tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4373223722330726612024-03-05T02:44:52.487-08:00Life and other such nonsense"I aspire to awake for the benefit of all beings."
S. Batchelor
Disclaimer: The contents of this website are mine personally and do not reflect any position of the U.S. Gov't or the Peace Corps.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-5183192518974339922011-03-11T02:25:00.001-08:002011-03-11T03:06:59.177-08:00Final few weeks in Swaziland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4AaFW8UHEw286Auh7L3S7sflreHTzZx7FlBZDAPpLkyQ7H5Y5phS-bwbPA_-cgLp-BSseoXq7wchp4f_C5i1R-lI4vhi93DnJcdQ47wom7PBQlwitpiujs3MJbSiwLruKgP-76W5MFZ-/s1600/Swaziland+Pictures+Feb+2011+219.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd4AaFW8UHEw286Auh7L3S7sflreHTzZx7FlBZDAPpLkyQ7H5Y5phS-bwbPA_-cgLp-BSseoXq7wchp4f_C5i1R-lI4vhi93DnJcdQ47wom7PBQlwitpiujs3MJbSiwLruKgP-76W5MFZ-/s320/Swaziland+Pictures+Feb+2011+219.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582777156952777010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA_eUtEgoHd4le6RxnHnKv40Z4Ph0jBKbNZmzW7S0Cpa2cctvr4y1a3vWUEbnOMSeSoydP58ji2MxnnMRk_o7BPIXhof00CSdMKRs3F1jwXWNX7_k3_HaT2d3Eecf2D8_wMi5NmSZ8jR2J/s1600/Swaziland+Pictures+Feb+2011+218.jpg"><img style="float: left; 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margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxUlrLiJ6F_R5tHntsZs71afyv-S3ImoZTNXUv8fAaHwtDcJ6oD_Dx6E6tYDYqmNWdZWVYxnrqbyEURCw8esrytSgExci3-aSh1PsGWNSzgSXjHQqAaOYEm_hwi5jd7KZqr8wpb4yuUlD2/s320/Swaziland+Pictures+Feb+2011+015.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582768805886308546" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mEukinQmFstFqeQ3JIHZaNxTD7bcCupJQeA2esQNZbyPm9KKdjbEr1UygDqkyk6SgNJg-f_6WPC2lngbd7aaG7aAGa3n6frjI7hkwV21eKpr7Lp_ddVlaAlaBierhoRchsaPgZFZaH-g/s1600/Swaziland+Pictures+Feb+2011+001.jpg"><img style="float: left; margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mEukinQmFstFqeQ3JIHZaNxTD7bcCupJQeA2esQNZbyPm9KKdjbEr1UygDqkyk6SgNJg-f_6WPC2lngbd7aaG7aAGa3n6frjI7hkwV21eKpr7Lp_ddVlaAlaBierhoRchsaPgZFZaH-g/s320/Swaziland+Pictures+Feb+2011+001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582768803167633042" border="0" /></a>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-90525999579297658692011-03-04T01:29:00.000-08:002011-03-11T02:25:23.154-08:00Leaving SwazilandI haven't completely processed leaving Swaziland. And since it was incredicly difficult for me to leave a place that became home to me, I do not have the right words to express how I feel at this time. Perhaps, in time, I will be able to express the impact of living, working and leaving Swaziland.<br /><br /><br />Right now, I'm traveling through South Africa. It's more overwheling than I thought; I think it's mostly that I haven't had much time to just be. Nonetheless, this country is beautiful, and I've seen some incredible sights. I will post pictures soon. CheersJenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-47426411072205495302011-01-30T00:30:00.000-08:002011-01-30T01:42:09.288-08:00November & December 20103 November 2010- A new line: I was in town today to get a few groceries, as well as walk Gail to and from her language tutoring. We’re not allowed to walk the road to town alone and seeing as I needed a few things and wanted the exercise, it was the perfect opportunity. As I waited for Gail to finish her study session, I encountered a young man with a line for me; it was new, nothing I’ve heard since arriving in Swaziland yet a cliché line men use in bars. He said, “I lost my phone number. Will you give me yours?” I immediately laughed, and continued my uncontrollable laughing as I passed him and continued down the street. I just couldn’t help myself. To use my mom’s terminology, it tickled me, and continued to tickle me for the next five minutes. I appreciate his brazen bravado, not something I’d have appreciated some two years ago. Yet, there’s something about Swazi machismo that is unlike any other place I’ve visited. Men here really put their ego on the line; they swallow their pride and ask a girl almost anything. To their credit, at least they try. Some days it is annoying, but some days it makes me realize how much my appearance pleases them or the sideways glance from a white girl. Mine or theirs, what’s a little ego boost now and again?!