Nov and a little December

November 4, 2008- So how about them Americans?!: Here’s to everyone who voted for Barack Obama. Cheers to you! And here’s to Barack Obama. What an historical event! The first (half) Africa-American President! Record numbers turn-out to vote—first-timers, those who haven’t voted in years, and young people in droves. May he bring some welcome change to America. My teacher friends and nurse friends are very excited. They feel his presidency will benefit not only America but the world, especially Africa. I hope his presidency will benefit everyone. I hope he can. If nothing else he’s inspired a generation of young people to do more, to try hard, to vote and to dream.
November 6, 2008- I have friends. For reals!: My exercise group gave me a gift today. A few weeks ago they had planned a trip to Durban, and wanted me to join them. Very sweet! Unfortunately I was low on cash, and not to mention, wasn’t allowed to travel out of country yet. Since I couldn’t join them, they bought me something from their trip—a wide silver bracelet, large brown, red and white hoop earrings and some hard candy. I am touched. It was enough for them to invite me along but a present….I’m veclempt (sp?)! Now I have Swazi friends! I have friends in my community. I feel like the anthropologists I used to read about, when they reminisced their first moment of acceptance into the community they were observing. We’re also talking about planning rotating tea parties because they want me to teach them to bake. We’ll bake something, then make tea and eat our baked creations. Cute! And hells yah!
November 7, 2008- Today I am rich: I went to town today. I wanted to mail some letters, check my mail and buy some necessities. My highlight of the day was my visit to the post office. I had 5 letters in my mail box and 2 slips indicating I had packages waiting for me! One package from my parents, containing spices (woo hoo!), fiber bars, a few articles of clothing I left behind, duct tape (woo hoo!), envelopes, writing pads, soup mixes, and drink mixes. The other package from a dear friend contained chocolate, Black Hills coffee, gum and a beautiful picture from her daughter. I am definitely rich with lovely and wonderful family and friends. How could you need anything else?!
I’m finally pimping out my hut. It needed some lovin’. I bought 2 blue stackable bins for my kitchen so I could use the wood planks I was using as my countertop for a book shelf. The energy in my hut feels much better—less cluttered, more organized, an upgraded dorm room! Hoot! And my walls are beginning to pop with color. I’ve decided to decorate with things I get in the mail. Every card and picture I receive gets stuck to my walls. I have a map of the US on my wall, marked with places I’ve visited and places I want to visit. I put up a political postcard, from a friend in South Dakota, soliciting a Senator I use to give my vote to. I have pictures drawn by a nephew and friend’s kids; they make me smile. I have siSwati words and phrases written on note cards, my way to study while I brush my teeth in the morning. I’m also posting quotes I receive from people’s letters and quotes I brought with me; I’d like to paint some on the top of each wall. I need to buy some paint and brushes; perhaps next month. By the end of 2 years my walls will be loaded with love from home and plenty of soul quotes.
I have yet to buy a table or chairs; I’m still using a chair Make let me borrow. I’m not in a hurry. I’m waiting for the right thing to jump out at me…and something cheap! Right now, I use the small space on top of my refrigerator to mix, knead bread or cut vegetables. It works for now. I’m beginning to realize I can survive on less, and that’s okay with me.
November 9, 2008- Things I’m learning during isolation: -My sister sent me this quote recently: The soul gravitates to the lessons it needs to learn and it never makes mistakes. So true. So true. I wrote it above my door so I can read it every day and remember I am on a spiritual journey. I am learning life lessons every day; lessons I need to learn. -“Get over it cry baby!” Something my boss at USD used to say all the time. I don’t think I’ll ever get over being homesick, so I might as well get over it already! Be homesick when I am, and when I’m not, be thankful. -I will find clarity as long as I remain open to receive. -I love writing letters and getting mail. Email has nothing on stationary, envelopes and nice writing pens! -I’m not a slow reader after all! I always thought I was a slow reader. But I think it’s really that I never devoted a large chunk of time to reading. A few Saturdays ago I read an entire book in one day. It was glorious—first of all because the book was that good I devoured it, page by page; and secondly, because I read the whole day! Pure decadence! -I love writing my blog! I love writing! And I think I’m pretty good at it; not perfect writing but its honest writing. I’m considering writing a book about my experiences when I return to the states, and I think some people might actually read it. -I thoroughly enjoy leading my exercise group. It’s sparked my interest in fitness. I’ve thought, very seriously, about getting my teacher certification in hatha yoga for some time now. I think this exercise group experience cements the notion. And it ties really well into my passion for total body wellness and healing. -I’m contemplating medical school again. Do I have it in me? Is it a true passion or a momentary fancy? -I like making popcorn in a sauce pan on the stove. I think it’s the best tasting popcorn I’ve ever eaten. Melt a little butter, add some salt. Yummy! -There is nothing like a bathtub for soaking. Water is a form of therapy, and one I’m dearly missing…the hot water, my body fully submerged, adding essentials oils, salts or herbs, soaking for an hour, adding more hot water when it begins to cool….fantastic! A luxury I plan to indulge when I return to the states. -Going to the movie theater is another luxury I will not give up when I get back to America. I’m fond of getting lost in the characters, the story line, and the buttered popcorn. -I am, possibly, addicted to popcorn. A thought, maybe way outta left field, yet something I need to sit with, to contemplate…perhaps with a bowl of popcorn, drizzled with melted butter and a bit of salt. This is sounding vaguely familiar….(hee hee. I’m –mostly- kidding). -I’m beginning to see the brilliance and genius of insulation. My regards to the inventor of insulation in houses. I applaud you! I wish they used insulation here. -I’m fond of season changes. I like seeing a distinct change from one season to the next. I’m still not crazy about mounds and mounds of snow, but I do enjoy the white stuff from December to February and sometimes in March if it gets you a day off from work or school. -I’m enthralled with the news. I can’t seem to get enough. Local. National. International. Finance. Business. Sports. Entertainment. It’s all good, and worth a listen. You just never know what you might learn. -I’m addicted to crossword puzzles. My brother-in-law let me download a crossword game he had before I left. It has over 900 crossword puzzles. Hollar! I’ve been doing one almost every night during integration. I’m currently on number 41. Thanks Andy! -I might be half introvert, half extravert. I always thought I was completely, 100% introvert. But I’m finding myself on the fence between the two. It’s possible that being here has caused me to crave interaction with other volunteers because I can’t seem to get enough time with other Americans. Being lonely here is very different than being lonely in America. And being alone holds a different context here, as well.
Okay…not every realization is profound. I don’t think a revelation has to be deep in order for it to resonant within. I’m guessing there will be more revelations as time passes, and I welcome them. I want to understand what I am made of, to know who I am, and why I am here. What is my purpose?
November 11, 2008- It really is a small world: I weighed a child today wearing an American t-shirt…from my alma mater! Yep! This 2 year old was wearing a long-sleeve t-shirt from South Dakota. It read:SOUTH DAKOTA69FootballAthletix Apparel I can only assume the company who printed the shirts made a mistake with a batch, spelling athletics with an ‘x.’ Many rejected, outdated or flawed apparel makes its way to Africa, either as resale items at discount shops or free through charity organizations. I had to look twice while weighing him, just to make sure I read it correctly. I thought at first it read South Africa; that my eyes were playing a trick on me because I just wanted to see the name South Dakota. But it really did say South Dakota, and it made me smile. I wish I had my camera to take a picture of his shirt. But considering he seemed terrified being weighed by a white girl, a picture might have been pushing my luck.
I made a home visit with a nurse and ward from the clinic. We visited a relative of the ward’s husband’s family. An elderly gogo is taking care of a woman, a year younger than me, who suffers from complications of epilepsy. The woman has refused taking her epilepsy medication for years; she has frequent episodes and each one makes her muscles more rigid. We found her with several pressure sores, lying on several urine-soaked grass mats and blankets, and covered with flies. She was not able to un-bend her legs or arms. According to Gogo there is no one on the homestead willing to help her care for this woman. The woman was alert, speaking when spoken to and following us with her eyes. She just needs basic hygiene care. Gogo is tired, but also doesn’t know how to implement basic healthcare measures. I helped the nurse reposition her on a clean grass mat, fitted her w/ an adult diaper, and draped a clean blanket over her. The nurse cleaned her pressure sores with chlorine water but we didn’t come prepared enough to dress the wounds or give her much needed oral care. Her seven year old son came home from school while we were there. He seemed completely un-phased by her condition. For him, that was normal. The nurse devised an action plan, to include putting together a basic medical kit for the family to use, as well as planning weekly visits to check the woman’s sores and to ensure she’s receiving basic hygiene. The nurses at the clinic would eventually like to set aside one day a week for home visits, taking turns each week. They would like me to accompany the nurse on that day to provide basic hygiene care and instruction to families. I have agreed to help once the head nurse is able to organize a home visit day. In order to do this, the clinic would need more staff. I also believe those who do home visits should wear scrubs, changing out of them once they return to the clinic, and immediately washing them at the clinic. I’m trying to think of ways to procure scrubs. I asked the clinic staff why Rural Health Motivators (RHM’s) weren’t visiting bed-ridden people. I was told most RHM’s in this area are not motivated, claiming they are given little supplies or money to do their job effectively.
November 14, 2008- Susie Homemaker:
