November 4, 2009- Final Exams: My 6th graders take final exams; I just found out today. They begin next week, so my time with them is finished. I’m actually a little sad. Had I known in advance, I would have tried to do more recycled art projects with them. We were going to make bugs out of egg cartons and styrofoam and plant a jacaranda seed in decorated tin cans. Oh well. The BBC Plant Earth series was a hit, so I’m glad they were able to watch two episodes. In addition, we were able to string their handmade paper beads with plastics ones—left from a Group 5’er—which was a huge treat for them. Nonetheless, I was hoping to teach a few more lessons about recycling, to hammer that concept home; alas, it is left undone. I do plan to give each student an Earth Day activities book before terms ends, something to take home, read and remember.
November 6, 2009- Steroid Injection in my Foot: Long story short, my PCMO believes I have chronic tendonitis due to scar tissue build-up from previous stress fractures. After consulting the orthopedic doctor at the Mbabane Clinic, both recommended a cortisone injection in my foot to decrease the inflammation. According to Peace Corps, this is the next level of conservative measures, and if it’s successful I should get another in 3 months. So I agreed since I’m desperate for something to work. The doctor warned me that there’s a 10% chance it will not work, as it doesn’t work for everyone. I’m also supposed to refrain from a lot of walking for two weeks. Then I’m allowed to test my foot with small walking/running sessions. While injecting me, the doctor suggested I take up another exercise, like biking. The doctor should see my site.
November 11, 2009- My 16th Fatty Comment: My Make believes my butt and hips are becoming bigger and bigger, and I’m guessing that makes me more and more her daughter since Swazi’s consider weight gain a sign of happiness and an acceptance of them as your family. I keep telling her I am the same shape as the day I came, maybe even more toned but that I am very happy to be here. Yet lately, every time I wear my sarong or a pair of pants, she comments on my shape, in particular my thighs; I’m guessing she associates it to me not running. I used to defend myself because it’s not an easy thing to hear as frequently as I do. Now I just shake my head and walk away. There is no convincing her, and I cannot handle her saying it twice in a row.
November 12, 2009- Writing a poem on a rainy day:
November 12, 2009
It’s been raining since noon. I
occupy myself with a sentimental story,
then a sentimental comedy-
this makes me want a cigarette.
I smoke it as a storm rolls in;
thunder, lightning, and rain
barrage my hut.
I light incense to cover the smell of smoke
and continue smoking by my back window,
watching the rain thrash the corn.
I wonder how close lightning could strike
without striking me. I dare it with reckless
haughtiness. “How close will you come?” I taunt.
Does it know I could strike back too?
This evening seems like a cigarette smoking
evening. The rain beckons the smoke.
Slowly the past begins beckoning my thoughts,
and as I meditate on each inhale, it forces
me to recall the past.
I long for company; yet I am alone
in my solitude- always alone
-making my desire to know the
potential all that much greater.
With each lightning strike I feel the need to know become more
unbearable, and I reach out
only to be struck.
This evening is suited for smoking
cigarettes and drinking wine.
Stormy weather seems to beckon in me
thoughts of the past; melancholy rolls in,
and I long for company.
November 14, 2009- Writing an article for SoJo: Two elected volunteers edit our monthly newsletter for staff and volunteers, The Swazi So Journal, affectionately dubbed SoJo. The volunteers serve a 1-year term, then the new group votes in two new volunteers from their group. Our group decided to require 4 - 5 random volunteers each month to submit articles to fill the newsletter pages; staff are required to submit monthly. Articles range from volunteer projects, vacation spots worthy of volunteer time and money, book reviews, recipes, funny or interesting stories about our communities, and sometimes how to make something from scratch, like a rug from plastic bags. I submitted an article a few months ago on the benefits of yoga and basic meditation. I included an easy to begin meditation guide.
The editors are always looking for submissions; and since our group is phasing out as the main contributors, I decided to submit another article before year-end. It follows below.
A lesson in compassion
by Jennifer Gaspers
“Do not utter words in friendship that can be used in animosity.” –Yogi Bhajan
While thumbing through Yoga Magazine, I happened upon an article about creating connections in this busy, mad world we inhabit. The article, geared toward families with children, talks about how we take our family unit for granted, “presuming they will always be there when we need them.” Learning to create a strong relationship, mutually with conscious communication, is essential for a sense of trust among those you’re in contact with daily. This concept easily applies to life in general, but particularly to Peace Corps service. Currently we live within several ‘family units’—our homestead family, the Peace Corps family, and fellow volunteers we chose to adopt as extended family. At times, it can be quite dysfunctional, but I would rather choose the lunacy over having nothing or no one to call ‘family’ here. Therefore, my interactions with ‘family’ are most effective when performed with compassion, awareness, and humanity, especially if I wish to remain a vital member within the family unit. Partly I choose to conduct my interactions with great care because my desire for a sense of family is a selfish need. Nonetheless, shouldn’t we always take great care with those we love or interact with daily? After all, how else do we learn about others unless we are willing to actively Sit with them, listening with compassion and speaking our words with honesty and loving kindness. Below is a piece of the article in which the author gives a few tips on how to implement conscious communication. The guidelines are great suggestions for daily living, whether at home or in Swaziland. Namaste, my family.
Conscious Communication by Indra Singh (taken from Yoga Magazine)
When we communicate it is important to do our best to communicate from the heart; it takes practice and involves being aware of what you say to others before you actually say it.
Try not to speak unnecessarily. Words can have a profound effect once they have been spoken.
Treat those around you with the respect you wish to be treated with and communication will flourish between you and your family members.
Yogi Bhajan, master of kundalini yoga, created five rules for harmonious communication:
· You are communicating for a better tomorrow, not to spoil today.
· Whatever you are going to say is going to live forever and you have to live through it, therefore take care you don’t have to live through the mud of your communication.
· One wrong word said can do much more wrong than you can even imagine or even estimate.
· Words spoken are a chance for communication—don’t turn them into war.
· When you communicate you have to communicate again, don’t make the road rough.
“If you are not aware of someone else then in reality you are not aware of yourself.”
–Yogi Bhajan
November 14 -15, 2009- Passing time during a rainy weekend:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet,
And whither then? I cannot say.
-J.R.R. Tolkien
Yesterday and today, I spent most of my morning and early afternoon stringing beads. These are the paper beads I’ve been rolling since August. I had quite a pile growing, so I decided to try my hand at stringing them. I’ve strung necklaces before but this time I wanted something edgier. Studying the glass bead necklace my friend Amy made, I discovered the string is braided. I pulled out my cross-stitch floss and began braiding. I started by braiding the same colors together, then I intertwined grey-blue with grey, grey-blue with black, and grey-blue with chocolate brown. I also had some braiding cord, which I intertwined with the floss. The result was the right amount of edge for the beads I’d made. As Swazis say, bah bops or kukahle…it’s good! In two days, I made twelve necklaces, and it was so much fun. The entire time I was stringing, I was thinking of other ways to display my beads; I want to make some earrings once I find findings, and I envisioned paper bead mobiles.
Within the last few weeks, I’ve found my creative hands again, for which I am thankful; to feel inspired is a gift I welcome. After being so restless from not running, I was eager to find something equally satisfying. Making paper beads is by far more creative and better for me spiritually and emotionally but nothing compares to the physical high and mental release of running. I have another week, and then I am testing out my foot! YAH!
November 16, 2009- Unseasonable Weather: This year’s October and November weather have been much cooler than last year. Today was 13 degrees C! I can see my breath as I type; it feels like winter, and honestly compares to October nights in Nebraska or South Dakota. I’ve been wearing several layers, and socks and mitten to bed again; I lie under 2 doubled blankets. Burr!!!! The last few weeks it’s been raining every few days for 2 – 3 days at a time. When the rain comes in torrents, which is usually at least once or twice during the 2 – 3 day period, water runs under my door. Silently I thank myself for the good decision of purchasing a mop each time I use it.
Last year those kinds of rains came in January and February. I’m ready for the rainy season to be done but I must endure until March. On the up side, the countryside it greening nicely, the corn is growing well, and the flowers I planted in front of my hut are in full bloom. I planted lisela (in siSwati it means thief- they say it ‘steals’ the snakes away), a bulb plant that looks and smells very much like spring garlic with a large purple flower head and marigolds, which are blooming shades of orange- buttery orange, dark orange, and burnt orange all mixed together with pale yellow. They are supposed to keep the snakes away; so far, they are doing their job! Even though the rains bring color to Swaziland, I really hope there is reprieve in December and beginning of January when my cousin, Anne, is visiting. I meet her in Cape Town, SA on 30 December, and she flies back to America on 15 January. YAH! So I’d hate to stay in-doors the whole time; we have too much to see and explore.
November 22 – 30, 2009- All Volunteer Conference, Thanksgiving at the Ambassador’s house, Oliver Mtukudzi, Hiking to Waterfalls and Eating Grapes on Public Transport: My group joined the newly released-from-seclusion group 7s for an All Volunteer conference. Most of the information was geared toward the new group, unfortunately. However, the sessions on male circumcision and behavior change were interesting. For instance, being circumcised reduces a male’s changes of contracting or spreading HIV by 60%. It doesn’t mean that people should discontinue using condoms; it just means it increases a male’s chances, and in turn his partner’s chances, of being safer during sexual intercourse. Of course, the best part of the conference was being with my fellow G6ers. We are just that great of a group; we all get along, genuinely like each other, and never want for conversation. I also enjoyed starting my day with yoga, showering each morning, eating three meals a day that I didn’t have to cook or clean up after, and close proximity to some night life.
Thanksgiving dinner was hosted by the Ambassador at his rather lavish house with pool and a view of the hills of Mbabane…yes your tax dollars are going to good use. We enjoyed all the traditional food items—home-grown turkeys from the Jackson’s homestead, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, sage stuffing, mixed greens and pumpkin pie—as well as new-to-some editions—veggie lasagna, cranberry & nut stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and chocolate cake. There was even an impromptu game of football after food digested. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, this is my home-away-from-home family. While I’m not close to everyone the way I am with some, I am glad to call them family. And I’m happy I had them to share a day of thanks.
I stayed in town for the weekend. I heard about a concert by a well-known African musician, and about the Mbabane Hiking Club excursion. I couldn’t miss either. Oliver Mtukudzi, a musician from Zimbabwe, is in his late 70’s and still rockin’ as if he’s 20. His music is a mix of traditional African with a little rock and a little rhythm and blues. He played for three hours, and Victoria, Jenn, Marloes and I danced the night away. It was well worth the ticket price, and the venue was great- I love House on Fire.
The following day Marloes (a volunteer from Norway working with an NGO run by a former PC volunteer from the 80’s) and I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club in their trek to the famed waterfalls near Mbuluzi. It was mostly a downhill hike to the falls. Knowing the way out would be mostly uphill didn’t deter us, though, especially considering the splendor of the falls. Called the Three Waterfalls because there are three tiers, they flow into a small pool after rushing over the last tier. I cursed myself for my broken camera, although I’m not sure I could quite capture the magnificence of the fall’s beauty; even so, Marloes has promised me copies.
Before I headed home the following day, after two spontaneous meetings, I stopped at the Spar in Manzini since I knew there were more grocery options there than at my Spar. I found a bag of mixed green and purple grapes, a large handful of each for E16. I splurged. I haven’t eaten a grape in so long, my mouth water as soon as I spied them; everything else paled in comparison. I decided I was worth E16! I felt decadent, though, as I ate them one-by-one on the bus ride home, slowly savoring the texture and delighting in the juices as I watched the seven shades of green reappear on the landscape. The man next to me longingly eyed each grape as I popped them in my mouth. I feel a pang of guilt for about a second, and then went back to languidly eating them. The perfect breakfast, in my book.
My euphoria lasted until I walked into my hut. It smelled like a musty locker room, and I quickly discovered my walls were wet and moldy in places. I set to cleaning immediately. It took me a little over 3 hours to clean. Some pictures met their demise. Many bugs were swept out. I even had to burn my pillows; they were propped against the wall, and mold had grown through the mosquito net, through the pillowcases to the pillows. They were moldy to the core. Luckily, it hadn’t reached the blankets. Water even reached my grass mat, somehow, and it too was moldy in places. I let it hang in the sun after shaking it out. I took a nap following the ‘spring-cleaning’, since I felt dejected and exhausted. I woke an hour later to the voices of my bosisi and bhuti. I joined them on the lawn, and soon after, we practiced some dance moves, which has become an evening ritual of late. They were happy to see me, saying there were missing me. They laughed at my dance moves, and I said I was missing them. I felt less melancholy. Once again, I was home.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Thursday, November 5, 2009
October 2009
October 2 – 8, 2009- The Weekend That Was: I began this weekend by visiting my training family. It’s a nice feeling getting off at the siteshi (bus stop) and feeling a sense of familiar and home. I walked passed the sitolo (shop) that we kept in business during training, buying sodas, peanut butter, bread, and fat cakes. I walked passed several homesteads, recalling children who used to yell at us. Now well equipped with siSwati greetings, I could yell back, mostly to laughing or dropped jaw responses. There were a few updates to some houses and even to our training classroom, and the land is gradually changing to its seven shades of green. As I began my walk down the hill to the homestead I occupied for 2 months, the children spied me and came running up the hill, meeting me halfway. Even the oldest (13), who later seemed “too cool” to chat with me, was running to greet me. I laughed, greeting each one with a handshake and a ‘how’s it’, but really, I wanted to cry. I was overwhelmed with this feeling of kinship. In a word, I was vaclepmt! I consider it one of the best feelings I’ve felt since coming to Swaziland. I think it will be, by far, the best feeling I will feel here.
The next day I met Justine in town to take Jaci’s ever-packed bus 2-1/2 hrs to her site. She asked us to help her judge a speech competition happening the next morning between four high schools in her area. The morning welcomed us with rain. I usually carry my raincoat, but for some reason I forget it this time, so I borrowed Jaci’s. It was hanging on the back of her front door; she hadn’t worn it in months, but no matter, it would keep me dry. Shortly after putting it on and setting off to catch the bus, the left side of my body became itchy. To push ideas of a possible second bout of scabies out of my head, I tried to listen intently to Jaci and Justine’s conversation. I couldn’t. As we neared the siteshi, the itching became more persistent. Once settled onto the bus, I took off the raincoat since it was warm and sat on it. The itching continued, and other sections of my left side began itching, including my upper thigh and bum. Again, I tried to play cool since we were being introduced to a friend of Jaci’s but finally I could not take it anymore. I told Jaci I felt something was biting me; my side was itching a lot. I was afraid to look at my skin, fearing the worst, but she offered to investigate. As I covertly lifted my shirt, her eyes grew concerned. “You have red spots,” she said. I looked for myself. I had little red bumps all along my side and across half my belly. There were a few on the inside of my bicep and along the supine side of my arm. It didn’t think look like scabies but I couldn’t imagine what else could cause bumps. Maybe an allergic reaction to some medication I‘m taking? Maybe spiders or bugs in the bed at my training family’s house? I prayed, and so did Jaci that I didn’t give her something since we shared her bed the previous night.
