Clinic Staff & Clinic Committee Rep, & Contractor w/ his assistants
Me w/ Clinic Staff; the woman on the far right will live here w/ her daughter!
The day we paintedWednesday, November 3, 2010
Pictures of my PCPP
Clinic Staff & Clinic Committee Rep, & Contractor w/ his assistants Me w/ Clinic Staff; the woman on the far right will live here w/ her daughter! The day we paintedSept & October 2010
3 September 2010- The First Girls’ Night: I received a donation over a year ago to purchase the Owning Up Curriculum; a publication written by Rosalind Wiseman it’s intended to empower adolescents to stand against social injustice, cruelty and bullying. I’d been waiting for the right audience to engage, and finally found it with the young girls at Pasture Valley. It’s a small, intimate group of four; they are an attentive audience and in need of trusted adults, who are not caregivers, they could talk to about matters of the heart, issues at school and dealing with age-mates. Gail was on-board, eager to assist me with classes every other Friday night, with the shared philosophy of preparing these young women to be self-confident and raise their awareness of treating each other always with kindness. Gail’s final message includes biblical scripture that ties into each lesson, given that Michelle wants a religious foundation to the evenings, and my final message is an open invitation to talk to me about anything, any time. Tonight began with an overview of what was to come, as well as introducing the circle of trust concept; what is said during these evenings is kept confidential by everyone, and everyone is free to speak. Then I brought out popcorn and nail polish allowing for open chatting and pampering, with lots of kernels scattered around my living room and among the couch cushions. I think it went well. The girls seemed receptive, and even though they didn’t respond much to Gail or my comments and questions, they talked to each other. They need a free space to do that, no matter the conversation or language used.
8 September 2010- Finishing the Holiday Program & Kids Go Back to School: With Gail’s and Mike’s help in the last week and a half of the holiday program, it gave Becca and me a bit of a breather. Gail and Mike facilitated many of the remaining lessons, allowing Becca and I to assist, as well as a needed break from micromanaging children. We were also able to meet about improving homework time. Michelle proposed we use her upstairs living space for homework, giving us and the grades 4 - 7 a dedicated homework hour and quiet space, free of the younger children. From 5 – 6pm every Monday thru Friday, Mike and I will help the grades 4 – 7 with homework and Gail will help grade 3 in the preschool. Once the resource center opens, a building project that recently began, all homework will be there. The resource center will also house a larger preschool, a computer lab and library, a large center room for gatherings and a sewing room for the Bambanani Project. Homework is much easier with a dedicated time and space. Each grade has a designated area to sit. Not having pencils and paper is no longer an excuse to not do homework or a delay in homework time. Its great having another person help every day, and the best part is it’s limited to one – 1-1/2 hours. No more 2 – 3 hour evenings!
Within the last week, a new addition to the children’s home arrived. A boy of 6 years named S’phe is now a part of Pasture Valley. He arrived with a cast on his left arm, having been removed from his homestead for that very reason. I don’t know the whole story but his caretaker was responsible, somehow, for his needing the cast. He looked terrified and overwhelmed as Michelle and Peter introduced him to the rest of the clan. Yet, I am amazed at the resiliency of the children in this country. In a matter of a few days, S’phe was actively involving himself in chores, the Holiday Program, and playing with his age-mates. He has a smile that lights his face and melts my heart, a smile he gives freely. He’s bright. He likes to copy what you draw, and he does it well; something most Swazi children struggle to do. He integrated well into preschool; Gail says he knows numbers, letters, how to write, colors, tumbling, and is picking up the concept of counting from 3 to 1. The sad thing is his arm. It was set incorrectly, and an orthopedic specialist recommended to Michelle and Peter it be reset, which means another painful recovery for him.
11 September 2010: With only a few days to go before she went back to England, Gail and I decided to take Becca to see Phophonyane Falls. Gail had heard it was easier to enter from the Orion Hotel parking lot. We left our bags, after much pleading, with the receptionist at the hotel and then set off behind the parking lot to find the falls. I knew the general direction since I was there last June w/ my family. I thought we’d run right into the falls. After walking about half an hour in the drizzle among the pine trees, we found the falls but only from a distance. There was no path that we could find, to get there, just a drop-off to the valley. The only other way was walking the 4km to the entrance, paying E40 to enter and then walking another 15 minutes beyond that to the falls. We tried to find another way in, through a private property gate but didn’t manage to get far. We noticed a vehicle parked at a residence a ways in, and decided to turn around lest we get escorted off the premises. I was willing to walk the 4km, but no one else wanted to continue in the rain. We found our way back to the hotel to collect our bags, and then walked the short distance to Tintsaba Craft Centre. We ate lunch overlooking the valley and across to mist-covered mountains. I ordered soup and tea, as I was a bit chilled. Becca thought it fitting to order fish and chips to compare to home. I think she found it was acceptable. Then Gail and I followed her through all the shops so she could buy souvenirs.
She and Gail ventured on to the homestead Gail and Mike resided during training for a real Swazi experience, and I headed to Mbabane to see Jaclyn. Jaclyn had been invited to a party, and I obliged to go along. We ended up playing Guitar Hero all night, which was quite surreal. I managed to figure out the bass guitar but the whole night felt too western, and within an hour of playing I was ready to do something else or just go to sleep. A fellow volunteer joked that I was just getting too old and should go home to watch ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns. Jackass; as if that’s my era! In actuality it struck me as odd to participate in something that felt so gluttonous, and not at all a developing world activity I’ve grown accustom to enjoying.
13 September 2010- Becca Leaves for Uni: Tomorrow Becca leaves Pasture Valley to head back to England. She is going back to begin her first year of university where she’ll study child psychology. This evening we had a going-away party for her at the children’s home. The house mothers practiced several songs w/ the preschool children as well as the older children. Becca was showered with 5 songs complete with actions and many gifts to remember Swaziland. She arrived less than two months ago, and yet she felt her connection to Swaziland stronger than she realized was possible. She made many promises to return, indicating several times she could not imagine never seeing the children again or exploring more of Swaziland and South Africa. After getting to know her, I don’t believe her promises of returning are empty ones.
17 September 2010- Teaching Mbangweni Group to make palm & banana leaf earrings: Today I taught our second Bambanani group to assemble earrings using the banana and palm leaf beads they’d made the following week. In addition to assembling with glass beads, we used wild melon, nasturtium and tree seeds in-between the palm or banana leaf beads, which are either circular or square in shape. The result is quite lovely, and the women thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Their assembly skills are fairly creative; I needed to help only a few with picking the right sized beads and assembly. I asked them to make two pairs, allowing them to keep one for themselves; we bought the other pair. They were delighted, to say the least.
19 September 2010- Tutoring Phindile: My friend Phindile, from my first community, is working on her Master’s degree. She has a paper due in a few weeks, and asked me to meet her in town to her help her clarify certain concepts with which she was struggling. I happily agreed since it had been a while since I’d seen her, and I do enjoy tutoring adults. We sat in a run-down park on the edge of town on a bench under a weeping willow tree, shading ourselves from the heat of the day. After we finished talking about each question she needed to answer in her paper, we chatted about Mahlalini, my friends at Edwaleni School and her students. In particular I wanted to know about my sisi Zandile, and how her studies were progressing. Phindile told me Zandile wrote an essay about me. I was shocked. “She did?” I asked. “Yes,” said Phindile, “the assignment was to write about the person you love the most. Zandile wrote about Thandeka, her sisi, whom she loves the most in the world.” We were walking back toward the center of town, and I briefly stopped unable to move or process what Phindile just said. I looked at her. “Zandile wrote about me?” I asked in an excited whisper, hoping my voice wouldn’t squeak from the lump in my throat. “Yes,” Phindile said, “She loves you too much.” Well what do you know about that? The shy girl who seemed less than pleased the day I arrived, some two years later, wrote her essay about me. My sweet little sisi.
The preschoolers come to visit: Several times a week, Phiwa, Bongkosi, and Buhle visit my cabin; Nothando and S’phe are only occasional visitors. They see me watering or weeding my flowers and want to help. Or they come to use my toilet. Or they come to tattle on each other. Sometimes they scour my kitchen for treats. Sometimes, they exercise with me. Sometimes I get out paper and colors and we sit on the floor drawing shapes. Usually they ask to draw on my dry erase board, and frequently veer off the board to my fridge door. They love to wash their hands with the purple soap I keep in the soap dish in the bathroom, and ask to use the toilet so they can wash their hands. They like to touch the touch lamp next to my couch. I never mind their long-term company or breeze-in, breeze-out visits; it’s the highlight of any day.
1 – 2 October 2010- The Homecoming & The Funeral: Last week Make called to tell me that Babe died in a fire. He was living near his farm in the Lubombo region, and the fire destroyed part of the house. Make’s children and Babe’s neighbors believe it was an intentionally set fire, that foul play was involved. They are pressing for an investigation. I’m not sure if one will be conducted. When they found his body, his legs were bound, and most of his upper body, free from binding, sustained the most damage. Make could barely talk on the phone, only telling me that he died and that the funeral would be the following weekend. I heard the full story from Princess, Make’s daughter-in-law and my favorite “sister-in-law.” At the time of the night vigil and funeral, her second born was a few weeks old. She was not required to work much, as she was still nursing, so I sat with her the afternoon I arrived for the night vigil. She recounted the gruesome story bit by bit. Occasionally interrupted with howls from her son, she pacified him with her breast, not shy to nurse in front on me, and then picked up the story where she’d left off. Throughout the story I was obliged to show my remorse with exclamations of “How!” or “Shame!” It wasn’t an act, though. I really did feel sorrow—for Make, her children, and Babe’s siblings.
My first duty upon arrival was to greet Make; she was sitting in the gogo hut, the official hut for family business, making decisions or mourning. She was flanked by 30 women, all relatives to either her or Babe or women from the church. As I entered the darkened rondoval, I crouched to approach Make. She was sitting on a mound of blankets atop a foam mattress, donning the black dress and veil she would be required to wear for the next nine months. Most women are required to wear the mourning attire for three years. Since his death was an accident, the time is shortened. She motioned for me to sit next to her, pushing the women on her left away. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, I noticed most women were lying down, no doubt resting for the long night of prayer, singing and crying. These women had been with Make most of the day, and would remain with her until the funeral ended. They were like her honor guard, helping the bereaved cope each step of the way. Make tried to tell me the story of what happened; too overcome with grief, she covered her face with her veil and cried. I hugged her several times, telling her I was sorry. Her comment, “God knows,” which was the comment most people made after I greeted them that evening. I only sat with her a short time before she ordered me to help cook. Unmarried daughters, new daughter-in-laws and granddaughters are required to cook for everyone who attends the night vigil and funeral. I helped chop vegetables for the next two hours. Once the food was ready, we served everyone starting with those in the gogo house. There was an order to who was served first, second, and then last. Each time I took a tray of plates I had to ask where to go next, as I didn’t know the order. We were allowed to eat once everyone was served but as soon as we finished we were back on our feet, collecting all the plates. Then it was time to wash dishes. By the time we finished round 1, it was close to 10:30pm. Princess found me, luckily, and told me to rest with her and her sister in the room they were staying. I gladly accepted a grass mat on the floor with an extra blanket. I dozed off and on but my sleep was fitful, at best. The sleeping youngster next to me was a wild sleeper and sporadically kicked or hit me. A band arrived shortly after 11pm and began singing upbeat gospels. Princess’ baby boy wailed until he was fed and satisfied. Sometime after 2 am I woke. I needed the pit latrine but I didn’t want to stumble through crowd to my old one; I tried to go back to sleep. Thirty minutes later, still awake, I decided to get up. I greeted one of Make’s daughters as I left the room. She told me there was a new pit latrine on this side of the homestead, and handed me toilet paper to replenish the facility. I headed in the general direction she’d motioned to, confused about this new pit latrine. It must have been built in time for this occasion since it wasn’t there when I moved. It seems a strange way to prepare for a funeral, until you think about entertaining over a hundred people.
Another round of cooking had begun around 3 am, and wanting to be useful, I began cutting more vegetables. The granddaughters were busy distributing tea and scones to mourners who were awake, a snack before the funeral began. I cut carrots for an hour to scornful looks from two boMake. Apparently I wasn’t cutting them right, but neither of them was going to tell me how they wanted them cut. I kept looking at them each time they talked about me and my funny looking carrots. Finally they caught on that I understood them, and they quit but the damage was done. After no one would tell me what to do next, I said to hell with it and went back to my grass mat for a rest. I closed my eyes for what I thought was only 5 minutes but was abruptly awakened at 5 am when the hearse arrived. The body wasn’t allowed to be at the homestead until day break when the funeral would begin. When someone dies from an accident, the body must remain outside the homestead for fear that all family members will die the same way. Most night vigils are conducted with the deceased present, so wailing is intensified. For the most part, this night vigil was quiet except for the exuberant gospel music. The funeral ceremony lasted about an hour and included eulogies made by family members, neighbors and Babe’s coworkers, as well as songs sung by the band and the family. Then the “honor guard” processed Make to a pickup that would take her to the gravesite. The rest of the crowd followed the procession. I’d found Make Nkosi towards the beginning of the funeral, and we decided to walk down the road to the mission church together. Babe’s sister took my hand as we left the homestead. A woman I’d never met knew all about me, and wanted to meet me. All formalities aside, she asked me everything under the sun about my work, my life in Swaziland and my home country. She’d been taught by an American Missionary and had fond memories of his daughter—she was reminded of her she saw me. She hung on my arm the entire walk, and continued chatting away as we approached the gravesite.