Fill my basins with river water.One for washing. One for rinsing.Wash clothes by hand with green bar soap.Rinse and repeat.Two hours pass.I think about my mom.Channel my grandmothers’ spirits.Hang clothes to dry.Two hours pass.Collect dry clothes.Iron because it kills bug eggs.Inside out, both sides.Right side out, both sides.Three hours pass.I think about my mom.Channel my grandmothers’ spirits.Considering time taken.Understanding care for family.Contemplating their lives, their choices.Hard working hands.Enduring spirits.Strong women.I follow their example.
November 22, 2008- IST aka Integration is OVER!: Highlights from the week-long workshop in Manzini we attended to discuss problems, concerns and ideas we gathered during integration… -A day and ½ with the doctors from Baylor Institute. They have a clinic in Mbabane, specializing in Pediatric HIV/AIDS. They also visit outreach clinics. One clinic happens to be in Nhlangano, and a doctor visits every Tuesday. They invited me to help them after I expressed interest in bringing clients I identify in my community who might need their expertise. YAH! I am going to learn so much. These doctors are the leaders in the world on pediatric HIV and AIDS prevention, care, education and research. I’m very excited! -A group called Swazi Market teaches bomake groups, community based organizations and youth incoming generating groups to make Swazi handicrafts. Then they buy the crafts directly from crafters, shouldering the selling legwork. The group sells in Swaziland, various places in southern Africa, and to fair trade organizations. They also started sending crafters to the International Folk Art Market held every 2 years in Sante Fe, NM; this event was started by a returned Peace Corps volunteer several years ago. Anne and I went a few summers ago. Amazing! And worth the time. -Simon and Chad (2 PC staff) were impressed with my report, especially the part about my home-based visit. They asked permission to share it with NERCHA. WHOA! -Entrepreneurial NGO’s who target out-of-school youth; they’re interesting in helping train promising youth to start businesses in their community. -Showering every day -Toilets you can flush that aren’t outside -Three meals a day that I didn’t have to cook or clean up after. -Tea and biscuit breaks morning and afternoon -A haircut! My friend Jaclyn is brilliant- never trained as a hairdresser but her sister cuts hair so she gets the concept. I thought I was going to grow my hair out, let it go because I’m in Africa. But it’s hard to wash long, thick hair in a bucket; plus it take a lot more water. So instead of a trim, which I was originally wanting, I got a SHORT cut. Imagine Audrey Tutou’s (sp?) hair in Amelie…that’s what I have. It’s so cute. So much cooler. Much easier to wash and care for. I LOVE IT! Jaclyn was nervous; she’d never done a cut like that. I decided that even if it turned out terribly, it would still be easier to care for than the madness that was my long hair (it was past my shoulders, long enough to put in a ponytail).
November 26, 2008- Learning to bake an apple pie: Today I taught my exercise club to make pie crust and apple pie. The only pies made here are meat pies. A fast food place called King Pie sells pastries filled with ham and cheese, spinach and feta, chicken and veggies, beef curry, or stew. They were surprised to know Americans ate pies without meat. I started listing all the pies I knew to make: apple, pumpkin, cherry, strawberry rhubarb, sour cream raisin, coconut cream, peach, blueberry, mixed berry. As the list grew, so did their eyes. Amazed cannot describe their expressions. I made crust and one pie as they watched intently, asking many questions along the way. There was enough for another pie, so Phindile tried her hand at a second once I put the first pie in the oven. Despite my trouble converting ml to cups and calculating temperature difference, the pies turned out perfectly. And more importantly, they tasted fantastically! I was as excited as they were to eat it; it’s been a while since I’ve baked a pie or tasted the sweetness of creating something from scratch! We ate our slices with coffee and talked about other things they want to learn to bake. I think the next item on the list is pancakes. They both ordered me to rewrite the apple pie recipe for them. I also shared a little cinnamon and nutmeg with Nomy. She was planning to make a pie the next day for her uncle. Cute!
November 27, 2008- Thanksgiving…Swazi style and the wonders of transport: The Jackson’s invited the Shiselweni Region volunteers to their homestead for Thanksgiving. I left my hut at 9 am to catch my bus to town. I waited for the 11:30 bus with Justine; it would take us to Beth’s site where we’d meet up with Jaclyn. Justine and I were propositioned on the bus by a very drunk man. He first asked us for money to buy fertilizer so he could plant. We told him he should have used the money he spent on booze—which he was drinking on the bus—to buy fertilizer. Then he said, “Okay, that was phase one; now for phase two.” Phase two involved offering to marry one of us; he enticed us with promises of a large house and swimming pool to entertain ourselves when he was gone. Justine said, “Only if that house is in America.” I said, “Only if you’re always gone.” We got a laugh from bomake in the seats behind us. Once he heard the laughter, he quit. I was sorta curious what phase 3 might be, but thankful he stopped harassing us. We arrived at Beth’s site around 2:45 pm. We were both hot, sweaty and covered in red dirt. After getting off that bus, I don’t know why I put a dress on or fixed my hair. Jaclyn arrived around 3 pm, and we began our walk to the Jackson’s. They said it would only take about 45 minutes. Beth laughed, saying it was more like an hour and 45 minutes. Oh joy! Two hours later, we arrived at the Jackson’s homestead even more sweaty and dirty than the bus ride. It was all well worth it. Jay had killed 2 turkeys the day before and they were roasting nicely. Hilary attempted dressing for the first time, and it was pretty good. We also had mashed sweet potatoes, green beans, cooked spinach, zucchini casserole, corn casserole, black eyed peas—my first time for this; the Jackson’s are from Texas and it’s a traditional side dish for holiday meals—sour cream cake, apple pie and carrot cake. We made enough to share with their host family, which pleased them thoroughly. We were all full by the end of the night. And completely satisfied. I ate some traditional foods and some new dishes. I enjoyed company of new friends and family. I sat on a grass mat under the stars eating my Thanksgiving dinner, thinking about how bizarre it was to be eating Thanksgiving dinner on a grass mat outside (smile). I missed watching the Macy Day parade. I missed cold weather. I missed pumpkin pie. But we each talked about how we would spend Thanksgiving back home; we enjoyed some wine; Jay played guitar; and both Hilary and Jay sang. It was different. But it was good.
December 1, 2008- World AIDS Day: The Shiselweni Region hosted this year’s World AIDS Day. Along with Shiselweni’s regional NERCHA director, 8 PC volunteers and about 75 community members walked 14K from Mahamba to Nhlangano led by a marching band as a way to promote HIV/AIDS awareness. We marched through town to King Sobhuza Memorial Stadium. There were speakers from NERCHA, Ministry of Health, Drs without Borders and Ministry of Education. Several youth drama groups and choral groups performed. Ten VCT’s (Voluntary Counseling and Testing) tents were set up for people to test. I burnt my nose to the point of blistering and peeling, as well as my arms and calves. But it was a successful event. And since I might have more to do with the planning of next year’s event, it was a good learning experience as well.
December 2, 2008- Shadowing a Baylor Doctor: I’ve decided I’m going to shadow every Tuesday to begin. I want to learn their process. I also want to be able to recognize warning signs of HIV and TB, important for spotting HIV or TB signs in children at my clinic. The doctor there currently is going back to the states on December 12th, so I only have one more day to observe him. But I’ve already learned a lot. I’m not sure when Baylor will send another doctor to cover him, but Richard said they would. He also gave me some good things to think about regarding my future. I mentioned my background in massage therapy and passion for alternative medicine, and that perhaps I’d go back to school when I finish my service. He said there were great medical schools in northern California that specialize in combining western medicine with CAM (complementary and alternative medicine). He thinks I should consider homeopathic medicine. Wow! I’m sure you can imagine the high I was on.
I will be grateful to anyone willing to do some research for me regarding schools in northern Cali (or any place for that matter) specializing in CAM, homeopathic medicine, nutrition/herbals and/or osteopathy. The internet here is too slow to properly peruse sites. I will reward you with a Swazi gift! Thanks in advance.
December 3, 2008- Is it really December?: I’m having a hard time believing it’s December. It’s so hot here. December and January are the hottest months; very unlike back home. I just realized it was December today, and that Christmas was near. I asked bosisi how they celebrate Christmas, as we were sitting outside playing UNO—their new favorite game. (Thanks Anne!) Are there presents? Is there a Santa Claus? No and no. How do they celebrate? They don’t. I asked Zandele if she knew how to make cookies. No. Would she like to learn? Yes. I told her and Philiswa that for Christmas in America, we make Christmas cookies, and since I was missing my family I was going to make cookies. Would they like to learn to make cookies? Yes. Were they free on Saturday? Yes. So, I’m going to teach bosisi to make sugar cookies. I also want to make treats for the staff at the clinic; perhaps scones and fudge. I want to do something that resembles something Christmassy. Some shops in town have Christmas decorations. I might buy a string of garland to decorate my hut. It’s just so weird to imagine Christmas approaching. It’s HOT here; not cold. That’s the biggest deterrent to wrapping my head around the holidays approaching. That and I’m still living in surreal world. My days are more even. Thank God for that. And even though I’ve forgotten why I decided to come, I’m here now. I must decide what I’m going to do here, and I’m beginning to figure it out. Occasionally, I do stop mid-step or pace my hut, thinking, “OMG. I’m in Africa. What the hell am I doing in Africa? I really thought this was a good idea?” It is fleeting, though; I look over my shoulder or out my window and I exhale at the sight I behold. This is Africa! Oh my God! I’m in Africa! Surreal…yes! Good…yes! Scary…hell yah! Unfamiliar…yes. Comforting….sometimes. Invaluable…more than I’ll ever imagine. Side note: We made sugar cookies on Saturday. They were a hit. I played Christmas music and talked about how my family prepares for Christmas; less impressed. But they liked the cookies!