<br />6 November 2010- And The Rains Came: It’s the rainy season. It’s come early this year; earlier and more frequent than last year or the year before last but I’m told it use to come in October. With the rains comes the heat, which I welcome like the open arms of a mother for her child. But when it rains it is cold, the kind of cold you feel on a drizzling spring day in the Midwest; it settles into your bones and no amount of tea will warm you. The cycle with which the rain comes is generally the same. Temperatures rise a little day by day for several days, with one day warmer than the next. Then one morning you wake to a temperate day with a light breeze, and by mid-morning, like clockwork, the clouds begin to build on the horizon and slowly roll in by mid- to late afternoon. The sky unleashes its torrent, and for close to thirty minutes the outpouring is immense, crashing on my tin roof cabin in waves, bringing tree branches booming down. It generally eases to a light rain, giving some reprieve, but always with the possibility of unleashing again at least one more time throughout the day or evening. Clouds continue their low hang in the sky the rest of the day, cutting off the sun’s chances of shining through the haze. If I’m at home, I scramble to find socks, a sweater and a cup of tea to stay warm. If I’m at my office, I dream of cozying up on the couch under a blanket with a cup of tea and a good book.<br />Yet, with the rain comes the greening of the land, and my seven shades of green gradually appear, one after the other, until complete transformation of the landscape in December. And I’m filled with a sense of joy and contentment and lightness one only feels when they are entirely calmed, utterly peaceful, and quite satisfied.<br />13 November 2010- Turning jeans into a skirt: I’ve always wanted to try making a skirt from a pair of jeans. I had the perfect pair- full of rips and a hole where I could start a hem. They were not my jeans; they were a pair I found in the Peace Corps lounge, abandoned by a previous volunteer. I knew I wouldn’t feel too sad if the experiment didn’t work since I wouldn’t spend any money, just time.<br />All the years of watching my sisters and mom cut out patterns, sew pieces together, create a beautiful product and manage errors paid off. Having lost weight since obtaining the jeans, I didn’t need to add additional fabric to make the skirt fit, which made the fitting easier. The hardest part was getting the original leg seaming turned back seam to lay flat. After dulling my needle quite a bit with the jean material, I took to hand sewing part of the back seam. In so doing, the seam lay flatter. The final product is super cute. A well worn pair of jeans makes a comfortable jean skirt that I can dress up or down, which I think is fantastic!<br />Having successfully doing this on my own, I quickly grabbed other items in my wardrobe that needed help. I have several shirts with holes from my previous barbed-wire fence clothesline. On a few shirts I cut a circle or triangle around the holes then filled in the space with contrasting fabric scrapes. On a few t-shirts, I embroidered shapes around the holes in varying colors to enhance the colors to make the holes seem like part of the shirt.<br />I’m really enjoying reconstruction. And I’m thinking about all the clothes I had from high school and college that are still in a closet in my Mom’s basement. Looks like I’ll have a new wardrobe to reconstruct when I return, which means I can buy a fabulous and ridiculously expensive couture piece in Paris and not feel guilty. Smile.<br /><br />23 – 26 November 2010- All Volunteer Conference & Thanksgiving: One session during the All Vol conference was directed toward the economic status of Swaziland. Although the information was interesting and good to know, the outlook for this country is bleak. Seventy percent of the population (around 1 million) is living at less than $1/day. The unemployment rate is at 40%, and government revenues are down by 60%. Eighteen percent of the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) goes to civil service positions, of which 40% are security-related positions. Most countries have a GDP of 8% going to civil service positions. After investigating the high rate in Swaziland, the International Monetary Fund (IMF)—a division of World Bank—discovered that most of the 18% are former civil servants still collecting payment, as well as dead servant’s families who continue to collect because they neglected to tell the government that their loved one died. A pension or retirement plan is not part of this civil servant payment; pension plans that families can live on after a loved one dies are just now being obtained through funeral plans that are generally separate from employment benefits.