find a chair and sit and sulk.  As I watched the blur of landscape out the window I wondered why I wasn’t wallowing, why I wasn’t grieving the day’s failures.

In Lesotho, nothing seems to go as planned.  I can wake up and have five things on my to-do list, and due not to a lack of effort, accomplish nothing.  Electronics have broken, electricity and internet have failed, buckets have fallen, I have fallen, rain has poured, people have laughed, I have cried and still life moves on. Daily, hourly, I have to reframe, rethink, breathe in, breathe out and gain perspective.  We love efficiency, convenience, smooth sailing, good days, but that’s not always what we are given.

When recounting my days struggles to a friend her response was, “I’m grateful you didn’t get sick or lose your passport.”  Another, who had been praying for my travels that day made sure to point out “well, you were safe, I prayed for safety.”  It’s all in perspective.  Yes, I haven’t had electricity and the clouds have hindered me from charging via solar, but I’ve got water, and a roof… perspective.  Sure, I just fell in a river, but there is enough water in the river to wash my blankets… perspective.  A question I often ask myself is “is it a bad day, or simply a bad five minutes that your blowing out of proportion?”  Often that’s all it takes, just a bit of perspective.

London was a bad five minutes, followed by a bad ten, followed by a bad few hours.  Yes, London beat me down, but chin up, look around- London is lovely, look at those double decker busses!  Yes, Lesotho sometimes mocks me, but chin up, look around- those mountains are breathtaking.  Chin up, its all in perspective.

Blessings on those hard days, on those hard five minutes, when perspective is hard to find.  Friends, tomorrow is another day, chin up!

Salang Hantle,

Bren

Words have power, names carry meaning.  They can breathe life and hope or sew despair and contempt.  How we are known, what we are called, can impact us, can impact those around us.  They can heal and they can harm.  Yet, often we are careless with our words, not aware, or not caring about the impact they have.  I once heard that “words are eternal” once uttered we can’t take them back.  If that were the case, we might be more intentional about the words and the names that we fling.  Instead, we thoughtlessly call young boys rotten and stubborn and are surprised when they grow to be cruel men, we label small girls as pretty, sweet princesses and are frustrated that they don’t know their own strength.

In Lesotho I have been called many things.  Kind things, and less than kind things.  People have been thoughtful and thoughtless.  Words in Sesotho and English have hurt me and they have healed.  Words have power, names carry meaning.

When I arrived in my village I was given a new name, a new identity.  That day and every day since I have been called “Naleli” (Nah- lay- dee).  My future host mother deliberated, and I expect prayed, over what she would call her new American daughter.  She considered what my name would communicate about me and my presence in her family, our community and in Lesotho.   ‘M’e Matsolo carefully and hopefully chose Naleli, which means ‘Star’.  Names in Lesotho carry meaning, names in Lesotho are chosen with extreme care, and so when I introduce myself I recognize the appreciation of such a lovely name.

“U Mang?”  (Who are you?)

“Ke Naleli!” I say with pride.

“Oh, the nice name,” they might note.

“I know!” I beam!!

Naleli, has been a reminder to me, a reminder of the hope my community has, of the care my mother took in selecting it, of the pride that accompanies such a beautiful name.  Naleli, calls me to sparkle when I want to wither, to shine when I want to grumble and hide.

As I walk through my village and I hear “’M’e Naleli, ‘M’e Naleli!,” I walk a bit taller, I shine a bit brighter.

Two years ago Naleli was just a Sesotho word meaning star.  Today, it is more than what they call me, it is who they see me as, it is who I see myself as, it is a call and a name I aspire to embody more fully.  It has shaped me, and I it.  “Ke Naleli!”

Words have power, names have meaning.  Use them carefully, speak them with kindness, breath life and encourage others to shine.

Salang Hantle,

Naleli

I look for any reason to celebrate.  If there is a way to turn an ordinary day into a holiday, I will find it.  Big parties, small gestures, traditions, rituals, surprises, I’ll take them all.  I was always baffled when people, usually ‘adults’ would say to me, “I don’t really do Birthdays, I don’t really enjoy celebrations.” Needless to say, I was equally surprised when I became an adult and my LOVE for the special had not waned.