I wasn’t able to see much of the graveside ceremony, one because Babe’s sister continued chatting and secondly, I wasn’t close enough to see through the crowd. I heard more prayers, and noticed Make sitting under a tent near the grave with her children and the women honor guard around her. Around the other side of the grave were the male members of the family; younger male and women onlookers are required to sit back from the gravesite or line the path on the way to the grave. The graveside ceremony last about an hour, after which Make was escorted back to the pickup. She would undergo ritual cleansing and hair plaiting performed by the honor guard who would not allow anyone to see her until they finished, several hours later. Funeral attendees made their way back to the homestead for a meal, after which people slowly trickled back to their respective homes. I caught the half past 8am bus to Nhlangano, eager to get back to Pasture Valley for a shower and a nap. Not only did I feel physically exhausted, I also felt emotionally drained, and I longed for the peace and comfort I’ve come to embrace in solitude.
3 October 2010: A poem
3 October 2010
There’s a storm brewing
around us.
It’s been building for hours. I
hear the thunder rumble, and
feel the air cool as afternoon fades to evening and
the once incessant bird chirpings give way to the sound of the wind. Then, there’s silence.
4 – 5 October 2010- Finishing the Nurses’ Housing Project: Last week the Clinic Committee called to say the contractor had finished wiring the building, installing the door and window frames, and were beginning to plaster the walls. I asked for things to be finished by the 4th so I could paint the outside of the building. And to my surprise the Clinic Committee kept the contractor and his crew on task. Hurray! I arrived the afternoon of the 4th with two Group 8 volunteers eager to do ‘real work’ as they endure their Integration period. With the help of one of the Clinic Committee members, we primed the outside wall in about 4 hours. The two G8 volunteers were amazed at the amount of people I knew and who knew me. After each person I greeted, they asked I if knew that person. Yes, I know every person I greet; maybe I don’t know them all by name but I know them. They asked if that would ever happen for them. I assured them it would. I was lucky enough to have a clinic to visit each day, so I saw most of the community daily or weekly. When we first arrived in Mahlalini, they commented at how far out of town I lived. They asked, “How far are you from the tar road? We’re really out here.” I assured them the tar road was only 20km, the same distance to town. “In all honestly, I’m not that far from town,” I told them. Had they visited Jaclyn or the Jackson’s they would have ridden the bus for over two hours. My bus ride was only 45 minutes.
We stayed at my former homestead, and Make was delighted. She had the girls make up the bed in the guesthouse for the two volunteers and I slept on a foam mattress on the floor since my hut was now occupied by the eldest son. I offered to make dinner since I brought two extra mouths with me, and no one protested. I made tuna noodle casserole and boiled pumpkin (butternut squash). A square of hazelnut chocolate—fours squares for Make—and tea for pudding (dessert). The next day we woke early to rain, much to my chagrin. The gloom hung in the air all day, but luckily it stopped raining by the time we reached the clinic. By 7:15 am we were painting again, and finished around half past one. I took pictures along the way to document our progress, and asked the staff to sign a thank-you letter I planned to send to all the supporters/funders. The half past two bus was early, and we asked them to wait for us as we quickly gathered our bags and hurriedly said our good-byes. The girls stayed with me that evening; I was offering a home-cooked meal, wine and a hot shower as a thank you for their help, an offer they couldn’t refuse.
11 October 2010- Paying the Contractor: Last week I arranged to meet the contractor and his crew at noon today. Since they hadn’t finished plastering the inside walls and floors, I wanted to wait to pay him until I made sure things were finished. When I arrived I found Babe Dlamini, Clinic Committee Treasurer, painting the inside walls, and he was nearly finished. I inspected all the things I expected to be done. Everything was done, and in good condition. Then I called all the staff together, along w/ Babe Dlamini, to witness handing over the check to the contractor. We took pictures in front on the building, and then I took a picture of the building sans people. Its cream colored walls and red tin roof looked out of place against the stark contrast of the patchy brown grass and scattered construction materials on the ground. Yet, the house is functional and inhabitable, and I’m guessing Emily Thebo (staff nurse) and her daughter will be living there before the end of the year.
28 October 2010- Hail in the Swaz: It just finished hailing, which was probably the coolest Swazi weather I’ve ever experienced. The preschool kids were with me in my cabin; they’d just finished coloring and then devoured their toasted jam bread I made them. As soon as the hail began they huddled together on the couch and covered their ears. I motioned them to my “screen door” (a burglar door with mosquito netting sewed around it) to watch the hail fall. A piece fell on my porch so I picked it up and brought it inside for them to see and touch. “Kumakhata!” they shouted. It’s cold! When it became too heavy, I pulled them away from the door, slightly closing it and herded them back to my couch. It hailed for a good 5 minutes, depositing nothing bigger than nickels all over the ground. I said a silent praise of thanks that I lived in a secure cabin with appropriate roofing. Once the rain let up, I allowed the kids back onto the porch, and then ran through the yard collecting the biggest piece for the kids to see. Of course, the first thing they wanted to do was put it in their mouth. I tried to explain hail to them, but the closest thing they knew were ice cubes. So we called them ice cubes, and they happily sucked away.
I’m getting a new roomie today. A recent graduate of Texas A&M in environmental science, I welcome her with great trepidation. My last roommate experience with my fellow PCV Jenn, was a good one but I already knew her for two years. Jenn is quite easy-going, kind-hearted and generous, a good transition roommate for me. And before Jenn, I’ve lived alone many years, of which the last two years in a rural community in rural Africa in a cement wall and tin roof hut. This volunteer was been helping at Michelle’s cousin’s game farm in South Africa the last few months; after hearing about Pasture Valley through Michelle’s cousin, she asked to come a short time to help at an orphanage. So many people come wanting an “orphanage” experience, and it’s not all what they think. She comes from such a different Africa background then I do. And even though she’s American, I suspect our feelings about Africa and life could be vastly different. To my credit, my patience had grown by leaps and bounds, by my standards, and I’m hoping that will help facilitate our living arrangement. When Michelle told me yesterday that the new volunteer had finally confirmed her arrival, she added that now I’d have company. But I’m beginning to enjoy my preschool company far more than company with most adults on most occasions. And contrary to popular belief, I’m not lonely.
29 October – 1 November 2010- Weekend Away: I spent the weekend in Mbabane for a much needed rest. I had meetings on Friday and Monday, and decided to just stay for the in-between time. It was fabulous. Victoria, Cameron and I danced Friday night away at House on Fire to a hip-hop band from Durban called Spitmonky. They were fun. On Saturday, Jaci and I hiked Sheba’s Breast, a steep mountain in the Ezulweni Valley. It was hard but it felt great to hike, exert energy, sweat and be in Jaci’s company. We sat at the top for over an hour chatting about life, the challenges and lessons we’ve learned throughout extension, how we’ve changed, what we want out of life, and what we’ll do when we go back to the States. I’m thankful for a friend like Jaci. She’s a great listener. Ever the optimist, she can find the positive in even the shittiest situation. I appreciate that perspective, at times, especially when I’m being cynical. She’s like a sister to me, and I am that for her; we offer encouragement to each other, offer advice, and offer a shoulder for crying on and supporting when one needs it.
The perfectly clear day was well suited for hiking; it was warm but not too hot and the gentle breeze gave great relief. Each time we paused to take a breath, we turned to look across the valley at the mountain range on the other side of the highway. The view is incredible, giving you a real sense of where you are and where you began. The only negative to the day was the sunburn we both received. I applied sunscreen lotion twice. But since this was my first long-term exposure to sun this spring, the sunscreen hardly mattered.
Saturday evening we ventured to two Halloween parties, Jaci dressed at Mary Poppins, Victoria as a Greek goddess, and me as Molly Ringwald. I looked mostly like an 80’s lady but I was true to Molly verbiage, telling everyone they were so affected. Jaci and I left the second party early, as we were both exhausted from the day’s hike and neither party was exciting enough to sustain our interest.
Sunday was a lazy day, and since it rained most of the day, we opted for lying in bed watching Project Runway Season 7. In the evening we had dinner at Rob and Matthew’s pad, as the G6 extenders who live in Mbabane get together every Sunday evening for family dinner night. They were kind enough to include Victoria and me in their evening this time around.
Monday morning I met with my APCD regarding my Peace Corps Partnership Project. We discussed the challenges I faced along the way, as well as the positives of the process. Then I turned in the final report complete with pictures. My APCD needs to read the narrative and approve the final report before sending it to Washington. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m finished. Amen and Halleluiah! It feels mighty good. Unfortunately, as soon as I signed the report and handed it to him, I felt ready to leave Swaziland and Peace Corps service. It was a rush of relief to finish this project as I’ve been working on it for two years. And since the Bambanani Project is in good working order, I wonder about my final three ½ months of service. What will I do with my remaining time? Couldn’t I leave early? Yet there is something, a lesson or two I need to learn, that continue to nag at me. And so, as I did in the beginning of my service I must once again question why I am here. There is something more for me, something yet to discover, and I believe the discovery needs to happen here, can only happen here. And that’s okay. In questioning, in taking time, in continuing to learn, there is clarity. And with clarity come awareness and peace of mind. So I remain open to receive the messages I need to receive from the universe. I remain open to receive. Clarity will be mine when I need it. It is my hope.
8 September 2010- Finishing the Holiday Program & Kids Go Back to School: With Gail’s and Mike’s help in the last week and a half of the holiday program, it gave Becca and me a bit of a breather. Gail and Mike facilitated many of the remaining lessons, allowing Becca and I to assist, as well as a needed break from micromanaging children. We were also able to meet about improving homework time. Michelle proposed we use her upstairs living space for homework, giving us and the grades 4 - 7 a dedicated homework hour and quiet space, free of the younger children. From 5 – 6pm every Monday thru Friday, Mike and I will help the grades 4 – 7 with homework and Gail will help grade 3 in the preschool. Once the resource center opens, a building project that recently began, all homework will be there. The resource center will also house a larger preschool, a computer lab and library, a large center room for gatherings and a sewing room for the Bambanani Project. Homework is much easier with a dedicated time and space. Each grade has a designated area to sit. Not having pencils and paper is no longer an excuse to not do homework or a delay in homework time. Its great having another person help every day, and the best part is it’s limited to one – 1-1/2 hours. No more 2 – 3 hour evenings!
Within the last week, a new addition to the children’s home arrived. A boy of 6 years named S’phe is now a part of Pasture Valley. He arrived with a cast on his left arm, having been removed from his homestead for that very reason. I don’t know the whole story but his caretaker was responsible, somehow, for his needing the cast. He looked terrified and overwhelmed as Michelle and Peter introduced him to the rest of the clan. Yet, I am amazed at the resiliency of the children in this country. In a matter of a few days, S’phe was actively involving himself in chores, the Holiday Program, and playing with his age-mates. He has a smile that lights his face and melts my heart, a smile he gives freely. He’s bright. He likes to copy what you draw, and he does it well; something most Swazi children struggle to do. He integrated well into preschool; Gail says he knows numbers, letters, how to write, colors, tumbling, and is picking up the concept of counting from 3 to 1. The sad thing is his arm. It was set incorrectly, and an orthopedic specialist recommended to Michelle and Peter it be reset, which means another painful recovery for him.
11 September 2010: With only a few days to go before she went back to England, Gail and I decided to take Becca to see Phophonyane Falls. Gail had heard it was easier to enter from the Orion Hotel parking lot. We left our bags, after much pleading, with the receptionist at the hotel and then set off behind the parking lot to find the falls. I knew the general direction since I was there last June w/ my family. I thought we’d run right into the falls. After walking about half an hour in the drizzle among the pine trees, we found the falls but only from a distance. There was no path that we could find, to get there, just a drop-off to the valley. The only other way was walking the 4km to the entrance, paying E40 to enter and then walking another 15 minutes beyond that to the falls. We tried to find another way in, through a private property gate but didn’t manage to get far. We noticed a vehicle parked at a residence a ways in, and decided to turn around lest we get escorted off the premises. I was willing to walk the 4km, but no one else wanted to continue in the rain. We found our way back to the hotel to collect our bags, and then walked the short distance to Tintsaba Craft Centre. We ate lunch overlooking the valley and across to mist-covered mountains. I ordered soup and tea, as I was a bit chilled. Becca thought it fitting to order fish and chips to compare to home. I think she found it was acceptable. Then Gail and I followed her through all the shops so she could buy souvenirs.
