As my shoulders are sunburned and the air conditioning runs in my house this July in California, it’s hard to remember that it’s winter in Lesotho. Yet when I do remember, I recall scenes like the one above: cold, gray, slow-moving storms over dead brown mountains — completely different from the fast-moving lightning storms of summer.

In winter, I recall wearing my blanket in the morning as I stepped outside to pee. The concrete floor in my house felt even colder than the air in the mornings.

Between classes, I sat with the other teachers outside the staff room, but close to the north-facing wall in order to magnify through reflection the little power the sun had. Students in classrooms wore beanies and gloves.

And then if it snowed — I’ve never been in a quieter place than Lesotho during a snow.

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