I did everything I could to slow my breathing and look calm, and I tried to sit very still to just keep myself together. Jaci promised we’d figure it out. At our bus stop, the rain was coming down heavier, so I put the raincoat back on. Within minutes, the itchy, prickly feeling came back and it felt as if it were spreading to my legs and lower back. I brought Justine up-to-date, and she offered to rule out scabies, so I lifted my shirt again to show her my belly. She confirmed that it wasn’t scabies. So what the hell was it?
I could not imagine sitting through a morning of judging speeches and remaining focused; somehow, I managed, even after finding a mirror in the bathroom and sneaking a look at the multiplying red bumps. I was horrified! Sitting quite still seemed to help, so I did, and judged 20 speakers.
By early afternoon, we were heading back to the bus stop. The rain persisted all morning and through the afternoon, so I donned the coat again as we walked. Again, I felt the itching begin; I was convinced it was spreading. At the bus stop, the rain stopped and I decided to take off the raincoat. As I began to pull it off, I noticed a cocoon attached to the inside pocket. I threw it off quickly, with screams of disgust and “oh my God’s” to Jaci and Justine. The inside of her coat was filled with little black hairs. Jaci and Justine were intrigued, and finding a stick, they used it to detach the cocoon. Justine broke it open to discover it was a caterpillar. So I had rubbed caterpillar hairs into my body all morning. Fantastic. It began to sprinkle again. Jaci, laughing, offered me the raincoat. I said I’d rather get wet, and she could keep it.
It took several baths, exfoliating, tweezers, eucalyptus oil, hydrocortisone cream and a week and a half to dislodge the hairs and clear up the irritation. After telling the story and showing the spots to one of the Baylor doctors, just to confirm, he said I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Caterpillars carry neurotoxins, and it could have caused a several allergic reaction.
Yes, folks, I keep saying yes to this every morning when I wake, whether it is conscious or not. Some days I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing. WHO DOES THIS? Even so, I’m sure once I return to America, I’ll be well aware of who I am and won’t look twice at adversity. Bring on the caterpillars!
The rest of the weekend we spent laughing about my (misfortune?) incident, as well as razzing Jaci about her housecleaning habits. She promised to dispose of the coat; she was never planning to wear it ever again. We also talked about the mad life and times of community living. I told them the story about my Make wanting to give me a baboon to ride after giving her homemade marmalade. Jaci told me her family says only witches ride baboons, which is why Swazis fear baboons. I guess witches follow shortly after baboons appear. I’m not sure if Make is complementing me: my marmalade is so good it’s magical; or if she thinks I’m a witch. What would I rather be, magical or witch-like? Hmmmm, perhaps both?!
When I returned home, my hut was without electricity. Because it’s been raining so heavily, the rain washed away the ground where the electrical piping, which runs to my hut, is buried. Considering the piping isn’t buried very deep, it wasn’t a hard task to accomplish. Water got into the piping causing a short in the wires. I waited until the next day to take action, hoping if I allowed the pipes time to dry, that it would be better. Make insisted I call an electrician, so I got the name of a local electrician from the clinic staff. When I called he promised to come the next morning by 6 am, but he didn’t show. When I returned from Baylor at 5pm, I called him. He said forgot but that he was on his way. He came at 6:30pm. I held a flashlight as four guys worked to find the problem. It took 30 minutes to find the right set of piping running to my house, and other 45 minutes to correct the problem. They had to splice a section of the old, damaged electrical wires with a section of new wires and then protect it with new piping. The head electrician wasted so much time trying his best to flirt with me. I played the game thinking it would make him work faster; you know, to impress the white girl. It didn’t work that way; although, he only charged me E50 for labor. Apparently, it should have cost me E200 for all the materials. But he said he was being nice. Rarely do I use my sexuality to get what I want; I don’t like playing games. But I guess flirting worked in my favor this time, and I only endured a few annoying phone calls from him for the next couple of days. I’m not confident of their handiwork, though. They didn’t bury the piping very deep. I bet my brother, the electrician, would have a heart attach for sure watching them work. At least I have electricity again, and I paid very little for it.
October 6, 2009- Letter from Home: Today my mailbox held a letter from Rebecca, my dear friend in Vermillion. It detailed all the wonderful happenings in Vermillion. I drooled as she described the vegetables she grew this season- baskets of peppers and heirloom tomatoes, bags of beans, overflowing buckets of zucchini, squash and eggplant. She wrote about the end of season gatherings, the visitors that flocked to Vermillion, and the vacation she took to see friends in Seattle. The Vermillion Area Farmers Market, which I helped establish and served on the Board of Directors for 4 years, is thriving. There are about a dozen consistent vendors, customer traffic is increasing, and everyone is happily making money, she said. The new market manager is a local, and seriously dedicated to the “think global, buy local” adage. Rebecca managed to get an Electronic Funds Transfer machine for customer use, and she wrangled with the State to allow those using food stamps to shop at the market, a first for farmers’ markets in South Dakota. Her philosophy is everyone should be exposed and able to afford fresh, local produce. I agree! And I’m delighted that the market is flourishing. It’s nice to know that something I helped establish and grow is enduring and sustainable.
There is talk of starting a Slow Food chapter in eastern South Dakota, something Rebecca and I pondered the possibility of during long, cold winters. A new Asian-Fusion restaurant opened near the Coffee Shop. The community garden is continuing its success.
As I hear the news about my old home, I cannot help but long to be part of the undertakings. Vermillion is a unique little Midwest town. In many ways, it can be stifling. Yet, it’s filled with multi-talented people, each with plethora of interests and ideas, looking to enhance the space they occupy. And those people are my friends; they are people I admire, encouraged, supported, cavorted with, collaborated with, and shared a sense of pride when we accomplished some feat. Vermillion is a great place because of these people. When I left, I felt I had outgrown the town. I was ready to go beyond its borders in search of something more, something new, and something completely different. I found it, that’s for sure. However, some days I long for the familiar, the sense of family I felt in Vermillion, and working with committed others to generate ideas and actually put them into action. I’m not sure if I’ll return to Vermillion to live when I get back to America but it’s a possibility; there are many possibilities. What I do know is that Vermillion was mostly good to me, and I’m happy it’s well. I hope to find a place that makes me feel the way I feel about Vermillion wherever I journey.
October 7, 2009- Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, Recycle Class: This week I showed my students an episode of BBC’s Planet Earth series. The first in the series, Pole to Pole, is about the world from the North Pole to the South Pole and everything in-between. I’ve never seen my students more attentive or more delighted at learning about anything! It was the first time the classroom was quiet. In light of this, I’ve decided to scrap most of my environmental curriculum and show more Planet Earth episodes. I will continue the recycling art projects combined with a few reduce, reuse, and recycle tips but the rest is gone. If my students learn even a little from the Planet Earth series and how to reuse things to make art then I’m okay with less teaching.
October 13, 2009- Holding Headstand: Since June, I’ve had the goal of holding my posture in headstand. I have no problem getting into headstand, but I’ve never been able to hold it for any length of time. I began to incorporate it into each practice, but today while practicing yoga, I decided my focus would be poses that prepare the body for headstand and attempting to hold the pose. For the first time ever I was able to hold the posture. For five breaths to be exact. Huh, patience and practice do pay off.
October 14, 2009- Saving Chris Brown: Today I asked my first period 6th grade class to get into groups and create murals about saving the earth. I told them to choose a theme centered on either saving the earth, saving animals or recycling. I gave each group a magazine or newspaper to look for pictures representing their theme. They did really well sticking to their theme, and most nicely arranged and decorated their murals. Some labeled each picture; some wrote “Save the Earth” and “Save Animals” across the top and bottom of their mural. When groups were finishing I gave them bo-stick to hang their mural on the wall of their choice. As I walked around to admire each group’s artwork, I noticed a “save” expression I hadn’t offered as a suggestion. Next to a Nike swoosh drawn someone in the group, a student wrote “Save Chris Brown.” I asked that group about their mural. “Chris Brown needs to be saved?” I asked. “Why, is he in danger? And the Nike swoosh? It needs to be saved?” I only got smiles for answers. As a fellow volunteer reminded me, Chris Brown is beloved in Swaziland; they probably believe he needs saving from Rihanna. What about the Nike swoosh? Is Nike in bankruptcy?
October 16 – 18, 2009- Electricity can be elusive: The rainy season is in full swing. It began earlier this month, much earlier than last year. This year’s rainfall is more and heavier than last year too. Since the rains have been so heavy, the electricity comes and goes frequently. This whole weekend, I was forced to use the gas stove in the main house to heat water and cook food since I never had power for more than 30 to 40 minutes at a time. I have a newfound appreciation for those who live without electricity each day, relying only on wood burning stoves or open wood fires. My skills of maneuvering and operating by candlelight have greatly increased. Even so, the notion of living by candlelight is romantic for a short time only; it soon becomes taxing. Reading becomes a chore, and strains the eyes. Crocheting by candlelight is tricky; I’m glad I’m beginning to learn to crochet without looking. Alternatives for heating water and cooking food are imperative. And one learns which corners not to stumble into for fear of stubbing toes or stepping on spiders. I also go to bed earlier; one due to eyestrain, and two because there’s not much else to do.
I’m better at conserving electricity and water here than I was in the states, even though I thought I was pretty conscious of what I used. Here, how much you have and how much you use take on new connotations. I know that if I use more than 2 or 3 liters of water a day, then I’ll have to carry my containers twice a week to the water tap instead of once. I know that on rainy days I must be efficient, boiling the water that I will need for the day when I have power in case the power comes and goes. Multi-tasking, here, has become an art form.
October 20, 2009- ‘Plowing’ the Field: I helped bosisi wami (my sisters) plow the fields to ready them for planting. The term plowing in siSwati does not have the same meaning at is does in English. Plowing means to ready the land, as it does in English, but it also means making the holes for each kernel of maize. The field we readied was about the size of mom’s garden. When plowing each hole, you have to dig in each of the four directions, north, south, east and west; then the hole is ready for manure. Make used to use chemical fertilizer; this year she is utilizing the organic methods she learned from the RDA (Rural Development Assoc.). The manure sits overnight or for 24 hours; then the holes are ready for maize the following day. When I asked why it’s necessary to dig in all four directions, I never got a straight answer, something about making the hole the right size for the kernel.
Bosisi wami laughed when I said I wanted to help. They didn’t think I was capable of hoeing a hole much less a third of the field. They laughed at my hoeing techniques because I didn’t do it exactly as they did. Nonetheless, I think they appreciated the help. If I hadn’t helped they would have spend another afternoon plowing. Instead, the next afternoon they were able to plant. It was great exercise for me, but also nice to think about my parents, grand- and great-grandparents as I dug, wondering at their experiences with plowing. It’s easy to forget that America is not far removed from this way of life.
October 24 -25, 2009- Hiking all Weekend: Having to be in the capital for meetings and a workshop, I decided to work in a few hikes. The world’s largest exposed granite dome is near Mbabane. Estimated at three billion years old, it looms over the city, and I’ve been eyeing it since we arrived. Taking to enthusiastic hiking buddies, Matthew and Jenn, we walked to the outcropping in two hours. It’s a relatively easy hike if you enter from the plateau; we decided we need to come back and climb the face of the dome. There’s also several caves but we didn’t take the time to search for them as time was limited for them. I could have stayed all day. I took pictures with Jenn’s camera, as mine is broken. I cannot wait to view them; I felt inspired. We rested on the top of the dome; having brought my travel journal from Annette, I drew the landscape. It was a great cathartic rest. The following day I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club for a hike near my site, as it turned out. About 5 km from my site is a rocky pinnacle that tested my limited rock climbing skills, and excited experienced climbers. The hike up to the pinnacle was beautiful; the countryside looked lush. Due to the rains, everything is greening and flowering trees are blooming.
The Mbabane Hiking Club consists of some Peace Corps staff and volunteers, Embassy staff, NGO workers and ex-pats. The mix is eclectic, to say the least, and no one is want for good or interesting conversation. Three other volunteers, Jay and Hilary and Matthew, joined me. It was a perfect day. Walking thru nature is therapy; beautiful scenery is a perk.
The next day I met Justine in town to take Jaci’s ever-packed bus 2-1/2 hrs to her site. She asked us to help her judge a speech competition happening the next morning between four high schools in her area. The morning welcomed us with rain. I usually carry my raincoat, but for some reason I forget it this time, so I borrowed Jaci’s. It was hanging on the back of her front door; she hadn’t worn it in months, but no matter, it would keep me dry. Shortly after putting it on and setting off to catch the bus, the left side of my body became itchy. To push ideas of a possible second bout of scabies out of my head, I tried to listen intently to Jaci and Justine’s conversation. I couldn’t. As we neared the siteshi, the itching became more persistent. Once settled onto the bus, I took off the raincoat since it was warm and sat on it. The itching continued, and other sections of my left side began itching, including my upper thigh and bum. Again, I tried to play cool since we were being introduced to a friend of Jaci’s but finally I could not take it anymore. I told Jaci I felt something was biting me; my side was itching a lot. I was afraid to look at my skin, fearing the worst, but she offered to investigate. As I covertly lifted my shirt, her eyes grew concerned. “You have red spots,” she said. I looked for myself. I had little red bumps all along my side and across half my belly. There were a few on the inside of my bicep and along the supine side of my arm. It didn’t think look like scabies but I couldn’t imagine what else could cause bumps. Maybe an allergic reaction to some medication I‘m taking? Maybe spiders or bugs in the bed at my training family’s house? I prayed, and so did Jaci that I didn’t give her something since we shared her bed the previous night.
I did everything I could to slow my breathing and look calm, and I tried to sit very still to just keep myself together. Jaci promised we’d figure it out. At our bus stop, the rain was coming down heavier, so I put the raincoat back on. Within minutes, the itchy, prickly feeling came back and it felt as if it were spreading to my legs and lower back. I brought Justine up-to-date, and she offered to rule out scabies, so I lifted my shirt again to show her my belly. She confirmed that it wasn’t scabies. So what the hell was it?