She and Gail ventured on to the homestead Gail and Mike resided during training for a real Swazi experience, and I headed to Mbabane to see Jaclyn. Jaclyn had been invited to a party, and I obliged to go along. We ended up playing Guitar Hero all night, which was quite surreal. I managed to figure out the bass guitar but the whole night felt too western, and within an hour of playing I was ready to do something else or just go to sleep. A fellow volunteer joked that I was just getting too old and should go home to watch ‘I Love Lucy’ reruns. Jackass; as if that’s my era! In actuality it struck me as odd to participate in something that felt so gluttonous, and not at all a developing world activity I’ve grown accustom to enjoying.
13 September 2010- Becca Leaves for Uni: Tomorrow Becca leaves Pasture Valley to head back to England. She is going back to begin her first year of university where she’ll study child psychology. This evening we had a going-away party for her at the children’s home. The house mothers practiced several songs w/ the preschool children as well as the older children. Becca was showered with 5 songs complete with actions and many gifts to remember Swaziland. She arrived less than two months ago, and yet she felt her connection to Swaziland stronger than she realized was possible. She made many promises to return, indicating several times she could not imagine never seeing the children again or exploring more of Swaziland and South Africa. After getting to know her, I don’t believe her promises of returning are empty ones.
17 September 2010- Teaching Mbangweni Group to make palm & banana leaf earrings: Today I taught our second Bambanani group to assemble earrings using the banana and palm leaf beads they’d made the following week. In addition to assembling with glass beads, we used wild melon, nasturtium and tree seeds in-between the palm or banana leaf beads, which are either circular or square in shape. The result is quite lovely, and the women thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Their assembly skills are fairly creative; I needed to help only a few with picking the right sized beads and assembly. I asked them to make two pairs, allowing them to keep one for themselves; we bought the other pair. They were delighted, to say the least.
19 September 2010- Tutoring Phindile: My friend Phindile, from my first community, is working on her Master’s degree. She has a paper due in a few weeks, and asked me to meet her in town to her help her clarify certain concepts with which she was struggling. I happily agreed since it had been a while since I’d seen her, and I do enjoy tutoring adults. We sat in a run-down park on the edge of town on a bench under a weeping willow tree, shading ourselves from the heat of the day. After we finished talking about each question she needed to answer in her paper, we chatted about Mahlalini, my friends at Edwaleni School and her students. In particular I wanted to know about my sisi Zandile, and how her studies were progressing. Phindile told me Zandile wrote an essay about me. I was shocked. “She did?” I asked. “Yes,” said Phindile, “the assignment was to write about the person you love the most. Zandile wrote about Thandeka, her sisi, whom she loves the most in the world.” We were walking back toward the center of town, and I briefly stopped unable to move or process what Phindile just said. I looked at her. “Zandile wrote about me?” I asked in an excited whisper, hoping my voice wouldn’t squeak from the lump in my throat. “Yes,” Phindile said, “She loves you too much.” Well what do you know about that? The shy girl who seemed less than pleased the day I arrived, some two years later, wrote her essay about me. My sweet little sisi.
The preschoolers come to visit: Several times a week, Phiwa, Bongkosi, and Buhle visit my cabin; Nothando and S’phe are only occasional visitors. They see me watering or weeding my flowers and want to help. Or they come to use my toilet. Or they come to tattle on each other. Sometimes they scour my kitchen for treats. Sometimes, they exercise with me. Sometimes I get out paper and colors and we sit on the floor drawing shapes. Usually they ask to draw on my dry erase board, and frequently veer off the board to my fridge door. They love to wash their hands with the purple soap I keep in the soap dish in the bathroom, and ask to use the toilet so they can wash their hands. They like to touch the touch lamp next to my couch. I never mind their long-term company or breeze-in, breeze-out visits; it’s the highlight of any day.
1 – 2 October 2010- The Homecoming & The Funeral: Last week Make called to tell me that Babe died in a fire. He was living near his farm in the Lubombo region, and the fire destroyed part of the house. Make’s children and Babe’s neighbors believe it was an intentionally set fire, that foul play was involved. They are pressing for an investigation. I’m not sure if one will be conducted. When they found his body, his legs were bound, and most of his upper body, free from binding, sustained the most damage. Make could barely talk on the phone, only telling me that he died and that the funeral would be the following weekend. I heard the full story from Princess, Make’s daughter-in-law and my favorite “sister-in-law.” At the time of the night vigil and funeral, her second born was a few weeks old. She was not required to work much, as she was still nursing, so I sat with her the afternoon I arrived for the night vigil. She recounted the gruesome story bit by bit. Occasionally interrupted with howls from her son, she pacified him with her breast, not shy to nurse in front on me, and then picked up the story where she’d left off. Throughout the story I was obliged to show my remorse with exclamations of “How!” or “Shame!” It wasn’t an act, though. I really did feel sorrow—for Make, her children, and Babe’s siblings.
My first duty upon arrival was to greet Make; she was sitting in the gogo hut, the official hut for family business, making decisions or mourning. She was flanked by 30 women, all relatives to either her or Babe or women from the church. As I entered the darkened rondoval, I crouched to approach Make. She was sitting on a mound of blankets atop a foam mattress, donning the black dress and veil she would be required to wear for the next nine months. Most women are required to wear the mourning attire for three years. Since his death was an accident, the time is shortened. She motioned for me to sit next to her, pushing the women on her left away. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness of the room, I noticed most women were lying down, no doubt resting for the long night of prayer, singing and crying. These women had been with Make most of the day, and would remain with her until the funeral ended. They were like her honor guard, helping the bereaved cope each step of the way. Make tried to tell me the story of what happened; too overcome with grief, she covered her face with her veil and cried. I hugged her several times, telling her I was sorry. Her comment, “God knows,” which was the comment most people made after I greeted them that evening. I only sat with her a short time before she ordered me to help cook. Unmarried daughters, new daughter-in-laws and granddaughters are required to cook for everyone who attends the night vigil and funeral. I helped chop vegetables for the next two hours. Once the food was ready, we served everyone starting with those in the gogo house. There was an order to who was served first, second, and then last. Each time I took a tray of plates I had to ask where to go next, as I didn’t know the order. We were allowed to eat once everyone was served but as soon as we finished we were back on our feet, collecting all the plates. Then it was time to wash dishes. By the time we finished round 1, it was close to 10:30pm. Princess found me, luckily, and told me to rest with her and her sister in the room they were staying. I gladly accepted a grass mat on the floor with an extra blanket. I dozed off and on but my sleep was fitful, at best. The sleeping youngster next to me was a wild sleeper and sporadically kicked or hit me. A band arrived shortly after 11pm and began singing upbeat gospels. Princess’ baby boy wailed until he was fed and satisfied. Sometime after 2 am I woke. I needed the pit latrine but I didn’t want to stumble through crowd to my old one; I tried to go back to sleep. Thirty minutes later, still awake, I decided to get up. I greeted one of Make’s daughters as I left the room. She told me there was a new pit latrine on this side of the homestead, and handed me toilet paper to replenish the facility. I headed in the general direction she’d motioned to, confused about this new pit latrine. It must have been built in time for this occasion since it wasn’t there when I moved. It seems a strange way to prepare for a funeral, until you think about entertaining over a hundred people.
Another round of cooking had begun around 3 am, and wanting to be useful, I began cutting more vegetables. The granddaughters were busy distributing tea and scones to mourners who were awake, a snack before the funeral began. I cut carrots for an hour to scornful looks from two boMake. Apparently I wasn’t cutting them right, but neither of them was going to tell me how they wanted them cut. I kept looking at them each time they talked about me and my funny looking carrots. Finally they caught on that I understood them, and they quit but the damage was done. After no one would tell me what to do next, I said to hell with it and went back to my grass mat for a rest. I closed my eyes for what I thought was only 5 minutes but was abruptly awakened at 5 am when the hearse arrived. The body wasn’t allowed to be at the homestead until day break when the funeral would begin. When someone dies from an accident, the body must remain outside the homestead for fear that all family members will die the same way. Most night vigils are conducted with the deceased present, so wailing is intensified. For the most part, this night vigil was quiet except for the exuberant gospel music. The funeral ceremony lasted about an hour and included eulogies made by family members, neighbors and Babe’s coworkers, as well as songs sung by the band and the family. Then the “honor guard” processed Make to a pickup that would take her to the gravesite. The rest of the crowd followed the procession. I’d found Make Nkosi towards the beginning of the funeral, and we decided to walk down the road to the mission church together. Babe’s sister took my hand as we left the homestead. A woman I’d never met knew all about me, and wanted to meet me. All formalities aside, she asked me everything under the sun about my work, my life in Swaziland and my home country. She’d been taught by an American Missionary and had fond memories of his daughter—she was reminded of her she saw me. She hung on my arm the entire walk, and continued chatting away as we approached the gravesite.
I wasn’t able to see much of the graveside ceremony, one because Babe’s sister continued chatting and secondly, I wasn’t close enough to see through the crowd. I heard more prayers, and noticed Make sitting under a tent near the grave with her children and the women honor guard around her. Around the other side of the grave were the male members of the family; younger male and women onlookers are required to sit back from the gravesite or line the path on the way to the grave. The graveside ceremony last about an hour, after which Make was escorted back to the pickup. She would undergo ritual cleansing and hair plaiting performed by the honor guard who would not allow anyone to see her until they finished, several hours later. Funeral attendees made their way back to the homestead for a meal, after which people slowly trickled back to their respective homes. I caught the half past 8am bus to Nhlangano, eager to get back to Pasture Valley for a shower and a nap. Not only did I feel physically exhausted, I also felt emotionally drained, and I longed for the peace and comfort I’ve come to embrace in solitude.
3 October 2010: A poem
3 October 2010
There’s a storm brewing
around us.
It’s been building for hours. I
hear the thunder rumble, and
feel the air cool as afternoon fades to evening and
the once incessant bird chirpings give way to the sound of the wind. Then, there’s silence.
4 – 5 October 2010- Finishing the Nurses’ Housing Project: Last week the Clinic Committee called to say the contractor had finished wiring the building, installing the door and window frames, and were beginning to plaster the walls. I asked for things to be finished by the 4th so I could paint the outside of the building. And to my surprise the Clinic Committee kept the contractor and his crew on task. Hurray! I arrived the afternoon of the 4th with two Group 8 volunteers eager to do ‘real work’ as they endure their Integration period. With the help of one of the Clinic Committee members, we primed the outside wall in about 4 hours. The two G8 volunteers were amazed at the amount of people I knew and who knew me. After each person I greeted, they asked I if knew that person. Yes, I know every person I greet; maybe I don’t know them all by name but I know them. They asked if that would ever happen for them. I assured them it would. I was lucky enough to have a clinic to visit each day, so I saw most of the community daily or weekly. When we first arrived in Mahlalini, they commented at how far out of town I lived. They asked, “How far are you from the tar road? We’re really out here.” I assured them the tar road was only 20km, the same distance to town. “In all honestly, I’m not that far from town,” I told them. Had they visited Jaclyn or the Jackson’s they would have ridden the bus for over two hours. My bus ride was only 45 minutes.
We stayed at my former homestead, and Make was delighted. She had the girls make up the bed in the guesthouse for the two volunteers and I slept on a foam mattress on the floor since my hut was now occupied by the eldest son. I offered to make dinner since I brought two extra mouths with me, and no one protested. I made tuna noodle casserole and boiled pumpkin (butternut squash). A square of hazelnut chocolate—fours squares for Make—and tea for pudding (dessert). The next day we woke early to rain, much to my chagrin. The gloom hung in the air all day, but luckily it stopped raining by the time we reached the clinic. By 7:15 am we were painting again, and finished around half past one. I took pictures along the way to document our progress, and asked the staff to sign a thank-you letter I planned to send to all the supporters/funders. The half past two bus was early, and we asked them to wait for us as we quickly gathered our bags and hurriedly said our good-byes. The girls stayed with me that evening; I was offering a home-cooked meal, wine and a hot shower as a thank you for their help, an offer they couldn’t refuse.
11 October 2010- Paying the Contractor: Last week I arranged to meet the contractor and his crew at noon today. Since they hadn’t finished plastering the inside walls and floors, I wanted to wait to pay him until I made sure things were finished. When I arrived I found Babe Dlamini, Clinic Committee Treasurer, painting the inside walls, and he was nearly finished. I inspected all the things I expected to be done. Everything was done, and in good condition. Then I called all the staff together, along w/ Babe Dlamini, to witness handing over the check to the contractor. We took pictures in front on the building, and then I took a picture of the building sans people. Its cream colored walls and red tin roof looked out of place against the stark contrast of the patchy brown grass and scattered construction materials on the ground. Yet, the house is functional and inhabitable, and I’m guessing Emily Thebo (staff nurse) and her daughter will be living there before the end of the year.
