Boots and Saddles Journeymen in Lesotho
 
 

Matsaile… where dreams come true

July 13, 2010

“I know that the clinic doesn’t start until tomorrow, but this guy out here has a pretty serious head wound.”

Dr. Pepper (our supervisor) and I stopped our conversation and headed out of the rondavel and towards the clinic. An older man sat on the wooden bench outside. He was covered in his Basotho blanket and his shepherd’s hat. He looked up as we came over and pulled his hat off to reveal his heavily bandaged head. From the blood on the bandages, we could tell that it was urgent enough to treat right then. So Dr. Pepper went to work unwrapping the bandages and issuing orders for supplies he needed.

As the final piece of cloth came off of his head, we saw that he had two gashes in his head. We were told that he had been in a fight and someone had beat him with a malamu (this is a stick that shepherds and men carry for protection and for fighting with.) The Doc examined his head to confirm that there was no bone fractures and then proceeded to clean the wound. All the while I stood by like a good assistant and handed him the supplies he needed. Once the wounds were clean, the Doc noticed that there was a large clot in one of the wounds.

“We have to get that out of there or it will get infected!” He told me. “Be ready with the gauze.”

After issuing orders to me, he proceeded to surgically (with his hands; don’t worry, he had gloves) remove the clot from the man’s head.

The next day was clinic day. Because the doc had come alone without his team, we were enlisted to help. While the patients went in to see the doctor, he would give them prescriptions and they would bring them to us. Then, we would sift through the dozens of medications we had and find the right ones. Then we would attempt to tell the patient how to use the medicine. There are so many things we take for granted because we have grown up knowing them. For us, nasal drops for a child is simple to use. You fill the dropper with the liquid, you stick it in the poor child’s nose, and you let a few drops go in. But what if you have never seen or used a dropper before? Then things get a little complicated…

But by the end of the day, the sick of Matsaile had received medication for their ailments and I had the privilege of being used by God in this awesome ministry of medicine. I’ve always thought it would be cool to be a doctor, but an extra 5 years of schooling was never appealing to me. But lucky for me, the medical requirements are much lower in the small town of Matsaile.

And that is the story of the beginning and the end of my medical career. Even here in Matsaile, God is fulfilling my dreams… although in quite a different way than I would expect.

These are the ministries that we have found are making an impact in our village. Yes, the gospel needs to be preached, and we are starting bible studies and trying to get the word out there. But we are also in Matsaile to show them the love that God has for them. Through simple acts as giving out medication for high blood pressure, or going out into the fields and getting our hands dirty to help them harvest, the people of our village have come to see us as part of the community. Here, where Roman Catholicism has taught what Christians don’t do, we are finally showing the people in the mountains what Christians do: we love.

Please pray for us as we go out for a second time. Pray hard that we will find more creative ways to become a part of the community and have opportunities to show the love of Christ to the Basotho.

 

 

We did what?!

July 12, 2010

Its late in the afternoon, the smell of smoke fills the air, in my hand is a piece of raw organ meat, and I look at Korby and say, “I think I have my next story.”

 

Rewind. Its late morning and I step outside our rondavel and I notice that there is a group of people in the field. It seems they are beating something. We decide to go and find that the men have sticks in their hands and they are rhythmically chanting and beating a pile of sorghum. Then they stop and rest. The women sweep up the seeds and pour it from bowls, allowing the wind to sift the wheat from the chaff. While the women do this, the men eat a mixture of corn and beans and drink porridge and beer made from the sorghum.  Then they stand up, pick up their clubs and begin again. It only made sense to grab a club and join in. We start beating and getting the timing of the swings, which correspond with the chanting. We go for a while and then that round is complete. After that round we had to leave, but you could tell they were very pleased that we joined in.

We were on our way back from getting water when a man approaches us and asks if we want to come watch them slaughter a cow. Well of course. We go and watch them kill it by stabbing a spear into its heart. We later learn this is a distinct way of killing the cow. Then they begin dressing the cow, taking the big pieces aside for later and eating the smaller pieces. They build a fire in the pen, also called a kraal or lesakeng. They cut the meat, covered in blood, throw it on the fire with a little spice and cook it. Then they take the meat off, hands still covered in blood, and hand it to us. It’s too tough to bite off so we have to cut it. To help with this they bring us a plate. Our plate consists of a rock taken from the wall of the kraal. I notice that the kraal is made with stones and dung. The meat is surprisingly good. Then comes the second course, mystery organ meat. They bring it and put it on our table. I cut off a piece, put it in my mouth, and in the words of Korby, it explodes with liquid. I look at my hands and knife, and they are covered in blood, tasty.

It turns out this was a three day event to celebrate the passing of a grandmother. That is why the cow was killed the way it was. Still not clear why it has to be in the heart. We did learn that they believe that a cow must be killed so that the grandmother will have a guide in the next life. However, we did not learn this until the third day. On the second day, we had dinner with about 100 people from the village. On the third day, we were treated to a special meal of cow innards and cow heart. It was then we found someone with enough English to explain what was happening. I am not recommending going to such an event, but afterwards the attitude of the people towards us changed dramatically.

That is the reason I tell this story. Not so much to gross you out, but to tell you of the watershed event of our first month. After this event, our last two weeks were like night and day compared to our first two weeks. When we arrived in Matsaile we found the culture of the Basotho to not be very warm. The first two weeks were spent with limited interaction with people.  The two weeks after the event, people were calling to us just to say hello, starting and carrying on conversations with us, and even calling us by Basotho names that we were given. Mine is Thabiso, which means “one that brings joy”. Korby’s is Tsepo, which means “hope”.  And it all started with us going to the field and beating sorghum.

We know it was ancestral worship, which is not what we are to partake in. But it seems God is even using that to open hearts and minds to His message and to us. Pretty interesting.

 
 

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