Happenings in October

October 12, 2008- 3 Stories. Story #1: Things that go bump in the night- Or in my case things that scavenge in your garbage at night. I stayed up late last night, watching a movie on my laptop. After reading a bit, I fell asleep around 12:15 am. I woke shortly by commotion outside my window. I thought it was the pigs or chickens rooting around…or my newly acquired “pets”- the geckos I’m choosing to ignore, “allowing” them to occupy my hut b/c they eat spiders and bugs and require little care as pets. So I drift back to sleep only to wake several minutes later to noise outside my front door. It sounded like something trying to get in. I remember locking the door, so I should be fine. It’s probably just the chickens or pigs. Honestly! Go back to sleep….But it sounds like something’s inside my hut, it’s so loud. I convince myself its outside and pass out again; I’m too tired to deal with it presently. Forty-five minutes later I wake to noise in my “kitchen.” Something’s going through my trash! Oh shit. I wonder if it’s a mouse. Oh how could a mouse crawl through the netting on my window? There is an opening in the net for me to reach the handle on the window; but are mice that smart?! I grabbed my cell phone; it has a flash light. I turn it on but can’t see anything. The noise has stopped. I have to check it out this time b/c I know something’s in my hut. I carefully slip on my flip flops and quickly glide across the room to turn on the light. I still don’t see anything. I grab my broom, my only weapon, and walk slowly toward my trash bag to investigate closer. There’s some garbage on the floor, and what’s that other thing on the floor? A dropping. A rather large dropping. Mice don’t leave droppings that large, I tell myself. That looks like a dropping from a rabbit, which can only mean that I’m not dealing with a mouse. I try hard to keep the other vermin word from popping into my head, and instead set about cleaning up the mess. I discover more droppings in various corners of the kitchen and behind my food containers. I mentally pat myself on the back for my foresight in purchasing food bins with lids! I still don’t see anything, and I can’t hear anything anymore. So I stand in silence, thinking that if I’m quiet it might come out of its hiding place. I stand still for 30 minutes. Okay. This is ridiculous. It knows I’m hunting it. I decide to bang on everything in my hut with my broom then look behind it to draw out “the mouse.” As I’m checking the last corner, I hear something near my bed. The only place I haven’t checked. Is it possible for a “mouse” to go between the head of the bed and the wall? Seems like a tight squeeze. I survey the very small gap b/w the wall and my box spring. Hmmm….yes it might be possible for a “mouse” to squeeze into that gap. Do I pull the bed away from the wall and look behind it? It’s the only place I haven’t checked, so it must be there. I think about this for about 5 minutes. Will I be fast enough to catch it before it bolts? Is my broom menacing enough to kill a “mouse?” I can’t wake anyone up for help. It’s 2:30 in the morning. If I walk outside right now, the dogs will bark their heads up, but it won’t guarantee anyone will get up; the dogs bark their heads off every night! If I try walking to where my bobhuti sleep, the dogs will mostly likely follow me, and will definitely hassle me. I gotta do this myself. So I slowly pull the bed away from the wall, grab my broom and quietly walk to the head of the bed to look. OMG! It’s a BIG grey rat huddled near my bed. Crap. Crap. Crap. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? It only took me 5 seconds to react, and I made a decision without thinking, almost on instinct. I rammed the bed against the wall with all my might. Then I pulled the bed away from the wall and did it again. I heard some movement and a small noise. It’s not dead yet. Damn! So I pulled the bed away from the wall one more time and slammed it flush with the wall. My heart was racing uncontrollably. Breath. Wait. Listen. Silence. I’m afraid to move the bed to check on the rat (I cringe as I type that word) in case I’ve just stunned it or pissed it off and it decides to retaliate. So I decide to wait it out. It’s 2:45 am. I don’t dare go to sleep in case the thing starts moving. So I stand in ready position. If I hear more movement, I’ll repeat my battle techniques. I’ll move that bed again without second thought! I mean business. But I grow weary by 3 am, and close my eyes to rest them. Funny how shutting down one sensory organ will heighten others. My ears perk up at the slightest noise. It’s 3:05 am. What time does my homestead begin to stir? Usually around 5:30 am during the week. But what about on the weekends? 3:12 am. I’ll do some Qi Gong stances to calm myself. 3:17 am. I’m too anxious to even quiet myself. 3:30 am. I have to quit look at the clock! 3:40 am. Maybe it will be okay if I sit on the edge of my bed. I gingerly sit and rest my head in my hands. I sleep off an on until 4:19 am. Then I wonder around my hut, trying to warm up. I’ve noticed the temperature seems to drop sometime between 3- 4am because I usually wake chilled around then. Maybe it would be okay to just lie on the end of my bed. I’ll be damned if I’m going to put my head on my pillow knowing that thing is somewhere below my head. I lay this way for 10 minutes; it’s too cold to get comfortable. I wonder around my hut, and sit on the edge of my bed for the next hour. I notice day is beginning to break around 5:10, 5:15 am now that summer is approaching. Once the sun crests the mountain, day officially starts here. Since summer is beginning, the sun crests the mountain now around 5:30, 5:45am. During the winter the sun rises closer to 6:15, 6:30 am. By 6 am, my sisi is awake; I debate for 5 minutes whether I should ask for her help. She’s fairly indifferent to me. But I swallow my pride and walk to the main house. I tell her I think I’ve killed a rat behind my bed but am too afraid to move my bed in case it’s still alive. She’s afraid of rats but is willing to check behind my bed for me. I ask if she has a shovel, to hit it with in case it’s not dead. She picks up a rake, taking the rake part off the handle. “Let us go and see,” she says. She seems ready; I’m not. I pull the bed slightly, and slowly, away from the wall. “Is it there?” I ask. She says she can’t see anything. Crap! Where did it go? I move the bed a little further and she says she sees it. “It’s dead,” she announces. I look. Oh yeah, it’s dead! I smashed the hell out of it. There’s blood everywhere. My sisi uses the rake handle to slide it from behind the bed, and I use the broom the sweep it out the door. Sisi then uses a plastic bag to pick it up by the tail, and throws it toward the pig trough. I would guess the body is 4-5 inches long, and the tail is 3-4 inches. Probably nothing compared to NYC rats, but that’s big enough for me! Sisi seemed un-phased by the whole progress, while I kept murmuring “oh my God” and “it’s so gross.” I thanked her twice; she just smiled. After sweeping up more droppings, I mopped up the rest of the mess with bleach water. Then I straightened my bed, and fall into a coma…but not before checking to make sure my window was closed.
October 14, 2008- Story #2. Only in Africa: Somehow I contracted scabies. My PCMO (PC Medical Officer) says it’s an occupational hazard since I work at a rural health clinic; most children have scabies. Nice. “It’s no big deal. One in every 2 volunteers will get scabies. It ain’t no thang” she says in her South Georgia accent. Ain’t no thang?! Whatever! It’s a BIG deal. I’ve been bathing with a special soap and applying a special lotion daily for a week. It started to clear by the weekend, but then I noticed more spots on Monday and today. I sent my PCMO a text message today saying it wasn’t getting better. She asked if I had boiled my clothing and bedding. Yes. I took my clothes, sheets and blankets to a Laundromat in Manzini the day after I was “diagnosed”. It cost me R80 to wash the blankets and R60 to wash all my clothes. Not bad considering the alternatives: 1.) airing everything out for 3 weeks (How would I do that?); or 2.) Boiling everything on my stovetop (Right. Imagine the amount of water I’d need to collect not to the mention the time it takes just to get my water to boiling. And what would I boil things in? My kettle?) Close contacts should be treated, she adds. Does that mean everyone who comes to the clinic? I also told her I washed my shoes with the special soap, and was applying the lotion daily. Her response: “Don’t abuse that lotion. Fleas are another possibility. Are there dogs and cats around?” Ummm. WHAT?! Normally this comment wouldn’t bother me. However, I was in the office last week to show her what I thought was a rash developing or perhaps spider bites. She saw the spots. And what does she mean by not abusing the lotion? ARGH! Needless to say, I don’t know what to do. The itching is ready to drive me to an asylum, and the discoloration left by the spots is unsightly. (Sob.) I wasn’t allowed work at the clinic all last week while I was trying to clear up the parasite, and I’m not sure what to do about working there this week. If I wear gloves to weigh babies at this stage in the game, the mothers will be suspicious. I’ll be that untrusting white girl. But this is where the clinic needs the most help. Catch 22. To quote the movie Blood Diamond, which I watched recently with 2 fellow volunteers, T.I.A or ‘This is Africa’. You betta believe it. Only in Africa would I be writing a blog entry on my bout with scabies…or perhaps its fleas. T.I.A. Heaven help me! T.I.A!Update: Several days after this entry, the parasite finally vacated my body. I still have discoloration from the spots; I’m hoping they eventually fade. I washed all the slings at the clinic in bleach water. The nurses support this, and agree the slings should be washed more often. I’ve offered to be in charge of that, washing them after each use if I can. I’m more careful about touching the babies I weigh. I also use my hand sanitizer after several weighs. Perhaps it’s overkill. But I’m not taking any chances. I’m not planning to repeat this experience. Side note: The day I started back at the clinic two babies hanging from their slings peed on my leg and foot, twice in a row. OMG! I bleached my leg, foot and sandal instantly!
Story # 3. Ridding demons and being saved. Hallelujah: An attendee of the Evangelical Free church, which happens to be a 5 minute walk down the road from me and the church my make attends, asked me several times to join her at mass. One Sunday morning she scolded me for doing laundry as she passed on her way to mass; laundry is meant for Saturdays. Church is the only thing that should be happening on Sundays, she informed me. Make told her I was free to do as I pleased. I’m an adult and not everyone in America attends church regularly, make explained. The woman shook her head, saying my presence is very important to the community. Yikes! Guilt trip! I said I would try to attend once. She said I shouldn’t try; I should come. Twenty to thirty people walk by the homestead to get to this church. Many people have seen me doing my laundry at church time. They smile. I smile and wave. We offer the traditional greetings. But I can tell they are wondering what in the heck I’m doing. My reluctance comes from not completely understanding the language—mass is said only in siSwati—as well as unfamiliarity with the tenets of other faiths. But the third time she asked to attend mass, I finally said yes. Third time’s a charm or was I finally broken? It is after all important to be seen attending events, right?! I enjoyed the singing. The Praise Choir voices harmonized well—but I believe all Africans are blessed with a natural singing ability. I have not heard one person sing off key, show embarrassment about their voice or hide their voice. People openly sing anywhere, spontaneously breaking out into song on a regular basis. I’ve always enjoyed music at mass. If mass were just singing would I go more often? A member of the Praise Group read the day’s reading. A member of the congregation said a few words…I don’t know what he said. Finally the minister spoke. The lady who invited me to mass interpreted for me…something about praising God every day. After the sermon, he invited the Member of Parliament, who is a church member and newly elected to Parliament for our region, to speak. He and his wife wanted to thank the parishioners for their prayers and votes. Separation of church and state? What? The Praise Choir gathered around them, singing and praising and thanking. Then the minister gave the Member of Parliament and his wife a special blessing; they joined the Praise Choir in praising and singing. Then something happened like a scene from a movie. Randomly people entered the circle. The minister placed his hands on their shoulders, slightly shaking them, half yelling, half singing something at them. I could only guess at why the people entered the circle: 1.) they wanted extra blessings; 2.) they wanted absolution for sins; or 3.) they needed healing. My interpreter is part of the Praise Choir, so I couldn’t ask her. But it truly felt like a scene from a movie—the ones where you watch a minister expel demons or miraculously heal the sick—and I was an extra. I will probably go again…to make an appearance for the sake of my acceptance into the community. I’m curious to see if circle time happens at each service or today was a special occasion.