<br />The IMF considers this a long-term crisis for Swaziland; they arrived in March to determine if companies in Swaziland could qualify for bail-out loans. They are recommending the government lay off 7,000 – 10,000 civil servants. The Swazi government has three options for increasing revenue. They are considering raising the sin tax—taxes on fuel, gambling, alcohol and cigarettes will likely go up in the near future. Secondly, they have discussed bringing in other vendors, for phone coverage and electricity, to increase competition. Finally, they are thinking of requiring everyone to pay income tax. Currently, collecting income tax is not enforced; people who comply pay 32% to income tax annually.<br />Other than this session, most of the conference didn’t pertain to me since I’m leaving soon. I did however enjoy my time with Victoria, Nancy and Allie. Nancy taught me to knit, and I’m starting with a very basic item—a scarf. Danielle sent me a package full of yoga and crochet magazines, a Time magazine and chocolates. She seems well in New Orleans. I led a best practices session, allowing the new volunteers to glean project ideas from Group 6 and 7 volunteers. I brought Bambanani Project product, and it was well received. I sold close to E1, 000. Thanksgiving was once again held at the Ambassador’s house. Many volunteers utilized the pool, but Victoria and I were happy sipping our wine poolside.<br />3 - 5 December 2010- Learning to Use a Pattern: I offered Gail an hour massage in exchange for helping me learn to use a pattern; no one in there right mind refuses that kind of offer. I wanted to make a pair of lounge pants from some beautiful high-quality black linen I found in Manzini for E39.99/meter ($7/yard)—a good deal considering linen in the states is over $11/yard. We started Friday evening with reading and understanding pattern-ese. Then we laid out the material, put the pattern over the top, pinned it in place, and I anxiously made my first cut into the material. I imagined it would be difficult, and we’d only have time to cut the pattern out, waiting to sew until the next day. But once I finished cutting, Gail cheerfully said, “Let’s start sewing.” I was worried about it being too late to start since Mike had already gone to bed and it was nearing 8pm. She assured me that Mike slept through anything, and that 8pm wasn’t too late, in her estimation, to begin. The only sewing machine she has at her house is the one we use for the Bambanani Project, a Singer hand-powered sewing machine. Yes, a non-electric sewing machine! Not only was I learning to sew two pieces together correctly from a pattern, I also was learning on a hand-crank machine, using one hand to hold the material while the other turned the wheel. Surprisingly, it went rather well, and rather quickly. In 30 minutes I had the pants together, and began ironing the waistband down, preparing it for the elastic. My first mistake of the evening came when I sewed the waistband with little allowance for the elastic width. I decided that was the signal for a break. I finished the waistband the following morning after devoting about an hour to ripping out the seam, and then began the process of hemming. Since I don’t have an iron I used the flat iron I use for my hair to make a nice crease, and it worked rather well. I finished hemming in short order, and then tried on the pants to see how well they fit. They were enormous, a size too large. But since I don’t know my pattern size and I’d bought extra material, we cut the pattern larger just in case. Gail assured me it was an easy fix; but it involved more seam ripping and then matching up seams correctly, which proved difficult because the leg seams were still together and keeping the material from puckering was challenging. I cut it down a size and in the end reinforced the seams which is good considering linen—I’ve come to understand—frays easily. After another fitting, I declared the pants done, and my first sewing project with a pattern, a victory. I’m really pleased with the results; they look great on and will travel well. YAH!