I could not imagine sitting through a morning of judging speeches and remaining focused; somehow, I managed, even after finding a mirror in the bathroom and sneaking a look at the multiplying red bumps. I was horrified! Sitting quite still seemed to help, so I did, and judged 20 speakers.
By early afternoon, we were heading back to the bus stop. The rain persisted all morning and through the afternoon, so I donned the coat again as we walked. Again, I felt the itching begin; I was convinced it was spreading. At the bus stop, the rain stopped and I decided to take off the raincoat. As I began to pull it off, I noticed a cocoon attached to the inside pocket. I threw it off quickly, with screams of disgust and “oh my God’s” to Jaci and Justine. The inside of her coat was filled with little black hairs. Jaci and Justine were intrigued, and finding a stick, they used it to detach the cocoon. Justine broke it open to discover it was a caterpillar. So I had rubbed caterpillar hairs into my body all morning. Fantastic. It began to sprinkle again. Jaci, laughing, offered me the raincoat. I said I’d rather get wet, and she could keep it.
It took several baths, exfoliating, tweezers, eucalyptus oil, hydrocortisone cream and a week and a half to dislodge the hairs and clear up the irritation. After telling the story and showing the spots to one of the Baylor doctors, just to confirm, he said I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Caterpillars carry neurotoxins, and it could have caused a several allergic reaction.
Yes, folks, I keep saying yes to this every morning when I wake, whether it is conscious or not. Some days I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing. WHO DOES THIS? Even so, I’m sure once I return to America, I’ll be well aware of who I am and won’t look twice at adversity. Bring on the caterpillars!
The rest of the weekend we spent laughing about my (misfortune?) incident, as well as razzing Jaci about her housecleaning habits. She promised to dispose of the coat; she was never planning to wear it ever again. We also talked about the mad life and times of community living. I told them the story about my Make wanting to give me a baboon to ride after giving her homemade marmalade. Jaci told me her family says only witches ride baboons, which is why Swazis fear baboons. I guess witches follow shortly after baboons appear. I’m not sure if Make is complementing me: my marmalade is so good it’s magical; or if she thinks I’m a witch. What would I rather be, magical or witch-like? Hmmmm, perhaps both?!
When I returned home, my hut was without electricity. Because it’s been raining so heavily, the rain washed away the ground where the electrical piping, which runs to my hut, is buried. Considering the piping isn’t buried very deep, it wasn’t a hard task to accomplish. Water got into the piping causing a short in the wires. I waited until the next day to take action, hoping if I allowed the pipes time to dry, that it would be better. Make insisted I call an electrician, so I got the name of a local electrician from the clinic staff. When I called he promised to come the next morning by 6 am, but he didn’t show. When I returned from Baylor at 5pm, I called him. He said forgot but that he was on his way. He came at 6:30pm. I held a flashlight as four guys worked to find the problem. It took 30 minutes to find the right set of piping running to my house, and other 45 minutes to correct the problem. They had to splice a section of the old, damaged electrical wires with a section of new wires and then protect it with new piping. The head electrician wasted so much time trying his best to flirt with me. I played the game thinking it would make him work faster; you know, to impress the white girl. It didn’t work that way; although, he only charged me E50 for labor. Apparently, it should have cost me E200 for all the materials. But he said he was being nice. Rarely do I use my sexuality to get what I want; I don’t like playing games. But I guess flirting worked in my favor this time, and I only endured a few annoying phone calls from him for the next couple of days. I’m not confident of their handiwork, though. They didn’t bury the piping very deep. I bet my brother, the electrician, would have a heart attach for sure watching them work. At least I have electricity again, and I paid very little for it.
October 6, 2009- Letter from Home: Today my mailbox held a letter from Rebecca, my dear friend in Vermillion. It detailed all the wonderful happenings in Vermillion. I drooled as she described the vegetables she grew this season- baskets of peppers and heirloom tomatoes, bags of beans, overflowing buckets of zucchini, squash and eggplant. She wrote about the end of season gatherings, the visitors that flocked to Vermillion, and the vacation she took to see friends in Seattle. The Vermillion Area Farmers Market, which I helped establish and served on the Board of Directors for 4 years, is thriving. There are about a dozen consistent vendors, customer traffic is increasing, and everyone is happily making money, she said. The new market manager is a local, and seriously dedicated to the “think global, buy local” adage. Rebecca managed to get an Electronic Funds Transfer machine for customer use, and she wrangled with the State to allow those using food stamps to shop at the market, a first for farmers’ markets in South Dakota. Her philosophy is everyone should be exposed and able to afford fresh, local produce. I agree! And I’m delighted that the market is flourishing. It’s nice to know that something I helped establish and grow is enduring and sustainable.
There is talk of starting a Slow Food chapter in eastern South Dakota, something Rebecca and I pondered the possibility of during long, cold winters. A new Asian-Fusion restaurant opened near the Coffee Shop. The community garden is continuing its success.
As I hear the news about my old home, I cannot help but long to be part of the undertakings. Vermillion is a unique little Midwest town. In many ways, it can be stifling. Yet, it’s filled with multi-talented people, each with plethora of interests and ideas, looking to enhance the space they occupy. And those people are my friends; they are people I admire, encouraged, supported, cavorted with, collaborated with, and shared a sense of pride when we accomplished some feat. Vermillion is a great place because of these people. When I left, I felt I had outgrown the town. I was ready to go beyond its borders in search of something more, something new, and something completely different. I found it, that’s for sure. However, some days I long for the familiar, the sense of family I felt in Vermillion, and working with committed others to generate ideas and actually put them into action. I’m not sure if I’ll return to Vermillion to live when I get back to America but it’s a possibility; there are many possibilities. What I do know is that Vermillion was mostly good to me, and I’m happy it’s well. I hope to find a place that makes me feel the way I feel about Vermillion wherever I journey.
October 7, 2009- Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, Recycle Class: This week I showed my students an episode of BBC’s Planet Earth series. The first in the series, Pole to Pole, is about the world from the North Pole to the South Pole and everything in-between. I’ve never seen my students more attentive or more delighted at learning about anything! It was the first time the classroom was quiet. In light of this, I’ve decided to scrap most of my environmental curriculum and show more Planet Earth episodes. I will continue the recycling art projects combined with a few reduce, reuse, and recycle tips but the rest is gone. If my students learn even a little from the Planet Earth series and how to reuse things to make art then I’m okay with less teaching.
October 13, 2009- Holding Headstand: Since June, I’ve had the goal of holding my posture in headstand. I have no problem getting into headstand, but I’ve never been able to hold it for any length of time. I began to incorporate it into each practice, but today while practicing yoga, I decided my focus would be poses that prepare the body for headstand and attempting to hold the pose. For the first time ever I was able to hold the posture. For five breaths to be exact. Huh, patience and practice do pay off.
October 14, 2009- Saving Chris Brown: Today I asked my first period 6th grade class to get into groups and create murals about saving the earth. I told them to choose a theme centered on either saving the earth, saving animals or recycling. I gave each group a magazine or newspaper to look for pictures representing their theme. They did really well sticking to their theme, and most nicely arranged and decorated their murals. Some labeled each picture; some wrote “Save the Earth” and “Save Animals” across the top and bottom of their mural. When groups were finishing I gave them bo-stick to hang their mural on the wall of their choice. As I walked around to admire each group’s artwork, I noticed a “save” expression I hadn’t offered as a suggestion. Next to a Nike swoosh drawn someone in the group, a student wrote “Save Chris Brown.” I asked that group about their mural. “Chris Brown needs to be saved?” I asked. “Why, is he in danger? And the Nike swoosh? It needs to be saved?” I only got smiles for answers. As a fellow volunteer reminded me, Chris Brown is beloved in Swaziland; they probably believe he needs saving from Rihanna. What about the Nike swoosh? Is Nike in bankruptcy?
October 16 – 18, 2009- Electricity can be elusive: The rainy season is in full swing. It began earlier this month, much earlier than last year. This year’s rainfall is more and heavier than last year too. Since the rains have been so heavy, the electricity comes and goes frequently. This whole weekend, I was forced to use the gas stove in the main house to heat water and cook food since I never had power for more than 30 to 40 minutes at a time. I have a newfound appreciation for those who live without electricity each day, relying only on wood burning stoves or open wood fires. My skills of maneuvering and operating by candlelight have greatly increased. Even so, the notion of living by candlelight is romantic for a short time only; it soon becomes taxing. Reading becomes a chore, and strains the eyes. Crocheting by candlelight is tricky; I’m glad I’m beginning to learn to crochet without looking. Alternatives for heating water and cooking food are imperative. And one learns which corners not to stumble into for fear of stubbing toes or stepping on spiders. I also go to bed earlier; one due to eyestrain, and two because there’s not much else to do.
I’m better at conserving electricity and water here than I was in the states, even though I thought I was pretty conscious of what I used. Here, how much you have and how much you use take on new connotations. I know that if I use more than 2 or 3 liters of water a day, then I’ll have to carry my containers twice a week to the water tap instead of once. I know that on rainy days I must be efficient, boiling the water that I will need for the day when I have power in case the power comes and goes. Multi-tasking, here, has become an art form.
October 20, 2009- ‘Plowing’ the Field: I helped bosisi wami (my sisters) plow the fields to ready them for planting. The term plowing in siSwati does not have the same meaning at is does in English. Plowing means to ready the land, as it does in English, but it also means making the holes for each kernel of maize. The field we readied was about the size of mom’s garden. When plowing each hole, you have to dig in each of the four directions, north, south, east and west; then the hole is ready for manure. Make used to use chemical fertilizer; this year she is utilizing the organic methods she learned from the RDA (Rural Development Assoc.). The manure sits overnight or for 24 hours; then the holes are ready for maize the following day. When I asked why it’s necessary to dig in all four directions, I never got a straight answer, something about making the hole the right size for the kernel.
Bosisi wami laughed when I said I wanted to help. They didn’t think I was capable of hoeing a hole much less a third of the field. They laughed at my hoeing techniques because I didn’t do it exactly as they did. Nonetheless, I think they appreciated the help. If I hadn’t helped they would have spend another afternoon plowing. Instead, the next afternoon they were able to plant. It was great exercise for me, but also nice to think about my parents, grand- and great-grandparents as I dug, wondering at their experiences with plowing. It’s easy to forget that America is not far removed from this way of life.
October 24 -25, 2009- Hiking all Weekend: Having to be in the capital for meetings and a workshop, I decided to work in a few hikes. The world’s largest exposed granite dome is near Mbabane. Estimated at three billion years old, it looms over the city, and I’ve been eyeing it since we arrived. Taking to enthusiastic hiking buddies, Matthew and Jenn, we walked to the outcropping in two hours. It’s a relatively easy hike if you enter from the plateau; we decided we need to come back and climb the face of the dome. There’s also several caves but we didn’t take the time to search for them as time was limited for them. I could have stayed all day. I took pictures with Jenn’s camera, as mine is broken. I cannot wait to view them; I felt inspired. We rested on the top of the dome; having brought my travel journal from Annette, I drew the landscape. It was a great cathartic rest. The following day I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club for a hike near my site, as it turned out. About 5 km from my site is a rocky pinnacle that tested my limited rock climbing skills, and excited experienced climbers. The hike up to the pinnacle was beautiful; the countryside looked lush. Due to the rains, everything is greening and flowering trees are blooming.
The Mbabane Hiking Club consists of some Peace Corps staff and volunteers, Embassy staff, NGO workers and ex-pats. The mix is eclectic, to say the least, and no one is want for good or interesting conversation. Three other volunteers, Jay and Hilary and Matthew, joined me. It was a perfect day. Walking thru nature is therapy; beautiful scenery is a perk.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Sept Joys and Woes
September 2, 2009- My First Blanket: I began crocheting a blanket the January before I left for Swaziland. I finished it today, 1 year and 8 months later. I call it my chakra blanket as it represents each chakra color, which also happens to correspond to the colors of the rainbow. It’s about 3 ½ feet wide and 6-ish feet long. So it’s basically a lap blanket; but it is pretty, and sweet, and coincidently, warm for those evenings when chill sets in and no amount of tea will warm the body. Many thanks to family and friends—mostly mom and dad—for sending me yarn to finish it. Little did they know they were contributing to my new addiction but crocheting is probably the healthiest obsession I could acquire here. I’ve made several scarves and a few hats/berets. My next project is another blanket consisting of granny squares and daisies. It will be multi-colored as well. I found a sewing shop in Mbabane; they have a small but nice selection of yarn. I visit each time I’m in town.
September 8 -10, 2009- Mid-Service Physicals: One year into service and volunteers are required to visit their friendly PCMO (PC Medical Officer) for an annual exam. I discovered that due to chronic rhinitis, which I cannot seem to shake here, I need to take a daily allergy tab and use a nasal spray. Oh Joy. It’s probably due mostly to the dusty road I walk daily, which I cannot break from, and partly to all the animals I live with. So hopefully once I get back to America, I will be able to wean myself from the tabs and spray. We were treated to the dentist, which was a pleasant and unpleasant surprise. Pleasant because didn’t think I get to see a dentist, so I was glad to have my teeth cleaned. But unpleasant because I was afraid I’d have a cavity or two. No cavities, just many comments about my receding gums (WHAT?!) and a fitting for a bite plate (REALLY?!). He said my TMJ muscles were too tight. I admit I clench my jaw at night but I didn’t think it was a big problem. So now I have to wear a bite plate while I sleep. Good God! I’m not sure it’s helping. I think I clench just as much with or without it.
We were also tested for TB. My test was negative but I have to say I am slightly surprised. For all the TB patients at my clinic and all the coughing on buses by people/kids who don’t cover their mouth, I thought I’d have TB for sure. I’m glad I don’t because the treatment is lengthy and the medication can cause liver damage.
The most enjoyable parts of the 3-day experience were: 1.) I might, eventually, get an MRI on my foot. It’s still bothering me so no running…but I’m dying to run. And confession…sometimes I sneak in a mile here and there just to release; 2.) Hanging with the 7 other volunteers in my mid-service physicals group, enjoying many philosophical (and not so philosophical) discussions to all hours of the morning, some enhanced by good wine and yummy beers; 3.) Cooking with other volunteers. It seems living here has enhanced my love to cook, and appreciation of the cooking process, when I have someone to share a meal with, or three or four awesome someones; 4.) Watching seasons one and two of 30 Rock. Brilliant! Tina Fey is fabulous, and who knew Alex Baldwin was so damn funny?!; 5.) Playing Scrabble; 6.) Singing 80’s songs via karaoke. I had just finished my legwarmers. I was wearing leggings, legwarmers and an oversized sweatshirt…all by chance, but totally fitting for singing 80’s songs!; and 7.) Devoting time to figure out some all important life issues, continually ongoing but ever necessary.