Was it an indicator of maturity to not need sprinkles and confetti?  Was it a sign of wisdom to nod respectfully to the holiday or birthday without fully engaging?  As I looked down at my tutu I’d ask myself  yet again “When will I grow up? When will the glitter lose its gleam for me?”

Celebration has always come easy to me.  Yet this year, this birthday, I almost ‘grew up.’ I almost skipped the sprinkles, I almost allowed myself to nod respectfully, maturely, at another year gone by and fail to mark the day in any notable way.

Living in Lesotho is just that, living in Lesotho, living how the Basotho live, celebrating the events that are meaningful to them in the ways which they are accustomed.  Christmas falls in the summer, so there aren’t trimmed pine trees, sleigh bells ringing, or  chestnuts roasting.  Easter comes at the end of the fall and there seems to be no use in painted or hidden eggs.  Birthdays are respected but not overly emphasized, exceptions being for significant birthdays.  The Basotho are not a people without joy, they can party like it’s 1999 any day of the week,  they are however a people who like ‘mature adults‘ can nod respectfully at a holiday and keep moving along, and in some ways their lives don’t allow for the frivolous or silly.  They throw down for the King’s Birthday, Moshoeshoe Day (honoring their first king), and their own Independence day, there are wedding and funeral feasts, graduation parties and beautiful celebrations for rites of passage and they exude a hospitality that knows no end.  But they don’t value cupcakes and candles the way I do, and so this year I was planning to grow up, to be okay with being alone on my birthday, to thank my friends and family for their wishes and then to continue, business as usual.  

I was about halfway through my normal, celebration free July 2nd when I remembered that celebration is a discipline, a spiritual discipline at that, just go read “Celebration of Discipline” if you think I made that up.  With disciplines you choose them, even when it’s hard, even when your alone, even when you don’t feel up to it.  But why, why choose them? Well, we all know in the case of physical fitness and health what happens when we choose not to remain disciplined in exercise or nutrition, or in the area of faith when we neglect the discipline of prayer or reading scripture.

Spiritual Disciplines put us on the path to meeting with God, they get us in a place and a space for confronting the Holy.  Like exercise they  don’t guarantee results, they just make it easier and more likely for us to experience them.  It’s not maturity that calls us away from celebration, it’s the same things that call us away from the other disciplines: it’s laziness, disappointment, a lack of self worth, avoidance, the list goes on.  Celebration puts us on the path to living a better more full life, it reminds us to value and mark moments as special, it encourages us to communicate worth to ourselves and others.

“The more you praise and celebrate your life, the more there is in life to celebrate” – Oprah Winfrey

So before the day ended I held my own celebration, my own little ritual of remembrance and value.  I walked to the shop, grabbed a few ingredients, and baked my own little cupcake, complete with pink icing and an absurd amount of sprinkles.  That night as I blew out the candle, without anyone there to witness, I committed to celebrating my life and remembering my worth and value, a worth that is not dependent on others, or what I do or have but by my existence, an existence that needs to be celebrated.  Its not immaturity that drives me to throw confetti at any opportunity, its my desire to live the good life and live it fully, I wanna be on the path and so I have to choose the discipline.

The morning of July 3rd I woke to my host family choosing to celebrate me in the very way they knew I appreciated. They presented me with a beautiful cake and a sweet gift accompanied by some of the loveliest singing.  It may not be their custom, but they  understand celebration is a discipline, it’s a choice, it’s a way to add value, to communicate worth, and to show love.

Celebrate life my friends, the big and the small moments,

Salang Hantle,

Bren

Some celebrations from the past year! 

My Little Cupcake

The cake my family gave me, tasted as good as it looks!

This lady has learned to love and celebrate me well!

‘M’e Matsolo’s Birthday!

Happy Birthday ‘M’e!

Merry Christmas from Kim and I

My Grandfather’s 99th birthday!

Celebrating sweet friends in style

He got them in one blow!