Village Security System

I was cautious about writing this entry because I don’t want to give the wrong impression about Lesotho and its people. It is a very peaceful country that revolves around the village communities. The focus of this entry is to show the very old, traditional justice system that is still in place in my village, one that relies on the community structure. It is not meant to dramatize an attempted burglary, which can happen anywhere. And in fact has happened to me in my American suburban home.

I had just come back from a wonderful week-long girls’ empowerment camp and was exhausted. I was napping when I heard a rustling at my window. Someone was moving my host mother’s flower pots. It wasn’t my host mom, who was working in the fields and had taken my dog along with her. When the guy at my window started to open it I got up to tell him to go away. I felt perfectly safe; I have bars on my windows and doors. When he was me he jumped over a wood pile and ran away. I thought ‘that’s odd.’ Then I noticed the lock on the bars was gone. I started to get really nervous, he had been here before and had broken the lock. I went through my stuff, but nothing was missing. The guy wasn’t very scary and clearly only wanted to steal something, not hurt me, but I felt very alone and worried. I am almost never alone here and it is usually such a treat, but at that moment I just wanted to be around people. I called the Peace Corps security officer and within half-an-hour several of my co-workers from Maliba lodge and Matt, my closest peace corps volunteer were at my house. I instantly felt much better. My host mom came home with my dog, and was furious. At first I thought she was mad at me, but it seems that it was just her anger at the situation was spilling out in rapid Sesotho. There might not be the same gender equality here as in the States, but there are some real strong women. No one would mess with my host mother, I’d be more afraid of her wielding a pan than of any burglar. A couple of hours later the chief of my village, the chief of the Tsehlanyane area, and the district police arrived. I felt very protected. And that was the start of the local justice system in motion.

My host mom woke me the next morning at seven, telling me to get dressed. The village crime committee was at my door (I didn’t even know we had one). The chief and several other well-respected men in the community had lined up four suspects. I hadn’t had breakfast or brushed my hair, and I was following them all over the mountain to the suspects’ houses to see if any of them had the clothes I seen the burglar wearing. It was odd meeting their mothers, who joined our procession. I was pretty sure I knew who it was, his hair, frame and clothes were just like those I remembered. And he seemed especially nervous. This procession is part of the system, to publicly shame those who might be guilty and discourage any further crimes. Your standing and reputation in the village is such a vital part of life here.

We walked for over an hour to the Tsehlanyane chief’s place where the suspects pleaded their cases and I told my story. It was narrowed down to two (because of their distinct hair) and I had to stand in front of them and point to the one I thought was guilty. This was by far the worst part, worse than the attempted burglary. I was pretty sure who it was, but what if I was wrong? I had been pretty non-committal so far, but it’s hard to be evasive when you point. Being part of the village community here you know the family of the person you are accusing. And you have to look them in the eye when you accuse them. The chief and villagers kept telling me not to be afraid, that I was safe, I can point to the culprit, but that was not what I was afraid of. The whole innocent until proven guilty beyond a doubt is a very American concept and ingrained in me, it is not the same out here. After I reluctantly pointed at the guy I thought was guilty the chief and committee discussed the case alone. They called us back in for their verdict, I had held it together pretty well until then. They forced handcuffs on the guy I had accused, who was sitting next to me, and I burst out sobbing, he later did too. My crying in public (which is rarely done here) was more upsetting to them than that I could be ruining a man’s life. But they knew his history, that he’d stolen before, and the justice system and that his punishment would not be too severe. There was more discussion and the police arrived in couple of hours.

The police asked what I wanted to do. If I wanted to press charges and go to court or to settle out of court (aka the police officers taking him to the station and giving him a serious talking to). I chose not to press charges. I was relieved that I wasn’t going to ruin this guy’s life or see him beaten (which I’d seen happen to an accused rapist, though I have to admit I wasn’t a bit sorry about that one). The whole incident was solved with the cooperation of the whole community, and no one got hurt. I got to see how a system like this has worked over the centuries, where police are far away and community members take care of each other. So many of my friends and neighbors came to check on me and asked how I was doing. I feel very safe. The people are the security system here, and I feel much safer than I would with any electronic one.