September 11, 2009- Saying Farewell to our APCD: Chad Fleck, our Assistant Programming Country Director for almost three years, was a former PCV in Nepal. He was tough on us but he led with compassion because he understood well the life of a volunteer. A few months ago, he began sending our group quotes to help keep us motivated. For his going-away party we each wrote him our favorite quote and a short note, and assembled them in a book from the lounge’s library aptly named “Passage to India”, which he’s read. It was meant to represent the past, present and future—a book from his past, from volunteers that he impacted, and memories of Swaziland for years to come.
Chad was great at recognizing and giving perspective, especially when it came to host country nationals. He would always say, “Well have you thought about it this way…” He also reminded us about the art and psychology of sitting during PC service, as in Sitting with a capital S as opposed to sitting with a lower-case s. “Small-s sitting is sitting on your haunches waiting for something else to happen. It’s sitting with a future-orientation, an intention that you’d rather be somewhere else. Sitting—with a capital S—is about having a now-orientation. It’s being present, with intention. And what is intention? It is intention of cultivating social relations with the people around you at the moment, regardless of whether you are busy or still, talking or silent. Your intention is that moment changes everything.” –Chad Fleck
He also quoted Andreas Fuglesang as saying, “People in Western civilization no longer have time for each other, they have no time together, they do not share the experience of time. This explains why Westerners are incapable of understanding the psychology of sitting. In villages all over the world, sitting is an important social activity. Sitting is not a ‘waste of time’ nor is it a manifestation of laziness. Sitting is having time together, time to cultivate social relations.”
I am reminded of my parents’ card clubs or entertaining relatives and visitors in their home. There was always time for Sitting. News was shared, stories told, food eaten, and many laughs shared. They learned it from their parents who watched their own parents Sit with others. It’s something that used to happen in America, especially rural American communities. It’s a lost art, something I wish people would revive, and something I wish to revive when I return.
So, thank you, Chad Fleck, for teaching me many important lessons about patience, expectations, perception of things, asking the right questions, and the art of Sitting. Your presence will be greatly missed.
September 15, 2009- The Rollercoaster of Inadequacy: Shadowing the Baylor doctors was emotional today. One of their patients was a 12 year old girl in heart failure due to complications of HIV, previous and current TB bouts, malnutrition and who knows what else her body is fighting against. She was retaining about 4 kgs (approx. 8.8 lbs) of fluid in her abdomen. The plan was to admit her to Hlatikhulu Hospital but before transport arrived, she collapsed and staff admitted her to Nhlangano Health Center wards. I’m unaware of her current status, but asked the doctors to keep me posted.
Her face haunted my thoughts all day, but my helplessness of the situation plagues me more. I feel like I could do much more for the Swazi nation if I were capable of treating them. I curse my selfishness and the fearfulness I felt for pre-med in undergraduate school. I’ve thought about medicine off-and-on since then. I was afraid of the math and advanced science courses required; I told myself I wasn’t smart enough to pass and so I didn’t even try. In massage school I learned that a fear is simply a fantasy endeavoring to appear real. So what’s holding me back?
After I told a fellow volunteer about my day, he gave the obligatory, ‘damn that’s rough’ speech, and how he also has feelings of wanting to do more. But then he said something really prophetic. “Quite the experience this is, huh? Trying and growing, and understanding human life.” Yes, human life. And I’m caught between several notions about human life: in some places life is transient; in some places it’s disposable; and in some places people try so hard to destroy it where others fight to save it. But what I’ve noticed most is that in too many places, and for too many people, it’s taken for granted.
I want to see a world where people see life as beautiful, where life is valued, respected, and not taken for granted. Where all we need is a little time for Sitting, a little time to be compassionate in order to build on the love we should readily share with others. For those skeptics, this probably sounds Pollyanna-esque, highly unattainable, head-in-the-clouds dream-like, idealistic, or perhaps even impossible. But I want the impossible! I want it to be possible.
Update on the 12-year old: Once stable, she was transferred to Hlatikhulu Hospital where they drained the fluid from her belly. She was ambulatory, and feeling better after several days of bed rest. She’s still in the hospital, and when I saw the Baylor doctors yesterday (22 September) they said there was no change in her condition expect that she was in less pain. Her liver, however, is compromised, and they are working to find a solution.
September 16, 23 & 30, 2009- Teaching 6th Graders: I began my Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle class today. The curriculum, from the EPA’s website, is geared for 1st to 4th graders, but my students are struggling. I’m not sure if it’s because the 3 R’s concept is new or because they are always doing other work in my class but I will soldier on and define terms as I go. I’m trying to incorporate as many hands-on projects as possible to keep them engaged. The 2nd week of class we talked about reusing materials to make something else. I showed them how to cut and roll paper into beads. Everyone started out well, and then the boys began making cigarettes, of course. In a few weeks I’ll take the beads back to class and allow them to make necklaces or bracelets. The 3rd week of class we talked about reducing waste. I asked them to get into groups of 5 to write letters to my World Wise School matches (my sister Sharon’s 1st graders and my cousin Christine’s 2nd graders). They claimed they had written letters before but I don’t think they’ve ever written letters without being directed on what to write, line by line. So I wrote on the board, and they copied. I did ask them to fill in certain blanks, for instance, “What are you learning in this class?” and “Why are we using paper that has already been use?” For the first question, I read sentences that talked about all they classes they were taking and some about Life Skills, which is what my class is officially titled. For the second question, students began writing that they were using used paper because they didn’t have new paper. I had to reiterate many, many times the purpose of reduce and reuse. I can hardly fault them. The school system allows them to only memorize and regurgitate information, never allowing for questioning content, for critical thinking, or for analysis. So far the only positive thing that’s come from the class is making paper beads. My sisi, Zandele, loves it. And now I love it. It’s my new obsession. I’m making beads out of everything: magazines, newspapers, candy wrappers, chip bags. And I have a small mound beginning to form. Many of you will receive a beaded paper jewelry item, don’t you worry! I’m thinking of a way to make in into an income-generating project for my youth group. The only issue is to find someone who can teach them about correctly using jewelry findings and how to run a business. A project for when the term ends. In the meantime, bead making has become a wonderful stress reliever, and hopefully a few 6th graders will keep it up.
September 24, 2009- Swine Flu Hits Hard: From today until 6 October, volunteers are on semi-lockdown. Due to several volunteers tested for H1N1, and many others w/ H1N1-like symptoms, volunteers are not allowed to stay at any backpackers in town or congregate in large groups until adequate treatment time has lapsed. So far 13 volunteers and 3 staff people were infected. Luckily Peace Corps has the medication to treat avian flu and H1N1 but no clinic in Swaziland has Tamiflu tabs. H1N1 severely affects those with low immune systems, and the very young and the very old. Nonetheless, with a 39% HIV infection rate among those 18 – 35 and an increasing TB rate, most people in this country are highly susceptible to contracting flu. I’m glad we have the medication to treat ourselves, but it hardly seems fair.
(At the date of this blog, 19 volunteers and 5 staff either had or suffered from symptoms relating to H1N1. Yikes!)
September 8 -10, 2009- Mid-Service Physicals: One year into service and volunteers are required to visit their friendly PCMO (PC Medical Officer) for an annual exam. I discovered that due to chronic rhinitis, which I cannot seem to shake here, I need to take a daily allergy tab and use a nasal spray. Oh Joy. It’s probably due mostly to the dusty road I walk daily, which I cannot break from, and partly to all the animals I live with. So hopefully once I get back to America, I will be able to wean myself from the tabs and spray. We were treated to the dentist, which was a pleasant and unpleasant surprise. Pleasant because didn’t think I get to see a dentist, so I was glad to have my teeth cleaned. But unpleasant because I was afraid I’d have a cavity or two. No cavities, just many comments about my receding gums (WHAT?!) and a fitting for a bite plate (REALLY?!). He said my TMJ muscles were too tight. I admit I clench my jaw at night but I didn’t think it was a big problem. So now I have to wear a bite plate while I sleep. Good God! I’m not sure it’s helping. I think I clench just as much with or without it.
We were also tested for TB. My test was negative but I have to say I am slightly surprised. For all the TB patients at my clinic and all the coughing on buses by people/kids who don’t cover their mouth, I thought I’d have TB for sure. I’m glad I don’t because the treatment is lengthy and the medication can cause liver damage.
The most enjoyable parts of the 3-day experience were: 1.) I might, eventually, get an MRI on my foot. It’s still bothering me so no running…but I’m dying to run. And confession…sometimes I sneak in a mile here and there just to release; 2.) Hanging with the 7 other volunteers in my mid-service physicals group, enjoying many philosophical (and not so philosophical) discussions to all hours of the morning, some enhanced by good wine and yummy beers; 3.) Cooking with other volunteers. It seems living here has enhanced my love to cook, and appreciation of the cooking process, when I have someone to share a meal with, or three or four awesome someones; 4.) Watching seasons one and two of 30 Rock. Brilliant! Tina Fey is fabulous, and who knew Alex Baldwin was so damn funny?!; 5.) Playing Scrabble; 6.) Singing 80’s songs via karaoke. I had just finished my legwarmers. I was wearing leggings, legwarmers and an oversized sweatshirt…all by chance, but totally fitting for singing 80’s songs!; and 7.) Devoting time to figure out some all important life issues, continually ongoing but ever necessary.
September 11, 2009- Saying Farewell to our APCD: Chad Fleck, our Assistant Programming Country Director for almost three years, was a former PCV in Nepal. He was tough on us but he led with compassion because he understood well the life of a volunteer. A few months ago, he began sending our group quotes to help keep us motivated. For his going-away party we each wrote him our favorite quote and a short note, and assembled them in a book from the lounge’s library aptly named “Passage to India”, which he’s read. It was meant to represent the past, present and future—a book from his past, from volunteers that he impacted, and memories of Swaziland for years to come.
Chad was great at recognizing and giving perspective, especially when it came to host country nationals. He would always say, “Well have you thought about it this way…” He also reminded us about the art and psychology of sitting during PC service, as in Sitting with a capital S as opposed to sitting with a lower-case s. “Small-s sitting is sitting on your haunches waiting for something else to happen. It’s sitting with a future-orientation, an intention that you’d rather be somewhere else. Sitting—with a capital S—is about having a now-orientation. It’s being present, with intention. And what is intention? It is intention of cultivating social relations with the people around you at the moment, regardless of whether you are busy or still, talking or silent. Your intention is that moment changes everything.” –Chad Fleck
He also quoted Andreas Fuglesang as saying, “People in Western civilization no longer have time for each other, they have no time together, they do not share the experience of time. This explains why Westerners are incapable of understanding the psychology of sitting. In villages all over the world, sitting is an important social activity. Sitting is not a ‘waste of time’ nor is it a manifestation of laziness. Sitting is having time together, time to cultivate social relations.”
I am reminded of my parents’ card clubs or entertaining relatives and visitors in their home. There was always time for Sitting. News was shared, stories told, food eaten, and many laughs shared. They learned it from their parents who watched their own parents Sit with others. It’s something that used to happen in America, especially rural American communities. It’s a lost art, something I wish people would revive, and something I wish to revive when I return.
So, thank you, Chad Fleck, for teaching me many important lessons about patience, expectations, perception of things, asking the right questions, and the art of Sitting. Your presence will be greatly missed.
September 15, 2009- The Rollercoaster of Inadequacy: Shadowing the Baylor doctors was emotional today. One of their patients was a 12 year old girl in heart failure due to complications of HIV, previous and current TB bouts, malnutrition and who knows what else her body is fighting against. She was retaining about 4 kgs (approx. 8.8 lbs) of fluid in her abdomen. The plan was to admit her to Hlatikhulu Hospital but before transport arrived, she collapsed and staff admitted her to Nhlangano Health Center wards. I’m unaware of her current status, but asked the doctors to keep me posted.
Her face haunted my thoughts all day, but my helplessness of the situation plagues me more. I feel like I could do much more for the Swazi nation if I were capable of treating them. I curse my selfishness and the fearfulness I felt for pre-med in undergraduate school. I’ve thought about medicine off-and-on since then. I was afraid of the math and advanced science courses required; I told myself I wasn’t smart enough to pass and so I didn’t even try. In massage school I learned that a fear is simply a fantasy endeavoring to appear real. So what’s holding me back?
After I told a fellow volunteer about my day, he gave the obligatory, ‘damn that’s rough’ speech, and how he also has feelings of wanting to do more. But then he said something really prophetic. “Quite the experience this is, huh? Trying and growing, and understanding human life.” Yes, human life. And I’m caught between several notions about human life: in some places life is transient; in some places it’s disposable; and in some places people try so hard to destroy it where others fight to save it. But what I’ve noticed most is that in too many places, and for too many people, it’s taken for granted.
I want to see a world where people see life as beautiful, where life is valued, respected, and not taken for granted. Where all we need is a little time for Sitting, a little time to be compassionate in order to build on the love we should readily share with others. For those skeptics, this probably sounds Pollyanna-esque, highly unattainable, head-in-the-clouds dream-like, idealistic, or perhaps even impossible. But I want the impossible! I want it to be possible.
Update on the 12-year old: Once stable, she was transferred to Hlatikhulu Hospital where they drained the fluid from her belly. She was ambulatory, and feeling better after several days of bed rest. She’s still in the hospital, and when I saw the Baylor doctors yesterday (22 September) they said there was no change in her condition expect that she was in less pain. Her liver, however, is compromised, and they are working to find a solution.