October 15, 2008- Sweatin’ with the Teachers: Monday I went to the local primary school to administer a survey to several teachers regarding their knowledge and attitudes about HIV and AIDS. I also set up a time to come back the next day to survey two grade 5 and two grade 6 classes regarding their knowledge and attitudes toward HIV and AIDS. The Headmaster and Deputy Headmaster are interested in what their students know and what they don’t know about HIV. Once I compile the information, they would like me to conduct a 1-day workshop about misconceptions based on the responses to the survey. It will also help them know what information they need to reinforce in class. Each subject’s curriculum is written to include some aspect of HIV awareness. I offered to have the information to them by November; we discussed holding a workshop in January when the new term starts. While leaving the office a teacher stoped me to inquire who I am. She already knew because she admitted she sees me running past her homestead, and once she saw me on the bus. She asked me to join her exercise group. They meet Monday – Thursday after school. I excitedly reply yes! She instructed me to meet her at half past 3 in the gym. At first I thought it was an after school exercise class for kids. When I got there, she introduced me to the primary school’s secretary. An exercise club of 2! Okay. This could be good…getting to know the staff. It becomes quite apparent they want me to lead them in exercise. They ask me what we’re going to do. Hmmmm. I asked what areas they wanted to work. They want exercises to help them loose their bellies and their bye-byes aka their triceps…they don’t want their triceps jiggling when they wave bye-bye, hence their bye-byes. Cute! I told them I run 2 – 3 times a week. Are they interested in running? Sure. Easy to please. We start by walking to warm up then begin running around the perimeter of the gym; I tell them to walk whenever they need a breather. We run 10 minutes. I take a 1 minute walk break to check in with my fellow exercisers. They want to know if we’re gonna continue to run; they seem to have a ton of energy and enthusiasm. We run another 5 minutes but I don’t push them much further than that. They seem fatigued after the first minute. We walk again for another 2 minutes, and then we regroup to discuss what to do next. They ask if we’re gonna run again. Wow! No, I say. It’s not good to push the body so hard when you first begin an exercise regimen. I show them the stretches I do for my legs after running. Then it’s on to abs, mostly things I’ve picked up in yoga classes or tapes I used to use. “What else?” I ask. Oh right, the bye-byes. We go outside to collect rocks for weights. They’re not the best but they work fine for now. It’s been an hour but it seems they could last forever. They keep asking, what else? I remind them about starting slow. If they feel sore tomorrow they won’t want to exercise again. The next day we do a program I learned while living in Boulder- Quick, a 30 minute interval program; 1 minute high-intensity moves followed by 2 minute medium-to-low-intensity moves. They love it. It feels like dancing to them, and they break out into dance moves during the 2 minute intervals. I brought my laptop for music, so that helps us keep the pace and keep moving. They both tell me they have never sweated like this while exercising. Wow. Cool. I’m really enjoying leading them in exercise. What else can I teach them? I would LOVE to teach them yoga, but that might be a little much. I need to first work on getting them stretching effectively, and correctly! Is this my true calling or just a hobby? I have a feeling many things will reveal themselves to me during my time here. That’s partly what motivates me to get out of bed each morning. I know I will find clarity here, so I keep trying. My days are evening out; I do have some days I’d rather stay in bed but it is getting easier. My patience is growing. So I will wait it out. I breathe. I remain open to receive. I contemplate the possibilities. I feel gratitude for what I have and for the people in my life. I breathe. It will come.
October 16, 2008- Going to town to visit the King: King Mswati III called a meeting of his people to talk about issues most prevalent in Swaziland and issues happening world-wide that affect or will affect Swaziland. There was also speculation he would announce the appointment of the next Prime Minister. Make and I caught the 6am bus to town. There was a bus leaving Nhlangano at 7am to take people interested in attending the meeting to the King’s kraal for free (the King “foot” the bill). The meeting was to begin at 10am; I’m beginning to learn that nothing here ever starts on time. The King called for his people to begin entering the kraal at 10 am. Another volunteer and I got into line around 1:30pm; we finally entered the kraal around 3pm. By the time everyone was seated, men on the left side of where the King would sit and woman on the right, it was almost 4pm. The King didn’t begin his speech until half past 4. A woman sitting next to us, whom we befriended in line, translated the speech for us. He spoke about the pension money stolen in the Big Bend, reassuring bomake in that area he’d raise the money to replace it. He spoke about terrorist and bomb threats that were recently make by a group of people against him and Members of Parliament. Because we were only getting bits and pieces translated we didn’t get the full story on this, and were really surprised that PC didn’t alert us to bomb threats….unless of course it wasn’t quite true. He spoke about continuing to educated our youth, and charged the newly elected Members of Parliament to make sure teacher salaries were fare. He spoke about the world-wide food crisis and how Swaziland would be affected….but I’m not sure what else he said about it b/c it was lost in translation. Finally he announced the new PM, which caused uproar since he appointed a man no one was expecting. Some men got up and stormed out, causing police to guard the exits; no one is supposed to leave until the King dismissed everyone. Once he did there was a mad rush to leave, since no one had eaten all day, and there was supposedly a braii to be held directly after the King’s speech. Several bogogo fainted, most likely due to dehydration or being pushed out of the way. Jaclyn and I noticed a few interesting things about the day: 1.) The King is a celebrity. He can get his people to do anything, even wait an entire day to see him; 2.) He doesn’t prepare a speech ahead of time; he speaks off the cuff. We mused how the public and media would eat a politician alive if she/he dared that in America; and 3.) No one here either knows how or cares little for forming lines. I felt like I was at a concert in the U.S. with hundreds of wasted groupies trying to get ahead of you in line. We made our way back to the parking lot; I’d lost Make well before the speech. Luckily, a few people in my community saw me scanning bus names and hollered at me to get on their bus. That was around 5:30pm. We finally pulled out of the parking lot at 7pm, having to fight other buses and khombis to get out. I got home at quarter past 9. Was it worth it? Well I did get to see the King for the first time- the last living, ruling monarch in the world! Yeah, I guess it was worth it!
October 22, 2008- A snake in my hut: Literally, I had a snake in my hut. I can’t imagine how it got in; unless it was when I ran to the pit latrine and left my door ajar. That’s the only explanation I can think of. I keep my front windows closed. Most cracks in the walls only seem big enough for spiders and geckos to enter. Snakes can be smaller than geckos, so it is possible they come in the same way- through the cracks in the walls and the gaps in the tin roof. Sigh. Luckily he was small. I swept him out with my broom and mop. He didn’t put up much of a fight. I asked my exercise group about snakes in this area. They said they rarely see them, and none are poisonous in this area. But they did think it strange I would find one in my hut. They think the only way it could come in is under the door. Sigh. I’d really rather not deal with them. Later on in the evening I watch a gecko try to attack a LARGE spider on my wall. He missed, sending the spider scrambling to a corner. I looked for him for several minutes. I didn’t want this one get away. It’s too big, and knew I wouldn’t sleep with it roaming around. These are the nights I think, “Am I really gonna do this for 2 years? Really?!” I’m sure I could deal if the snakes and spiders and rats would just stay out!
October 31, 2008- Bitch on the bus turned Goddess at the B&B: Taking public transport is interesting and different every time I take it. It’s usually not much fun b/c it’s perpetually overcrowded, reeks of sweat, and takes forever to get anywhere. It’s worse when you’re sick. I got sick last Thursday night (October 27), either from something I ate or from the sick kids at the clinic. Nausea and major runs. There is a sense of dignity lost when you can’t even make it to the pit latrine to be sick. I could only stomach water w/ ORS (Oral Rehydration Salts); everything I tried to eat—plain rice or toast—didn’t stay with me. So after 4 days of this, my make was very worried and asked a nurse from the clinic to check on me. The nurse insisted I call PC to get a doctor appointment. I called the PCMO, who I talked to several times over the weekend b/c we’re supposed to alert her with any medical issue. I told her I wasn’t any better, and that I was on my way to the office. She would wait for me. It would take me 3 hours to get there; I was not looking forward to this trip. When I board buses I try to look for 2 open seats near the front; most of the time people will not sit by the white girl unless it’s the only seat available or if a guy decides he wants to flirt with me or harass me. There weren’t any open 2-seaters this time, but there was a 3-seater, with only one person sitting in the row and he was sitting in the aisle seat. Perfect. I would take the window seat and sleep all the way to Mbabane. Before I could sit down, the teenager behind him began yelling at me to sit next to him. He wanted to talk to me. I tried to ignore him but he kept insisting I sit next to him. I said no, thank you, and slid past the guy in the aisle seat. The kid kept yelling at me, peering over the seat to talk to me. I asked him to leave me alone; I was sick and didn’t want to talk. He yelled, “I don’t want to have sex with you, I just want to talk.” OMG! I repeated that I didn’t want to talk. He made his way into the aisle, leaning over the man in the first seat to yell his desire to talk to me. Then he weaseled his way past the man to sit in the middle seat. “I just want to talk to you, to be your friend,” he pleaded. I tried to be nice at first, explaining in siSwati that I was sick and didn’t want to talk. He offered me his drink; it would make me better. I refused. I took a drink of my ORS water, and he tried to grab it from me to drink from it. Then the niceties went away. I raised me voice to him, saying I was sick, he couldn’t have my water, I didn’t want his drink, and I wanted to be left alone! He didn’t budge. I pushed him out of his seat, insisting he leave. He stood his ground. I stood up and said if he didn’t move I would move to a different seat. Finally he got it. I think he was drunk, as most harassers on buses are. He sat back down in his seat but shortly after the bus started he asked to get off. I think I heard a few sighs of relief. By the time I got to Mbabane it was 5:30pm. The PCMO took some blood, my temp, bp, and weight. (I lost 7 lbs.) She wanted me to stay overnight and gave me some meds to take before bed. A PC driver took me to the B&B where most sickly volunteers get to stay. I had a single room w/ my own bathroom! A real bathroom w/ toilet, sink and SHOWER! I took a shower immediately, and felt almost human. The meds I took knocked me out around 8pm; I was out until 5:30 the next morning. I stayed two nights; the PCMO wanted to make sure I could tolerate solid foods before releasing me to site. I showered twice, watched the news almost continuously, and read in the beautiful gardens. I felt like I was on vacation. I felt pampered. It was glorious. My blood work came back normal, so it must have been something I ate (I attended a braii a few days before I got sick) or from a kid at the clinic. A week later, I’m still low energy and don’t have much of an appetite. I did start wearing gloves at the clinic. The nurses weren’t excited about it, but they support me b/c they appreciate my help.
I really think that’s enough for one month; hell it’s good for two or three! To be quite honest, it almost broke me. I started off the month with two friends leaving PC; I took it pretty hard b/c I was very close to one of them. It’s inevitable that 10% of any given PC group world-wide will early terminate. The rate for PC Swaziland is 50%. Three have left so far, and it’s incredibly discouraging to think of more people leaving, especially after making strong connections. I have a pact with one volunteer, Emily from Boston. As a way to get us through to the end, we have a plan to do it in style. Leaving only a month and ½ early (which doesn’t penalize us and gets me home by the end of August 2010), we’re going to vacation in Thailand and then make our way back to Africa to see a few countries…we have yet to decide one which ones…as a way to celebrate 2 years! She volunteered in Thailand, and wants to visit her favorite places. I just wanna see the world! It’s the only foresight I allow myself. Otherwise it’s one week at a time, one month ahead. It’s too overwhelming to look at the 2-year picture. It’s much more doable in segments.

