I haven’t written in a while but expect some updates from me soon. There is more to say about coming home to Ireland again than I could fill ten posts with…

My sister is coming out to Lesotho for six weeks to work in an orphanage with me so that will supply plenty of colour for even more posts.

Here I go again.

We stayed with them for about an hour and found it very difficult to leave. My feelings of hoplessness, uselessness, sadness, desperation and fear for these kids stayed with me for that day and indeed the week after and I just wanted to go back to see if they were ok. We couldnt do any more for them – they had food for the week but I just wanted to take these little kids away from that rat infested place they call home.
But there is light. Ronan brought us to see a new building that has been built for them. Red tape and pen pushers with inflated egos have delayed for weeks these kids moving into their new home. Ronan and I spoke to the Irish Ambassador Paddy Fay and his wife Dee over dinner that night, and it seems the problems will get sorted out soon and the kids will have some semblence of a home.

And of course there is Anna. Anna is an intelligent beautiful young girl who looks afraid when you speak to her. She has very bright eyes and with any chance in life could do well. Ronan has found a sponsor for Anna and the plan is she will go to a boarding school for the 6 years of her secondary school education. The Lesotho government only fund national schools so at 12 yeras old kids have no where to go. Boarding school in Lesotho is not like in Ireland. They are very nice, clean and well run places of education, usually run by a religious orders.
In Anna’s case my concern was for her safety. As I said to Ronan she is a young beautiful girl and with the incidence of rape and aids in Lesotho – I would be very fearful for her at this tender stage in her life. So Ronan is working hard to try and get her into a boarding school hopefully after the Christmas holidays. What is amazing is it only costs less than €500 per year to put Annn through school which includes full board, uniforms, books etc.
In conclusion, I would just like to say here publicaly how immensely proud I am of Ronan. I have of course told him this privately but he deserves all my praise and support. It was my great privilege to spend time with the beautiful, smiling people of Lesotho and to see Ronans work which I hope he can continue until his college starts in October 2009.

I hope these few words of reflection have helped to expand on Ronan’s writings and I would encourage anyone who can afford to travel to a place in the world who have less than we have in Ireland – to do so. As Ronan said to me whilst in Lesotho – the recession in Ireland may leave some families getting by with only one car or forgoing a holiday but this is a long way from the experiences of wee kids in Meseru East orphanage.

Good luck Ronan with the rest of your work in Lesotho and you know you have all our love and support with you.
Dad

I’ve spent the last two weeks traveling. I visited a Jesuit mission in Zambia and met my father in Livingstone. From there we went back to Lesotho together and I got a chance to introduce him to life there. I think I’m beginning to forget some of the little things about life in Ireland as I begin to see life in Lesotho as normal. I no longer notice the women carrying the buckets of water on their heads or the poverty which surrounds us. I think when you live in a place you begin to become blind to much of it.

I am lucky then that my father has been able to come and be shocked by this place. His reactions help to remind me of how different it really is here. One of the reasons I haven’t written much recently is because I forget what is worth describing, what is extraordinary for Ireland. [If there's any part of life here that you'd like me to write about please let me know.]

There’s an orphanage in Maseru, the capital city, that I’ve been in and out to in my time here. I’m going to use some of the funding we raised to pay for one of its orphan’s secondary education. Anna is a very bright girl who wants to be a nurse. In this country I think that goal should be supported.

The orphanage is on the edge of a small cliff in an area just outside Maseru- Maseru East. It consists of two small shacks made of spare pieces of scrap metal. It is cold, dank and completely open to the elements. When the wind blows it is close to collapse; when the rains come it is flooded; and when winter sets in there is nothing to shield its inhabitants from Lesotho’s blisteringly harsh cold. The two small shacks are about the size of an average Irish bedroom but they are the home to ntate Vincent (’St Vincent’ as he is known to us in Ireland), his twelve orphaned grandchildren and fifteen other orphans. The range in age from a four month old malnourished little girl to the older group of thirteen, fourteen and fifteen year olds.