September 16, 23 & 30, 2009- Teaching 6th Graders: I began my Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle class today. The curriculum, from the EPA’s website, is geared for 1st to 4th graders, but my students are struggling. I’m not sure if it’s because the 3 R’s concept is new or because they are always doing other work in my class but I will soldier on and define terms as I go. I’m trying to incorporate as many hands-on projects as possible to keep them engaged. The 2nd week of class we talked about reusing materials to make something else. I showed them how to cut and roll paper into beads. Everyone started out well, and then the boys began making cigarettes, of course. In a few weeks I’ll take the beads back to class and allow them to make necklaces or bracelets. The 3rd week of class we talked about reducing waste. I asked them to get into groups of 5 to write letters to my World Wise School matches (my sister Sharon’s 1st graders and my cousin Christine’s 2nd graders). They claimed they had written letters before but I don’t think they’ve ever written letters without being directed on what to write, line by line. So I wrote on the board, and they copied. I did ask them to fill in certain blanks, for instance, “What are you learning in this class?” and “Why are we using paper that has already been use?” For the first question, I read sentences that talked about all they classes they were taking and some about Life Skills, which is what my class is officially titled. For the second question, students began writing that they were using used paper because they didn’t have new paper. I had to reiterate many, many times the purpose of reduce and reuse. I can hardly fault them. The school system allows them to only memorize and regurgitate information, never allowing for questioning content, for critical thinking, or for analysis. So far the only positive thing that’s come from the class is making paper beads. My sisi, Zandele, loves it. And now I love it. It’s my new obsession. I’m making beads out of everything: magazines, newspapers, candy wrappers, chip bags. And I have a small mound beginning to form. Many of you will receive a beaded paper jewelry item, don’t you worry! I’m thinking of a way to make in into an income-generating project for my youth group. The only issue is to find someone who can teach them about correctly using jewelry findings and how to run a business. A project for when the term ends. In the meantime, bead making has become a wonderful stress reliever, and hopefully a few 6th graders will keep it up.
September 24, 2009- Swine Flu Hits Hard: From today until 6 October, volunteers are on semi-lockdown. Due to several volunteers tested for H1N1, and many others w/ H1N1-like symptoms, volunteers are not allowed to stay at any backpackers in town or congregate in large groups until adequate treatment time has lapsed. So far 13 volunteers and 3 staff people were infected. Luckily Peace Corps has the medication to treat avian flu and H1N1 but no clinic in Swaziland has Tamiflu tabs. H1N1 severely affects those with low immune systems, and the very young and the very old. Nonetheless, with a 39% HIV infection rate among those 18 – 35 and an increasing TB rate, most people in this country are highly susceptible to contracting flu. I’m glad we have the medication to treat ourselves, but it hardly seems fair.
(At the date of this blog, 19 volunteers and 5 staff either had or suffered from symptoms relating to H1N1. Yikes!)
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Life in August 2009
August 9, 2009- Spring Cleaning: After living at my site for almost a year I finally acquired a table. Deja, from Group 5, left me her table and having it has changed my life! As a welcome to the new-to-me table, I decided to spring clean my hut. I rearranged the book shelf, and now have a ‘library’ area. I rearranged the mini stove, fridge and carts, and now have a galley ‘kitchen and dining area’. I rearranged my ‘bathroom/closet’, which helped me take my suitcase-turned-dresser off the cement floor. I swept then mopped the floor. I purged unused papers. And I dusted fallen wall off surfaces. Now I sit at my table to eat. I can do school work at the table. I can put my laptop on my table instead of on a box on the floor to watch movies, which makes viewing eye level and much more enjoyable. I think I’m in heaven! And I feel rich.
The weather is following suit. Nights are less cold. Days are gradually warming. The sun is rising earlier and slowly setting later and later, which makes me happy because night isn’t so long. The landscape is a juxtaposition of colors and cyclical changes. The evergreens are mingling among coppery red deciduous trees (not all deciduous trees here completely loose their leaves). Greens sprouts of grass are shooting up through tufts of brown. Frogs began croaking last week along both rivers that embrace my community.
A support group formed at my clinic a few weeks ago. It’s led by an expert client trained by MSF (Doctors w/out Borders) in supporting people living with HIV who take ARV’s (anti-retrovirals). Wanting to help with this group, I offered my services to the expert client. Since most of the group’s English is limited, I decided leading exercises after their meeting would be my contribution. They love it. One of the older ladies, a traditional dancer, really gets into the side-stepping. She shakes her hips, almost putting me to shame. Even the oldest Mkhulu (a.k.a. grandfather/old man) stands up to move. On the first day, I told them whatever movement they were able to do is okay. I explained that any movement they do that gets blood and oxygen flowing to the muscles is healthier than no movement. Last week I was sick, but I stopped by the clinic to greet the nurses and ask the expert client to lead exercises. She was apprehensive. I tried to quell her fears by saying she could copy what I did, something simple like raising arms overhead several times and slowing lowering them or marching in place. She promised to try.
Today she informed me that she led the group in several of the exercises I taught her. She was proud that she remembered. I suddenly had an awe moment. This was my first glimpse of sustainable development work in action in my community! Since my arrival, I’ve been thinking sustainable work was something of a myth or at best rarely attainable and only in extreme circumstances. I am proved wrong by my own actions! I taught someone something they remembered, and they felt motivated and confident enough to share with others. I did something sustainable! One small step for Mahlalini. One giant leap for me and my faith in what I’m doing here. Making true connections by forging relationships with others has always been part of my philosophy, and I am more acutely aware than ever that I cannot be an occupant of this earth without being an active participant. I cannot just exist, I must dynamically be.
August 8 - 31, 2009- Painting a Preschool: Justine, Jaclyn and I met the couple, Michelle and Peter McCubbin, who run Pasture Valley Children’s Home on the edge of Nhlangano through Make Simelane. We sometimes stay with Make when we’re in town for the youth support group; she works at NATICC—an AIDS testing and counseling center—where Michelle is on the Board of Directors. A completely self-sustaining orphanage, the McCubbin’s grow fruits and vegetables, operate a tree nursery, and raise dairy cows and pigs, allowing the 20 children who reside at Pasture Valley home-grown foods each day. The older children go to school nearby while the preschool-aged children are taught at a preschool on site. Two Swazi mothers live between two houses, each caring for half the children; they honor traditional Swazi living while teaching the children how to cook, clean, wash clothes and play together. The children range in age from two months to 16 years. Considering the trauma each child brings, living in this new home is life-saving for them. As terrible as it is to separate them from family, sometimes a home away from biological family is better for their well-being than being in an unhealthy environment. And this new family wants them.
Eager to help, we offered out services with whatever needed to be done. Michelle needed the inside of the preschool painted. We set to painting the 3 main walls and the storage cabinet doors. One wall was dedicated to the alphabet and an object associated with each letter. The second wall turned into an apple tree with numbers 1 – 20 painted on each apple. The other wall had shapes around the window. On the cabinet doors we created flowers. We finished the room with grass growing up out of the floor. The children gladly helped us each time we came to paint by dancing with us to music, handing us paint brushes, posing in pictures and eating our snacks. We frequently took breaks to play with them, getting to know names and personalities.
Wanting to know their stories, Michelle told us heart-wrenching stories about how some children came to live at Pasture Valley. One child, who just celebrated his sixth birthday, looks like he’s two. His mother, too sick to work, barely had enough food to feed him much less herself. Once Michelle was alerted to the situation she took him to the hospital where he spent several weeks recuperating due to severe dehydration and malnutrition. While in the hospital his mother died, and Michelle was allowed to take him to Pasture Valley. He’s the sweetest boy; smart, very polite and always with a smile on his face. I want to take him with me every time I go. Him, and a little girl who’s name means beautiful, whose mother was too young to care for her; she told Michelle the child was a mistake which made Michelle livid. The girl didn’t smile for a long time, nor did she talk, only staring listlessly when someone talked her. The first day we met her, my heart went to her immediately and I tried to engage her as much as possible, talking directly to her, smiling, looking her in the eye. When we went back two weeks later, she was beginning to smile and interact with other children but she was still guarded. She became my shadow, though; each time I left the room she followed me. The last time we were there, she was laughing and playing with the other children. She let me tickle her, hold her, and play with her. She’s beginning to allow herself to be a child, to have fun, to open up. There are two other darling girls that also tug at my heart strings. I have to say I’ve honestly considered adoption. One things for sure; I plan to spend more time at Pasture Valley, especially after the new year since I won’t be teaching in the new term. I feel working there would definitely be sustainable, but more importantly beneficial to those wonderful little persons and personally rewarding.
August 11, 2009- Bus Rides Home: I got on the 2 o’clock bus, which primarily transports elementary students home. It gets crowded, really quickly, with 30 + children whirring around, not to mention the throng of adults heading back home with their weekly supplies and things to sell. The children are consistently a buzz of activity, and I frequently watch them since they are entertaining; although, admittedly, I try to avoid this bus. I generally get asked for sweets or money and/or get laughed at by one child which leads to all the children in the vicinity laughing at me. Being laughed at is my own fault, in all honesty; I tend to smile at them a lot, make funny faces, wave, stare or try to translate what they are saying, which I don’t consider eaves dropping since they usually talk too quickly for me to make out more than a word or two. Today a primary school girl was knitting a scarf for school. I learned from my sisi knitting is taught in Home Economics class, along with how to cook, how to wash clothes and how to clean the homestead. My sisi is lucky enough to use Make’s knitting needles. The girl on the bus was knitting with a plastic sucker handle and the ink cartridge from a disposable pen. The stitches were small, but she was making a scarf, and it was taking shape quite nicely. She seemed very proud of herself, and kept checking to make sure I continued to watch her so I gave into her vanity and told her the scarf was buhle, beautiful.
The week before, I barely caught my half-past three bus. I struggled to get on the first step with 3 bags, a yoga bag and my purse; Jaclyn, Justine and I joke that we are really pack mules. I try to travel lighter and lighter each time I go to Mbabane but inevitably I bring something back from the office and load down the bus. Today I wasn’t the only thing loading the bus down. The official capacity for most standard-sized buses (think big yellow school bus) in Swaziland is 65 seated and 18 standing. I stood on the first step, barely inside the door, for the first 5 minutes until the bus conductor shifted enough children to allow me to step up to the landing. There were at least 100 people on bus. The PC Safety and Security Officer’s warning about the link between overcrowded buses and high accident rates briefly ran through my head, and I should have taken the next bus. But it wouldn’t come for another hour and that would get me home at 5:30. I just wanted to be home, and before dark. So I stood on the landing, with my bags wondering how to balance myself against the lurching starts and stops of the bus. The bus conductor, noticing my inability to hold onto the railing, grabbed my bags and stowed them near the driver and on the dash board. I stood for the better part of an hour holding onto one bag and my purse, having to exit each time the bus stopped to let patrons off. A seat finally opened on the last 10 minutes of the ride, and I gladly took it since my arms and legs were tired of bracing. I’ve been on buses that crowded before but I’ve always gotten on soon enough that I had a seat, and inevitably felt pity for the smooched people in the aisle.
My transportation woes are much improved from those riding public transport in Mocambique. Bus conductors will force 3 times the recommended limit of people onto a khombi (passenger van). People are literally hanging out the windows and sitting three-deep with the side door wide open because it cannot be closed.
It makes me think about the short time I took public transport in the States while going to graduate school. People are bound to the bus’ schedule but I found it enjoyable because I didn’t have to worry about traffic or putting petrol in my car and I could read or study along the way. But I remember people passing along their sympathy to me when they heard I rode the bus. I remember not understanding those comments. I realize, at the time, most people who took the bus were low-income people, students, or elderly persons. I never believed myself below taking the bus, but I’m sure that is why I received sympathy. In Swaziland, throughout Africa and in most developing countries, public transport is the only option, and sadly, not true, for some who walk great distances to get to a clinic or buy groceries. Rarely do people find they have the luxury of owning a car much less the funds to fill it with petrol. Learning to drive for most women here is a grand extravagance, and transpires only because the husband can afford driving school or has the time to teach his wife; few single women learn to drive. Then there’s insurance, licensing, maintenance, oil changes, and border crossing fees to consider.
Never once did I think that learning to drive was not an option for me; I always knew someone would teach me regardless, and gender never entered into it. There was no question about going to college. I think I knew at a young age it was a non-negotiable, which was fine with me because I wanted to go to college. I’m discovering how many things I, and so many others, take for granted every single day. And really, what a luxurious problem to be able to take things for granted. I make decisions and come to things on my own terms, and yet I take it for granted because I often forget how many wonderful things I really do have and how lucky I am to have the station I do.
So I try to appreciate every bus ride home, grateful for the scenery I pass, for the time to read the paper or a letter, interaction with neighbors, peek-a-boo with children, or the carefree lifestyle I’ve begun to embrace as normal; but if for nothing else then for the simple gratitude for what I’ve been given by the universe. Sometimes all the awakening I need is a simple 45-minute bus ride home.
August 12, 2009- The Trainees Come for a Visit: I met two Group 7 volunteers in Nhlangano during their OJT (on-the-job training). The Morgan’s are a married couple from Missouri, and they were eager to learn about their new shopping town. We covered a great deal of the town including the best place to buy a bed, furniture stores, the hardware store, the paint store, the grocery store, the internet café, library, police station, local Ministry offices, NERCHA, and the post office. I also pointed out the really important things: cleanest bathroom in town- KFC—coincidently KFC also plays music videos and has ice cream and moderately tasty chicken; the best chicken place in town- Richfield’s Butchery, which also has great chips and biryani, plus you get to see the butchers in action…if you’re lucky they carry a whole hog or two through the restaurant to the butcher block; the best ice cream bars and moderately clean restrooms- Engen gas station near Builders; the best fresh chips (fries) and fat cakes- kiosk behind shopping mall owned and operated by 2 really friendly Pakistani guys who cook the chips a little longer for PCV’s because they know we like our chips crispy; freshest fruits and veggies: the lower and upper boMake markets…sometimes the upper market sells live chickens and it’s near the public restrooms; and the best bran muffins- Builder’s Supermarket, which also sells grocery items in bulk. (Yes, it is all about getting good food!) They rode back with me to my site, and I introduced them to the clinic staff, my boMake marketers, and my exercise club. They helped me make no-bake cookies with my exercise club; the club has been begging me to teach them since I’d brought them each a cookie the week before. I made them pizza for supper, which they were really excited to eat since they hadn’t had it since before them left America. Both are grand story tellers; the husband especially. He reminds me of a combination of my father and 2 of my uncles—they love to tell a story, pull your leg and make you laugh. They regaled me with stories of their children, their work, and how they met. It was a wonderful evening, and I loved having company, as well as people happy to share a meal. They will be a great addition to the Shiselweni family. Jaclyn believes they were automatically a great couple; any man who wears suspenders with a Garfield shirt and any wife who still chooses to be seen with her husband wearing suspenders with a Garfield shirt have to be cool.