<br />10 December 2010- Branding the Bambanani Project: In an effort to finish my project goals and get the Bambanani product ready for sales in the States, Michelle and I thought it a good idea to brand our product—make it recognizable and distinct from other hand-crafted jewelry. We decided that having a clasp on each necklace would ensure proper fitting, a more secure tying method and that something different. One of the members of the Dwaleni Group is a woodworker. Occasionally in his necklace designs, he incorporates wooden pieces with paper beads. It’s stunning. Today I asked him how difficult it would be to make a little wooden button to be used as a clasp. He promised to try. I didn’t give the group a choice in the branding process. I told them if we were going to be successful and compete in American markets, it was essential to having a distinct, signature piece to each item—something that says Bambanani. Gail promised to purchase a stamp with the Bambanani logo on it in order to stamp the buttons; on buttons too small for the stamp an orange “b” for Bambanani would be painted on the surface. Luckily, everyone agreed. I’m anxious to see the samples; Babe has promised to have them ready after the New Year.<br />18 December 2010- The Children's Christmas Play: With the efforts of Mike, Gail and I, Michelle put together a Christmas play starring the children of Pasture Valley, as well as her children. The play was a spin on the traditional Biblical Christmas story but from the perspective of the Innkeeper. Each child had a part, playing shepherds, angels, Mary & Joseph, and the Wise Men. Even the preschoolers were involved. Gail helped the preschoolers sing the opening songs, Mike ran the music and I was behind the scenes sending actors out at the right times. Michelle stood behind the audience giving cues and helping with actions for songs. Only a few people attended. It was a great dress rehearsal, though, as they were putting on the play the next day for their church and the following week on Christmas Eve for Peter’s family.<br />19 December 2010- My Birthday:<br />A few thoughts on this my 35th birthday:<br /> -I woke this morning to find a pimple on my cheek much to my chagrin. The sign I am still “youthful” or just stress due to my week of managing children and anticipating my milestone birthday? I’m no longer an adolescent. Shouldn’t it follow that the signs of adolescence leave me by now?<br /> -I’d been thinking about this day for several weeks—well several months, actually. In all honestly, I’ve been dreading it. Throughout my 20’s I hyped up this birthday as the one of all knowing, my epiphany. I’d be successful, with a great career, and I’d be well on my way, at the pinnacle of life where everything else gives ways to ease and happiness, and life is good. Whatever all that means to a 20-something mind, I cannot recall. What does successful mean? What does on my way mean? What does happiness look like? Those are questions that seemed much easier to answer in my 20’s. In my thirties, it feel less clear, yet I’m less concerned with them.<br />As I moved through my late twenties and sailed into my thirties, it’s become quite apparent that my 20-something idea of life was so very wrong. Life doesn’t suddenly become great or successful or happier. I either make it happen along the way or I don’t. The ups and downs of life will continue whether I’ve had a “successful” life event or not. It’s riding the waves that matters; it’s getting out of bed and living each that makes you alive. Unfortunately I think that silly notion of success and having it all, and being at my prime by 35 stayed in the back of my mind, slowly poisoning any possibility of enjoying my 35th without trepidation. At least until today.<br />Up until today I didn’t wish to celebrate my birthday. It’s not that I feel old, and I certainly don’t believe I look old. It’s not the age part but the accomplishments part that I think was bothering me. I really did think I’d have done more things by now. I’m not sure what it was I thought I should have done by now. Perhaps it’s American society’s idea of what a 30-something should have that seeped into my brain the last few months and years, and clouded my judgment. Perhaps it’s just the anxiety of leaving Swaziland and Peace Corps, and deciding the ‘what next’ I’ve been asked so often. Perhaps it’s begin okay with not knowing what I want to do next or where I want to go and being able to explain it to loved ones. Perhaps it’s a combination of everything.