A Tale of Two Countries: A closer look at gender in Lesotho

“In the nineteenth century, the central moral challenge was slavery. In the twentieth century, it was the battle against totalitarianism. We believe that in this century the paramount moral challenge will be the struggle for gender equality around the world.”

― Nicholas D. Kristof, Half the Sky

There are two Lesothos. The first Lesotho is a leader in gender equality. This is the Lesotho that has a growing number of women in government. It is the Lesotho where the majority of school principals are women. This is the Lesotho that passed the Legal Capacity of Married Persons Act in 2006 to ensure that women would not be second class citizens but would be entitled to the same economic rights as their husbands. This is the Lesotho that ranked sixteenth overall on the 2013 the Global Gender Gap Report (published by the World Economic Forum)  That’s a higher ranking than Canada, the USA, and the UK.

And yet, if I had to choose where to be born a woman it would not be here.

There is a second Lesotho. In this second Lesotho HIV disproportionally affects women, and girls are kicked out of school for becoming pregnant. This is the Lesotho where too many women have been subjected to sexual abuse:  In one survey, six out of ten students said that if you knew the person, it did not count as sexual violence, and six out of ten boys said that when a girl says no, she really means yes.* In other words, despite the empowerment of a minority of women into positions of political power, this is a Lesotho where patriarchal norms persist and sexual violence is all too often ignored.

There are two stories which for me depict the reality of this second Lesotho.

“Ahh, But this Normal Here”

I am on my way home from an Out-of-School Youth training in the Thaba-Tseka district.  There is extra space in our Help Lesotho truck, so we decide to drive one of the girls  from the workshop back to her village. She sits down next to me, and  I ask her which training module she liked best.

“Oh, decision making,” she tells me.

“Why?” I ask.

She switches to Sesotho and a friend translates for me.

“Because I realized before I was making passive decisions…I let people decide things for me instead of taking control of my own life.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“My boyfriend told me I had to have sex with him. I said I didn’t want to, but he said I didn’t have a choice and then he slept with me,” she said.  “When what happened came out, we had to appear before the village chief. He said that in order to repair damages we must get married, and so we did.”

I look at her, stunned.  “Ask her if she’s safe!” I say to my friend.

“At first I was terrified of my husband,” she says. “Things were not good between us. But this past year things have gotten better. He is kinder to me now and I am happy.”

We drop the young girl off. I turn to my friend, outraged that this young girl was forced to marry the man who raped her.

My friend merely shrugs and says, “Ahh, but this normal here.”

“I didn’t know it was wrong”

It’s the last day of a five day Out-Of-School youth training. I get a moment alone with one of the young men in the program and so I ask him what he thought about the workshop.

He tells me that the topic of sexual abuse impacted him immensely. He explains that he and his friends used to force multiple girls to have sex with them for fun. “Before today, I didn’t know what I was doing was wrong.” he tells me.

I look at him stunned, trying to hide my disgust. How could you not know?  I want to ask. But then I remember how much society shapes our norms and how easy it is to be deaf to truth when voices of leadership claim what’s wrong is right.

“What do you think about all of these things now?” I try to ask an open-ended question, instead of passing judgment.

“Now I am aware that my violent sexual acts were traumatizing those girls and that this was not good. I will not do this anymore. I want to have respectful relationships,” he looks down for a moment. But then his eyes meet mine and he smiles, “My eyes have been opened. I was living darkness, but now I am in the light.”

***

These are just two encounters amongst many which indicate (to me) that while the  “gender gap” may be decreasing in many areas, gender-based violence, particularly the issue of rape, lags far behind. The girl in the first story struggled to even articulate that there was something wrong with what had happened to her. Notably, the word rape was not in her vocabulary. The man in the second story saw nothing wrong with what he was doing. The concept of consent was missing.

There is no other way I can think to describe this troubling phenomenon than with the term Rape Culture. I use this term in its most literal sense; there is a pervasive culture in Lesotho that ignores the reality of rape and moreover, punishes rape victims.  I want to be clear that this is not legally enforced.  In fact, the actual laws in Lesotho aim to promote gender equality and protect women from harm. However, there is a huge gap between law and social customs and unfortunately, too often, social customs more than laws rule prevailing gender norms.

I believe it is important to briefly note that Canada has also failed rape victims. In Canada there have also been troubling instances of sexual abuse not being treated seriously. Who could forget the infamous chant sung at St. Mary’s University (SMU) during frosh week this past September: “SMU boys we like them young ... Y is for your sister, O is for oh so tight, U is for underage, N is for no consent, G is for grab that a**."