August 18, 2009- Hickory-Dickory Dock, A Mouse Ran Up…..: Something ran in front of my door Sunday morning. Only half paying attention, I thought it was a baby chick and paid it no mind. About 30 minutes later, nature called, and on my way out the door something ran over my foot. It was a baby rat. I screamed. Luckily the church-goers had already passed by on their way to church. No one witnessed my freak-out. The rat ran up the hill toward the rondoval, around the corner of the hut and then out of site. I stood there for a moment, collecting myself. I could still feel his feet on my foot. Gross!
Today Make greeted me by saying she had trapped something in the 100 gallon rain barrel. She was drowning them. She was talking so excitedly about capturing 20, it took a few minutes to figure out she was talking about rats. She said she was determined to kill all the rats on the homestead because they were getting into her corn bin. She parted me by saying I must take a look before going to the clinic. She counted 20 and I must count them. Only half believing her method of disposal and the high trespasser count, I asked my bhuti if there were rats in the barrel. He said there were 20 rats in the barrel, drowning in boiling water. I peeked in enough to see two; one struggling to swim, the other succumbed to his demise. I’m assuming the one I saw on Sunday was among the non-survivors because I don’t want to think about more than 20 rats living on the homestead. I’m hoping the rest got the message about Make’s mass execution, packed their bags and vacated the premises.
August 19, 2009- Delivering First Aid Kits: World Vision finally came through with four first aid kits for my NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points). With a little help from an anonymous donor, I was able to buy more first aid supplies to add to the basic kits. Emily Thebo, a nurse from my clinic, and I visited the Mhlaba NCP today. I explained the contents of the kits and how to use each item; Emily translated what I said into siSwati, as well as elaborating each item’s use. I also assessed other needs of this particular NCP. They have been in operation for a year; MicroProjects helped them build the structure. However they have not been able to secure funding from their inter-council. Every chiefdom within the inkhunhla (group of chiefdoms) has an inter-council working to identify and solve problems in each community within that particular chiefdom. They are supposed to give aid to NCP’s. I’m not sure where the breakdown happened, so the boMake at this NCP were asking me for help with incoming generating projects, food, clothes, shoes, toys and teaching materials. I gave them ideas for food—start a garden to supplement the rations they receive —and for income generating projects—ask the Rural Development Association to teach them to make Vaseline. I told them to talk to their inter-council again since they are the ones responsible for supplying money for these kinds of projects. Emily and I offered to put a box at the clinic asking people to drop off unwanted items like clothes, shoes and toys. I also told them to ask for donations from their church members. I began looking for basic teaching materials through the Peace Corps office’s resources. My sister, Sharon, brought me kindergarten-level flash cards, and I will give each NCP a set. So far, no one has dropped off unwanted items at the clinic but it’s a new concept so I’m trying to be patient. If all else fails, I can apply for funds from Peace Corps. A new funding source has opened up that is specifically for aiding NCP’s. I’d rather the communities pulled together and helped each other because I won’t be here forever and I don’t want to add to the dependency they have on outside aid organizations.
August 24, 2009- Sharing Orange Marmalade: The really good jams in the store are too expensive for me to buy, and even if I had the extra money, I can only purchase them in Mbabane. So I made orange marmalade over the weekend. Having made extra entirely on accident, I shared a jar with Make. She asked me why I was sharing with her; I said because I wanted to. She thanked me profusely, kissing my hand, and uttering comments about how happy her daughter makes her. Then she said she was going to buy me a baboon to have for my very own; I could ride it anytime I wanted, and no one else would be able to ride it. A baboon?! I have no idea what that means or the implications of riding a baboon. I’m going to assume that it’s a grand gesture, and leave it at that.
August 28, 2009- 1 year in my hut: A year ago today I arrived at my permanent site with my belongings to an empty hut and an eerily silent homestead. I remember my abhorrence at the state of filth and amount of bugs around my room. Now only the really large spiders bother me. I remember after cleaning up what I could with a broom, I rolled out my yoga mat and took a nap, feeling unable to do much else. I still love naps, and take them when I can but not because I feel unable to do anything else. I just enjoy while I can. I remember making a list of all the things I thought I needed to establish my home. Now I try to get by on as little as possible. It’s quite possible, simply easy to accomplish and very satisfying.
I reread my blog entry from last year at this time; I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into, and why I came. I questioned myself for nine months. Clarity seems only to come after seeking patience and being open to receive the messages one needs to hear. I have a better understanding of why I came, even though some days it doesn’t make sense, and some days I feel I came for the wrong reasons. What I know for sure is that I’m glad I came. No regrets. I can honestly say I am happy, and I’ve been happy for several months. Yes, there are frustrations, and road blocks, and things that just do not make sense. And at times, I still feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions for days on end. But I can only control my own actions, thoughts, and feelings. So I am the one who decides when to be happy. And I’ve decided it’s better to be happy with who I am today, and to do what I can with each day, whatever that may be. It’s better than the alternative.
The new volunteers took to their permanent sites today. There are seven Group 7’s in the Shiselweni region. Amen! We needed more bodies down south.
August 31, 2009- Umhlanga Dance: About half my group attended the Umhlanga or Reed Dance festival, an annual event held to honor coming-of-age maidens. In the eight-day ceremony, girls cut reeds and present them to the Queen Mother who uses the reeds to reinforce her traditional homestead; in recent times, it’s done more to honor ceremony. Only childless, unmarried, chaste girls may take part. The aims of the ceremony are to preserve girls’ chastity, provide tribute labor for the Queen Mother, and produce solidarity by working together. After presenting the reeds, the girls dance for two day. Traditionally, during the second day of dancing, the King chooses a wife among the dancers but he has not taken a wife since 2006. There was quite a bit on controversy after he took his wife in 2006. Apparently, the year before he put a law into place making it illegal for any man to take a wife under the age of 18. He temporarily lifted the law in order to take his wife in 2006; she was 16 at the time. Then he reinstated the law. Needless to say, there were many angry people, and his actions caught the attention of many overseas officials and newspapers.
My sisi, Zandele danced for the first time at the Royal Kraal. She usually dances at the Shiselweni regional Umhlanga which is held at the region’s kraal. I wanted to see her dance, but 80,000 girls were registered to dance and she was lost in the sea of color. Nonetheless, it’s an interesting event to witness. Girls of each chiefdom try to distinguish themselves from other chiefdoms by wearing similar regalia and dancing a little differently than the group before them. The girls are honored among the nation, their communities and families. It’s an immense compliment for them, and a memorable experience, I’m told.
The weather is following suit. Nights are less cold. Days are gradually warming. The sun is rising earlier and slowly setting later and later, which makes me happy because night isn’t so long. The landscape is a juxtaposition of colors and cyclical changes. The evergreens are mingling among coppery red deciduous trees (not all deciduous trees here completely loose their leaves). Greens sprouts of grass are shooting up through tufts of brown. Frogs began croaking last week along both rivers that embrace my community.
A support group formed at my clinic a few weeks ago. It’s led by an expert client trained by MSF (Doctors w/out Borders) in supporting people living with HIV who take ARV’s (anti-retrovirals). Wanting to help with this group, I offered my services to the expert client. Since most of the group’s English is limited, I decided leading exercises after their meeting would be my contribution. They love it. One of the older ladies, a traditional dancer, really gets into the side-stepping. She shakes her hips, almost putting me to shame. Even the oldest Mkhulu (a.k.a. grandfather/old man) stands up to move. On the first day, I told them whatever movement they were able to do is okay. I explained that any movement they do that gets blood and oxygen flowing to the muscles is healthier than no movement. Last week I was sick, but I stopped by the clinic to greet the nurses and ask the expert client to lead exercises. She was apprehensive. I tried to quell her fears by saying she could copy what I did, something simple like raising arms overhead several times and slowing lowering them or marching in place. She promised to try.
Today she informed me that she led the group in several of the exercises I taught her. She was proud that she remembered. I suddenly had an awe moment. This was my first glimpse of sustainable development work in action in my community! Since my arrival, I’ve been thinking sustainable work was something of a myth or at best rarely attainable and only in extreme circumstances. I am proved wrong by my own actions! I taught someone something they remembered, and they felt motivated and confident enough to share with others. I did something sustainable! One small step for Mahlalini. One giant leap for me and my faith in what I’m doing here. Making true connections by forging relationships with others has always been part of my philosophy, and I am more acutely aware than ever that I cannot be an occupant of this earth without being an active participant. I cannot just exist, I must dynamically be.
August 8 - 31, 2009- Painting a Preschool: Justine, Jaclyn and I met the couple, Michelle and Peter McCubbin, who run Pasture Valley Children’s Home on the edge of Nhlangano through Make Simelane. We sometimes stay with Make when we’re in town for the youth support group; she works at NATICC—an AIDS testing and counseling center—where Michelle is on the Board of Directors. A completely self-sustaining orphanage, the McCubbin’s grow fruits and vegetables, operate a tree nursery, and raise dairy cows and pigs, allowing the 20 children who reside at Pasture Valley home-grown foods each day. The older children go to school nearby while the preschool-aged children are taught at a preschool on site. Two Swazi mothers live between two houses, each caring for half the children; they honor traditional Swazi living while teaching the children how to cook, clean, wash clothes and play together. The children range in age from two months to 16 years. Considering the trauma each child brings, living in this new home is life-saving for them. As terrible as it is to separate them from family, sometimes a home away from biological family is better for their well-being than being in an unhealthy environment. And this new family wants them.
Eager to help, we offered out services with whatever needed to be done. Michelle needed the inside of the preschool painted. We set to painting the 3 main walls and the storage cabinet doors. One wall was dedicated to the alphabet and an object associated with each letter. The second wall turned into an apple tree with numbers 1 – 20 painted on each apple. The other wall had shapes around the window. On the cabinet doors we created flowers. We finished the room with grass growing up out of the floor. The children gladly helped us each time we came to paint by dancing with us to music, handing us paint brushes, posing in pictures and eating our snacks. We frequently took breaks to play with them, getting to know names and personalities.
Wanting to know their stories, Michelle told us heart-wrenching stories about how some children came to live at Pasture Valley. One child, who just celebrated his sixth birthday, looks like he’s two. His mother, too sick to work, barely had enough food to feed him much less herself. Once Michelle was alerted to the situation she took him to the hospital where he spent several weeks recuperating due to severe dehydration and malnutrition. While in the hospital his mother died, and Michelle was allowed to take him to Pasture Valley. He’s the sweetest boy; smart, very polite and always with a smile on his face. I want to take him with me every time I go. Him, and a little girl who’s name means beautiful, whose mother was too young to care for her; she told Michelle the child was a mistake which made Michelle livid. The girl didn’t smile for a long time, nor did she talk, only staring listlessly when someone talked her. The first day we met her, my heart went to her immediately and I tried to engage her as much as possible, talking directly to her, smiling, looking her in the eye. When we went back two weeks later, she was beginning to smile and interact with other children but she was still guarded. She became my shadow, though; each time I left the room she followed me. The last time we were there, she was laughing and playing with the other children. She let me tickle her, hold her, and play with her. She’s beginning to allow herself to be a child, to have fun, to open up. There are two other darling girls that also tug at my heart strings. I have to say I’ve honestly considered adoption. One things for sure; I plan to spend more time at Pasture Valley, especially after the new year since I won’t be teaching in the new term. I feel working there would definitely be sustainable, but more importantly beneficial to those wonderful little persons and personally rewarding.
August 11, 2009- Bus Rides Home: I got on the 2 o’clock bus, which primarily transports elementary students home. It gets crowded, really quickly, with 30 + children whirring around, not to mention the throng of adults heading back home with their weekly supplies and things to sell. The children are consistently a buzz of activity, and I frequently watch them since they are entertaining; although, admittedly, I try to avoid this bus. I generally get asked for sweets or money and/or get laughed at by one child which leads to all the children in the vicinity laughing at me. Being laughed at is my own fault, in all honesty; I tend to smile at them a lot, make funny faces, wave, stare or try to translate what they are saying, which I don’t consider eaves dropping since they usually talk too quickly for me to make out more than a word or two. Today a primary school girl was knitting a scarf for school. I learned from my sisi knitting is taught in Home Economics class, along with how to cook, how to wash clothes and how to clean the homestead. My sisi is lucky enough to use Make’s knitting needles. The girl on the bus was knitting with a plastic sucker handle and the ink cartridge from a disposable pen. The stitches were small, but she was making a scarf, and it was taking shape quite nicely. She seemed very proud of herself, and kept checking to make sure I continued to watch her so I gave into her vanity and told her the scarf was buhle, beautiful.
The week before, I barely caught my half-past three bus. I struggled to get on the first step with 3 bags, a yoga bag and my purse; Jaclyn, Justine and I joke that we are really pack mules. I try to travel lighter and lighter each time I go to Mbabane but inevitably I bring something back from the office and load down the bus. Today I wasn’t the only thing loading the bus down. The official capacity for most standard-sized buses (think big yellow school bus) in Swaziland is 65 seated and 18 standing. I stood on the first step, barely inside the door, for the first 5 minutes until the bus conductor shifted enough children to allow me to step up to the landing. There were at least 100 people on bus. The PC Safety and Security Officer’s warning about the link between overcrowded buses and high accident rates briefly ran through my head, and I should have taken the next bus. But it wouldn’t come for another hour and that would get me home at 5:30. I just wanted to be home, and before dark. So I stood on the landing, with my bags wondering how to balance myself against the lurching starts and stops of the bus. The bus conductor, noticing my inability to hold onto the railing, grabbed my bags and stowed them near the driver and on the dash board. I stood for the better part of an hour holding onto one bag and my purse, having to exit each time the bus stopped to let patrons off. A seat finally opened on the last 10 minutes of the ride, and I gladly took it since my arms and legs were tired of bracing. I’ve been on buses that crowded before but I’ve always gotten on soon enough that I had a seat, and inevitably felt pity for the smooched people in the aisle.
My transportation woes are much improved from those riding public transport in Mocambique. Bus conductors will force 3 times the recommended limit of people onto a khombi (passenger van). People are literally hanging out the windows and sitting three-deep with the side door wide open because it cannot be closed.
It makes me think about the short time I took public transport in the States while going to graduate school. People are bound to the bus’ schedule but I found it enjoyable because I didn’t have to worry about traffic or putting petrol in my car and I could read or study along the way. But I remember people passing along their sympathy to me when they heard I rode the bus. I remember not understanding those comments. I realize, at the time, most people who took the bus were low-income people, students, or elderly persons. I never believed myself below taking the bus, but I’m sure that is why I received sympathy. In Swaziland, throughout Africa and in most developing countries, public transport is the only option, and sadly, not true, for some who walk great distances to get to a clinic or buy groceries. Rarely do people find they have the luxury of owning a car much less the funds to fill it with petrol. Learning to drive for most women here is a grand extravagance, and transpires only because the husband can afford driving school or has the time to teach his wife; few single women learn to drive. Then there’s insurance, licensing, maintenance, oil changes, and border crossing fees to consider.