September ramblings

September 10, 2008- So what’s a girl to do during forced hermitage….um…I mean Integration: I arrived at my site on August 29th a little sleep-deprived and gloomy. Group 5 treated us to Mbabane’s finest night life—Malendela’s—an Irish pub (yes, an Irish pub with a not so Irish name, owned by a Brit) outside of town after Swear-in. And then, around midnight, for those who were a little more adventurous, a visit to a dance club in town. Reggae music from across the globe was the theme for the evening/early morning hours. It was so much fun to dance. All summer I’d been missing my weekly dose of Poker Alice during Friday night happy hour at Carey’s. This satisfied my craving even though some reggae is hard to dance to, especially when drawing attention from the locals—they wanted to dance with us, trying desperately to impress us with their moves. Luckily we had one guy with us, so he kept most advances at bay.I got home at 2am. My alarm went off at 6:30am. We were expected to have our stuff packed and to the pick-up point by 7am. My travel group of 4 departed around 9am. It took about 2 hours to drive from Mbabane to Mahlalini; I was the first person dropped off. The PC staff person riding with us departed my place saying “one day at a time.” Yes. Okay. I waved good-bye, watching the caravan leave the homestead, and then walked back into my madness. Dead bugs of various sorts and sizes dotted the floor, with my stuff piled on the cleanest patch. My make wasn’t home, just one of the OVC’s. She seemed indifferent to my being there. I asked for a broom to sweep out the mound of bugs. I also asked to borrow a chair so I could comb down the overabundance of cobwebs and spiders on the ceiling and in the corners. The windows were wide open, and I closed them as it was a bit chilly. I didn’t know what to do with myself much less my things. I had no storage containers or closet or wardrobe. No kitchen counter, cupboards or table and chairs. Just a bare 21 x 12 ½ foot (my own foot) room with cement floor, cinderblock and plastered walls and tin roof. While inspecting the gaps between the window and the frame and the holes developing where the walls meet the roof, I discovered 3 visitors—geckos, I think. They were the same color as the wall, so I didn’t notice them at first. As I peered closer to see what the heck was so lumpy on my wall, one moved. I jumped back, and yes, let out a little scream. I’m justified; it scared me! One scurried out the gap in the window. The other two through the holes near the ceiling. Damn! I started checking other gaps in the house. A few in every corner near the ceiling, a large one around the door because they cut the new door too small and a few gaps where tin overlapped tin. I started a list of things to buy the next day: broom and mop, weather stripping, expanding foam sealant, and of course bed, stove, and refrigerator. I am lucky enough to have electricity, and I’m not afraid to use it. To quote a Group 5 volunteer: “you’re already in Africa; it’s hard enough. You might as well live with a few familiar things to make life more bearable and homey.” Well said. Sure, some volunteers are boasting “I’m going to make it 2 years in Africa without electricity.” That’s great; more power to ya. But having electricity isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes if it’s too windy (or even just a little windy) it goes out. Sometimes when it rains it goes out. I’ve been told during lightening storms it goes out. Sometimes it just goes out for no reasonat all. All the lines run above ground, and I see lots of tree branches or plastic bags hanging from the lines most days. More culprits. I also am required to pay my host family for the amount of electricity I use, which I hear is about R75 to 100 per month. Every situation has its trade-offs. After I made my shopping list I did the next best thing I could think to do, unroll my yoga mat, put my sleeping bag on top of it, and nap for hours. This was my alternativeto calling Peace Corps, pleading them to turn around the caravan and take me back to Mbabane.
September 13, 2008- Running with a gaggle of girls and my first fatty comment: I started running again last week. I only run a handful of times during training so I wanted to get myself back into a routine again. There is an 8K race in Cape Town in March. There’s also a half and full marathon the next day. But I want to ease myself into the half marathon pack, so I think starting with an 8K is the way to go. A half marathon is on the agenda for 2010. On Wednesday while I was running, I happened past a group of girls playing net ball, which is similar to basketball but without the dribbling. I’m sure it’s more complicated than that but I have yet to watch a game. Fish-bowl effect fully engaged, since I was wearing running pants, running shoes, and wearing earphones, they all stared at me. I was expecting laughter and mimicked running since I got that the first day I went running. Instead they joined me. A group of 20 girls ranging from 7 to 15, I’m guessing. And they put me to shame. I tried consoling myself with the fact that they were all quite younger than me, and I had already gone ¾ of a mile. But some were running in flip flops, some in shoes too big, others in shoes too small, and still others bare foot. No one wore a pair of running shoes. No one had an iPod loaded with music to keep them going. The roads are quite rough and rocky, yet they trudged on with me. After I ran about a mile, finishing up a hill, I stopped to walk and chat with the girls. I told them my name, I was working at the clinic, and I was training for the marathon in Cape Town, trying to throw in siSwati as often as I could (Ligama lami ngu Thandeka Bhembe. Ngisebenta eDwaleni Clinic. Ngiyagijima Cape Town Marathon). They were unimpressed. I asked them about net ball. They invited me to join them. I said I didn’t know how to play but would like to watch. Alright! I got their attention. They were having a game the next afternoon. I was invited to watch. Perfect. Turning around, I said I was going to run about half a mile and then walk again. We started running, and one girl asked me if I only had one pace. Smiling, I thought about how to explain training for a marathon; I decided against it, replying yes instead. Once we got halfway up the other hill, running a little further than ½ a mile, I stopped to walk the rest of the way. The girl next to me, the same girl questioning my pace, said, “You’re too fat.” Too fat?! For what? Running?! Being told you are getting fat is generally considered a compliment in this culture. It means you are healthy, you are not sick, and you are being taken care of, i.e. have money to afford food. We were cautioned people might tell us we are fat so don’t take it personal. But I was running, and her tone wasn’t complimentary, at least not in my book. So I’m left to assume she thought I was too fat to run. My first fatty comment; oh joy. I decided to keep track of how many times someone tells me I’m fat. I’m just curious. I’m also tallying the number of marriage proposals, as well as baby offers from random people on the street, in the store or at the clinic, as in “Do you want to hold me baby? Oh, take her. You can have my baby. You want me baby. Take my baby.” Interesting isn’t it? I can’t quite wrap my head around it, although Group 5 volunteers say baby holding pleas usually lead to pick-pocketing or purse nabbing. At the clinic it’s usually bogogo requesting I take their grandchildren. I’m guessing they are raising their children’s children, and are plain tired of child-rearing. So far I’ve received five baby offers, 3 marriage proposals and 1 fatty comment. Sorry, Dad. No one has mentioned the number of cattle they are willing to trade for me; I’ll know someone is really serious when cattle number and negotiation enter conversation. A Group 5 volunteer is up to 50 head from one gentleman in her community. That’s pretty steep trading ‘round here.
September 24th 2008- A typical day in the Swaz or My “new” normal day or 20 things I do every day: 1.) During the week, I get up at 6:30 am; my alarm is set for 6:30am, but I usually wake before then. The sun begins streaming into my hut b/w 5:45 and 6am. By 6:15am, my room is bright and beginning to warm up so even if I wanted to sleep in, it’s quite difficult to do. Combine that with the fact that people on my homestead begin stirring around 5:30am, and makeis already yelling at bobhuti or bobsisi for something or another. The latest I sleep on weekends is 8 am. But honestly I don’t mind it. Wow. I can’t believeI’m admitting that. A very adamant (more like obstinate) non-morning person admitting she doesn’t mind getting up before 7am. Oh, there’s something wrong w/ me! 2.) Quick trip to the pit latrine, trying very hard to avoid everyone. Forming sentences is hard enough, but even harder in siSwati when you just wake up. I really have to thinking about my words…I sometimes say ‘thank you’ instead of ‘I am fine’ when asked how are you. Embarrassing. 3.) Pour water in the kettle from my 25 liter jug and put it on the stovetop to heat. 4.) Make my bed. Yes mom, I make my bed every day. Don’t have a heart attack, please! Making my bed back home was something I did only after washing my linens. Here, I don’t want to appear slovenly in case make pops in for a visit. When we first arrived, PC staff strongly recommended we make our beds every day b/c we were guests in our host family homes; it was the polite thing to do. Also, Swazi culture has a saying: if you don’t make your bed every morning, your whole day will be messy and disorganized. A made bed = an organized day. So now I’m in the habit. Admittedly, when you cannot shut your bedroom door and forget that disheveled bed, the room looks unsightly. 4.) Listen to BBC & BBC Africa on Radio Swaziland for world news, then switch to Durban’s East Coast Radio for local and South Africa news 5.) Use boiled water to wash face and hands. 6.) Pull the day’s outfit from the closet aka suitcase. 7.) Use small hand mirror, which is stuck to the wall w/ sticky tack (they call it bostick here) to fix my face and hair. 8.) Eat breakfast. 9.) Walk to clinic, but not before greeting make and telling her I’m leaving. I sorta feel like a kid again…”Mom, I’m going to school. See ya later.” But one day she didn’t see me all day and was very worried I had gotten lost. The next morning she threatened to beat me if I didn’t tell her where I was going. She was joking….I’m pretty sure. Nonetheless, I’ve decided NOT to test the theory. If I see her at least once a day, she seems satisfied. I keep reminding myself, I’m a guest in her homestead. Act like a guest! 10.) From 8am – 10 or 10:30am, I assist one of the 2 wards with weighing. Since I offer an extra hand, the three nurses actually have time with their patients. We weigh children from newborn to 60 months, pregnant and lactating women, and people taking ART’s (anti-retroviral therapy). People taking ART’s are generally HIV positive. I say generally because sometimes clinics start women on ART’s if they suspect they’ve been exposed to HIV, in order to prevent transmitting it to their baby, either in utero or while nursing. This is before they know their status. If their test is negative, then they quit taking ART’s; if it’s positive, then early prevention is better. The chance of them living a long, healthy life is greater by taking ART’s early. All the people coming to this clinic for ART’s are HIV positive. The Ministry of Health recommends mothers bring their babies to the clinic each month, for the first 5 years, to weigh them. This gives the clinic staff and Ministry of Health information regarding the health of the baby, hopefully helping to explain decline in health or show improvements in health, encourage mothers to make healthy choices, as well as recording those who are malnourished. As an incentive to making the monthly journey to the clinic, the World FoodProgramme in conjunction w/ the Ministry of Health, offer mothers 6kg of Corn Soya Mix—a ground mixture of maize and soy protein designed to help infants/women gain weight—per child/self. Those who have malnourished children, under-weight children, and women w/ TB or who are malnourished themselves are eligible to receive this mixture. 11.) Usually around 10 or half past 10 (I’ve started saying half past and quarter past b/c that’s how Swazi’s tell time…a remnant of British control while they were still part of South Africa), I take tea break with the nurses (another remnant of the Brits). It’s an unstated mandatory tea break. Everyone does it. We had tea breaks from 10am to half past and from 3pm to half past every day during training. A welcome break from language training. Rooibos or black tea with a variety of emabiscuit (aka many biscuits…in America butter cookies or shortbread cookies) for half an hour was fabulous. I really like the idea of morning and afternoon tea break! 12.) After tea break, we go back to weighing and distributing corn soya. If there is no one to weigh after break, I help count and fill medication packets. Most clinics have their own pharmacy, of sorts. They receive bulk meds from the Ministry of Health (every public clinic in the country is run and employed by the Ministry of Health) then distribute meds to patients as needed. 13.) I usually leave the clinic around half past 12 or 1pm. My lunch time…plus the afternoons are quiet at the clinic. The clinic sees anywhere from 50 – 100 people per day, most arriving between 8am – 1pm. 14.) After lunch I may do a variety of things, depending on my mood. Since I don’t have any other projects going on right now, I mostly hide out in my hut. It’s glorious having time to myself, and a nice break from constantly being on my toes trying to speak siSwati. I have time to read books I’ve wanted to read for quite a while. Sometimes I read over my siSwati lessons. Sometimes I take a nap. Sometimes I bake something. I almost always boil water to filter. Later afternoon I reserve for exercising. Twice a week I run. Two to three times a week I practice yoga. 15.) Dinner and listen to the evening news. 16.) Evening activities. Again, this varies depending on my mood. Sometimes I read more. Sometimes I watch a movie. Sometimes I play solitaire or do a crossword puzzle. 17.) Boil water for bucket bath. 18.) Use some of the heated water to do the day’s dishes. 19.) Take bucket bath. Remember hearing that old cliché excuse women used when they didn’t want to call or date a guy? “I have to wash my hair.” Well here that would be a legitimate excuse! Here I wash my hair every 3 – 4 days. Back home I never dealt with greasy hair. I do here. Gross! But it’s such a pain to wash my hair every day and take a bath. One, it takes forever to wash my hair and take a bath in the same night. Two, I cannot heat enough water to sufficiently wash my hair and my body in the same night. I have a 3 liter kettle, which is enough water to wash my hair with a little to spare. I refuse to use more electricity to heat another kettle of water. So, sadly, I plan the night I will wash my hair. It’s sorta hilarious, isn’t it?! Also, I’m challenging myself to use the least amount of water for bathing and still be clean. When I think about all the water I use to waste showering, it makes me sick. Here I can get by on 1 liter of water for bathing. 3 liters on nights I need to bath and wash my hair. It really is possible. Don’t get me wrong. I really miss standing under the shower for 15-20 minutes, letting the water beat on my tired, sore muscles. I also REALLY miss lingering baths with herbs and oils, drawing more hot water the instant I felt it begin to cool. Two guilty pleasures I will probably take back up the moment I step off the plane in America. But for now, it’s more practical to conserve. I have to haul that water from the spout to my house every few days. It’s a chore….one I don’t mind but it takes time. At least I’m building my arm muscles! 20.) Wind down. Crawl in bed anywhere from 8:30 – 9pm with a good book and read until I’m tired. I usually go to bed around 9:30 or 10pm. The other day I wrote in my journal, ‘I feel like I’ve had a “normal” day’—the PC Medical Officer visited, so I didn’t go to the clinic. After she left, I read my mail and finished a book. It felt like a day off back home, where I would sleep in late, leisurely drink coffee, read, run errands. It wasn’t quite the same as a day off back home but if you can think of the above as normal, then I finally had a normal day. And it was fantastic.
September 29, 2008- The people you meet on the way to the clinic: I met the chief on my walk to the clinic today. I thought I met him last Wednesday when I attended the umphakatsi (center of community gov’t for chiefdom) meeting. But apparently I just met the Indvuna- the headmen serving for chiefs within theirchiefdoms and of each inkhundla- a constituency area covering a number of chiefdoms. And the person I thought was chief was actually the bucopho- an elected person within the chiefdom that serves as a liaison b/w the gov’t of the chiefdom and that of the inkhundla. I had put on a nice dress, and thought long and hard about introducing myself in siSwati and what I would say to the chief and his inner-council. My counterpart introduced me toward the end of the meeting. I was sitting next to my make; she insisted I sit next to her so everyone would know she was my make. When my counterpart began introducing me, she pushed me to stand up, saying, “Stand in front of them so they can see you.” So, I was on display and the stakes were high. Do I say everything I want to say in siSwati? Of course! This is the chief after all; I must make a good impression. And so I began slowly, carefully thinking about each word: Ligama lami ngu Thandeka Bhembe. Ngiphuma eMelika. Ngisebenta eDwalini Clinic nge nalabasha nge umgcugcuteli. Ngiyafundzisa eHIV nge AIDS. Ngiyabonga. (My name is Thandeka Bhembe. I am from America. I am working at eDwalini and with youth and with Rural Health Motivators. I will teach about HIV and AIDS. Thank you.) Smile. Shakily walk back to my seat. Sit down. Big sigh. Be thankful I said everything without stumbling over the words. Oh! They are clapping! I must have done okay. Amen! Okay, keep smiling. Oh. They’re saying they are happy to meet me; happy to have me here. Say something. Ngiyabonga kakhulu. (Thank you very much.) It might sound very elementary. But to pronounce all the words accurately and still get my point across is a big deal, especially in front of the chiefdom elders and people I will be working with the next 2 years. So imagine my surprise and shock when I met the chief this morning, catching me completely off guard. I was put off at first b/c I noticed him staring at me for the longest time and then smiling at me from his truck. Oh crap, he’s getting out and walking straight toward me. Oh great. Another man coming to bother me. We greet each other but my greetings are abrupt. He asks, Ubani lo? (Who are you/what is your name?) Then he introduces himself. I’m Chief Khondlo. Oh God! My mind races as I’m trying to back step and begin exchanging niceties with THE CHIEF. Oh, it is nice to meet you! (Shit. I’m wearing jeans today.) I started working at the clinic. (I wasn’t being friendly when I first spoke to him. Did I shake his hand with my right hand correctly?) Yes, I will meet with my counterpart to identify the needs of the community. (Am I smiling enough now to make up for my curt beginning? What else can I say to redeem myself?) Yes, I’m excited to be here! (Damn! I’ve forgotten all my siSwati. I’m such a freakin’ idiot!) Luckily he doesn’t seem to notice my stupidity. I almost blew it. Lesson learned for today: don’t judge people so quickly. You just might be meeting the chief!