<br />Michelle’s dad asked me how old I was turning today after Michelle said we were celebrating my birthday later, and I happily replied 35 with a smile. My roommate, shockingly asked, “You’re telling people?!” And I said, yes, I’m not afraid to tell my age. Several hours later as I’m thinking about that exchange, I’m finally having my epiphany. It’s my birthday, and I’m in celebrating it in Africa. I have the world at my fingertips. I can go anywhere from here. I am who I am and I’m free to be that woman without hesitation. And what better birthday present than to enjoy cake and ice cream with considerate co-workers and volunteers, caring employers and twenty-three beautiful smiling children. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. How lucky am I?<br />21 - 23 December, 2010- Hiking in Malolotja: I met Victoria and Allie about an hour’s walk into the nature reserve at one of the viewpoints. Walking in, I passed solitary blesbok eager to alert me of their presence. They would stamp their front legs, snorting in my direction several times, and then turn their backs to me, as if to say, I could care less you are here. I saw several herds of blesbok further in, a lone giraffe among a small herd of wildebeest, and birds in numbers.<br />After meeting up with Victoria and Allie, they took me to their campsite, another hour and a half hike into the park. We saw baboons on the way, a rare citing since baboons usually stay hidden but call out as you pass their territory. This group was playing in the trees and on the rocks of the side hill we passed. It was a joy to watch them manipulate the rough landscape in such a way that living there was easy for them. The was mostly downhill, and the day was overcast, so it was a fairly easy hike in. Their campsite was near the base of Silotfwane Mountain by the river. I set up my tent, which I borrowed from another volunteer, on a sandy patch. After we ate some lunch, we jump in the water to cool off. Victoria had a swimsuit; Allie and I, sans swimsuits, chose the bra and panty route as there was no one camping near us. The water felt refreshing and eased the sunburn I was developing on the back on my legs, arms and neck. Later Victoria and I made a little campfire to keep mosquitoes as bay, and chatted as evening approached. We went to bed early, though, as the plan was to hike Silotfwane early the next morning, a peak about 1400 meters high. I was sick during the night; I’m not sure why, so I was feeling quite lethargic in the morning. I got up anyway and started the hike with the girls. I made it to about 1200 meters, a two hour hike from camp. Once there I found a shady spot under a gnarly bush to rest; I had no energy to finish. Victoria and Allie trekked on and I took an hour nap. They yelled down from the top, “We made it!”, and I was able to capture tiny bodies with my camera. I waited another forty minutes for them to descend, listening to a herd of wildebeest call out their territory. As Victoria and Allie approached, the herd began stampeding our direction. The stampede ended as quickly as it began as the herd approached a small rise in the landscape. They turned their direction running along the grassy plateau, and then stopped, stamping and snorting until we were out of sight. Two hours later we were back at camp and I was feeling somewhat better. The river called our names and we jumped in, once again in our skivvies, to wash off the day’s dirt and sweat. We made supper early and quickly as rain threatened. By 7:30 we were in our tents to keep dry from the rain.<br />My tent remained surprisingly dry on the inside with only a small leak in one corner. The next morning was beautiful and sunny, the land washed clean from the all-night rain. It took two hours for the sun’s light to dry my tent and the clothes I washed the day before. I hiked out in two hours, with Victoria and Allie helping me find my way through the first 30-minute trail. I’ve never hiked into a campsite, set up camp for a few days, and then hike back out—something I’ve always wanted to do. I’m glad I had the opportunity in Swaziland with good company.<br />24 - 25 December 2010- Christmas: Justine was visiting Swaziland, a stopover from Tanzania on her way back to the States. She stayed with Renae and me, enjoying Christmas at Pasture Valley. Michelle and Peter hosted a braii on Christmas Eve, inviting us, Mike and Gail, the children and housemothers to enjoy with Peter’s family. After the children performed the Christmas play for everyone, Peter’s family handed out presents, and Renae and I gave the children the presents we made—crocheted bookmarks for the siSwati Bibles that were donated a few weeks ago. I also passed out the candy canes my mom sent. The children quickly opened the treats, happily sucking on the sugary sweetness, some with rivers rolling down their chins.