Never once did I think that learning to drive was not an option for me; I always knew someone would teach me regardless, and gender never entered into it. There was no question about going to college. I think I knew at a young age it was a non-negotiable, which was fine with me because I wanted to go to college. I’m discovering how many things I, and so many others, take for granted every single day. And really, what a luxurious problem to be able to take things for granted. I make decisions and come to things on my own terms, and yet I take it for granted because I often forget how many wonderful things I really do have and how lucky I am to have the station I do.
So I try to appreciate every bus ride home, grateful for the scenery I pass, for the time to read the paper or a letter, interaction with neighbors, peek-a-boo with children, or the carefree lifestyle I’ve begun to embrace as normal; but if for nothing else then for the simple gratitude for what I’ve been given by the universe. Sometimes all the awakening I need is a simple 45-minute bus ride home.
August 12, 2009- The Trainees Come for a Visit: I met two Group 7 volunteers in Nhlangano during their OJT (on-the-job training). The Morgan’s are a married couple from Missouri, and they were eager to learn about their new shopping town. We covered a great deal of the town including the best place to buy a bed, furniture stores, the hardware store, the paint store, the grocery store, the internet café, library, police station, local Ministry offices, NERCHA, and the post office. I also pointed out the really important things: cleanest bathroom in town- KFC—coincidently KFC also plays music videos and has ice cream and moderately tasty chicken; the best chicken place in town- Richfield’s Butchery, which also has great chips and biryani, plus you get to see the butchers in action…if you’re lucky they carry a whole hog or two through the restaurant to the butcher block; the best ice cream bars and moderately clean restrooms- Engen gas station near Builders; the best fresh chips (fries) and fat cakes- kiosk behind shopping mall owned and operated by 2 really friendly Pakistani guys who cook the chips a little longer for PCV’s because they know we like our chips crispy; freshest fruits and veggies: the lower and upper boMake markets…sometimes the upper market sells live chickens and it’s near the public restrooms; and the best bran muffins- Builder’s Supermarket, which also sells grocery items in bulk. (Yes, it is all about getting good food!) They rode back with me to my site, and I introduced them to the clinic staff, my boMake marketers, and my exercise club. They helped me make no-bake cookies with my exercise club; the club has been begging me to teach them since I’d brought them each a cookie the week before. I made them pizza for supper, which they were really excited to eat since they hadn’t had it since before them left America. Both are grand story tellers; the husband especially. He reminds me of a combination of my father and 2 of my uncles—they love to tell a story, pull your leg and make you laugh. They regaled me with stories of their children, their work, and how they met. It was a wonderful evening, and I loved having company, as well as people happy to share a meal. They will be a great addition to the Shiselweni family. Jaclyn believes they were automatically a great couple; any man who wears suspenders with a Garfield shirt and any wife who still chooses to be seen with her husband wearing suspenders with a Garfield shirt have to be cool.
August 18, 2009- Hickory-Dickory Dock, A Mouse Ran Up…..: Something ran in front of my door Sunday morning. Only half paying attention, I thought it was a baby chick and paid it no mind. About 30 minutes later, nature called, and on my way out the door something ran over my foot. It was a baby rat. I screamed. Luckily the church-goers had already passed by on their way to church. No one witnessed my freak-out. The rat ran up the hill toward the rondoval, around the corner of the hut and then out of site. I stood there for a moment, collecting myself. I could still feel his feet on my foot. Gross!
Today Make greeted me by saying she had trapped something in the 100 gallon rain barrel. She was drowning them. She was talking so excitedly about capturing 20, it took a few minutes to figure out she was talking about rats. She said she was determined to kill all the rats on the homestead because they were getting into her corn bin. She parted me by saying I must take a look before going to the clinic. She counted 20 and I must count them. Only half believing her method of disposal and the high trespasser count, I asked my bhuti if there were rats in the barrel. He said there were 20 rats in the barrel, drowning in boiling water. I peeked in enough to see two; one struggling to swim, the other succumbed to his demise. I’m assuming the one I saw on Sunday was among the non-survivors because I don’t want to think about more than 20 rats living on the homestead. I’m hoping the rest got the message about Make’s mass execution, packed their bags and vacated the premises.
August 19, 2009- Delivering First Aid Kits: World Vision finally came through with four first aid kits for my NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points). With a little help from an anonymous donor, I was able to buy more first aid supplies to add to the basic kits. Emily Thebo, a nurse from my clinic, and I visited the Mhlaba NCP today. I explained the contents of the kits and how to use each item; Emily translated what I said into siSwati, as well as elaborating each item’s use. I also assessed other needs of this particular NCP. They have been in operation for a year; MicroProjects helped them build the structure. However they have not been able to secure funding from their inter-council. Every chiefdom within the inkhunhla (group of chiefdoms) has an inter-council working to identify and solve problems in each community within that particular chiefdom. They are supposed to give aid to NCP’s. I’m not sure where the breakdown happened, so the boMake at this NCP were asking me for help with incoming generating projects, food, clothes, shoes, toys and teaching materials. I gave them ideas for food—start a garden to supplement the rations they receive —and for income generating projects—ask the Rural Development Association to teach them to make Vaseline. I told them to talk to their inter-council again since they are the ones responsible for supplying money for these kinds of projects. Emily and I offered to put a box at the clinic asking people to drop off unwanted items like clothes, shoes and toys. I also told them to ask for donations from their church members. I began looking for basic teaching materials through the Peace Corps office’s resources. My sister, Sharon, brought me kindergarten-level flash cards, and I will give each NCP a set. So far, no one has dropped off unwanted items at the clinic but it’s a new concept so I’m trying to be patient. If all else fails, I can apply for funds from Peace Corps. A new funding source has opened up that is specifically for aiding NCP’s. I’d rather the communities pulled together and helped each other because I won’t be here forever and I don’t want to add to the dependency they have on outside aid organizations.
August 24, 2009- Sharing Orange Marmalade: The really good jams in the store are too expensive for me to buy, and even if I had the extra money, I can only purchase them in Mbabane. So I made orange marmalade over the weekend. Having made extra entirely on accident, I shared a jar with Make. She asked me why I was sharing with her; I said because I wanted to. She thanked me profusely, kissing my hand, and uttering comments about how happy her daughter makes her. Then she said she was going to buy me a baboon to have for my very own; I could ride it anytime I wanted, and no one else would be able to ride it. A baboon?! I have no idea what that means or the implications of riding a baboon. I’m going to assume that it’s a grand gesture, and leave it at that.
August 28, 2009- 1 year in my hut: A year ago today I arrived at my permanent site with my belongings to an empty hut and an eerily silent homestead. I remember my abhorrence at the state of filth and amount of bugs around my room. Now only the really large spiders bother me. I remember after cleaning up what I could with a broom, I rolled out my yoga mat and took a nap, feeling unable to do much else. I still love naps, and take them when I can but not because I feel unable to do anything else. I just enjoy while I can. I remember making a list of all the things I thought I needed to establish my home. Now I try to get by on as little as possible. It’s quite possible, simply easy to accomplish and very satisfying.
I reread my blog entry from last year at this time; I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into, and why I came. I questioned myself for nine months. Clarity seems only to come after seeking patience and being open to receive the messages one needs to hear. I have a better understanding of why I came, even though some days it doesn’t make sense, and some days I feel I came for the wrong reasons. What I know for sure is that I’m glad I came. No regrets. I can honestly say I am happy, and I’ve been happy for several months. Yes, there are frustrations, and road blocks, and things that just do not make sense. And at times, I still feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions for days on end. But I can only control my own actions, thoughts, and feelings. So I am the one who decides when to be happy. And I’ve decided it’s better to be happy with who I am today, and to do what I can with each day, whatever that may be. It’s better than the alternative.
The new volunteers took to their permanent sites today. There are seven Group 7’s in the Shiselweni region. Amen! We needed more bodies down south.
August 31, 2009- Umhlanga Dance: About half my group attended the Umhlanga or Reed Dance festival, an annual event held to honor coming-of-age maidens. In the eight-day ceremony, girls cut reeds and present them to the Queen Mother who uses the reeds to reinforce her traditional homestead; in recent times, it’s done more to honor ceremony. Only childless, unmarried, chaste girls may take part. The aims of the ceremony are to preserve girls’ chastity, provide tribute labor for the Queen Mother, and produce solidarity by working together. After presenting the reeds, the girls dance for two day. Traditionally, during the second day of dancing, the King chooses a wife among the dancers but he has not taken a wife since 2006. There was quite a bit on controversy after he took his wife in 2006. Apparently, the year before he put a law into place making it illegal for any man to take a wife under the age of 18. He temporarily lifted the law in order to take his wife in 2006; she was 16 at the time. Then he reinstated the law. Needless to say, there were many angry people, and his actions caught the attention of many overseas officials and newspapers.
My sisi, Zandele danced for the first time at the Royal Kraal. She usually dances at the Shiselweni regional Umhlanga which is held at the region’s kraal. I wanted to see her dance, but 80,000 girls were registered to dance and she was lost in the sea of color. Nonetheless, it’s an interesting event to witness. Girls of each chiefdom try to distinguish themselves from other chiefdoms by wearing similar regalia and dancing a little differently than the group before them. The girls are honored among the nation, their communities and families. It’s an immense compliment for them, and a memorable experience, I’m told.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Life in July, 2009
July 28, 2009- Quite the Blurry July: I’m not sure how I got to this end of July without writing my blog or letters to people back home. I didn’t feel extremely busy but I was on the go frequently, tying up loose ends, confirming appointments, and meeting famous former volunteers. Here’s a recap of my month:
-At the beginning of the month, I helped a woman in Sibovu, which is the community next to mine, write a CV and apply to an employment agency.
-On July 9th, I was chosen along with 4 other volunteers to meet Chris Matthews and his wife Kathy. Mr. Matthews is a former Peace Corps volunteer in Swaziland; he served from 1968 - 1970. Mr. Matthews is also the host of Hard Ball on MSNBC. Having watched the show in college I was familiar with Matthews, and knew he was a former volunteer while researching Swaziland. He’s been back to Swaziland on several occasions, a few times with his children. He told many stories about Peace Corps ‘back in the day’. It’s nothing like my experience now; however, the problems we face as volunteers in rural communities are more daunting. He talked about training in Louisiana, which sounded more like boot camp than preparing people to serve in Peace Corps. He recalled past trainers, former Ministry members, and community leaders; Matthews’ first community was Nhlangano, which is my shopping town and 20 km from my community. He reminisced about former volunteers, and highs and lows of service. My favorite story was about being dropped off at site after being in country for about a week. Matthews’ boss took him and 2 other volunteers to the nurses’ quarters near the health center. After unloading their meager belongings, his boss said, “Your job is to economically develop the Shiselweni region. Good luck.” Whoa! I feel quite a bit better about my open ended job description; at least I have goals Peace Corps require I meet. The evening was quite lovely; we enjoyed traditional food at a restaurant in the Ezulweni Valley and we shared our difficulties in the battles we must fight in Swaziland. Yet we were able to laugh about and appreciate shared experiences. For Peace Corps volunteers, the connections you make, however small or great are the most beneficial. This connection to Swaziland is one I’m honored to share.
-I continue to tutor the Primary teachers. Currently we are interpreting chapter 8. Its slow going since the content is increasingly difficult to comprehend. However, they are trudging along. And I’m learning a considerable amount about my capability as a ‘teacher’.
-I’ve been seeking first aid kits for the 4 NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points) in my inkhunhla (my inkhunhla is made up of 7 chiefdoms). NCP’s provide preschool and a meal to children who are orphaned or vulnerable. Two NCP’s asked to help them acquire first aid kits and training. Since April, I pestered Red Cross to provide me with two kits per NCP; they are supposed to provide a kit each year, as well as training. Since April, I’ve gotten the same story; we’re still waiting for funding. I was tired of the broken record. Another volunteer told me she requested kits from World Vision for her Home-Based Caregivers; perhaps I should try that route. World Vision was in my community a few weeks ago so I asked for their assistance. The Regional Coordinator for Shiselweni told me they are required to provide kits to NCP’s each year but haven’t gotten around to it yet. Go figure. I offered to distribute the kits if they brought them to me. Done! They dropped them off last week, and I picked them up today! Such a small but satisfying triumph. My next step is contacting Red Cross to set up training dates; I hope they work with me more willingly.
-Last week PC staff asked me to help with training again. My challenge was to help introduce how to teach Life Skills to the trainees. I taught a Life Skills class at a secondary school near the training center. Then after mentoring a small group of trainees on how to teach Life Skills, I monitored their delivery and teaching techniques. Most were unwilling participants. I remember thinking I wasn’t going to teach either. Yet, when you are struggling to find something to do in your community that is worthwhile, and want to reach a large audience, sometimes teaching is the thing to do.
-I started running again last week after a 3 ½ month hiatus. I wanted to test my foot’s strength, after what I now believe was a stress fracture. I decided to run around the soccer pitch; although it’s slightly uneven dirt and grass track, it’s a much better running surface than the rocky terrain of the road. My legs felt heavy and my foot fatigued quickly but I was able to run two straight half miles. My foot hurt afterwards; quite a bit actually. But I stretched and massaged it well, and the next day I only felt an ache in my legs, the kind one feels after an exercise break. Today I ran a mile straight in 10 minutes and then another ½ mile straight. I feel stronger than last week, which is a great feeling. I just need to work on my breath control, which I seemed to forget, and increase each run by ½ mile to get me where I was 3 months ago. My make is very concerned with the health of my foot, and shook her finger at my foot when I announced I was off for a run. But I promised to slowly ease into a running routine. I’m not sure she was convinced.
-Several Group 5 volunteers and other volunteers we know from other organizations have finished their service, and left over the last few weeks. I will greatly miss Deja Love, who helped with the Shiselweni Region Youth Support Group. I wasn’t as close to other Group 5 volunteers but their mass exodus this month was jolting. It temporarily made me reconsider my service, looking back over the year questioning what I’d accomplished, and if I could make a difference in the coming year. After talking to my girls—Jaclyn and Justine, who live in my region—about keeping each other in check, we pinky swore allegiance to each other and to staying. Thank God for those girls. They are my saving grace, my sanity, and my comic relief.