When I brought dad to see the place he reacted like everyone does who comes for the first time. He was shocked into a stunned silence that lasted for about a week. In the following days he kept saying that he didn’t know such poverty existed anymore. We brought food when we visited. They had none, and rarely do. Many of the children have swollen stomachs from malnutrition. Dad kept saying that they live ‘with the rats and like the rats’ and they do. They live in what looks to us like a rubbish heap. Their current lives are all about survival. It’s not a real way to live.

I still maintain however that there are poorer people in the world…but just one group which is poorer, and many of them live in Dublin. These children have absolutely nothing materially but they do seem happy. They have each other and they have Vincent. They are clearly a family. After all that I have seen in the last few months I still think that there is no group worse off than the homeless. They are stripped of their very humanity. This takes nothing from the very real and cruel poverty of these orphans and others…They are treated by the world, in a very real way, like animals.

Think about it though. Ireland’s homeless are disregarded completely as rubbish which needs to simply be moved on – off Grafton street and O’Connell street – not to disturb the Christmas shopping. The real question is where would Christ be in this picture? Buying presents for Mary and Joseph in the top stores?…Or sitting alongside the man on the street who sits on that odd piece of cardboard with one black bag by his side?

I wish you all a very happy and joyous advent. Don’t allow my musings to bring you down. You deserve happiness like everyone else and I know that the minimum needs in Ireland are high. In this time of preparation do think about it though. If I remember correctly this time has something to do with a child born into a homeless family, no?

I am now in a health clinic, bringing supplies, in the mountains in Lesotho. I had to take a four seater plane to get here as it is so remote. Amazingly they have internet access…so I am actually writing this from the clinic. In the doctor’s house, here in one of the most remote areas of rural Lesotho in Southern Africa, is pinned a poster of the president-elect and hope of America, Barack Obama.

Congratulations mr president. It appears that from this continent a resounding ‘Yes’ can be heard in support of him. I even heard recently that all the babies born in Kenya are being named Barack or Michelle. The world has high hopes.

I see that many of the american bishops are denouncing Catholics who voted for the pro-abortion Obama. In his very outlook Obama is pro-hope and pro-life and so I am confident that he can do more for the pro-life cause than George Bush Jnr or John McCain and the pitbull ever would.

Anyway, I just thought I would write this after seeing the poster here. Dave and Mike have written a few commentaries on the election so I won’t (for now!) but this is a taste of Lesotho’s reaction and the all-round jubilation from the volunteering community here.

On another note we have had storms for the past few days. This is great news here because of the previous six months of dry but it has also destroyed many homes and killed ten in the last two nights. For most though it means good crops and so, life. Often it seems that what appears to bring death can often bring life. Just a side note. Hope you’re all enjoying the cold in Ireland….it really sounds great from here.

The Irish ambassador, Paddy Fay, and his wife are an extraordinary support to Irish volunteers working in Lesotho(there are a few). We have all spent time staying in their guest house (getting a break from the culture shock) and so, while we work in different areas on different projects, we have been brought together to accompany each other on our respective journeys.

The ambassador spends much of his time managing Ireland’s aid program in Lesotho while his wife, Dee, works with many of the nation’s orphanages. One such orphanage is what we simply call ‘The Grandmother’s’ Over an hour’s drive into the mountains a grandmother, like so many others here, has taken in orphaned children into her small rondaval (hut). There are now nine orphans living with her. One of them, a seven year old boy, is HIV positive and one, a seventeen year old girl, is pregnant for the second time due to rape.

Around 30% of Basotho have HIV/AIDS and over sixty die each day because of this horrific epidemic. This is of a population brinking on two million. The nation’s population is declining with a significant portion of blame going to the AIDS epidemic. The King of Lesotho has on several occasions warned that if this trend continues Lesotho will be a land without a people by 2030. That is urgency!

There is literally a missing generation here and so the elderly, like our grandmother, are called upon to look after the young orphans.