August 2008 updates 2

August 21, 2008- L.P.I. aka Language Practice Final: Today was our language final. YIKES! We took the mock final 3 weeks ago and it was rough. We were expected to pass it with a score of Novice Low. I passed at Novice High- a big surprise, I must say. Today we were required to pass at Intermediate Low. I think I did. We’ll either receive our results tomorrow or Monday, but honestly I don’t care. It’s over. NO MORE LANGUAGE LESSONS. And what’s better….I felt way more confident today than I did for the mock….AND I was able to have an actual conversation in siSwati! So that tells me I’ve improved. WOO HOO! And even if I didn’t pass, I would be required to take extra tutoring in Mbabane, which would just make me a better speaker…so win-win either way.
Now that I’m on this side of training, I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone. Getting through is the hard part- adjusting to a different way of living, new people, loss of autonomy, living in a fish bowl. Since I generally like everyone in my village, my transition was a bit smoother. One girl was a bit of a drama queen, and another not aware of her surroundings at all- reminds me of the stereotypical tourist who gets off the tour bus, eye to camera, noticing the sites but not the person behind her picking her pocket. On the whole, my village was great. I really love my language classmates: Jason and Erica, married, from New Jersey, Jason worked recently as an EMT, Erica with non-profits; and Margaret, a just graduated triple major from Oregon who will read anything. It was nice to find people to have intelligent conversations, yet be able to laugh at the most ridiculous or absurd situations for days. I will miss them- Erica and Jason were placed in the HhoHho region, 4 hrs north, near the South African/Mozambique borders; Margaret in the Lubombo region, a 2 ½ hr trip east and a little north. I will be sad to be so far away from them. We’ll be able to meet up in Mbabane but that means staying overnight and paying for a hostel for all of us b/c of transportation time- the time it takes to and from sites is generally different on paper than actual time. Hopefully we’ll be able to arrange something on occasion.

August 18, 2008- Fieldtrip to Montanga Museum and Cultural Village: Just northwest of Manzini is a nature reserve which boosts the only cultural village in Swaziland, complete with the traditional huts and homestead configuration. Every day around 11, 2 dozen men, women, teens and children perform traditional Swazi dance in traditional Swazi dress. They are amazing. I wish I could send you a video to watch; your jaws would drop. Most of the dances include a high kick. When I say high, I mean they get their knee to their forehead without bending forward. And the men and boys kick so high and so hard on their last kick, they usually fall on their backs. It’s truly incredible. Honestly, I’m not describing it well enough to give it full credit. Anyone visiting me who wishes to attend a performance won’t have to talk me into going back. After the hour-long performance, we took a ½ mile nature walk to the Mantanga Waterfall. It’s the clearest water I’ve seen since being here- sky blue and tempting enough to drink. An interesting note to the day: As we departed Nhlangano to start our trip, we were stopped by a random (and apparently routine) police road block just outside town. We were forced off the bus and into separate male/female lines. No one had a clue. The guys had to spread their legs and were patted down by male officers; female officers were checking women’s bags/purses. It wasn’t until our boThishela stepped off the bus that we were able to ask an explanation. Drug search. They were searching every vehicle, every person, and every bag for marijuana. Apparently it happens all the time. And according to one Thishela, you can easily get pot any day of the week, any hour of the day, from just about anyone…even gogo! And, she adds, “it’s the good stuff in Swaziland; the really good stuff…not that I would know.” But she proceeded to show us the sign you make w/ your hands- a fist w/ the right hand, grinding into the palm of the left hand- to any cab driver and he’ll know what you’re talking about. She finishes by saying, “don’t do it! You’ll get caught and get in big trouble!” It took all of my will to not laugh while she was telling us about dogga, as they call it in the Swaz, and how to get it. But alotta people sell it b/c they need money. It is illegal, but almost anyone who wants it can access it.

August 25, 2008- LPI Results: I PASSED MY LANGUAGE TEST!!! I scored an Intermediate Low score. I was hoping for an Intermediate Mid score. The reason I didn’t get that score was due to my repeating the question, my tester asked, in English before giving my answer in siSwati. I wanted to make sure I was giving the correct answer. It indicated to my tester that I wasn’t certain of the question when in fact I knew each question she asked. Oh well! Live and learn. The important thing is I passed. I also found out that everyone is required to find and hire a tutor, no matter their score, for on-going language training. We are reimbursed for the expense of hiring a tutor, which generally around R20/hr, not to exceed 40 hrs per year. I have until November to identify and hire a tutor in my community. Once school reopens, I plan to pay boThishela a visit. Luckily I have a primary and secondary school right next door.