However, there is a difference here: SMU’s frosh week chant made the news. Many Canadians were outraged. The head of SMU’s student union stepped down. I have yet to read a headline in the Lesotho Times that states, “Young Girl forced to Marry Boyfriend who Raped Her. Chief forced to resign.”

As I try to reconcile the disparity between the Global Gender Gap Report and what I have witnessed on the ground, yet again, I come to the conclusion that there are two Lesothos. There is the Lesotho that is making leaps and bounds in placing women in positions of authority and power. Yet, there is a huge gab between this Lesotho and the second Lesotho, where issues concerning consent and rape often go unacknowledged.

For me the reality of this second Lesotho and the reality of rape culture in this country is epitomized by the casual remark made by my friend—words, which are still ringing in my ears:

“Ah, but this is normal here.” 

---

*This information comes from the Help Lesotho Information Manual.

A Reflection on Meaning

“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how / Hat man sein warum? des Lebens, so verträgt man sich fast mit jedem wie?” ~Friedrich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols.

It’s typical Thaba Tseka weather as I walk home from work—sunny with a strong wind. On the way home I decide to stop by a friend’s shop to see how she is doing. I notice she is not there but a young man motions for me to join him. “I am Tsieu,* Ausi (sister) Ithabing’s brother. She is not here today,” he says by way of introduction. “I’m Ausi  (sister) Kamohelo. Tell her I say hello,” I respond and turn to walk away.

“Wait a minute. Come here,” he motions. So I come closer.

“You work with Help Lesotho,” he says.

“Yes,” I respond.

I see him looking at my red Help Lesotho bracelet.

“You are the people who talk about AIDS.”

“We do.”

“I am one of those people. I am one of those people with HIV,” he says.

I’m caught off guard. I’m not shocked that he has HIV (after all approximately one in four people are HIV positive in Lesotho), but I’m surprised that he’d state his status so frankly and to a stranger no less. HIV/AIDS stigmas still persist in Lesotho and  (in my experience) it is rare for someone to volunteer their status.

“Thank-you for sharing that with me,” I recover.

He goes on to tell me his story. His wife died from AIDS while their children were still young. Tsieu made the difficult decision to leave his children with his mother so that he could come and get a job as a security guard in  Thaba Tseka  to pay for his children’s schooling. He tells me life is hard: He is sick. He is away from his family. He misses his deceased wife.

“But I am not afraid,” Tsieu tells me. “My children…they do not have HIV. I am living to give them a better life.”

I have been reading Viktor Fankl’s Man’s Search For Meaning, and Tsieu’s story reminds me of a line from Nietzsche’s Twilight of the Idols that Frankl repeats over and over again: “He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.” Tsieu’s why are his children and the future he wishes to give him. This frames his own reason for existence and somehow makes the difficulties he faces easier to endure.

I believe that Tsieu’s particular why tells us something universal. When we recognize how finite our own lives are we realize that meaning must be found in something that transcends our own finitude. One of the most common ways of achieving this is through loving and serving others. In my humble opinion, this—not success—is the measure of a life well lived.

As I reflect on Tsieu’s story I wonder if this is a lesson that is easier to see here, in this country, where it is impossible to escape the reality of death because the temporality of life is experienced on a daily basis.

*Names have been changed. 

Photo Diary: Images of Thaba Tseka

Over the past few weeks we were recruiting for and running Out of School Youth Workshops, which meant traveling all over the District of Thaba Tseka. (Thaba Tseka is both the name of one of Lesotho’s ten districts, and is also the name of the “camptown” where I live. )  Below are a few images that capture a small piece of what  “life” looks like in the Thaba Tseka district:  

 A young boy wearing a traditional Basotho blanket.

Primary school girls perform traditional dances on Cultural Day. 

 An outdoor church service which lasted over four hours. When I commented on the length of the service to a friend she simply responded, "Here in Lesotho people love church!" 

 Excited Kids! So sweet. 

 Parents gather in Ha Ra Matseliso village to discuss if they will allow their youth to attend Help Lesotho’s Out of School Youth Workshop. One grandfather was so excited he said he’d find his grandsons right after the meeting and tell them they must attend!

 Children in Ha Ra Matseliso village.

Beautiful view of the mountains from Ha Ra Matseliso village. 