28 October 2010- Hail in the Swaz: It just finished hailing, which was probably the coolest Swazi weather I’ve ever experienced. The preschool kids were with me in my cabin; they’d just finished coloring and then devoured their toasted jam bread I made them. As soon as the hail began they huddled together on the couch and covered their ears. I motioned them to my “screen door” (a burglar door with mosquito netting sewed around it) to watch the hail fall. A piece fell on my porch so I picked it up and brought it inside for them to see and touch. “Kumakhata!” they shouted. It’s cold! When it became too heavy, I pulled them away from the door, slightly closing it and herded them back to my couch. It hailed for a good 5 minutes, depositing nothing bigger than nickels all over the ground. I said a silent praise of thanks that I lived in a secure cabin with appropriate roofing. Once the rain let up, I allowed the kids back onto the porch, and then ran through the yard collecting the biggest piece for the kids to see. Of course, the first thing they wanted to do was put it in their mouth. I tried to explain hail to them, but the closest thing they knew were ice cubes. So we called them ice cubes, and they happily sucked away.
I’m getting a new roomie today. A recent graduate of Texas A&M in environmental science, I welcome her with great trepidation. My last roommate experience with my fellow PCV Jenn, was a good one but I already knew her for two years. Jenn is quite easy-going, kind-hearted and generous, a good transition roommate for me. And before Jenn, I’ve lived alone many years, of which the last two years in a rural community in rural Africa in a cement wall and tin roof hut. This volunteer was been helping at Michelle’s cousin’s game farm in South Africa the last few months; after hearing about Pasture Valley through Michelle’s cousin, she asked to come a short time to help at an orphanage. So many people come wanting an “orphanage” experience, and it’s not all what they think. She comes from such a different Africa background then I do. And even though she’s American, I suspect our feelings about Africa and life could be vastly different. To my credit, my patience had grown by leaps and bounds, by my standards, and I’m hoping that will help facilitate our living arrangement. When Michelle told me yesterday that the new volunteer had finally confirmed her arrival, she added that now I’d have company. But I’m beginning to enjoy my preschool company far more than company with most adults on most occasions. And contrary to popular belief, I’m not lonely.
29 October – 1 November 2010- Weekend Away: I spent the weekend in Mbabane for a much needed rest. I had meetings on Friday and Monday, and decided to just stay for the in-between time. It was fabulous. Victoria, Cameron and I danced Friday night away at House on Fire to a hip-hop band from Durban called Spitmonky. They were fun. On Saturday, Jaci and I hiked Sheba’s Breast, a steep mountain in the Ezulweni Valley. It was hard but it felt great to hike, exert energy, sweat and be in Jaci’s company. We sat at the top for over an hour chatting about life, the challenges and lessons we’ve learned throughout extension, how we’ve changed, what we want out of life, and what we’ll do when we go back to the States. I’m thankful for a friend like Jaci. She’s a great listener. Ever the optimist, she can find the positive in even the shittiest situation. I appreciate that perspective, at times, especially when I’m being cynical. She’s like a sister to me, and I am that for her; we offer encouragement to each other, offer advice, and offer a shoulder for crying on and supporting when one needs it.
The perfectly clear day was well suited for hiking; it was warm but not too hot and the gentle breeze gave great relief. Each time we paused to take a breath, we turned to look across the valley at the mountain range on the other side of the highway. The view is incredible, giving you a real sense of where you are and where you began. The only negative to the day was the sunburn we both received. I applied sunscreen lotion twice. But since this was my first long-term exposure to sun this spring, the sunscreen hardly mattered.
Saturday evening we ventured to two Halloween parties, Jaci dressed at Mary Poppins, Victoria as a Greek goddess, and me as Molly Ringwald. I looked mostly like an 80’s lady but I was true to Molly verbiage, telling everyone they were so affected. Jaci and I left the second party early, as we were both exhausted from the day’s hike and neither party was exciting enough to sustain our interest.
Sunday was a lazy day, and since it rained most of the day, we opted for lying in bed watching Project Runway Season 7. In the evening we had dinner at Rob and Matthew’s pad, as the G6 extenders who live in Mbabane get together every Sunday evening for family dinner night. They were kind enough to include Victoria and me in their evening this time around.
Monday morning I met with my APCD regarding my Peace Corps Partnership Project. We discussed the challenges I faced along the way, as well as the positives of the process. Then I turned in the final report complete with pictures. My APCD needs to read the narrative and approve the final report before sending it to Washington. But as far as I’m concerned, I’m finished. Amen and Halleluiah! It feels mighty good. Unfortunately, as soon as I signed the report and handed it to him, I felt ready to leave Swaziland and Peace Corps service. It was a rush of relief to finish this project as I’ve been working on it for two years. And since the Bambanani Project is in good working order, I wonder about my final three ½ months of service. What will I do with my remaining time? Couldn’t I leave early? Yet there is something, a lesson or two I need to learn, that continue to nag at me. And so, as I did in the beginning of my service I must once again question why I am here. There is something more for me, something yet to discover, and I believe the discovery needs to happen here, can only happen here. And that’s okay. In questioning, in taking time, in continuing to learn, there is clarity. And with clarity come awareness and peace of mind. So I remain open to receive the messages I need to receive from the universe. I remain open to receive. Clarity will be mine when I need it. It is my hope.
Sunday, September 5, 2010
July & August 2010
30 June 2010- My last day continued: The third party was with my family. In addition to telling them good-bye we were celebrating Zandile’s birthday. Sitting in the living room, Make opened with a prayer of thanks; she said no harm came to her homestead or to her children while I was living there. She said God made that happen. God had blessed her with another daughter, and because of it we lived safely together. Machawe, Mcolici, Nomdumiso and Zandile each thanked me for staying with them, and wished me safe travels. The girls each added they were happy to stay with a sisi who shared with them. Then they broke into prayer, each offering their needs and gratitudes out loud to Inkhosi yami—my God; I sat watching them, struggling with tears. I looked, really looked, at each person, saying my own silent prayer of thanks for each member of my Swazi family, for the gratitude I felt for them, for having them be part ofmy life.
We sang happy birthday and shared apple cake for Zandile’s birthday. The kids left unceremoniously to prepare Make’s dinner plate, then share their meal together in the kitchen hut. I sat with Make for several minutes as she ate her dinner. I said good night to her, and then walked to the kitchen house to offer nilala kahle (good rest) to bosisi and bobhuti. I promised to be up in time to see them off to school.
I walked back to my hut, made tea and looked around my empty walls as I sipped. It was no longer my space, the little cement hut. The makeshift closet I made from branches and a large plastic bag hung empty from the ceiling with fishing line. The walls, stripped of their pictures, letters and cards, were bare, and once again showed their water marks and bug stains. My things were packed and stacked haphazardly in one corner of the room. The kitchen items I intended to leave were strewn on the top of the plastic table from Deja, which set in the center of the room out of place. The floor, swept and washed earlier in the day, had dried with a streak-free semi-gloss shine and was considerably cleaner than the day I moved in.
I was feeling a mix of thanks for the four walls’ kindness, as well as relief that I was done with them. Yet I offered them appreciation for being a good space for me. There were many times I despised those four walls: for their unsuccessful retention of heat on winter evenings; for their failure to remain cool on hot summer days; for their proclivity to allowing rain to seep in; for their ability to mold; for their gift of crumbling after heavy rains or high winds; for allowing large spiders and snakes to enter; and finally for permitting noises to ooze in, making me think bats, dogs, chickens, cattle, goats, and people were just inside my door. Nevertheless, I grew quite fond of those four fickle walls, even running to them for sanctuary, for a sense of familiar, when nothing else seemed right. Surprising what brings one joy, frustration, calm, or anxiety, and how, ironically, it can be the same thing.
1 July 2010- Moving to Pasture Valley: I left Mahlalini on a grey, drizzly morning around half past ten. Make and her granddaughter kept me company for several hours as I waited for the PC driver, and thank goodness for their company. The driver was to arrive at 9, but he was an hour late. Part of me wanted to delay my departure; the other part just wanted to get it over, like taking off a band-aide, better to pull it off quickly then to prolong the pain.
I intended to leave Make with an equipped place in case she decided to rent, so I left my bed and bedding for the house along with the mini stove and fridge. I also left the table, two chairs, all my dishes and cooking utensils, and a stackable organizer tray. Make seemed very pleased with all I was leaving. She had plans already for the fridge, determined to replace the old freezer in her bedroom with my fridge.
Once the driver arrived, Make and her granddaughter helped me carry things to the truck as the driver loaded. It was full, as I had many things for my project I needed to transplant to Pasture Valley and two-100 liter water barrels I was returning to Peace Corps. I ended up holding one plant on my lap and put one between my feet.
The drive was quick and relatively quiet. I tried small talk at first but had trouble talking over the lump in my throat. Sprinkles of rain were intermittent, and I said a silent plea that it would hold off until I unpacked. For once, the weather complied. Jenn greeted us on the porch; having moved in a month earlier she helped us unpack in short order.
I began settling in immediately, as the sky unloaded as well. I needed to unpack and begin feeling at home right away, otherwise some boxes would never be unpacked. My work was to begin the following day, and I knew I’d feel better with most of my things in place and some semblance of order before embarking on days that would keep me busy from sunup to sundown.
The day, unfortunately, came and went with the rapidity of a load of laundry; but with Jenn’s company, and my bedroom intact, I felt better about leaving my home away from home. We settled down for the evening with Jenn’s veggie noodle soup, two glasses of beers and a few episodes of How I Met Your Mother.
July 2010- Getting my Barings: I spent most of the month organizing my new office and taking inventory of the products we had currently. I also: restrung 60 necklaces; developed new products including clay made from sawdust; teaching small business to two income generating groups; teaching our second group to make beads from palm and banana leaves; saying good-bye to fellow G6 volunteers; watching lots of “How I Met Your Mother” episodes with Jenn; running and doing yoga with Jenn; making bread; teaching Jenn to cook; drinking wine; setting aside reading time before bed; cracking and roasting Macadamia nuts for the first time; and finding moments of calm in my chaotic days.
August 2010- Holiday Program, Just Surviving, and Saying So Long: August was also a quick month. I intend to go into a little more detail than I afforded you with my July happenings but blessed little. As my time is increasingly micromanaged here and occupied by 22 children who often find their way to my cabin for “visits” (the little ones are always asking to wee wee or look at my shower or open cupboard doors or ask for emasweeties), I find I have less time for myself. With the arrival of a new Group 8 couple to the farm at the end of the month, it’s my hope that my time will be less dedicated to the daily management of the children. Currently, Jenn, Becca (a 2-month volunteer from the UK) and I are also running the Holiday Program, which is intended to keep the children active during the break between trimesters. We organize a morning and afternoon activity or two to keep them engaged, learning and from fighting with each other. While its intended purpose is mostly carried out, we’ve noticed that preparing the activities are sometimes more trouble than they are worth. I’ve learned that some days no amount of planned activity will keep children engaged, quiet or from bickering. On those days, I implement exercise time on the spot. “Run to the dairy and back. On your mark, get set, go.” When they get back, I say, “Do it again!” or “Jump on one leg to the gate and back.” I must sound like a tormenter or dictator to some of you. Enforced exercise?! The audacity! How could I be so cruel? The children don’t realize I have ulterior motives in ‘exercise time’ but it’s necessary for my sanity and those of my fellow Holiday Program planners. And, they love running or doing jumping jacks, so that’s a positive, right?!