Soon after I arrived a group of us, Irish volunteers, travelled with Dee to the grandmother’s. A few weeks before the local villagers, recognising the grandmother’s efforts and needs, began to build another house for the orphans alongside the current rondaval. For various reasons the building was never finished and so we went to finish building the walls and put a roof and windows on this new little ‘orphanage’. So, picking up three builders from the fifty looking for work at the side of the road, we were on our way. By the end of two days we had finished the job. I then decided to use some of my funding to fill the new building. I did this yesterday.

I am now staying in the ambassador’s guest house and alongside my bed was stacked blankets, pillows, towels, a cooker, pots and pans, plates, cups, bowels and cutlery, mats and basins. I ordered a table and chairs and three sets of bunkbeds. We travelled up last night and put everything together for them. A crowd of local children gathered to watch as the grandmother sat on a stone, shellshocked and visably upset.

In Ireland, and, I suppose, everywhere else in the affluent west, our knowledge of HIV/AIDS is reserved to academia. While they are useful indicators, and sometimes motivators, facts and figures give us a sense of a horrific reality which is too far apart to cause any lasting impact.

What do we mean when we talk about HIV/AIDS? What is the true reality behind the endless streams of statistics?

The reality here as I am currently experiencing it is this: when I walk down the street in Maseru every third person is limping slightly because of circulatory problems, caused by HIV, and is covered in dark marks on their face and arms. There are countless orphanages filled with the children of AIDS sufferers. Countless other homes, like the grandmother’s, are transformed into ‘orphanages’ as local people try to deal with the sudden appearence of homeless children. Many of the children in these ‘orphanages’ have HIV/AIDS themselves. While ARV drugs are supplied by the state young children soon become immune and so there are countless children who, by the age of three or four, have no hope of survival.

Then there’s the issue of condoms. The teaching of the magisterium counts the use of condoms as a sin. I am not one hundred percent what I believe but I am struggling with this. Once again this is an issue which goes beyond mere academia. For example: I am teaching a man english while here in Maseru and we’ve gotten quite close over the weeks. His wife is HIV positive. Whether for religious or cultural reasons my new friend does not use condoms  (which, by the way, cost more than an average day’s wages). About two days ago he came to me complaining of strange bruising and pains across his stomach. He hadn’t gone to a doctor with it in the week he’d been aware of it because it costs 100 maloti (about 8 euro) which is a fortune here. So I gave him the money for the doctor and the following day he came back to say that he was given tablets for a sexually transmitted infection. This is the situation we must consider when discussing the morality of condoms from our armchairs. Is there a moral obligation to continue to investigate this issue?…What do you think?

Phrases like ‘is positive’ of ‘has the hiv’ abound here. The reality of HIV/AIDS is that it can be transferred by blood or semen and that a child born to a HIV positive mother can have HIV at birth. If a person is lucky enough to survive for a time on ARV drugs (like my friend’s wife) are they destined to lead a life void of erotic love (eros)?

This is the reality here. Sixty people die each day from AIDS. That’s 2,600 people a year. That’s one percent of Lesotho’s population every year from one disease. There’s also typhoid, TB and every other nasty disease under the sun. So, when you read or hear someone talk about  HIV/AIDS please remember what it really means.

“Take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” Elie Wiesel

Either we really care about poverty, inequality and, in particular, the AIDS epidemic which is tearing a continent apart, or we don’t. To drift through life looking away because the truth hurts is not an option. The approach of so many, to happily ignore Africa as a continent kept from us by oceans, is not acceptable….it is nothing short of racism (put them aside). If such a reality existed in the west it would be remedied within a week. Take sides in this war on poverty. Take sides in this war on inequality and, practically, take sides in this war on AIDS.

Take sides.

I’m sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written but internet access isn’t readily available here…neither is phone or any other form of communication with the outside world. ( In the villages)

Malealea is a majestic valley veiled in an aura of beauty…the physical area is beautiful, the culture is beautiful but most importantly the people are beautiful.

I’m afraid my pictures are too big to upload here but I’ll try to explain.

