It has taken me a long time to decide how I should end this blog. Now
that I’ve been home in Canada for a few months and had plenty of time to
reflect, how should I wrap up this challenging, rewarding, heartbreaking, joy-filled,
hilarious, transformative year?
A few weeks ago it came to me—a simple, poignant memory that captures
the heart of my life in the Mountain Kingdom:
It’s a sunny winter day. I’m walking through the fields that are on the
way to Thaba Tseka High School with my colleague, Masheane. (He and I spent a year sharing the day-to-day ups and downs of life in the field office.) For a while we are
both quiet, lost in our own thoughts as we take in the stark, yet beautiful
landscape.
We climb a small hill and the school comes into view. It’s about 100
meters away, precariously positioned near the edge of a cliff. Behind the cliff
are mountains that go on for miles. I’ve seen this view every week for almost a
year now and still it never fails arrest my soul.
“You know Mary,” Masheane breaks the silence, “I’ve learnt something
from you this year.”
“Yeah?” I say.
“Even though you are too pale,” Masheane tells me, “you are not so
different from us Basotho. You still eat, sleep, talk, laugh…You and I, we are the same.”
“That’s true,” I say softly, repeating his words, “we are the same.”
Thaba Tseka High School
Mash & I