3 - 4 August- G8 Shadowing and Fighting Fires: The new couple—Gail and Mike— arrived over the weekend to shadow Chris, a Group 7 volunteer who left on Monday to return to the States to be with this wife who wasn’t recovering from an illness she contracted while in Swaziland. Over the weekend Jenn and I gave them and another volunteer from their group a tour of Nhlangano, their new shopping town. On Tuesday, I met another G8 volunteer in town after my day with Dr Piluca at Baylor. Gail was with me, and she helped me orient Emily to her new area. Emily stayed with me that night. Part of the purpose of shadowing is to talk candidly with a veteran volunteer about their service. Emily, a resident of Vermont in her late 20’s, told me all about her mountain biking experiences, her recent love of yoga, and her excitement for Peace Corps service. I believe her to be a good egg indeed. On Wednesday morning, she joined Gail and Becca in the preschool while I spent time on my project. We met at my cabin for lunch, and stood on the porch chatting with Gail and Mike, after they dropped by to see my place. We noticed a fire starting near the dam, perhaps 3 km from the farm. I immediately called Peter to alert him of the growing fire, which was quite tall and fueled by bursts of wind. As is the protocol for fires in Swaziland, alerting someone immediately, even if it’s small, is necessary. Winter is quite dry and a known fire season. With the wind, the dry grass and a careless match it’s the perfect recipe for covering large spaces in seconds. We watched for several minutes, mesmerized by the height of the flames and how rapidly they danced along the fields alighting trees along the way. I called Michelle and asked her how we could help. I wasn’t about the stand idle as the fire raged closer and closer to my wood cabin. She said to make sure the little children were with Gogo, fill as many jugs with water and help the older children to gather branches for beating out the fire. For a second, I realized that I was actually going to help put out a forest fire. And in that second I contemplated the seriousness of the situation upon me. Then I ran to set things in motion, alerting Gogo, mobilizing the older children and informing Gail, Mike, and Emily of Michelle’s instructions; they were as anxious as I was to help. I ran to my cabin and Emily helped me fill all the jugs I could find. I opened windows to lessen the impacted of blown out glass. I turned off all the outlets and unplugged everything. I looked around each room briefly to see what I could pack quickly if a needed to rush in and rush out. But the thought struck me as absurd. What could I possibly need? Nothing. I didn’t need anything. I put on my running shoes, stashed my cell phone in my jeans pocket in case I needed to call Peace Corps and ran to wet the branches that we’d use to beat out the fire. Mike and Emily ran with me through the field to our first stop, while Gail remained with Gogo to wet the grass around the children’s homes and continue filling buckets. I had no idea how intense a grass fire could be. Immediately, my face reddened and my lips and forehead felt on fire. I had to hold my breath as I beat the fire back on itself. I could only send two or three blows to the fire before I had to back away from the intensity and catch my breath. We managed to put it out, leaving smoldering grass patches. My adrenaline kicked in as we turned toward the farm and Michelle and Peter’s house. The fire had split, and another section was raging behind us. We took off through the field; I couldn’t help myself, I ran at top speed, dodging dirt clods and scrambling under fences. The water truck had finally made its way to the interior of the farm having taken three attempts to put out the fire that turned away from my cabin toward the forest behind my house. As we stamped out mini fires here and there, a huge gust of wind came up sending the flames whirling up into a tornado cloud of fire at least 10 feet high. As tornados sometimes do, it whirled out of control in all directions consuming everything in its wake. We all started running away from it as fast as we could; it was on our tails and I could feel it’s force at my back as I made my way up the hill in the opposite direction. Michelle yelled for Sandile to move the truck, as he was in a daze watching the tornado of fire. Luckily he moved quickly, and then several workers blasted the fire with the water hose which was attached to a large tank and used a generator to propel the water. Neighbors and workers from the local saw mill arrived, having put out the fire in the forest, and with their help the rest of the fire was out in minutes. An hour and 20 minutes had passed but it seemed like four hours. We stood with Michelle looking at the aftermath, the damage a careless few inflicted on many. My lips felt burnt, and my shoulders and arms ached from beating branches to the ground. I slowly walked back to my cabin, sending our Safety and Security Officer a text message to inform him of what had happened and to say I broke in the new volunteers. As Emily and I sat in my kitchen living room pondering our experience, I ate a piece of bread I’d left in the oven, the rest of the lunch I wasn’t able to finish. Neither of us could think of anything to say except, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that just happened!!!” I briefly mentioned how at times I felt a little scared and freaked out, but at the same time compelled to continue by a force greater than me. She agreed.
7 August- Recycling Day: The City Council of Mbabane launched a campaign of waste management, recycling, reuse, and waste reduction awareness as part of their efforts to clean up the city and empower locals to keep their city clean. The Department of Waste Management headed the launch, taking the initiative into three local schools as a pilot program. Due to its success, they decided to take the program to the entire city of Mbabane. I met the Head of the Department of Waste Management through a Finnish volunteer working with the City Council. I met the Finnish volunteer at a backpacker’s lodge I frequently stay while in Mbabane. She was telling me about the initiative, and I told her about the reuse work I was doing with my income-generating project. We both decided we could be of use to each other. I offered to teach basic business and marketing to the income-generating group they wanted to start, as well as a few reuse ideas they could turn into profitable items. She said the City Council would be willing to let me scavenge their recycling bins for items for the Bambanani Project. It was a win-win situation. As part of the deal, I was asked to display the Bambanani items at their launch day, as well as give a speech about my project and how important reuse is to the project, as well as everyone in Swaziland and the world. The day was ill-attended, but my speech went well and we managed to sell several hundred rands worth of product.
28 August- Official Two Year Anniversary & Adieu to Jenn & Justine: Today marks my official two year anniversary with Peace Corps since two years ago today I swore in as a volunteer. It also marks the official start of my extension. The day before, Jenn and Justine closed their service in a special ceremony called ringing out, and we celebrated with dinner at Malendela’s and listening to Bhalotja, a local musician at House on Fire. These ladies are the last two of our group to leave; the final six of us are extenders. Quite a strange feeling to be among the last of your group, especially considering those who extend essentially have “real” jobs which no longer affords much free time or casual visits to fellow volunteers. It’s the end of an era, so to speak. The extenders will trickle out here and there, quietly and unassumingly as attention is rightly directed towards groups 7 and 8. And while everyone supposes the old-timers, G6, will leave gently, their mark will be heavy upon Swaziland, just as was it before them and just as it will continue to be after them.
We sang happy birthday and shared apple cake for Zandile’s birthday. The kids left unceremoniously to prepare Make’s dinner plate, then share their meal together in the kitchen hut. I sat with Make for several minutes as she ate her dinner. I said good night to her, and then walked to the kitchen house to offer nilala kahle (good rest) to bosisi and bobhuti. I promised to be up in time to see them off to school.
I walked back to my hut, made tea and looked around my empty walls as I sipped. It was no longer my space, the little cement hut. The makeshift closet I made from branches and a large plastic bag hung empty from the ceiling with fishing line. The walls, stripped of their pictures, letters and cards, were bare, and once again showed their water marks and bug stains. My things were packed and stacked haphazardly in one corner of the room. The kitchen items I intended to leave were strewn on the top of the plastic table from Deja, which set in the center of the room out of place. The floor, swept and washed earlier in the day, had dried with a streak-free semi-gloss shine and was considerably cleaner than the day I moved in.
I was feeling a mix of thanks for the four walls’ kindness, as well as relief that I was done with them. Yet I offered them appreciation for being a good space for me. There were many times I despised those four walls: for their unsuccessful retention of heat on winter evenings; for their failure to remain cool on hot summer days; for their proclivity to allowing rain to seep in; for their ability to mold; for their gift of crumbling after heavy rains or high winds; for allowing large spiders and snakes to enter; and finally for permitting noises to ooze in, making me think bats, dogs, chickens, cattle, goats, and people were just inside my door. Nevertheless, I grew quite fond of those four fickle walls, even running to them for sanctuary, for a sense of familiar, when nothing else seemed right. Surprising what brings one joy, frustration, calm, or anxiety, and how, ironically, it can be the same thing.
1 July 2010- Moving to Pasture Valley: I left Mahlalini on a grey, drizzly morning around half past ten. Make and her granddaughter kept me company for several hours as I waited for the PC driver, and thank goodness for their company. The driver was to arrive at 9, but he was an hour late. Part of me wanted to delay my departure; the other part just wanted to get it over, like taking off a band-aide, better to pull it off quickly then to prolong the pain.
I intended to leave Make with an equipped place in case she decided to rent, so I left my bed and bedding for the house along with the mini stove and fridge. I also left the table, two chairs, all my dishes and cooking utensils, and a stackable organizer tray. Make seemed very pleased with all I was leaving. She had plans already for the fridge, determined to replace the old freezer in her bedroom with my fridge.
Once the driver arrived, Make and her granddaughter helped me carry things to the truck as the driver loaded. It was full, as I had many things for my project I needed to transplant to Pasture Valley and two-100 liter water barrels I was returning to Peace Corps. I ended up holding one plant on my lap and put one between my feet.
The drive was quick and relatively quiet. I tried small talk at first but had trouble talking over the lump in my throat. Sprinkles of rain were intermittent, and I said a silent plea that it would hold off until I unpacked. For once, the weather complied. Jenn greeted us on the porch; having moved in a month earlier she helped us unpack in short order.
I began settling in immediately, as the sky unloaded as well. I needed to unpack and begin feeling at home right away, otherwise some boxes would never be unpacked. My work was to begin the following day, and I knew I’d feel better with most of my things in place and some semblance of order before embarking on days that would keep me busy from sunup to sundown.
The day, unfortunately, came and went with the rapidity of a load of laundry; but with Jenn’s company, and my bedroom intact, I felt better about leaving my home away from home. We settled down for the evening with Jenn’s veggie noodle soup, two glasses of beers and a few episodes of How I Met Your Mother.
July 2010- Getting my Barings: I spent most of the month organizing my new office and taking inventory of the products we had currently. I also: restrung 60 necklaces; developed new products including clay made from sawdust; teaching small business to two income generating groups; teaching our second group to make beads from palm and banana leaves; saying good-bye to fellow G6 volunteers; watching lots of “How I Met Your Mother” episodes with Jenn; running and doing yoga with Jenn; making bread; teaching Jenn to cook; drinking wine; setting aside reading time before bed; cracking and roasting Macadamia nuts for the first time; and finding moments of calm in my chaotic days.
August 2010- Holiday Program, Just Surviving, and Saying So Long: August was also a quick month. I intend to go into a little more detail than I afforded you with my July happenings but blessed little. As my time is increasingly micromanaged here and occupied by 22 children who often find their way to my cabin for “visits” (the little ones are always asking to wee wee or look at my shower or open cupboard doors or ask for emasweeties), I find I have less time for myself. With the arrival of a new Group 8 couple to the farm at the end of the month, it’s my hope that my time will be less dedicated to the daily management of the children. Currently, Jenn, Becca (a 2-month volunteer from the UK) and I are also running the Holiday Program, which is intended to keep the children active during the break between trimesters. We organize a morning and afternoon activity or two to keep them engaged, learning and from fighting with each other. While its intended purpose is mostly carried out, we’ve noticed that preparing the activities are sometimes more trouble than they are worth. I’ve learned that some days no amount of planned activity will keep children engaged, quiet or from bickering. On those days, I implement exercise time on the spot. “Run to the dairy and back. On your mark, get set, go.” When they get back, I say, “Do it again!” or “Jump on one leg to the gate and back.” I must sound like a tormenter or dictator to some of you. Enforced exercise?! The audacity! How could I be so cruel? The children don’t realize I have ulterior motives in ‘exercise time’ but it’s necessary for my sanity and those of my fellow Holiday Program planners. And, they love running or doing jumping jacks, so that’s a positive, right?!
3 - 4 August- G8 Shadowing and Fighting Fires: The new couple—Gail and Mike— arrived over the weekend to shadow Chris, a Group 7 volunteer who left on Monday to return to the States to be with this wife who wasn’t recovering from an illness she contracted while in Swaziland. Over the weekend Jenn and I gave them and another volunteer from their group a tour of Nhlangano, their new shopping town. On Tuesday, I met another G8 volunteer in town after my day with Dr Piluca at Baylor. Gail was with me, and she helped me orient Emily to her new area. Emily stayed with me that night. Part of the purpose of shadowing is to talk candidly with a veteran volunteer about their service. Emily, a resident of Vermont in her late 20’s, told me all about her mountain biking experiences, her recent love of yoga, and her excitement for Peace Corps service. I believe her to be a good egg indeed. On Wednesday morning, she joined Gail and Becca in the preschool while I spent time on my project. We met at my cabin for lunch, and stood on the porch chatting with Gail and Mike, after they dropped by to see my place. We noticed a fire starting near the dam, perhaps 3 km from the farm. I immediately called Peter to alert him of the growing fire, which was quite tall and fueled by bursts of wind. As is the protocol for fires in Swaziland, alerting someone immediately, even if it’s small, is necessary. Winter is quite dry and a known fire season. With the wind, the dry grass and a careless match it’s the perfect recipe for covering large spaces in seconds. We watched for several minutes, mesmerized by the height of the flames and how rapidly they danced along the fields alighting trees along the way. I called Michelle and asked her how we could help. I wasn’t about the stand idle as the fire raged closer and closer to my wood cabin. She said to make sure the little children were with Gogo, fill as many jugs with water and help the older children to gather branches for beating out the fire. For a second, I realized that I was actually going to help put out a forest fire. And in that second I contemplated the seriousness of the situation upon me. Then I ran to set things in motion, alerting Gogo, mobilizing the older children and informing Gail, Mike, and Emily of Michelle’s instructions; they were as anxious as I was to help. I ran to my cabin and Emily helped me fill all the jugs I could find. I opened windows to lessen the impacted of blown out glass. I turned off all the outlets and unplugged everything. I looked around each room briefly to see what I could pack quickly if a needed to rush in and rush out. But the thought struck me as absurd. What could I possibly need? Nothing. I didn’t need anything. I put on my running shoes, stashed my cell phone in my jeans pocket in case I needed to call Peace Corps and ran to wet the branches that we’d use to beat out the fire. Mike and Emily ran with me through the field to our first stop, while Gail remained with Gogo to wet the grass around the children’s homes and continue filling buckets. I had no idea how intense a grass fire could be. Immediately, my face reddened and my lips and forehead felt on fire. I had to hold my breath as I beat the fire back on itself. I could only send two or three blows to the fire before I had to back away from the intensity and catch my breath. We managed to put it out, leaving smoldering grass patches. My adrenaline kicked in as we turned toward the farm and Michelle and Peter’s house. The fire had split, and another section was raging behind us. We took off through the field; I couldn’t help myself, I ran at top speed, dodging dirt clods and scrambling under fences. The water truck had finally made its way to the interior of the farm having taken three attempts to put out the fire that turned away from my cabin toward the forest behind my house. As we stamped out mini fires here and there, a huge gust of wind came up sending the flames whirling up into a tornado cloud of fire at least 10 feet high. As tornados sometimes do, it whirled out of control in all directions consuming everything in its wake. We all started running away from it as fast as we could; it was on our tails and I could feel it’s force at my back as I made my way up the hill in the opposite direction. Michelle yelled for Sandile to move the truck, as he was in a daze watching the tornado of fire. Luckily he moved quickly, and then several workers blasted the fire with the water hose which was attached to a large tank and used a generator to propel the water. Neighbors and workers from the local saw mill arrived, having put out the fire in the forest, and with their help the rest of the fire was out in minutes. An hour and 20 minutes had passed but it seemed like four hours. We stood with Michelle looking at the aftermath, the damage a careless few inflicted on many. My lips felt burnt, and my shoulders and arms ached from beating branches to the ground. I slowly walked back to my cabin, sending our Safety and Security Officer a text message to inform him of what had happened and to say I broke in the new volunteers. As Emily and I sat in my kitchen living room pondering our experience, I ate a piece of bread I’d left in the oven, the rest of the lunch I wasn’t able to finish. Neither of us could think of anything to say except, “Oh my gosh, I can’t believe that just happened!!!” I briefly mentioned how at times I felt a little scared and freaked out, but at the same time compelled to continue by a force greater than me. She agreed.