Brotherly Love. 

 Parents and grandparents sitting outside a rondavel. 

       A young girl wearing a traditional seshoeshoe dress. 

A young boy wearing a traditional "Kobo" (blanket). 

Herd Boys wear these masks to keep the dust off of their faces when they are tending to the animals. 

This Ntate Moholo (grandfather) was so excited to have his photo taken. He told me that he hoped he would become famous. 

Thaba Tseka "Town."

Youth selling goods at their shop in Town.

Saw this man traveling by horseback just outside my office.  In the district of Thaba Tseka horses are a very common mode of travel. 

My walk home from work. 

My next door neighbour and new best friend. 

Horse races in honour of King Letsie III's son's birthday. 

Preparing for the horse races...

"Reach up high and touch the sky." 

Young Entrepreneurs. These young boys were selling fish at Katse Dam to passing cars. We stopped and bought some. 

***

The following photos were taking in Hlotse (Leribe District) during International Day for the Older Persons: 

Decked out in a traditional seshoeshoe dress for International Day for the Older Persons. 

The Bo-Nkono (grandmothers) enjoying the event. 

Hanging out with the Bo-Ntate Moholo (grandfathers).

When Cultural Relativism Falls Short

If you are traveling from Hlotse to Thaba Tseka the Basotho will tell you that the direction is up. Often, more than North and South, up and down are used to indicate direction.  The same language is used for emotions. “How was your day ‘Me (mother)?” I ask. “Oh, Ausi (sister), it was up and down,” ‘Me responds.

At 10,000 feet, up is certainly a fitting description for Thaba Tseka.  

Thaba Tseka's beautiful mountains

There is a main paved road that runs through Thaba Tseka, which is referred to as “Town.” It has a smattering of small shops selling beets, potatoes, carrots, meat, and cheap clothing.

My first week in Thaba Tseka I was walking up to Town in search of canned peaches. (Peaches grow up here in the summer and I had heard you can sometimes buy canned peaches in the winter). As I was walking, three school girls approached me.  I saw them whisper amongst themselves and then one timidly said, "Lumela Ausi (hello sister).”

“Lumelang bo-ausi (hello sisters), ” I smile. 

“Can you help us with our English?” the girls ask.

“Of course,” I say.

So they pull out their novels for English class and show me the chapter assigned for homework. We sit down at the side of the road and begin to read together. After each paragraph we stop and review what is happening in the story and which English words are difficult.

While the story takes place in South Africa, it is quite fitting. It’s about a young girl who becomes pregnant and goes to see a witch doctor with her friend.

“What do you think of witch doctors?” the girls ask, looking at me expectantly.

I take a deep breath. I have had this question before—last time I avoided it. Witch doctors or traditional healers are a cultural norm here. If there’s anything my IDS & Global Studies degrees taught me it was to be careful of imposing my own western norms and values on other cultures.  The last thing I want to do is “westernize” these girls. Basotho culture has so many beautiful elements. I love the traditional clothing, the dancing, and the way everyone is referred to as “sister,” “brother,”  “mother” or “father.”

“How old are you girls?” I ask.

“Fifteen,” they respond.

I realize just how important this question is. There are high rates of teenage pregnancy here, and it is not uncommon for young girls to go to the witch doctor for an abortion.* After all, the stakes are high. Pregnant girls are expelled from school. The girls are shamed, while a blind eye is turned to the boys.  Consequently, young girls often feel that a witch doctor is the only place they can go for help. (There are no “medical” abortions in Lesotho—it’s illegal).

I take another deep breath, and decide to simply speak what’s on my heart.  “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the girl in the story to go to a witch doctor because she is putting her health and even her own life at risk.  If this girl was in Lesotho, she could go to the witch doctor and come back infected with HIV.** I wouldn’t want any young girl to risk her life like that,” I finally say.

The girls are quiet. I’m not sure what they think of what I’ve told them. We turn back to the story and end up talking about choices and how even though we might not always chose our circumstances, we can choose how we respond to them.

The three beautiful fifteen-year-olds thank me and walk away.

I slowly walk back to my hut, praying for those three beautiful girls and hoping with all my heart that they are not the girl in the story we read together.

When I get home I realize I never did find those canned peaches.

*It is important to note that some traditional healers argue that the witch doctors who perform illegal abortions are frauds. These traditional healers believe in herbal remedies and extracts that have been passed down through tradition and do not condone illegal practices. There have been cases of successful collaboration between traditional healers and medical doctors in South Africa.