<br />I gave Michelle and Peter and Gail and Mike homemade toffee and peanut clusters, grass mats to Renae and handmade jewelry to Justine. I love how quick and easy homemade and handmade become great gifts, much more personal and heartfelt than the commercial Christmas I once knew. Justine and I watched a movie in the afternoon, baking from the heat in my cabin. In the evening, we shared a bottle of wine with Mike and Gail and chatted about Peace Corps life, past and present, travel and Justine’s Swahili language training in Tanzania.<br />On Christmas day, Justine headed to her former homestead to spend a few days with her host family. Following more presents at Michelle and Peter’s, the children headed to church and Renae and I rushed to our cabin to make Christmas brunch. Renae made curried scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese and I made cinnamon French toast topped with honey and the lemon-kumquat curd Renae made as a present for Michelle and Peter and Gail and Mike. As we ate we talked about how we normally spend Christmas, and what relatives we visit on Christmas day. I spent the entire afternoon reading. Around early evening, Renae and I went to Gail and Mike’s for an evening appetizers and card playing. I hadn’t played cards since early in my service, and I thoroughly enjoyed Hearts. I discovered I’m a much greater risk-taker now in how I play than I did growing up or even in my twenties. It doesn’t matter as long as you try, and have fun. Gail is an avid card player, and schooled Renae in the art playing cards at the right time. Playing cards and games is a family tradition with my family, especially at the holidays. It was nice to share that with one on my many Swazi families.<br />31 December 2010- New Year’s Eve: I met Justine in Nhlangano and we took the bus to the Valley. We were staying with a friend of hers who lives near House on Fire, always a great venue for New Year’s Eve fun. Our first stop in the itinerary was The Gables. An upper-class shopping center in the Ezulweni Valley, it now boasts a 4-screen movie theater. My first movie since beginning service, it was mediocre. However, the experience was fabulous. The too cold theater had stadium seating. The tickets were only E28 (less than $4) and small popcorn was E9 ($1.20). Such a steal compared to movie-going in the States. Afterward we joined her friend and his friends at a braii, and then headed to House on Fire for the evening’s festivities. The night’s theme was “A Ring of Fire”, a combination cowboy and circus theme, which I didn’t really understand since the night’s décor was more cowboy than circus. Clowns Without Borders performed before the opening musical group; this troupe was entirely Swazi men, and they were quite entertaining. The main band was from Durban, and they were fun to listen and dance to as well. The solo woman of the group played an amplified violin. Incredible. The DJ following the band was less than average, playing a few good songs with a mix of terrible house music. I danced, nonetheless, but ended the night early by New Year’s Eve standards. There’s only so much bad house and hip hop music I can tolerate.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-24343627533825607812010-11-03T02:55:00.002-07:002010-11-03T03:03:57.638-07:00Pictures of my PCPP<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCnfRQDXz-DFx4V2vyeoKiB5MSip2rl5ie4F-ytSS9_JPxzQhkWSIewQmlsoX_hAY9vH-RbGPilPhDG3pXt1DBxz9fnI61dLIwhGjh728dQ2ey1pw_fFiGxJHmHc_F2CMQA0uN9mA9yNB/s1600/October+2010+018.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535261598611326866" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDCnfRQDXz-DFx4V2vyeoKiB5MSip2rl5ie4F-ytSS9_JPxzQhkWSIewQmlsoX_hAY9vH-RbGPilPhDG3pXt1DBxz9fnI61dLIwhGjh728dQ2ey1pw_fFiGxJHmHc_F2CMQA0uN9mA9yNB/s320/October+2010+018.jpg" border="0" /></a> Clinic Staff & Clinic Committee Rep, & Contractor w/ his assistants<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EwAfd1mDxgnzX26NOP0jzWr0KwM93jhnW_q-XmqORiAwVpC37ySQIA7o3SMZbPBWP3_cMuZXVdd0ADvfUDKBmXa4rG6iVkKd5CbGETRhevod0f2sf1Se7s_lU10fqbsBUoIx2Mby0pME/s1600/October+2010+022.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535261607957886722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EwAfd1mDxgnzX26NOP0jzWr0KwM93jhnW_q-XmqORiAwVpC37ySQIA7o3SMZbPBWP3_cMuZXVdd0ADvfUDKBmXa4rG6iVkKd5CbGETRhevod0f2sf1Se7s_lU10fqbsBUoIx2Mby0pME/s320/October+2010+022.