7 August- Recycling Day: The City Council of Mbabane launched a campaign of waste management, recycling, reuse, and waste reduction awareness as part of their efforts to clean up the city and empower locals to keep their city clean. The Department of Waste Management headed the launch, taking the initiative into three local schools as a pilot program. Due to its success, they decided to take the program to the entire city of Mbabane. I met the Head of the Department of Waste Management through a Finnish volunteer working with the City Council. I met the Finnish volunteer at a backpacker’s lodge I frequently stay while in Mbabane. She was telling me about the initiative, and I told her about the reuse work I was doing with my income-generating project. We both decided we could be of use to each other. I offered to teach basic business and marketing to the income-generating group they wanted to start, as well as a few reuse ideas they could turn into profitable items. She said the City Council would be willing to let me scavenge their recycling bins for items for the Bambanani Project. It was a win-win situation. As part of the deal, I was asked to display the Bambanani items at their launch day, as well as give a speech about my project and how important reuse is to the project, as well as everyone in Swaziland and the world. The day was ill-attended, but my speech went well and we managed to sell several hundred rands worth of product.
28 August- Official Two Year Anniversary & Adieu to Jenn & Justine: Today marks my official two year anniversary with Peace Corps since two years ago today I swore in as a volunteer. It also marks the official start of my extension. The day before, Jenn and Justine closed their service in a special ceremony called ringing out, and we celebrated with dinner at Malendela’s and listening to Bhalotja, a local musician at House on Fire. These ladies are the last two of our group to leave; the final six of us are extenders. Quite a strange feeling to be among the last of your group, especially considering those who extend essentially have “real” jobs which no longer affords much free time or casual visits to fellow volunteers. It’s the end of an era, so to speak. The extenders will trickle out here and there, quietly and unassumingly as attention is rightly directed towards groups 7 and 8. And while everyone supposes the old-timers, G6, will leave gently, their mark will be heavy upon Swaziland, just as was it before them and just as it will continue to be after them.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
June 2010
6 June 2010- My bus ride home: A man I’ve never seen before on my bus sat behind me today. He was an mkhulu, an old man, of at least 65. He was carrying a knob carry, a walking stick with a rounded end. When he saw me on the bus, he immediately wanted to talk me. He launched into the typical tirade of ‘you are beautiful’, ‘I love you’ and ‘will you marry me’ I so often hear. I laughed at first because sometimes that’s all you can do, and the easiest way to deflect unwanted attention. He was not so easily deterred. He continued saying how I would be lucky to marry him, he could satisfy me. I continued to chuckle. Then he got raunchy. He told me was a real man, a man capable of really loving me. “I love you quickly”, he said many times and I told him to stop talking to me. Then he pointed to his knob carry to indicate the size of his penis, again declaring how quickly and well he would love me. I asked him, nicely, several times to stop. I told he was being disrespectful. The others around me, mostly women, had been laughing since the exchange began. No one defended me as mkhulu continued to convince me what a man he was. Finally, I’d had enough. I scolded mkhulu, saying it was incredibly disrespectful to speak to a woman the way he was speaking to me. Then I scolded the women around me, saying it was not okay for a man to treat a woman the way he was treating me. I told them they needed to stand up for women who are being mistreated by men. They stopped laughing, looking at me with disbelief on their faces. One of the women did, however, tell mkhulu to stop talking to me, that he was being rude. He complied rather quickly, even apologizing for his behavior. I waved him away. I was too disgusted to respond. I turned me face to the window, put my headphones in my ears, put on my sunglasses and cried silently the rest of my ride home. It was the worst treatment I’d ever received from anyone, and I wasn’t sure how to reconcile it in my soul.
7 June 2010- My friend at the clinic: My friend Andile is a live wire. She’s always laughing, always telling jokes and teasing everyone, especially me. I’ve taken to calling her kuhlupa, or troublesome. She began as the expert client for MSF at my clinic; an expert clinic is one who’s positive, living a healthy life, and willing to share his/her experiences and tips on living healthy with other positive people. She recently moved up the ranks, taking a workshop several weeks ago to be a Pharmacy tech. She was quite proud of her achievements, and could hardly contain herself when she told me.
Today she was a different person. She was sullen, moving slowly between rooms, barely looking at anyone. At first all she would tell me is she wasn’t feeling well. I told her to sit by the heater and drink tea. We chatted about this and that, nothing really engaging. Finally she told me why she was so sick. She’d taken the remaining contents of her ARV bottle (anti-retroviral drugs), 43 pills—each constitute 3 different types of ARV’s in one pill. She was trying to overdose because her boyfriend beat her up the night before. She was trying to leave him since he’d invited his other two girlfriends to his house, and was insisting they all stay together. She told him to shove it, intending to leave his homestead and walk back to her mother’s place where she stays with her sisters, her three children and her sisters’ children. He wouldn’t let her leave; he beat her on her torso so bruises wouldn’t be easy to see. That night she took all her ARV’s, intending to take her life. Instead, the pills made her incredibly nauseas and achy all over. She came to work hoping the nurses would know how to help her. They called MSF; a car came around noon to take her to the MSF clinic in Nhlangano. They pumped her stomach. They started counseling, and insisted she come with one of her sisters every day for counseling and support. She restarted her ARV regime.
We rode together on the bus the following week; I was going to Baylor, she was going to counseling. I told her she was too important to too many people to let go of her life. I said her children needed a strong mother to look up to. I asked her to remain strong. She told me she left her boyfriend, and promised never to see him again. She said she realized how much her children would suffer if she weren’t around. And she loved her job with MSF; she wanted to warn others against what she did.
She was back to work a week later, back to her old tricks and with a radiant smile on her face. She had a new lease on life. She was telling everyone she was alive, and she intended to live. Every day since then, she greets me and then laughs, holding her heart saying, “I’m very happy today. My heart is very happy! I’m alive, sis Thadeka!”
“And you don’t stop. And you don’t quit.” –Michael Franti
10 June 2010- Visiting the NCP’s: During the month of May and throughout June my intension was to finish visiting my NCP’s. A few angels from back home sent me school supplies throughout the year and with the money I received from Holy Family I added to what friends and family sent me. I was able to take loads of school supplies to each of my NCP’s including coloring books, pencils, colors, pencil sharpeners, story books, flash cards, note paper, molding clay, colored pencils, water colors and paint brushes. I distributed the items to two NCP’s in May, and finished the third today. I took my counterpart with me today. The last time I went to the Mthombe NCP was in November, and I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the convoluted route. And last time we encounter some pretty fierce dogs; I didn’t want to cross that homestead alone.
This NCP is lucky to have a full-time preschool teacher, and she gladly accepted my hand painted posters of colors, shapes, numbers and songs as the NCP couldn’t afford pre-printed laminated posters. I taught a few lessons with her using the posters, and then I taught them a few songs. They loved the itsy bitsy spider, but had a hard time with the finger motions. They sang me a few songs, including an American Christmas carol which threw me for a minute. As the children ate their meal and my counterpart and I enjoyed tea and biscuits from the teacher, I couldn’t help but observe how happy the children seemed. The structure they were in had a dirt floor; the Council of Churches supported the construction of this new NCP and they were waiting for funds to buy more cement. The walls were finished but the window weren’t fully installed. And there was no electricity. Yet the children had real desks and chairs. They received a daily meal. And they had a teacher educated as a preschool teacher. They were learning. And they smiled. What more is there?
16 June 2010- Items Stolen from Building Materials: Eight of the twelve fascia boards were taken from the clinic grounds. I’m not exactly sure what they are, but I do know fascia boards are essential to finishing the roof. No one at the clinic, including the night watchman, was sure how long the boards were missing. But they waited a week to tell me about the theft, fearing my wrath. They involved local police, who were supposed to interview everyone involved. I’m not sure if that happened. The Clinic Committee assured me that they would find the thief and recover the boards. I shook my head yes, and inside I was thinking the idea of finding the boards was absurd. They are long gone, and so it the thief.
Funny enough, I wasn’t too upset when I found out. I should say, I was galled but this happening seemed like standard practice for Swaziland. I almost expected it.
19 June 2010- World Cup Soccer: I attended the New Zealand vs. Italy game with Jenn, Kathy—former PCV from the 80’s—and her daughter. It ended in a draw, one to one. The Italians fans, albeit passionate from beginning to end, were crestfallen their team didn’t win. The New Zealanders, aka Kiwis, were attending the game for only the second time in the history of World Cup play. Some of their players didn’t play on professional teams. They were ecstatic about the draw. We sat near the goal post in row five, close enough to see faces. The New Zealand victory dance after their first goal happened right in front of us. I am now a soccer fan. I’m not sure if it’s the World Cup fever, seeing a live game or finally understanding the rules of the game. Whatever it is, I got da feevah….and what a fun feevah it is!
25 June 2010- My (2nd to last) Official Function in my Community: I visited the Madulini NCP today. It’s a 20 minute walk through a forest and over a river from the siteshi (bus station). I didn’t mind. The weather was beautiful for a winter day. The sun was shining. The wind was mild. The air crisp. And the landscape spectacular. The forest is mostly evergreens, and seeing the bright green trees contrasting with the dirt-red paths and browning grass is wonderfully and strangely comforting. I noticed the change from summer to fall more prominently this year than last. It felt like a Midwest autumn. As I crossed the river and walked up the hill, forest gave way to gently rolling hills and grasses. Cattle were grazing in a nearby field. The grasses they ate, once close to shoulder height, were now barely coming to my knees.
My friend Jane, the main volunteer at this NCP, and her granddaughter were waiting for me near the entrance of the gate. They were resting on the ground, propped up against the wire fence surrounding the NCP. She was delighted to receive the rest of the school supplies, and I should her how to use each item. Then I gave her an article on how to build school desks and chairs from plastic water and soda bottles, as well as tin cans and aluminum cans. Since they don’t have chairs or tables for the children, she promised to start saving her rubbish and ask neighbors to do the same. Then I told her I was moving the Nhlangano. She didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t plead like so many others. She simply asked me to visit again before I go back to America, to bring her a few books because she loves to read before bed, and to leave her with a picture of me with her. She would put the last thing I say to her on a piece of paper above the picture and look at it daily. The only thing I could think to say to that was okay. And somehow I must manage to do just that. I’ve always been touched by Jane. She’s a rare positive deviant. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a hard worker for her family and her community. I wished so many times I lived closer to Madulini so I could visit her and the NCP more often.
I decided to walk home, a trip that took me close to three hours. But I didn’t mind. I knew it would be difficult to catch a bus, and I’ve always wanted to walk that road. The peaks in and around my community are quite impressive and I wanted to breath them in. Mostly I wanted time to reflect. As I walked I thought about the two years in my community. The people I met. The projects I tackled. The projects I didn’t tackle. The relationships I created and the relationships others created with me. I had a family and friends, and I believe I was as much apart of the community as any foreigner could possibly be after two years.
I felt a little low about being finished with things in my community, and at the same time I felt quite content. My proudest accomplishments were ones involving relationships, creating and working to sustain friendships. In my estimation, there is nothing more significant than connecting with another human being on a level that is pure and true.