August 26, 2008- Leaving Tuscany: When I arrived for training at Ngwane Teachers College the end of June, the view from our classrooms reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Tuscany- masses of tall, green trees, little houses nestled together and scattered alone the rolling hills, rugged, red roads that hugged the curvy hills and stretched endlessly, toward the horizon. One day I was dreamily looking at ‘my Tuscany,’ when Gladys- a Swazi staff member- asked what I was doing, standing all alone. Didn’t I want to have tea break with my colleagues? I said I was enjoying the view; I was secretly hiding from my fellow trainees, as I needed some ‘me’ time and wanted to imagine traveling those red roads to wherever they would take me. I told her I thought the village, the scene I saw, was beautiful. She shook her head, smiled, and said “you will get tired of looking at it”. Never, I thought. Little did I know the village I was daydreaming of as ‘my Tuscany’, was Lebovu (translates as it is red), the village I’d spend 7 weeks living in, and having a love/hate relationship with. Funny thing, that Karma!
I did travel those red roads but not far; they lead to South Africa maybe 20 km away. But we couldn’t cross the border—no independent traveling allowed during training. The dirt stained my socks, my shoes, my pant legs, and my skin. And rugged doesn’t even describe the conditions. I bought a pair of Mary Jane knock-offs to have a dresser pair of shoes. They are ruined after 6 weeks of walking those red roads. The dust from passing khombis intoxicated my nose and lungs, eventually causing an allergic reaction, which sent me to the doctor for an anti-allergy shot (her words) and a week’s worth of amoxicillin and vitamin C tabs. Those little houses nestled along the hillside where actually homesteads with cinderblock and tin-roofed or thatch-roofed huts that hold the day’s heat until the sun goes down then transform into ice boxes. Ah, my Tuscany! I did say it was love/hate. My host family—who went from overwhelming, to inquiring to the point of nosy, to tolerable, to clingy—eventually softened my heart. Yes, my make did offer to help me with my bucket bath, which still blows me away. She was adamant I sweep the kitchen floor to see if I knew how to sweep. She insisted I start a fire in the wood-burning stove when company was there to show the guests they had taught the white girl the Swazi way. She endlessly asked if I wanted to watch them butcher a chicken. No. Thanks. I’ve done that before! But every time I was away for a few days or she was gone for a few days, she said she missed me, they all missed me. And I believe she sincerely meant it. It felt nice to be missed by a family that barely knew me. Their constant concern for my health, the amount of food I was eating (or not eating), or for my studies came from their hearts, even though at times it felt smothering.
The 9 children on my homestead were my real source of joy and sometimes comfort. They began waiting for me at the gate when they knew I was arriving from school. They hung around the entrance to my hut just to watch what I was doing. They accompanied me to the water source; I was relieved most days for their help. I had yet to figure out the system of whose turn it was to get their water next. They always knew. The girls danced and sang for me once they discovered I loved music and to dance; usually dances were ones they made up, but sometimes it was traditional dances or games they learned from school. I loved they way little Temakholo said my name, and how she’d say she was fine when I said hello. She became my shadow, following me everywhere. I would take her home with me if I could; she always had a smile on her sweet round face, and a laugh shortly following the smile. The boys taught me cards- Casino Royale, Sisu (or Stomach) and their version of Crazy 8’s; they didn’t always explain very well but they had fun laughing at my mistakes and helping me make the right play. I taught them rumi and slap jack, which they loved. They were captivated by my card shuffling, calling it magic. Siyanda picked it up after a week and with my prodding that he should just keep practicing. One day after school, he ran to meet me. “Nonhlanhla, are you busy? Can we play cards? I shuffle now the way you do. I will show you.”
A few days before I left, I was showered with gifts. Gogo gave me a grass mat w/ a thin purple design throughout. I received a traditional wrap (laheya) w/ the Swazi flag and beaded necklace from Babe Lomkhulu and his wife, Lungile. Lungile immediately tied the laheya around me and pronounced that I was now a Swazi woman. She said she loved me the morning I left. She hugged me; I wanted to cry. I only choked out a ‘love you too’ and a quick good bye- I couldn’t look back. I felt a real kinship with her and have a special place in my heart for her children- Temakholo and Mehluko. I perceived Lungile received some education and understood the world, at least a little. She wanted to know how the world really worked, from my perspective. She wanted to understand a different way of doing things, and was happy to listen to my stories of home. And finally a traditional wrap w/ King Mswati III from make. The night before I left, my make brought a chicken to my door. “This is for you”, she said. “Gogo says you must take it on your journey to your new place.” Oh my God. The whole chicken?! Then she offeredto cook it for me since I’d already packed my stove. She wanted to leave it whole after cooking, wrap it in plastic bags, then newspaper, so it would keep during my travel, and I could eat well on the journey and my first few days at my new place. I tried to explain that we were going to the capital for 3 days first, and I wouldn’t be at my site for 4 days. I offered them half the chicken, saying I would take as much as would fit in my 3 food storage containers. Once the chicken was cooked and I was summoned to collect it, I found make had also prepared dumplings. So I took 3 pieces of chicken, carefully avoiding the head, and 3 dumplings to go w/ my pieces of chicken.
So I left ‘my Tuscany’ with 3 pieces of chicken, 3 dumplings, and a loaded backpack with gifts, book, and clothes and headed to the siteshi (bus stop) with my make, Margaret, Serena and her make, and 7 or 8 kids in tow- from my family and Serena’s family. Make was very worried about my containers of chicken, and insisted put the bag in my backpack once we got to the siteshi. Other trainees came with bosisi or make. They all waited w/ us at the siteshi until our khombi arrived- it was late. It was always late. Once it came we said our good-byes, piled into the khombi and it headed on down the road, like a bat outta hell, which is usual. When I looked back, I couldn’t see any of the family members standing at the siteshi. They were already walking back home to start the day’s work.

August 28, 2008- Swearing in: Group 6’s swearing-in ceremony took place at the Ambassador to Swaziland’s residence in Mbabane. The ceremony drew some important dignitaries—the Ambassador, of course, the director of NERCHA (National Emergency Response Council on HIV/AIDS) and soon to be ‘boss’, Swaziland’s Country Director, and the most important dignitary—one of the first wives of King Mswati III—Inkhosikati Make LaMatsebula. Because of her presence, 1 local news channel and 2 local paper crews covered the event. She is an amazing woman. Having been taught by a Peace Corps volunteer when PC was here in the 80’s doing education work, she holds of soft spot in her heart for volunteers. She is the official patron to Peace Corps from the royal family. Her speech was well written, witty and succinct. She spoke from the heart about her nation’s struggle with a terrible pandemic, and urged the Ambassador to approve new Peace Corps groups each year. The NERCHA director, who had a British accent and I’m assuming is a white Swazi, opened his speech by asking us what the hell we were doing in Peace Corps. He followed by saying this was a scary job. Weren’t we afraid? Um, if we weren’t before, we are now! His point- this wasn’t going to be an easy ride. Peace Corps life might be different than it was 20 years ago but the work is the same- physically, mentally and emotionally grueling. He was glad we were there to do the job. The Inkhosikati’s and the NERCHA director’s unabashed, to-the-point speech were by far the highlight of the ceremony. A close second was the amazing buffet prepared for us after we took official oath and became Peace Corps Volunteers, not just mere trainees. A great mix of Swazi and American food, I was happy eating and not spending over an hour to prepare a meal on a handigas stove.
So I’m now an official volunteer. What does that mean? Well I have 3 months of “Integration” to figure that out, to formulate my plan of action, so to speak. Some call Integration the 3 hardest months you’ll spend in service, somewhat harder than training. Harder than training? Shit! Some say it’s a time to explore your community, learn about the people and their needs, free from the constant watch of staff and without the assistance from other volunteers. Okay. That sounds tolerable. I’ve also heard it referred to as force hermitage, which cracked me up at first. But considering we are only allowed to leave our site for one overnight visit a month until November and we’re not allowed to congregate in large droves in any one place, forced hermitage sounds about right. What’s a girl to do?

August 2008 updates 1

August 9, 2008- “OJT”, a little language lesson & election update: OJT stands for On-the-Job Training- 5 days in which to locate my permanent site, meet my counterpart aka Kagogo (ga go go) Clerk, get to know my family and visit the points of interest in my new town- Mahlalini (ma thla lean e). I think I will like my new site. My counterparts says the chief of Mahlalini use to be a senator, that he is in many ways a modernized chief, and he is very interested in developing the area. My counterpart, Mkhasibe (mm ka see bay), seems pretty motivated; although, he is new to the position. The record-keeping done by the previous clerk left little to be desired and he wants alotta help organizing it. No problem. The Kagogo Clerk is a paid position by NERCHA. When I say paid, I mean meager wages. NERCHA is an organization dedicated to education and prevention on HIV and AIDS-related issues. I cannot remember what the acronym stands for; however, it is a Swazi national organization which tries to employ the most highly motivated individuals of each chiefdom in Swaziland who are interested in helping decrease the spread of HIV and AIDS. There are 91 chiefdoms in the Shiselweni region- the region I will serve. The KaGogo Clerk organized people in the chiefdom to work with- Rural Health Motivators and Peer Educators. There are 70,000 OVC’s in Swaziland; NERCHA estimates the number will be 120,000 by 2010. The term kagogo originates from the Swazi word, gogo for grandmother. In Swazi culture the first hut built is called kaGogo, which is where family members meet and make important family decisions. These centers support community services for HIV and AIDS by providing opportunity and maintaining a space for holistic support to the community’s response on HIV and AIDS issues. There is space for meetings, food storage and catering, provision of basic care, education and counseling. The mandate from NERCHA for the KaGogo Centers is to serve as an entry point for all HIV and AIDS interventions in rural communities. I will be working one-on-one w/ the KaGogo Clerk to identify other possible income-generating projects, identify the real issues in Mahlalini and what to do about these issues, and help him maintain data on OVC’s.
My new place: The view from my new house is beautiful- mountains! There are mountains in my backyard! This area is considered mid-veld- cooler winters, and summers that don’t get hotter than 25 to 26 degrees C…. or so my new bhuti tells me. I’m not very good w/ the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit, but I think it’ll be around 85 degrees (please correct me if I’m wrong). I can handle that! My new place is not ready yet. They just repainted the walls, hung a new door and replaced the burglar bars. I brought a sleeping bag, assuming I’d sleep on the floor the next 4 nights but my new make (ma gay) aka mother insisted I sleep in a spare room. Fine with me. The floor of my new place is cement; considering it still gets pretty chilly here at night and my sleeping back is only rated to 20 degrees, a double bed off the floor sounds glorious.
My make is 60, has 7 living children- 2 have died- with many grandchildren, is a Rural Health Motivator- something very similar to a Hospice volunteer, and hosts 4 OVC’s or Orphans and Vulnerable Children. Philiswa is 7, Zandele is 13 I think, Machewe is 16, I think and Mcolisi is 19. They are very sweet and I already feel comfortable with them. Make believes the boys are too lazy, but I believe it is typical teenage behavior, unfortunately. She does keep them on their toes and expects allota work from them. But I think it is good for them. She is giving them a chance for a life- she helps pay their school fees and provides food for them to cook. That is a lot considering they are not blood related AND she is not in the best health. Make’s babe (ba bay) aka husband is staying in the Lubombo region, several hours away and only visits a few times a year. He is farming…I’m assuming sugar cane or maize. She is rarely able to visit b/c of the expense to travel there. On Monday fares will go up due to rising petrol costs. The trip from Nhlangano (nn thlan gano) to Mahlalini cost me R6.50 today; Wednesday when I travel back to my host family, the fare will be R10. For every 1 US dollar I get 6 to 7 Rand (South African currency) or 6 to 7 Emilangeni (Swaziland currency) - both are usually interchangeable. If I think about bus fare in terms of US dollars, I’m paying less than a dollar. But right now I’m living on about $30/week; once I’m done w/ training I’ll be living on $70/week. So if I travel to the nearest large town at R10 too often, I’ll deplete my allowance quickly. Plus I cannot think of my allowance in terms of dollars; I will spend too much money that way! Bread at the town markets costs R5.99. A bag of apples (12) is R13.99. Soy milk is R12.99. Cereal- just the basic Corn Flakes- is R23.99. The price of food is going up, b/c of the rising transportation costs. I’m curious what gas costs in the states. And I’m curious to see how much transportation will go up here by the time I leave.
Elections- well I received clarification from my host family on elections. The King dissolves Parliament every 5 years- everyone serves a 5 year term and then if they want to be re-elected must run for office and be voted back in. During campaign time, anyone may run for election to an office. The Prime Minister is generally appointed by the King after elections are held. Those being murdered are directly involved w/ running for elections. They are not at all concerned w/ the whities (mhlolope) right now!