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8xpfqLjsM1MzLw3vadFgBzcQIv3eVw144aectFDV-Jg1UEbD3pY8ARt9YfmMk8RdzjDofinkO4Tg5kGiJdQJXHhKJ7DoRexIjXTTaDch_Q1i47JYvwcdJYZGLuKUV9wA0lDWeZuucwsO/s1600/October+2010+020.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535261602859112162" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl8xpfqLjsM1MzLw3vadFgBzcQIv3eVw144aectFDV-Jg1UEbD3pY8ARt9YfmMk8RdzjDofinkO4Tg5kGiJdQJXHhKJ7DoRexIjXTTaDch_Q1i47JYvwcdJYZGLuKUV9wA0lDWeZuucwsO/s320/October+2010+020.jpg" border="0" /></a> Me w/ Clinic Staff; the woman on the far right will live here w/ her daughter!<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbG1TPnyKWVDEiHHSZuwQMKE85n820vVJ7xKguqObb6U7a15AMm6mU3xdVrAqA1fdIYWERdrvO0kX3PAJUuubYqF-g4icwrPh-iZYNPcPiaRilBLGlJeSnVP3Q5AF7qrQN5bHT-MZ05YZ/s1600/October+2010+009.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535261591559578802" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGbG1TPnyKWVDEiHHSZuwQMKE85n820vVJ7xKguqObb6U7a15AMm6mU3xdVrAqA1fdIYWERdrvO0kX3PAJUuubYqF-g4icwrPh-iZYNPcPiaRilBLGlJeSnVP3Q5AF7qrQN5bHT-MZ05YZ/s320/October+2010+009.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48yRXPEMHf2nSSnc9Oas3HncCBr0aQtEJudOvSdyR3keyzo66n31aC1WwcAaF_bKxLXK87pC-eS1_28KNjsyiDmc5KSgCQ2dC1xgd-2tQa5qilIf0A-LJ9Qt1tuoKX1mJcQafzVpl28Kr/s1600/October+2010+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535261595014513490" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg48yRXPEMHf2nSSnc9Oas3HncCBr0aQtEJudOvSdyR3keyzo66n31aC1WwcAaF_bKxLXK87pC-eS1_28KNjsyiDmc5KSgCQ2dC1xgd-2tQa5qilIf0A-LJ9Qt1tuoKX1mJcQafzVpl28Kr/s320/October+2010+001.jpg" border="0" /></a> The day we painted<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-34812083607633800532010-11-03T02:55:00.001-07:002010-11-03T02:55:53.576-07:00Sept & October 20103 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.<br />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!<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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.<br /> 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.<br /> 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.<br /><br /> 3 October 2010: A poem<br />3 October 2010<br />There’s a storm brewing<br />around us.<br />It’s been building for hours. I<br />hear the thunder rumble, and<br />feel the air cool as afternoon fades to evening and<br />the once incessant bird chirpings give way to the sound of the wind. Then, there’s silence.<br /><br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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.<br /> 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.<br /> 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.<br /> 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.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-61400576681086878422010-09-05T06:59:00.001-07:002010-09-05T07:07:35.607-07:00July & August 201030 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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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?!<br /> 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.<br />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.<br />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.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-77918751138428474452010-07-27T06:21:00.001-07:002010-07-27T06:36:33.636-07:00My new place, July 2010<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQa_MZVz-4YeVTMIjXVAcJgQPbJidmOY-93jKRmfj55gSywUGZC6a-IeyVeplJXF0JtvXOMXULdY_fdOPeDPttPiSfMmu56qkao8Rv1jy9cJVmILUV0J52SyGvYhmFLx6DjbFX2gb7uGHj/s1600/DSC02538.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498579067780547794" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQa_MZVz-4YeVTMIjXVAcJgQPbJidmOY-93jKRmfj55gSywUGZC6a-IeyVeplJXF0JtvXOMXULdY_fdOPeDPttPiSfMmu56qkao8Rv1jy9cJVmILUV0J52SyGvYhmFLx6DjbFX2gb7uGHj/s320/DSC02538.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2oookOhvS3zuyaNlCqAlJlxcHpRM53f29mnJSW1CN6d5_AuQ37nzd91pCBn_nvQxIqbSnEorzqrbSk55m_LlqRJA054qqEh8rXqGI3WyqavyNUE1swCVujofYE4AiACdWaXP8SR2R66d/s1600/DSC02536.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498579060820824722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2oookOhvS3zuyaNlCqAlJlxcHpRM53f29mnJSW1CN6d5_AuQ37nzd91pCBn_nvQxIqbSnEorzqrbSk55m_LlqRJA054qqEh8rXqGI3WyqavyNUE1swCVujofYE4AiACdWaXP8SR2R66d/s320/DSC02536.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKgTfMcN4UH7Vw2Mcf5CjQTHu-rReP881ObyAj7zWA5-gu_N7uXCdjxLO1R6PYZaA5_1YKJZgBACCm8J8G1soLagIixK3MlwyaT5bsoZZwA8cjeLpkP6ac1Hyy2Do3clOQILR-6-UtKyyD/s1600/July+2010+013.