26 June 2010- Umphakatsi Meeting: I intended to say good-bye to the inner-council at their meeting today. My counterpart told me two weeks in advance. Pretty good planning for Swaziland. I should have known it was too good to be true. The meeting never happened. By the time the Indvuna (liaison to chief) and Buchopo (liaison b/w inner-council & community) arrived I’d been waiting an hour and 30 minutes. They decided after another 30 minutes of waiting that not enough members were present to conduct a meeting so they postponed it. I asked my counterpart what I should do since I was leaving the community the following week; I wanted to follow protocol. He told Indvuna and Buchopo that I had news. He said I could address them, so I relayed my plans and departure date. Both were very surprised I was leaving. I reminded them my contract was for two years, as well as telling them I would visit frequently since I needed to finish the clinic housing. After several siyabonga kakhulu (thank you’s), they continued the conversation they were having before like I wasn’t there.
28 June 2010- Packing Up: Two years ago today, I arrived in country. Since then, it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, with many unexpected twists and turns. As I take letters, cards and pictures off my walls and pack them away, I think back two years ago when I was packing, preparing to leave family and friends for the unknown, exciting and anxiety producing adventure awaiting me with Peace Corps. I am transported there again as I pack; I’m leaving my Swazi family and friends for Pasture Valley where I’ll be joining a new family unit but with a completely different definition of family. This new adventure is somewhat unknown, anxiety-provoking and riddled with special challenges. What strikes me is how upsetting it is leaving my Swazi family; how similar it was to leaving my real family, and how I have a feeling of not wanting to go. Quite an unexpected turn of events! I’m struggling with how to reconcile all these feelings in a constructive way, so I may move forward and transition more smoothly than I did two years ago.
What I’ve learned since that first day in country is this: You can find family anywhere. New relationships may flourish if you make an effort with people willing to make an effort with you. Acquaintances are easy to come by; true friendship takes time and some toil, and with friends who will soon be old friends, it is also effortless.
30 June 2010: My Last Day in the Community: As usual, I went to the clinic this morning. When I got there everyone was abuzz, rushing to finish their clients on time. I assumed it was due to having tea break with me. I told a few people I was bringing treats to have with tea time. As it turns out, they had a braii planned for me. As soon as the last client had received his medication, the nurses were preparing the chicken and lipalishi and the ward clerk and registrar were sweeping and mopping the floors. Chicken pieces were loaded with seasonings and grilled outside on a braii stand. Nurse Phiri brought a cabbage salad and chocolate cake. Before we ate, she gave a speech of thanks that had me tearing up in seconds. It suddenly dawned on me that the clinic staff was my second family during my service. I told them they keep me here when I wanted to leave. When I first arrived, I started the joke, “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” in response to a question one of them asked me. We often used the phrase throughout my time here. I mentioned it again today, thanking them for making me laugh when I really wanted to cry.
I rushed home to my second party of the day. I promised to cook Nomy and Phindile lunch. They were impressed with the potato soup with avocado garnish, and mentally took down the recipe. Then we ate apple cake, drank tea and chatted about visiting each other in town. As Phindile stood to leave, she embraced me with a hug reminiscent of the hug my mom gave me when I left. I took my breath away. After I walked them to the gate, I went back to my house, sat in my camp chair and cried.
7 June 2010- My friend at the clinic: My friend Andile is a live wire. She’s always laughing, always telling jokes and teasing everyone, especially me. I’ve taken to calling her kuhlupa, or troublesome. She began as the expert client for MSF at my clinic; an expert clinic is one who’s positive, living a healthy life, and willing to share his/her experiences and tips on living healthy with other positive people. She recently moved up the ranks, taking a workshop several weeks ago to be a Pharmacy tech. She was quite proud of her achievements, and could hardly contain herself when she told me.
Today she was a different person. She was sullen, moving slowly between rooms, barely looking at anyone. At first all she would tell me is she wasn’t feeling well. I told her to sit by the heater and drink tea. We chatted about this and that, nothing really engaging. Finally she told me why she was so sick. She’d taken the remaining contents of her ARV bottle (anti-retroviral drugs), 43 pills—each constitute 3 different types of ARV’s in one pill. She was trying to overdose because her boyfriend beat her up the night before. She was trying to leave him since he’d invited his other two girlfriends to his house, and was insisting they all stay together. She told him to shove it, intending to leave his homestead and walk back to her mother’s place where she stays with her sisters, her three children and her sisters’ children. He wouldn’t let her leave; he beat her on her torso so bruises wouldn’t be easy to see. That night she took all her ARV’s, intending to take her life. Instead, the pills made her incredibly nauseas and achy all over. She came to work hoping the nurses would know how to help her. They called MSF; a car came around noon to take her to the MSF clinic in Nhlangano. They pumped her stomach. They started counseling, and insisted she come with one of her sisters every day for counseling and support. She restarted her ARV regime.
We rode together on the bus the following week; I was going to Baylor, she was going to counseling. I told her she was too important to too many people to let go of her life. I said her children needed a strong mother to look up to. I asked her to remain strong. She told me she left her boyfriend, and promised never to see him again. She said she realized how much her children would suffer if she weren’t around. And she loved her job with MSF; she wanted to warn others against what she did.
She was back to work a week later, back to her old tricks and with a radiant smile on her face. She had a new lease on life. She was telling everyone she was alive, and she intended to live. Every day since then, she greets me and then laughs, holding her heart saying, “I’m very happy today. My heart is very happy! I’m alive, sis Thadeka!”
“And you don’t stop. And you don’t quit.” –Michael Franti
10 June 2010- Visiting the NCP’s: During the month of May and throughout June my intension was to finish visiting my NCP’s. A few angels from back home sent me school supplies throughout the year and with the money I received from Holy Family I added to what friends and family sent me. I was able to take loads of school supplies to each of my NCP’s including coloring books, pencils, colors, pencil sharpeners, story books, flash cards, note paper, molding clay, colored pencils, water colors and paint brushes. I distributed the items to two NCP’s in May, and finished the third today. I took my counterpart with me today. The last time I went to the Mthombe NCP was in November, and I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the convoluted route. And last time we encounter some pretty fierce dogs; I didn’t want to cross that homestead alone.
This NCP is lucky to have a full-time preschool teacher, and she gladly accepted my hand painted posters of colors, shapes, numbers and songs as the NCP couldn’t afford pre-printed laminated posters. I taught a few lessons with her using the posters, and then I taught them a few songs. They loved the itsy bitsy spider, but had a hard time with the finger motions. They sang me a few songs, including an American Christmas carol which threw me for a minute. As the children ate their meal and my counterpart and I enjoyed tea and biscuits from the teacher, I couldn’t help but observe how happy the children seemed. The structure they were in had a dirt floor; the Council of Churches supported the construction of this new NCP and they were waiting for funds to buy more cement. The walls were finished but the window weren’t fully installed. And there was no electricity. Yet the children had real desks and chairs. They received a daily meal. And they had a teacher educated as a preschool teacher. They were learning. And they smiled. What more is there?
16 June 2010- Items Stolen from Building Materials: Eight of the twelve fascia boards were taken from the clinic grounds. I’m not exactly sure what they are, but I do know fascia boards are essential to finishing the roof. No one at the clinic, including the night watchman, was sure how long the boards were missing. But they waited a week to tell me about the theft, fearing my wrath. They involved local police, who were supposed to interview everyone involved. I’m not sure if that happened. The Clinic Committee assured me that they would find the thief and recover the boards. I shook my head yes, and inside I was thinking the idea of finding the boards was absurd. They are long gone, and so it the thief.
Funny enough, I wasn’t too upset when I found out. I should say, I was galled but this happening seemed like standard practice for Swaziland. I almost expected it.
19 June 2010- World Cup Soccer: I attended the New Zealand vs. Italy game with Jenn, Kathy—former PCV from the 80’s—and her daughter. It ended in a draw, one to one. The Italians fans, albeit passionate from beginning to end, were crestfallen their team didn’t win. The New Zealanders, aka Kiwis, were attending the game for only the second time in the history of World Cup play. Some of their players didn’t play on professional teams. They were ecstatic about the draw. We sat near the goal post in row five, close enough to see faces. The New Zealand victory dance after their first goal happened right in front of us. I am now a soccer fan. I’m not sure if it’s the World Cup fever, seeing a live game or finally understanding the rules of the game. Whatever it is, I got da feevah….and what a fun feevah it is!
25 June 2010- My (2nd to last) Official Function in my Community: I visited the Madulini NCP today. It’s a 20 minute walk through a forest and over a river from the siteshi (bus station). I didn’t mind. The weather was beautiful for a winter day. The sun was shining. The wind was mild. The air crisp. And the landscape spectacular. The forest is mostly evergreens, and seeing the bright green trees contrasting with the dirt-red paths and browning grass is wonderfully and strangely comforting. I noticed the change from summer to fall more prominently this year than last. It felt like a Midwest autumn. As I crossed the river and walked up the hill, forest gave way to gently rolling hills and grasses. Cattle were grazing in a nearby field. The grasses they ate, once close to shoulder height, were now barely coming to my knees.
My friend Jane, the main volunteer at this NCP, and her granddaughter were waiting for me near the entrance of the gate. They were resting on the ground, propped up against the wire fence surrounding the NCP. She was delighted to receive the rest of the school supplies, and I should her how to use each item. Then I gave her an article on how to build school desks and chairs from plastic water and soda bottles, as well as tin cans and aluminum cans. Since they don’t have chairs or tables for the children, she promised to start saving her rubbish and ask neighbors to do the same. Then I told her I was moving the Nhlangano. She didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t plead like so many others. She simply asked me to visit again before I go back to America, to bring her a few books because she loves to read before bed, and to leave her with a picture of me with her. She would put the last thing I say to her on a piece of paper above the picture and look at it daily. The only thing I could think to say to that was okay. And somehow I must manage to do just that. I’ve always been touched by Jane. She’s a rare positive deviant. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a hard worker for her family and her community. I wished so many times I lived closer to Madulini so I could visit her and the NCP more often.
I decided to walk home, a trip that took me close to three hours. But I didn’t mind. I knew it would be difficult to catch a bus, and I’ve always wanted to walk that road. The peaks in and around my community are quite impressive and I wanted to breath them in. Mostly I wanted time to reflect. As I walked I thought about the two years in my community. The people I met. The projects I tackled. The projects I didn’t tackle. The relationships I created and the relationships others created with me. I had a family and friends, and I believe I was as much apart of the community as any foreigner could possibly be after two years.
I felt a little low about being finished with things in my community, and at the same time I felt quite content. My proudest accomplishments were ones involving relationships, creating and working to sustain friendships. In my estimation, there is nothing more significant than connecting with another human being on a level that is pure and true.
26 June 2010- Umphakatsi Meeting: I intended to say good-bye to the inner-council at their meeting today. My counterpart told me two weeks in advance. Pretty good planning for Swaziland. I should have known it was too good to be true. The meeting never happened. By the time the Indvuna (liaison to chief) and Buchopo (liaison b/w inner-council & community) arrived I’d been waiting an hour and 30 minutes. They decided after another 30 minutes of waiting that not enough members were present to conduct a meeting so they postponed it. I asked my counterpart what I should do since I was leaving the community the following week; I wanted to follow protocol. He told Indvuna and Buchopo that I had news. He said I could address them, so I relayed my plans and departure date. Both were very surprised I was leaving. I reminded them my contract was for two years, as well as telling them I would visit frequently since I needed to finish the clinic housing. After several siyabonga kakhulu (thank you’s), they continued the conversation they were having before like I wasn’t there.
28 June 2010- Packing Up: Two years ago today, I arrived in country. Since then, it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, with many unexpected twists and turns. As I take letters, cards and pictures off my walls and pack them away, I think back two years ago when I was packing, preparing to leave family and friends for the unknown, exciting and anxiety producing adventure awaiting me with Peace Corps. I am transported there again as I pack; I’m leaving my Swazi family and friends for Pasture Valley where I’ll be joining a new family unit but with a completely different definition of family. This new adventure is somewhat unknown, anxiety-provoking and riddled with special challenges. What strikes me is how upsetting it is leaving my Swazi family; how similar it was to leaving my real family, and how I have a feeling of not wanting to go. Quite an unexpected turn of events! I’m struggling with how to reconcile all these feelings in a constructive way, so I may move forward and transition more smoothly than I did two years ago.
What I’ve learned since that first day in country is this: You can find family anywhere. New relationships may flourish if you make an effort with people willing to make an effort with you. Acquaintances are easy to come by; true friendship takes time and some toil, and with friends who will soon be old friends, it is also effortless.
30 June 2010: My Last Day in the Community: As usual, I went to the clinic this morning. When I got there everyone was abuzz, rushing to finish their clients on time. I assumed it was due to having tea break with me. I told a few people I was bringing treats to have with tea time. As it turns out, they had a braii planned for me. As soon as the last client had received his medication, the nurses were preparing the chicken and lipalishi and the ward clerk and registrar were sweeping and mopping the floors. Chicken pieces were loaded with seasonings and grilled outside on a braii stand. Nurse Phiri brought a cabbage salad and chocolate cake. Before we ate, she gave a speech of thanks that had me tearing up in seconds. It suddenly dawned on me that the clinic staff was my second family during my service. I told them they keep me here when I wanted to leave. When I first arrived, I started the joke, “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” in response to a question one of them asked me. We often used the phrase throughout my time here. I mentioned it again today, thanking them for making me laugh when I really wanted to cry.
