So, not much new has happened in Thaba Bosiu recently. In many of my earlier blogs I mentioned how shocking it was for me to be in the minority here in Lesotho. I thought I would expand upon that notion a bit more here, including some of my background along the way.

Cottage Grove, WI, my hometown, is a extremely homogenous place. From income to race, everyone falls within a pretty close range. My high school student body was about 90% Caucasian, maybe 5% African-American, 3% Hispanic, and 2% Asian. Needless to say, I was definitely in the majority.

Matriculating at Rice was my first true experience with cultural diversity. Some of my best friends are of Asian and Hispanic backgrounds, and the diversity of the entire student body has completely opened my mind to various cultures, races, and customs. I have definitely enjoyed learning about their practices, and I have even woven some of them into my own life. But at Rice, I was still part of the majority, albeit a smaller one.

The first time I truly became aware of my different appearance was when I spent time volunteering in make-shift clinics across Nicaragua. The patients would comment on my blue eyes and lighter skin, but always in a curious and admiring manner. And once the long clinic day was over, I didn’t mingle with the locals; I simply went back to whatever lodge or hotel I was staying in to eat dinner and go to bed. I was aware somewhat that I looked slightly different from the crowds, but I never felt that I stood out in an extreme manner, clearly different from everyone else.

I am reminded how much my appearance contrasts with the Basothos’ every day, and not in a subconscious or mild way. One instantaneous glance provides the “Something doesn’t fit in here” impression. On my walk to Letsie High School in the mornings children stop and wave only at me, ignoring all of the other Basothos in the vicinity. As I walk through the village adjacent to the school toddlers scream and wave “bye bye” in an upward intonation upon my arrival, and some race at top speeds to hug me, even though they do not know my name. They do not do that for their neighbors. “Give me sweets!” some of the older children demand as I leave in the afternoon; “Buy me food. Give me money.” teenagers request. No other Letsie staff teachers are solicited like that. I am inclined to believe that it is purely because of my white skin, my blue eyes, my brown hair, that these requests are made, that the children are excited. I hate how my different appearance elicits these demands, yet I delight in the excitement children have upon my arrival. My stark differences are a nuisance and a blessing.

I was wondering the other day why skin color was such a huge determination of majority and minority; why does that one characteristic among the thousands that each individual possesses get so much clout? The Basothos are all different in so many respects, but my few differences weigh so much more. Sterotypes, stigmas, preconceptions; I suppose these ideas, these images of a type of people are responsible for my dissimilar treatment. “All white people are rich and give out money and candy” – this misconception must be responsible for the demands placed on me nearly daily. But I cannot help but think that the toddlers who sprint to greet me are privy to these stereotypes; they seem too young to know and believe them already. Typically we are scared of what is different or unusual. But why, then, do the innocent and naïve youngsters run to me, rather than take refuge? Maybe the answer is simple, maybe I am missing something huge. I love hugging the children every morning though, seeing their cheery eyes and untroubled smiles. I wish I could see them in a decade, see how they change and grow. Basotho life in these villages does not seem easy, and I hope their joy and innocence, their open-mindedness and acceptance never abates.