Every morning I wake up at 6am with the cock crowing. [This is called a 'sleep in'!] I live in a Basotho traditional hut with a family overlooking one of many gorges. My ‘Lesotho mother’, as ‘M’ Makomiti calls herself, boils some water and I use some of it to wash in a basin. At ten to seven my little brother, Manyanee (6), and I head off for school. He’s a student in standard 1 at the school I work in.

Along the way we pick up countless straggling academics and our motley crew can be seen hopping and sliding along the rocky faces of the gorges as we make our way to the school one hours walk from home. The children are so full of wonder. There is little or no silence on the way as question after question, which has been rehearsed in its best english, is trundled forward. The walk is all about going around the edges of these gorges, down to ‘ground level’ from time to time to cross streams and then back up again to ring yet another in a seemingly endless series.

At about ten to eight Pitseng Primary School comes into view. A collection of worn stone cottage-like structures with a bright green water tank peaking out from behind one of those rare trees grasping for life. As we make our way down, across a stream and up again we pass women and children washing clothes in the barely trickling water, a herd boy and his father with a collection of rattling goats and, of course, countless other students crossing other streams and climbing along other pieces of mountainous terrain.

As the groups merge near the school, on the edge of the embankment, I hear the usual, “Good morning sir”, “Good morning sir”, “How are you?”. Thrilled with their eager attempts at english before most of my previous world has stirred I usually respond with “Fine. Thank you, and you?” Some rise to the challenge, while those who don’t will learn a response and try again tomorrow. Those who rise are met with another question as we scale the last hill before the school day begins.

At 8am the one hundred and fifty students scurry into place in the yard for morning prayer. Pitseng is the school of some form of evangelical church and my blessing myself every morning seems to entice more than a little curiosity from eyes that, according to the principal, should be closed. Times of prayer in Lesotho are very poignant moments for me as “give us this day our daily bread” takes a meaning we have long since forgotten in the affluent west.

After the prayer the school files into its respective class ‘rooms’ which are little more than shacks. They are dark with tiny windows, corrugated iron ‘doors which creak as the class goes one ( they have to be kept open for light), warped blackboards held in place with some wire to holes in the mud brick wall. There are some old benches but most of the children sit on bricks, old pots or anything else to hand…not that there’s much.

Standard four spend five minutes after the prayer emptying the shed of its tools so that they can regain their ‘classroom’. There are six teachers for seven classes, a real improvement on last year’s four. There is no road to the school and so most teachers won’t come here. There is a plan by the development trust to build a new school but again a road most come first and any supplies that are needed ( as in needed, not like the wants in Ireland) can’t get to the school but have to be divided and carried across the mountains by the students.

When I was in Ireland my family and friends worked hard to fundraise for projects in Lesotho. My eyes are now pealed to find those most in need. It’s not the nicest job as there is so much need. This road will be one of the projects.

Class finishes at 2pm with another assembly for prayer. The group then dissipates into the same morning patchwork of oddly red ‘uniformed’ students. Manyanee and I are home by half three. We have something to eat and then I head off again for another half hour’s walk to the tourist lodge where I meet Gillian and Tello of the local development trust for my daily catchup. At a quarter to six I have to scurry back up the hill to get to the house before ‘M’ Makomiti starts worrying. I’m not to be out alone when it gets dark as there have been three murders in the valley in the last few months.

I then have dinner with the family and leave at seven for the highschool with my other brother Lyky. I help with english grinds there until about ten and then we head home. We’re back by half past and I’m in bed by eleven….That’s my day.

Since I’ve been here there have been some extraordinary things worth mentioning here. These range from a local fire to roofing a grandmother’s orphanage in the mountains, from a Sunday Mass experience to more descriptions of the people and the life which gives this wonderful place its radiant beauty or even my visits to certain orphanages or the work of the Irish charity, Acara, building an orphanage here for twenty five orphans. These and more are all, sadly, for another day. Please do come back to visit.

I hope to write a few blogs from there….I hope.

This is just a warning. If you are one of the sane millions who prefer not to read my rants then shut down now. If you’re crazy enough to read, then good luck.

My plan is to write some blogs about village life in Lesotho and what messages are in such a life for us as Christians. That’s the plan, so stay tuned.