I rushed home to my second party of the day. I promised to cook Nomy and Phindile lunch. They were impressed with the potato soup with avocado garnish, and mentally took down the recipe. Then we ate apple cake, drank tea and chatted about visiting each other in town. As Phindile stood to leave, she embraced me with a hug reminiscent of the hug my mom gave me when I left. I took my breath away. After I walked them to the gate, I went back to my house, sat in my camp chair and cried.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
May happenings
1 May 2010- A very important piece of information: I neglected to tell you a very exciting development in my life. It happened last month. When I returned from the COS conference there was a change on my homestead. A water tap! What does that mean? It means underground pipes from the main tap were connected to the ones running to my homestead. It means I no longer have to take the wheelbarrow and two 25-liter jugs to the water tap near the store to fetch water (a ten minute walk). I merely walk 20 feet to fill my kettle or one 25-liter jug and happily walk 20 feet back to my hut. Make’s son, who’s been staying with us since February, reconnected the pipes. And I’ve been in heaven since. I did joke with them that now I would need to find an exercise as good as for my arms as hauling two full 25 liter jugs once a week. But I’m not complaining very loudly! (Update: 10 June- water tap isn’t working at home. The river is running low, so water running to the main tap near the sitolo is running slowly. Hence, water is not making it to the homestead. Water is such a problem here, and I wish I knew the solution.)
3 May 2010- Adoption Woes: My PC Admin Officer and her husband are in the process of adopting a 3 year old girl name Siphelile; they took custody of her shortly before Christmas. They are doing a local adoption since International adoptions are currently suspended due to possible human trafficking violations. The Ministry was ordered (by the UN, I believe but don’t quote me) to restructure their processes for adoption if they wanted to reopen International adoptions. A local adoption means the adoptees are currently living in Swaziland and plan to stay one to two years after the adoption is official to ensure legalization of the process: one year if you plan to pay an adoption agency in the US to process paperwork on the US side to make the adoption legal there; and two years if you don’t want to pay the fees—after two years of custody in the child’s country of origin, the US will recognize adoptees as legal guardians and the only fees you pay are for passport processing. I’ve been following their struggle, talking to Nicole often about the crazy road of adopting and the hoops they had to jump because I was also considering adopting a little girl. She lives at Pasture Valley, the children’s home where I’ve been volunteering. Her name is Buhle, which means beautiful. Her mother was young when she became pregnant, 17 I think. Believing Buhle was a mistake, the mother neglected her for the better part of 2 years, sometimes feeding her sleeping pills so she’d sleep for days and days. Since I began volunteering at Pasture Valley in August, I’ve felt a connection to Buhle, one I didn’t feel I could ignore.
And so I contemplated the idea at length before talking to my Admin Officer or Michelle and Peter, the owners of Pasture Valley. The first step was determining her HIV status. We took her to the Baylor clinic were I volunteer. She’s negative. Unfortunately, that’s where I stopped. Local adoptions have just recently been suspended; the Ministry decided to restructure both local and International adoption processes at the same time. Because of this, I’m not allowed to begin any paperwork while the processes are being reorganized. There is no indication as to when adoption processes, local or international, will be sorted out, and chances of it being a quick process is not likely.
I guess I’m thankful for the chance to examine my feelings about adoption and the possibility of taking care of a child on my own. I know that I’m capable, and it’s good to know that one is able. I must confess, though, I’m a bit crestfallen. Nonetheless, things happen the way they need to happen. So I am grateful to the universe for its answer.
10 May 2010- My adoring fan says: A young guy was trying to get my attention today. Here’s what he said: Hey Obama! Hey Obama! Hey Obama! (Pause) Hey Barak! Hey Barack! (Pause) Hey Miss… Miss America! After chatting me up, asking who I was and what I was doing here, he parted by saying, “Could I have E2? I said, “No. “Okay, well I love you.”
It’s possible to hear this or something quite similar several times a week. Could I have money? No. Well, I love you anyway.
12 May 2010- Spitting Cobra: I was visiting my friend Phindile this afternoon. On my way home, I noticed my neighbor Babe Sibandze throwing rocks at something on the road; others lingered slightly away while Babe’s dogs yelped and ran around fitfully. I know this Babe well, and I couldn’t help but think he’d jumped off the deep end—throwing rocks at nothing. Approaching the scene, I noticed the dead animal he was stoning. And I wondered again, what’s his deal?—throwing rocks at something already dead. But then I took a closer look. He was killing a snake. I greeted Babe Sibandze, and wondered in amazement at his killing abilities; the snake had a gapping hole in its middle. I asked what kind it was. He said the kind that, and then using his fingers as tongues at his mouth, made a spitting motion with his fingers. Then he pointed at both of his eyes to indicate they spit in your eyes to blind you. I said, “How?!” which is the expression used to indicate surprise, shock or amazement. I looked a little closer, wishing I’d had my camera. The snake was a silvery grey and its head was small. So I’m not sure if it was a spitting cobra because I couldn’t see the telltale sign of a cobra—it’s hood. Either way, the snake looked menacing, even dead. I’m glad Babe Sibandze was on the road ahead of me and that I left Phindile’s house 5 minutes later than I planned.
14 May – 16 May, 2010- Getting robbed and eating zebra: The cabin that I will be moving to in July was vandalized. The day started with Justine and I teaching crafts at Pasture Valley; once the sun began to set, we decided to make our way to the cabin for the evening. While walking from the orphanage to the cabin, we heard noises in the forest. Neither of us thought anything about it; mostly likely a cow or dogs. The door was harder to unlock than normal; I couldn’t get the key to turn. Justine tried and the door popped open. Once inside, I sensed something strange, out of the ordinary, had happened. There were blankets haphazardly strewn outside one of the bedroom. I said to Justine, “This is strange. Something’s not right here. It seems as if someone was trying to rob us but left in a big hurry. Or maybe the children came to get some of our bedding to wash. But why would they leave things like this?” I was half-joking, but then we noticed all the blankets had been taken off both beds, including the ones we bought in Lesotho. Bizarre. That’s when we noticed all the cupboard doors in the kitchen were open, and matches were scattered all over the kitchen. I’m not sure why we gravitated toward the door, but we checked it. The lock had been jammed into the locking area, which is why I couldn’t unlock it. Justine and I starred out each other, thinking the same thing: we’d been robbed, and they must have come near dark, using matches to see. We heard more noise in the forest; they were still out there! Justine called Peter and Michelle; I called our Safety & Security Officer. While Michelle called the police, Peter searched the forest and their roads with the help of a neighbor. Peter scared the perpetrators with gun fire into the air; we heard them running away, and saw flashlights cutting through the trees. Alas they were never found. The police came about 2 hours later to take our statements. The chief came into the cabin with his semi-automatic machine gun, towering over both of us as if we were children. He set his gun on the couch, looked briefly into the rooms, ordered his deputies to take statements, and then walked outside to talk to the children and one housemother who came to observe the drama. The officer taking Justine’s statement flirted with her the entire time, saying she was of marrying age so why wasn’t she married. Mine didn’t; he must have either been very professional, or judging by my age, thought I was too old or already married. They commented on the cake on the dining table, so we gave them the last slice. Justine sat on the couch while they finished writing, forgetting the gun was there. Suddenly realizing it was there, she looked at it, mouth gaping, and then turned to me and mouthed ‘oh my God!” I mouthed, ‘I want a picture of you next to the gun!” and tried to not laugh at the madness of the situation we found ourselves in. If only a picture were possible. As they started to leave, they gave us their numbers in case we needed to call again. I asked if they wanted to take their machine gun with them once they reached the porch. They laughed, saying they were about to forget it. I told them I would keep it if I knew how to use it. They laughed again. Justine and I slept in the same room that night and the following night. We tied the front door shut with plastic Spar bags, and locked our bedroom door. Neither of us had a peaceful sleep; every noise seemed to wake us. The following morning, our Safety and Security Officer visited to take our statement as well as pictures of the damage. We promised to begin using the padlock on the burglar door.
Thinking about it now, weeks later, I can admit I was scared the first night, freaked out that a group of inconsiderate people violated my space. Then I was angry, ready to kick some burglar arse for coming into my space. My anger subsided quickly, though. I realize it was a crime of necessity. They took blankets to keep warm. Perhaps they would have used them to wrap other items in to make a quick get-away and maybe that’s why they were on their way back to the cabin that night. I am still upset about my blanket since it was my beautiful maize-themed Lesotho blanket. But what can I do? Mostly I feel I need to remain confidence in my ability to handle myself, stay aware of my surroundings and lock the burglar door every time I leave.
They rest of the weekend consisted of teaching more crafts, attending my friend Phindile’s graduation party and having Sunday lunch with Michelle, Peter, and their church friends. Peter grilled zebra and nyala (like an antelope), a gift from Michelle’s cousin that runs a game reserve in SA. It was my first time eating either. Zebra, I must confess, is quite good. I helped myself to a second piece.
19 May 2010- Conversation with my Sisi: Make thinks my bosisi are having sex. Apparently a neighbor saw a boy visiting over the Christmas holidays when Make was visiting Babe and I was in Cape Town. Make was livid. But I cannot figure out whether she is more upset about them possibly having had sex or that they are possibly having sex in her house. She doesn’t believe their side of the story, so I thought I would have a little chat with each about boyfriends and sexual activity. Sexual debut happens at an unbelievably young age for girls, sometimes as young as twelve. Most girls are forced into it; in other words they are raped or the man/boy convinces them it will be beneficial since the will receive money or gifts. They are told they will be “taken care of.” I wanted to make sure nothing like that was happening. Plus, a chance of the girls using condoms is unlikely, so I wanted to assess the situation in that area too. Zandele was adamant that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Nomdumiso insisted it was all a misunderstanding. The boy who visited was a friend of Machawe. She said she was too young to have a boyfriend. I asked that she tell me when she is serious about a boy, because then we needed to chat about being safe. She promised. I want to believe her. I think she’s quite a flirt. But I really want to believe her and Zandele haven’t had sex. I just know they wouldn’t use condoms if they were having sex; people don’t use condoms here no matter how much literature is thrown their way. And without condom use or proper condom use, they would face with either pregnancy or HIV or perhaps both. I don’t wish those circumstances on either sisi or any young girl. It’s the way I feel about my nieces; I want them to be young and untainted for as long as possible.
20 May 2010- Gauging my Ears: In November I bought an earring a size larger than a normal post in order to begin gauging my second earring hole. I want to take something physical from Swazi culture with me back to America. Victoria is also gauging her ears, and gave me plugs she can no longer use. So I have a plug in one earring hole and the size larger post in the other, which I need to replace with a plug soon. I plan to get a larger plug or spiral earring to replace the first plug when I go to Nelspruit in a few weeks. I’ll be there to watch the New Zealand vs. Italy World Cup Soccer game. Are you jealous?!
25 May – 30 May 2010- Preparing for Bushfire and Bushfire 2010: The Bambanani Project, an income-generating project I began working with in March, sold products at Bushfire 2010. Bushfire is a 3-day music festival held at House on Fire; this is the third year. Not only a music festival and international arts festival, it’s also a fundraising event. Proceeds from the event go to Young Heroes, an NGO that pays school fees and buys school uniforms for orphaned children in Swaziland. Justine, Michelle and I have been working with the boMake and boBabe group at Dwaleni to make recycled jewelry; namely paper beads that we string into necklaces or earrings. We’ve also been teaching the girls at the children’s home to make the necklaces and earrings as well as sewing handbags. We sold necklaces and earrings by the girls and boMake & boBabe, handbags and canned preserves made by the older girls, and cards made by the younger children. Considering this was our first debut, we did well. We didn’t make enough to recoup expenses but we made many contacts and got good ideas from other marketers, as well as positive feedback from buyers. I was quite stressed about the event; I wanted to participate and show off my group’s hard work. But I didn’t anticipate the amount of time and work that would go into getting ready for such an event. However we pulled it off, and with a nicely displayed booth of products too.
This same weekend, 11 volunteers from my groups said good-bye; they COS’ed or closed their service. This weekend was the last time Group 6 would be together in Swaziland. We danced and sang to the Parlitones on Friday night and to Freshly Ground Saturday night. Then we hugged and I said, “See you later” but not good-bye as I will be seeing those precious faces again, some time soon.
31 May 2010- Celebrity Sighting: I met Chris Lowell, the actor who places Dell Parker on Private Practice at Bushfire. He said he was there visiting a friend. He also told me he’d just finished jamming with his band, Two Shots for Poe. I didn’t believe it was him at first. I asked him if people think he looks like Dell from Private Practice, and he said, “Well, I am that character. We just finished shooting session three.” I still wasn’t sure if I could believe him; after all, I can be pretty gullible. But I asked to take a picture with him anyway, just in case. Turns out, the Mozambican PCVs that were dancing with him confirmed that it was indeed ‘Dell’ from Private Practice. Lucky for me, I had my camera. And I have a picture.
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