Darcy Ward's Reports

When someone feels the need to tell you how good she is at "reading people" it is usually a pretty clear indicator that she is oblivious to the world occurring outside her own head--the type of girl who spends so much time analyzing her boyfriend's body language that she doesn't notice he's been trying to break up with her for weeks. This is a well-nurtured pet peeve of mine; namely because I pride myself on being good at reading people, and it irks me that I can't talk about it.

This ceased to be a problem upon arrival in Lesotho. And not solely because meaningful communication typically takes place in Lesotho, and I smile, laugh a little, and answer "yes, mother" to anything said in Lesotho. It's because, abruptly, I am not good at reading people. In fact, I'm awful at it. All of the reliable body language, inflection and facial expressions are different, and all of a sudden I have no idea how people feel.

Its all the cluelessness of the ditzy friend, but with the terrible knowledge that you're completely lost in a flurry of incomprehensible social interaction.

For instance, Renee and I are constantly being greeted in a very high-pitched, nasal imitation of an American accent. "Hiiiiiii" the voices say, and i can't decide if it is mocking or an honest attempt at speaking the native language of my tribe.

I understand that this and countless other moments of confused communicative intentions are Hallmarks of international travel. I was an anthropology major, and know and love the concept that each culture has unique methods of expression. And having studied various culture's chosen modes of communication, I think I am capable of fully appreciating how lucky I am to be amongst the Basotho, who are a people of constant verbal feedback in the form of noises.

There are distinct sounds which indicate surprise, approval, enjoyment, pity , confusion, disbelief and outrage. This last one is most common with classes who feel they have been slighted in some way. American students tend to grumble and roll their eyes, but they do not typically rise up as one to protest "ahhhh-ayy!" when upset. The response is distinct to that particular emotion and it lets me know that they don't wish to be assigned homework. I still blatantly ignore their complaints, but it is nice be aware I'm doing it.

The class responding to me out loud works with other emotions too. If they do not understand they will often indicate it verbally, and when a confusing point is made clear, nothing is more satisfying than hearing the soft "ahh-ho" of comprehension. It is a teacher's dream to have this kind of give and take with a class, and I exploit it for all it is worth.

My proudest moment as a budding teacher came after struggling for weeks to convince the girls that all arteries carry blood away from the heart and all veins carry it towards the heart. I complained about this to Renee, who suggested I tell the girls that the word "vein" includes the word "in," meaning it takes blood into the heart and that artery starts with "a," indicating that it takes blood away from the heart. During my next lesson, I built this up to the students, promising I was in possession of tantalizing knowledge that would improve their lives immensely. When, at the end of the period I revealed my secret mnemonic, they were so pleased that the chorus of "ahh-ho"'s was drowned out by spontaneous applause. It was like Christmas for Me' Darcy.

I love knowing where I stand, and with 35 students the volume of response is (mostly) manageable, but with an entire audience full of impassioned Basotho the cacophony is deafening. At a recent school choir performance something unobserved by me caused the audience to burst out in sustained, raucous laughter. Not having noticed a joke or mistake I asked a fellow teacher what everyone was so amused. Laughing hysterically himself, he managed to squeak out "I don't know....Ha ha ha!" Something had caused everyone to have the same reaction and to show it openly. Being raised amongst people who value silent congregations, I remained quiet, in an attempt to be a lone role model of polite audience behavior. I imagined myself to be matronly and stoic, but my self-congratulation was interrupted by the same teacher leaning over to me to ask "why so quiet?" This, while the unenviable choir was still trying to perform. My lack of response to the choir was interpreted not as polite, but as detached. How could I be engaged in my surroundings if I was silent? In a world of wearing emotions on your audible sleeves my behavior was out of place.

I don't yet understand what makes something funny, or sad or unacceptable, but I am beginning to learn to recognize what the reaction-noises mean. That, I think, is a first step in "reading" Basotho social interactions. By identifying what everyone else is feeling by understanding the feedback noises I can at least guess how I am supposed to react, and stop smiling like an idiot when someone tells me their bowels are loose in Sesotho.