A crew of singing and dancing students, teachers and friends from my village ran to meet me on the road when I arrived Friday morning. The school cook was banging on a tin lid. A few boys up front held a sign: "Tsela ts'oeu, Ha e hole Ngoana Jesu, Mahlohonolo le katleho li be le uena ntate Thabang." Good luck, in short. This is my farewell party.
A tent was set up on the soccer field where things began with plays being performed by my students in English and Sesotho. The dramas gave way to dances -- ndlamu, mokhibo, litolobonya, mapantsula, and an elaborate one centered on a mock wedding that included an accordian player and a drummer. This one was my favorite, and it clearly took a lot of preparation time with all of the coordinated clothes and dancing to the music.
Then I was asked to take a seat out in front of the tent, in the center of everyone. Gifts were presented to me in an orderly manner, from each class of students, from my fellow teachers, my chief, nearby primary schools, village friends. I was given clothes, music, and even two beautiful Basotho blankets. The gift-givers, among others, then gave speeches. They said they appreciated my efforts here and wished me well. Many also requested that I not forget them. I was simply blown away by their benevolence.
"Would ntate Greg please now give us a few words, maybe in Sesotho?" one of the teachers said to all.
I had figured I might be given this chance, so I had prepared some things to say. This was my opportunity to say thanks, to express my gratitude for the three years of hospitality. But I was so overwhelmed with all that they had done for me this day, and nervous about speaking to such a large gathering in Sesotho, that my mind went blank.
"Leha ke sa tsebe Sesotho hantle . . ." I began, in order to stall. That is, Even though I don't know Sesotho well . . .
And then I recalled the only two things I really wanted to say.
"First, thank you, thank you, thank you. Second, I will never forget any of you. It's impossible. And though we will soon part ways that doesn't mean we're losing each other."
Everyone cheered when I uttered this final sentence, and I knew exactly why. It wasn't so much what I said as how I said it. I used what's called 'deep' Sesotho (Sesotho sa 'mankhonthe). I said, "Ho ea ka makhoro ha se ho lahlana." It's a figurative expression. They were impressed. And I meant it.