**Some Traditional Healers/Witch Doctors practice “cutting.” They make small cuts on the skin with a razor blade and then apply plant extracts or powders. When these razor blades are reused HIV can be transmitted.  This is particularly problematic in Lesotho where about 1/4^th of the population is HIV positive.

 I would like to further note that the purpose of this post is NOT to devalue the role that traditional healers can play in society.  Not all traditional healers are the same and practices can vary. However, I do want to highlight that the practices of some witch doctors/ traditional healers can be harmful and it is important to both acknowledge and speak frankly about this reality.

Welcome to Lesotho

I’ve been in Lesotho for a week now and already I feel like there are so many things to write about. However, for the moment, I am still mesmerized by all the new places I’ve had the pleasure to visit. So on that note, I wanted to spend the majority of this blog post introducing you to where I’ve been staying in this past week as well as a few of the projects Help Lesotho is doing in the area.

Welcome to Hlotse

If you drive South from Johannesburg, through Free State, you will come to the Northern boarder post that separates South Africa from Lesotho. About twenty minutes across the boarder is  Holtse, a small camptown.  The center of Holtse has three main paved roads—two that loop and meet at the top of the town and one that runs through the middle. To my knowledge, there are no street names. There’s the road that takes me to the craft market, the road that leads to Shop Right, and the road with the pretty view of the mountains.

Just outside the center of town is a long dirt road lined little makeshift shops selling everything from vegetables to airtime. At the very end of this road is Help Lesotho’s Graff Leadership Center, which has served as my home base for the past week. The center is beautiful. It consists of two large buildings, a large grassy area, and a small playground. This space is multipurpose. It includes staff offices, a floor dedicated to high school girls who live onsite, a library, and a computer room used for community skills training.

While the Leadership Center is engaging with the community at multiple levels, its main focus is empowering Basotho girls. About 35 girls live at the center and each one of them has a story that will tug at your heartstrings. I had the privilege of reading a few of the narratives the girls had written about their own experiences prior to living at the center. Some were AIDS orphans and had been handed from one relative to the next. Others had been sexually abused, some on a frequent basis. In fact, I was told that one of the reasons why there are large windows in the stairwells is because girls are afraid of dark spaces where a man might conceal himself from view. The center aims to offer these girls a Safe Haven—a place where they can study, learn, grow, and be empowered to contribute to building a better Lesotho. 

Welcome to Pitseng

About half an hour from Hlotse is an area called Pitseng. It  is more rural than Hlotse, and consists mainly of small homes and fields. Help Lesotho has a second center here, which serves as a safe place for children and youth to come play and participate in drama and dance clubs.  Most importantly, it is a place where youth can speak openly about HIV/AIDS, grief, and loss.  One of my projects this week was to capture what day-to-day life looks like for children, youth and grandmothers living in Pitseng. Here are a few shots from the day.

I love the red door and windows. 

Welcome To Butha Buthe

The drive up to Butha Buthe is stunning—rolling fields with mountains in the backdrop, and a handful of horses on the horizon.

The reason for our trip to Butha Buthe was Grandmother Day, an event that takes place once a month where bonkhono (grandmothers) meet for  half a day to share the challenges they are facing, sing, dance, and eat a meal together. Each month a topic is covered that is pertinent to their day-to-day life, and the bonkhono have the opportunity to share what they are struggling with and give each other advice, with some guidance from a Help Lesotho staff member. This month the theme was Grief and Loss, a topic the bonkhono are all too familiar with. Many of them are the sole provider for their grandchildren and sometimes even other orphans in the community.

One can’t help but fall in love with these grandmothers. They are a spirited group who break out into song and dance spontaneously. They speak to you so sincerely, grabbing your hand whilst chattering away in Sesotho. For many of them, this group is the highlight of their month.  While we all shared a meal together, one of the grandmothers spoke to me with the help of a translator: “I love Grandmother Days.  Even though I have a bad knee, and things are difficult, I would never miss a grandmother event.”

A few personal notes:

I have been welcomed warmly here in Hlotse.  The staff have given me a Sesotho name, Kamohelo. My new nickname is Kamo.

I am leaving on Sepetmeber 1^st for Thaba Tseka, where I will be posted for the year.  Everyone keeps telling me how beautiful it is up there, so I am incredibly excited to see my new home.