August 11, 2008- I’m suffering from multiple personalities: Peace Corps staff asks our Pre-Service Training (PST) host family to give us a Swazi name when we arrive at our new homestead. So I’ve been Nonhlanhla Mavimbela since July…I’m not even going to try a language lesson w/ this one. You’ll have to hear it sometime. When I heard my new name, I thought, “Great! The “hl” sound is the hardest for me to pronounce, and I have 2 in my name. Damn!” Well, now I can pronounce the “hl” sound well. Before OJT, we were told we might get a new first name from our permanent host family. I was expecting a new surname, but I thought I’d might be able to keep Nonhlanhla b/c I like the meaning- lucky. My PST family says Nonhlanhla, then lucky girl. I like that. I’m a lucky girl. So, when I asked my counterpart if I had a new name, he said no; I could use Jennifer or Nonhlanhla. Nope! My new make insisted on naming me. So now I am Thadeka (taun day ga) Bhembe (bem bay). I don’t mind b/c I like the meaning of Thadeka- the loveable one. However, it’s taken some getting use to; I don’t always recognize my name when someone is calling me. Of course, they laugh at that! If I were to go by Jennifer, I would just get called Jennifer Lopez and constantly asked if I know her. “I know who she is, but I do not know her personally” is usually met w/ a blank stare. Don’t all Americans w/ the same first name or surname know each other? Ummmm…..no. It’s taken some getting use to, this multiple identity thing…or should I say crisis? It feels like a crisis, a predicament. There definitely is a loss of identity, autonomy, anonymity in Peace Corps, at least as far as we define those words in America. I’m not thrilled about it; it’s a bit harder to be myself. I’m told I must respectfully represent a government organization. I’m told I must respectfully represent America. I must represent the notion of white person without money, who is a volunteer but just picks up, leaves my family, crosses an ocean, and lives in a new place and not for education/college, mind you. Why would I leave America, they always ask. Why do I want to help strangers? And why in God’s name would I leave my family? Well I wanted to offer my services, my knowledge, myself b/c I’ve been given so much. I want to doing something for others b/c I can, to give back to something bigger than myself. Huh?! I’ve been living on my own for 10 years. How? They always ask. By yourself? Yes. They shake their heads. And a grown woman, not married, no children. Living on her own. How?

Where do I fall into all of that? Who will I be here? Who will I become? I’m not sure. I’m still mulling it over b/c I’m still wondering why I’m here. So much of the HIV epidemic is tied into Swazi culture. This is a patriarchal, polygamist culture. If your husband/boyfriend says jump, you jump. If you are dating and want to use condoms, he questions your integrity and faithfulness. If he says he won’t get tested, she cannot talk him into it. If he forbids her to go to the clinic for testing, support or education, she cannot go. If she does and he finds out, she risks being kicked off the homestead and out of the family forever. She will be forced to leave her children behind. She will leave behind any meager possessions she might have acquired. She leaves behind security, a roof over her head, and food. She is left w/ poverty, homelessness- her family will not take her back b/c of shame, and generally no hope for income b/c of lack of education.
So some days, often every day, I vacillate between dreams of doing good work and dreams of my old/new life; the vacations I will take once I’m done w/ service and the majestic regions of Swaziland I will explore while serving; the foundation I’ll lay for future PCV’s and the foundations I’d rather be laying for myself. It is a conundrum, but it is what it is. And that’s all the insight I have right now.

August posts

August 9, 2008- “OJT”, a little language lesson & election update: OJT stands for On-the-Job Training- 5 days in which to locate my permanent site, meet my counterpart aka Kagogo (ga go go) Clerk, get to know my family and visit the points of interest in my new town- Mahlalini (ma thla lean e). I think I will like my new site. My counterparts says the chief of Mahlalini use to be a senator, that he is in many ways a modernized chief, and he is very interested in developing the area. My counterpart, Mkhasibe (mm ka see bay), seems pretty motivated; although, he is new to the position. The record-keeping done by the previous clerk left little to be desired and he wants alotta help organizing it. No problem. The Kagogo Clerk is a paid position by NERCHA. When I say paid, I mean meager wages. NERCHA is an organization dedicated to education and prevention on HIV and AIDS-related issues. I cannot remember what the acronym stands for; however, it is a Swazi national organization which tries to employ the most highly motivated individuals of each chiefdom in Swaziland who are interested in helping decrease the spread of HIV and AIDS. There are 91 chiefdoms in the Shiselweni region- the region I will serve. The KaGogo Clerk organized people in the chiefdom to work with- Rural Health Motivators and Peer Educators. There are are 70,000 OVC’s in Swaziland; NERCHA estimates the number will be 120,000 by 2010. The term kagogo originates from the Swazi word, gogo for grandmother. In Swazi culture the first hut built is called kaGogo, which is where family members meet and make important family decisions. These centers support community services for HIV and AIDS by providing opportunity and maintaining a space for holistic support to the community’s response on HIV and AIDS issues. There is space for meetings, food storage and catering, provision of basic care, education and counseling. The mandate from NERCHA for the KaGogo Centers is to serve as an entry point for all HIV and AIDS interventions in rural communities. I will be working one-on-one w/ the KaGogo Clerk to identify other possible income-generating projects, identify the real issues in Mahlalini and what to do about these issues, and help him maintain data on OVC’s.

My new place: The view from my new house is beautiful- mountains! There are mountains in my backyard! This area is considered mid-veld- cooler winters, and summers that don’t get hotter than 25 to 26 degrees C…. or so my new bhuti tells me. I’m not very good w/ the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit, but I think it’ll be around 85 degrees (please correct me if I’m wrong). I can handle that! My new place is not ready yet. They just repainted the walls, hung a new door and replaced the burglar bars. I brought a sleeping bag, assuming I’d sleep on the floor the next 4 nights but my new make (ma gay) aka mother insisted I sleep in a spare room. Fine with me. The floor of my new place is cement; considering it still gets pretty chilly here at night and my sleeping back is only rated to 20 degrees, a double bed off the floor sounds glorious.

My make is 60, has 7 living children- 2 have died- with many grandchildren, is a Rural Health Motivator- something very similar to a Hospice volunteer, and hosts 4 OVC’s or Orphans and Vulnerable Children. Philiswa is 7, Zanele is 13 I think, Machewe is 16, I think and Mcolisi is 19. They are very sweet and I already feel comfortable with them. Make believes the boys are too lazy, but I believe it is typical teenage behavior, unfortunately. She does keep them on their toes and expects allota work from them. But I think it is good for them. She is giving them a chance for a life- she helps pay their school fees and provides food for them to cook. That is a lot considering they are not blood related AND she is not in the best health. Make’s babe (ba bay) aka husband is staying in the Lubombo region, several hours away and only visits a few times a year. He is farming…I’m assuming sugar cane or maize. She is rarely able to visit b/c of the expense to travel there. On Monday fares will go up due to rising petrol costs. The trip from Nhlangano (nn thlan gano) to Mahlalini cost me R6.50 today; Wednesday when I travel back to my host family, the fare will be R10. For every 1 US dollar I get 6 to 7 Rand (South African currency) or 6 to 7 Emilangeni (Swaziland currency) - both are usually interchangeable. If I think about bus fare in terms of US dollars, I’m paying less than a dollar. But right now I’m living on about $30/week; once I’m done w/ training I’ll be living on $70/week. So if I travel to the nearest large town at R10 too often, I’ll deplete my allowance quickly. Plus I cannot think of my allowance in terms of dollars; I will spend too much money that way! Bread at the town markets costs R5.99. A bag of apples (12) is R13.99. Soy milk is R12.99. Cereal- just the basic Corn Flakes- is R23.99. The price of food is going up, b/c of the rising transportation costs. I’m curious what gas costs in the states. And I’m curious to see how much transportation will go up here by the time I leave.

Elections- well I received clarification from my host family on elections. The King dissolves Parliament every 5 years- everyone serves a 5 year term and then if they want to be re-elected must run for office and be voted back in. During campaign time, anyone may run for election to an office. The Prime Minister is generally appointed by the King after elections are held. Those being murdered are directly involved w/ running for elections. They are not at all concerned w/ the whities (mhlolope) right now!

August 11, 2008- I’m suffering from multiple personalities: Peace Corps staff asks our Pre-Service Training (PST) host family to give us a Swazi name when we arrive at our new homestead. So I’ve been Nonhlanhla Mavimbela since July…I’m not even going to try a language lesson w/ this one. You’ll have to hear it sometime. When I heard my new name, I thought, “Great! The “hl” sound is the hardest for me to pronounce, and I have 2 in my name. Damn!” Well, now I can pronounce the “hl” sound well. Before OJT, we were told we might get a new first name from our permanent host family. I was expecting a new surname, but I thought I’d might be able to keep Nonhlanhla b/c I like the mean- lucky. My PST family says Nonhlanhla, then lucky girl. I like that. I’m a lucky girl. So, when I asked my counterpart if I had a new name, he said no; I could use Jennifer or Nonhlanhla. Nope! My new make insisted on naming me. So now I am Thadeka (taun day ga) Bhembe (bem bay). I don’t mind b/c I like the meaning of Thadeka- the loveable one. However, it’s taken some getting use to; I don’t always recognize my name when someone is calling me. Of course, they laugh at that! If I were to go by Jennifer, I would just get called Jennifer Lopez and constantly asked if I know her. “I know who she is, but I do not know her personally” is usually met w/ a blank stare. Don’t all Americans w/ the same first name or surname know each other? Ummmm…..no. It’s taken some getting use to, this multiple identity thing…or should I say crisis? It feels like a crisis, a predicament. There definitely is a loss of identity, autonomy, anonymity in Peace Corps, at least as far as we define those words in America. I’m not thrilled about it; it’s a bit harder to be myself. I’m told I must respectfully represent a government organization. I’m told I must respectfully represent America. I must represent the notion of white person without money, who is a volunteer but just picks up, leaves my family, crosses an ocean, and lives in a new place and not for education/college, mind you. Why would I leave America, they always ask. Why do I want to help strangers? And why in God’s name would I leave my family? Well I wanted to offer my services, my knowledge, myself b/c I’ve been given so much. I want to doing something for others b/c I can, to give back to something bigger than myself. Huh?! I’ve been living on my own for 10 years. How? They always ask. By yourself? Yes. They shake their heads. And a grown woman, not married, no children. Living on her own. How?

Where do I fall into all of that? Who will I be here? Who will I become? I’m not sure. I’m still mulling it over b/c I’m still wondering why I’m here. So much of the HIV epidemic is tied into Swazi culture. This is a patriarchal, polygamist culture. If your husband/boyfriend says jump, you jump. If you are dating and want to use condoms, he questions your integrity and faithfulness. If he says he won’t get tested, she cannot talk him into it. If he forbids her to go to the clinic for testing, support or education, she cannot go. If she does and he finds out, she risks being kicked off the homestead and out of the family forever. She will be forced to leave her children behind. She will leave behind any meager possessions she might have acquired. She leaves behind security, a roof over her head, and food. She is left w/ poverty, homelessness- her family will not take her back b/c of shame, and generally no nope for income b/c of lack of education.

So some days, often every day, I vacillate between dreams of doing good work and dreams of my old/new life; the vacations I will take once I’m done w/ service and the majestic regions of Swaziland I will explore while serving; the foundation I’ll lay for future PCV’s and the foundations I’d rather be laying for myself. It is a conundrum, but it is what it is. And that’s all the insight I have right now.