-At the beginning of the month, I helped a woman in Sibovu, which is the community next to mine, write a CV and apply to an employment agency.
-On July 9th, I was chosen along with 4 other volunteers to meet Chris Matthews and his wife Kathy. Mr. Matthews is a former Peace Corps volunteer in Swaziland; he served from 1968 - 1970. Mr. Matthews is also the host of Hard Ball on MSNBC. Having watched the show in college I was familiar with Matthews, and knew he was a former volunteer while researching Swaziland. He’s been back to Swaziland on several occasions, a few times with his children. He told many stories about Peace Corps ‘back in the day’. It’s nothing like my experience now; however, the problems we face as volunteers in rural communities are more daunting. He talked about training in Louisiana, which sounded more like boot camp than preparing people to serve in Peace Corps. He recalled past trainers, former Ministry members, and community leaders; Matthews’ first community was Nhlangano, which is my shopping town and 20 km from my community. He reminisced about former volunteers, and highs and lows of service. My favorite story was about being dropped off at site after being in country for about a week. Matthews’ boss took him and 2 other volunteers to the nurses’ quarters near the health center. After unloading their meager belongings, his boss said, “Your job is to economically develop the Shiselweni region. Good luck.” Whoa! I feel quite a bit better about my open ended job description; at least I have goals Peace Corps require I meet. The evening was quite lovely; we enjoyed traditional food at a restaurant in the Ezulweni Valley and we shared our difficulties in the battles we must fight in Swaziland. Yet we were able to laugh about and appreciate shared experiences. For Peace Corps volunteers, the connections you make, however small or great are the most beneficial. This connection to Swaziland is one I’m honored to share.
-I continue to tutor the Primary teachers. Currently we are interpreting chapter 8. Its slow going since the content is increasingly difficult to comprehend. However, they are trudging along. And I’m learning a considerable amount about my capability as a ‘teacher’.
-I’ve been seeking first aid kits for the 4 NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points) in my inkhunhla (my inkhunhla is made up of 7 chiefdoms). NCP’s provide preschool and a meal to children who are orphaned or vulnerable. Two NCP’s asked to help them acquire first aid kits and training. Since April, I pestered Red Cross to provide me with two kits per NCP; they are supposed to provide a kit each year, as well as training. Since April, I’ve gotten the same story; we’re still waiting for funding. I was tired of the broken record. Another volunteer told me she requested kits from World Vision for her Home-Based Caregivers; perhaps I should try that route. World Vision was in my community a few weeks ago so I asked for their assistance. The Regional Coordinator for Shiselweni told me they are required to provide kits to NCP’s each year but haven’t gotten around to it yet. Go figure. I offered to distribute the kits if they brought them to me. Done! They dropped them off last week, and I picked them up today! Such a small but satisfying triumph. My next step is contacting Red Cross to set up training dates; I hope they work with me more willingly.
-Last week PC staff asked me to help with training again. My challenge was to help introduce how to teach Life Skills to the trainees. I taught a Life Skills class at a secondary school near the training center. Then after mentoring a small group of trainees on how to teach Life Skills, I monitored their delivery and teaching techniques. Most were unwilling participants. I remember thinking I wasn’t going to teach either. Yet, when you are struggling to find something to do in your community that is worthwhile, and want to reach a large audience, sometimes teaching is the thing to do.
-I started running again last week after a 3 ½ month hiatus. I wanted to test my foot’s strength, after what I now believe was a stress fracture. I decided to run around the soccer pitch; although it’s slightly uneven dirt and grass track, it’s a much better running surface than the rocky terrain of the road. My legs felt heavy and my foot fatigued quickly but I was able to run two straight half miles. My foot hurt afterwards; quite a bit actually. But I stretched and massaged it well, and the next day I only felt an ache in my legs, the kind one feels after an exercise break. Today I ran a mile straight in 10 minutes and then another ½ mile straight. I feel stronger than last week, which is a great feeling. I just need to work on my breath control, which I seemed to forget, and increase each run by ½ mile to get me where I was 3 months ago. My make is very concerned with the health of my foot, and shook her finger at my foot when I announced I was off for a run. But I promised to slowly ease into a running routine. I’m not sure she was convinced.
-Several Group 5 volunteers and other volunteers we know from other organizations have finished their service, and left over the last few weeks. I will greatly miss Deja Love, who helped with the Shiselweni Region Youth Support Group. I wasn’t as close to other Group 5 volunteers but their mass exodus this month was jolting. It temporarily made me reconsider my service, looking back over the year questioning what I’d accomplished, and if I could make a difference in the coming year. After talking to my girls—Jaclyn and Justine, who live in my region—about keeping each other in check, we pinky swore allegiance to each other and to staying. Thank God for those girls. They are my saving grace, my sanity, and my comic relief.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
My life in June
June 6, 2009- Mid-Service Conference: Monday to Friday my group attended two conferences, one with our counterparts as a way to build capacity and plan activities for the upcoming year. The other session with the Medical Officer dealt with grief and loss. During one of the Grief and Loss sessions, an “assignment” was to draw a picture depicting some aspect of grief or loss we’ve experienced since our arrival. I drew a picture of a lotus flower emerging from a lake alongside the
It takes time to let go of the things that weigh us down. It takes time to emerge from darkness or sadness or disappointment to reveal a renewed, happier self; a self who is not afraid to be. This self no longer wants to hide from the light; she wants to live. A lose of the old self, but a gain of a changed self, one of quality and substance.
The
I experienced a significant transformation shortly before I left for Peace Corps. I’ve experienced several smaller ones since my arrival in
June 7, 2009- Baking Crackers: I made a version of Wheat Thins today. A fellow volunteer told me how good the recipe was so I decided to try them. I made crackers! Who’da though that was possible? Somehow it only seems possible in
June 9-22, 2009- The Gaspers Go to Africa: My mom, dad, and sisters, Sharon and Annette arrived in
They mastered using the pit latrine at night, while holding a flash light and calling off the dogs. My sisters slept in my very springy bed, and my parents slept in a nearby rondovol (round hut) that up until 2 weeks ago held baby chicks. I slept on a sponge on the floor. Everyone eagerly anticipated Friday morning, and our destination,
Tuesday morning we headed back to
My parents celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary next August. They took an adventure to
Side note: Everyone thought my mother was the sweetest and kindest woman they had ever met, that her smile was lovely, and that she looked very young. They thought my sisters were friendly and non-judgmental, that Sharon was the youngest and Annette the oldest b/c of height. They believed my father to be stern and wise, as they thought he was a pastor
June 30, 2009- Frost on the Fields: This morning I woke to find frost on the fields and the grass around my hut. I noticed a light smattering of white all along the ground as I rode the bus to town. The low last night was 2 degrees Celsius; the high yesterday was maybe 12 degrees. That’s pretty cold for
On June 26th, I celebrated my 1 year anniversary. I’ve been here one year, and it seems quite hard to fathom. I helped another volunteer and two PC staff members pick up the new volunteers—Group 7—on the 25th. Meeting them and being at the airport was surreal. I was trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve been in country for a year and that it really has gone quickly, as well as wading through the plethora of questions being thrown at me by the excited and nervous newbies. It makes me question, what have I learned in 12 months of PC life and service? Good question. I’ve learned: 1.) Frustrations are the result of expectations; 2.) To have really good friends in my community means I’ve integrated, and if that’s the only thing I accomplish in my time here, then I’ve been successful; 3.) With all honestly, I have 28 PC friends that I truly care about and look forward to spending time with each time I’m in their company; 4.) Swaziland never seizes to amaze me- some people in my community act like they’ve never seen me before, some call me by name; the weather is freezing one day, and balmy the next; my Swazi friends are always happy to see me just because I’m me; the winter landscape is a gorgeous deep burnt red and the summer shows 7 shades of green; 5.) My hut is my home- I hate my pit latrine and I wish I had a real kitchen and bathroom but I feel comfortable in my little hovel; 6.) I know how much I can live without, and I know how to get by with what I have…it’s a nice feeling to not need material things; 7.) I know what I don’t want to live without- the freedom to speak my mind, the freedom to be a woman with equal rights, good healthcare, equal pay…oh and a kitchen and bathroom with running water; 8.) Life is constantly throwing obstacles in my path….do I duck or do I try to catch them? The answer is different each day, and that’s okay; 9.) Love without rules; and 10.) Only by jumping in without restraint can you have the full experience available to you.
It’s taken many long months to learn these valuable lessons, ones I need to learn for my life journey. I came to
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
May happenings
May 20, 2009- Homecoming: Due to my supposed tendonitis, I was required to stay in Mbabane, from April 30 thru today, 20 days. It was, at times maddening. Luckily, many volunteers were in and out of the backpacker lodge where I was ‘residing,’ and the owner of the backpacker lodge is a really inviting, friendly guy. I never wanted for company. Even so, I itched to get back home. Yes, my home. I am able to call it that now. I was ready for my own space, my own bed—even though I can feel the springs—and to see my family, community and friends. With great relief I boarded the bus in Nhlangano that goes passed my site. I recognized many faces and those faces recognized me. Smiles and hellos from bomake and bobabe, shy glances from children. All endearing to my heart. I felt so overwhelmed by a sense of familiarity and homecoming; I began to cry but quickly recovered. How would I explain my swell of emotion, a longing for my community, or a wish to see recognizable faces in my home-away-from-home when I could hardly believe what I was feeling myself? I sat in silence the entire 45 minute bus ride, wondering in amazement at my feelings about home.
The teenagers on my homestead, who usually regard my presence with mild to medium interest, called and waved to me as I entered the gate. Zandele’s smile filled her face; Mcolisi and Machewe cheerfully said welcome home; and Nomdumiso said they were missing me. I replied, very honestly, “I was missing everyone. I am very happy to be home.” As I opened the door to my hut, I sighed with relief. I was home.
It feels good to feel at home in a place so far away and so opposite of my previously held definition of home. Home really is where the heart is. Cliché, yes, I know. But with the exception of my childhood home, I’ve never felt more at home than I feel here.
May 28, 2009- Getting back to Normal: I’m still not back to my regular schedule. I’ve been going to bed earlier than before, around 9pm, and I’m still having trouble getting out of bed by 7am. I happily returned to work at the clinic. But in my absence they seemed to have organized their processes, making them more efficient, leaving me feel like I’m in the way and unsure of what I should be doing. I visited the high school wanting to confirm my after-school career guidance class. I didn’t find the Head Teacher or the Deputy Head Teacher; in fact I found few teachers at all. Only five of my 30 health club students showed to our meeting and the teacher counterpart for the club said she couldn’t attend because she was too busy. Will anything ever really begin?
My successes/accomplishments this week happened at the primary school. I talked to the Deputy Head Teacher about teaching an environmental and current events class next term to the 6th graders I taught last term. She enthusiastically agreed, saying the students need an awareness of the world around them. Hurray! My second success is with the teachers I tutor. They were ready to get back to reading and interpreting their curriculum development in the postmodern era book. The other success happened w/ my Make. She wanted me to teach her to make soap. I contemplated teaching her the lye method, which lasted only a day; I began to think of all the things that could go wrong. Instead I researched places to buy melt-and-pour glycerin-based soap. The closest store is in Jo’burg. After I told her that, she insisted people from here often go to Jo’burg weekly or monthly, and if I give her the list of ingredients she would give them to the next person going that direction. She would also call her son living in Durban and ask him to find it there then send it to her. I tried to explain how expensive that would get, but she said the expense was not important. She told me, God willing, the money would come. To appease her in the meantime, I taught her to make body scrubs, one with ground coffee and the other with sea salts and lavender oil. She was in heaven, especially after trying them. She is selling them this weekend at a trade show in Nhlangano.
Small successes, yes, but those three things helped me feel like I was back to a somewhat normal schedule. I felt some sense of accomplishment for this month. Considering May is ending, and my trimester report for Peace Corps is due June 1st, I wanted to carry out something to ease my conscience.
The teenagers on my homestead, who usually regard my presence with mild to medium interest, called and waved to me as I entered the gate. Zandele’s smile filled her face; Mcolisi and Machewe cheerfully said welcome home; and Nomdumiso said they were missing me. I replied, very honestly, “I was missing everyone. I am very happy to be home.” As I opened the door to my hut, I sighed with relief. I was home.
It feels good to feel at home in a place so far away and so opposite of my previously held definition of home. Home really is where the heart is. Cliché, yes, I know. But with the exception of my childhood home, I’ve never felt more at home than I feel here.
May 28, 2009- Getting back to Normal: I’m still not back to my regular schedule. I’ve been going to bed earlier than before, around 9pm, and I’m still having trouble getting out of bed by 7am. I happily returned to work at the clinic. But in my absence they seemed to have organized their processes, making them more efficient, leaving me feel like I’m in the way and unsure of what I should be doing. I visited the high school wanting to confirm my after-school career guidance class. I didn’t find the Head Teacher or the Deputy Head Teacher; in fact I found few teachers at all. Only five of my 30 health club students showed to our meeting and the teacher counterpart for the club said she couldn’t attend because she was too busy. Will anything ever really begin?
My successes/accomplishments this week happened at the primary school. I talked to the Deputy Head Teacher about teaching an environmental and current events class next term to the 6th graders I taught last term. She enthusiastically agreed, saying the students need an awareness of the world around them. Hurray! My second success is with the teachers I tutor. They were ready to get back to reading and interpreting their curriculum development in the postmodern era book. The other success happened w/ my Make. She wanted me to teach her to make soap. I contemplated teaching her the lye method, which lasted only a day; I began to think of all the things that could go wrong. Instead I researched places to buy melt-and-pour glycerin-based soap. The closest store is in Jo’burg. After I told her that, she insisted people from here often go to Jo’burg weekly or monthly, and if I give her the list of ingredients she would give them to the next person going that direction. She would also call her son living in Durban and ask him to find it there then send it to her. I tried to explain how expensive that would get, but she said the expense was not important. She told me, God willing, the money would come. To appease her in the meantime, I taught her to make body scrubs, one with ground coffee and the other with sea salts and lavender oil. She was in heaven, especially after trying them. She is selling them this weekend at a trade show in Nhlangano.
Small successes, yes, but those three things helped me feel like I was back to a somewhat normal schedule. I felt some sense of accomplishment for this month. Considering May is ending, and my trimester report for Peace Corps is due June 1st, I wanted to carry out something to ease my conscience.
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