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitCdT5b90zhKf7PjlZ5ro0zYM3ax7KTPOzX-OXtNZ14zsKL_EzyUr9723yfGgnYV8tPPOp3GdEYGW6boiMP73DXdFSkD3QdoXoU8YjoIxwh-dsxY7JfH2B_YIBTrj23h2k7A0V7tnnNOUs/s1600/July+2010+13.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>My new "family" The children, their 2 housemothers, Peter, Michelle & their children, & Justine, a fellow volunteer. This pic was taken in Jan.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNU-QgIc6EJRAfqzpF8H2E2tP_FaMw47yCA86A-6TBfcvnQXA6tE-TR9g1Tjyh-4bgFwqh434CXcgo2ShlAf66t_dg8brdMurVCoJ4zOtD5HOLrqFbOjYlujQwcnOnYnBq4sjR69eOyVv/s1600/July+2010+6.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498578094216904418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMNU-QgIc6EJRAfqzpF8H2E2tP_FaMw47yCA86A-6TBfcvnQXA6tE-TR9g1Tjyh-4bgFwqh434CXcgo2ShlAf66t_dg8brdMurVCoJ4zOtD5HOLrqFbOjYlujQwcnOnYnBq4sjR69eOyVv/s320/July+2010+6.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>View of Peter & Michelle's house and extra house for volunteers<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZsv9m2zsNeUNuO-U8kXYhHNvXUz96dR3o3qXCKKbXAcSjKNyY_FpSbJDVvbF-YFJyL1GB81uYUaIFw8b3Ia438rQNhUkvGBTbKZnUObtUCL9uMRyORomwbqNTNKvZ2Fk_-ajxD9r5SWY/s1600/July+2010+4.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498578084395793458" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZsv9m2zsNeUNuO-U8kXYhHNvXUz96dR3o3qXCKKbXAcSjKNyY_FpSbJDVvbF-YFJyL1GB81uYUaIFw8b3Ia438rQNhUkvGBTbKZnUObtUCL9uMRyORomwbqNTNKvZ2Fk_-ajxD9r5SWY/s320/July+2010+4.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>Children's Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcRPoSELdrX1ARio84N6AXR8ygO5QAhghP68gWMw5ehMKGwsOpphF3rSjvhVM821bwlTSYWW8WMAEcxiHXNrBf3uCXnY7PER1vSj9K-qycYk86un8Xew9ahjlqoOMy0YG496cn-TmP4Du/s1600/July+2010+013.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498577407368770962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimcRPoSELdrX1ARio84N6AXR8ygO5QAhghP68gWMw5ehMKGwsOpphF3rSjvhVM821bwlTSYWW8WMAEcxiHXNrBf3uCXnY7PER1vSj9K-qycYk86un8Xew9ahjlqoOMy0YG496cn-TmP4Du/s320/July+2010+013.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My view<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitf-zT__C1FE0z6JG3bFIFdysSaXBizy2MJZfnoZyIGneLq_jH-ZO_iwIbCvYBxOtrU0Vuc6JLe2iWRdfb9dVUnUDT6zDYPn0N0n-2Js-_RL_BrSQGC8hBSfYvTlRV4at3OY6VTf8dWr3x/s1600/July+2010+011.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498577387434711122" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitf-zT__C1FE0z6JG3bFIFdysSaXBizy2MJZfnoZyIGneLq_jH-ZO_iwIbCvYBxOtrU0Vuc6JLe2iWRdfb9dVUnUDT6zDYPn0N0n-2Js-_RL_BrSQGC8hBSfYvTlRV4at3OY6VTf8dWr3x/s320/July+2010+011.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_iwYqkEpRohDKzM4QisDjimYoYfyilsi9NGp7HgNmms565yauvAlTVYPjND5CDpQf49eM5vj1WunScpq6CuenNUiwOP3cL_5fmzmDfkWL8V1HBJcRerrKR-Ky1yt41okyJ5daGp20gCr/s1600/July+2010+012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498577398168578642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_iwYqkEpRohDKzM4QisDjimYoYfyilsi9NGp7HgNmms565yauvAlTVYPjND5CDpQf49eM5vj1WunScpq6CuenNUiwOP3cL_5fmzmDfkWL8V1HBJcRerrKR-Ky1yt41okyJ5daGp20gCr/s320/July+2010+012.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLurWJpeekgzddirw4rhwiUUjkB4kqfopvriwhlFCGS7vmUEj92Z0x8Z8-o2skHsHZ-2VzX95HcSFjV8Vgwwdm2UQwRnvc2DePJhtQabSlLOz2yHQx9TPe4UPGo7X37M6QOr2L99DSXtn8/s1600/July+2010+8.jpg"></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpbS8ZcBKj_3HWQUljpbIATXXXUXJRBVduWDDyQGu72FLZ9yLE2LPjvvxBWstnZs9QTd-tWLyKid-tebd2FqfATZ7c8H1iHqBdnl2mmJf0YY_jhXBsuxoBrT7VzsNZEtPdiVPVgRfU1Ol/s1600/July+2010+8.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498577368057893570" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwpbS8ZcBKj_3HWQUljpbIATXXXUXJRBVduWDDyQGu72FLZ9yLE2LPjvvxBWstnZs9QTd-tWLyKid-tebd2FqfATZ7c8H1iHqBdnl2mmJf0YY_jhXBsuxoBrT7VzsNZEtPdiVPVgRfU1Ol/s320/July+2010+8.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSGKuw6-UyMPbmE9DJf5bdotImIcprToJF6uxH6Ram-nM189RZQ7G9_si4EJtRAdKf26sAD3XBLbFZdlvZW7yn-5o4T6U8h79KsGJEd9gFYJiKndCd6j_Zv-mYfJM16RNDiGMgyLyxKrB/s1600/July+2010+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498576711017174386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBSGKuw6-UyMPbmE9DJf5bdotImIcprToJF6uxH6Ram-nM189RZQ7G9_si4EJtRAdKf26sAD3XBLbFZdlvZW7yn-5o4T6U8h79KsGJEd9gFYJiKndCd6j_Zv-mYfJM16RNDiGMgyLyxKrB/s320/July+2010+010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Front of my cabin<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggviljmLrEzFdEiTrfxtISjBlwcmriMjmkggDJLURhSCfmakVdOw41lF7IOUykIF8wDG5HPbY8XAa1la5SdhRRj4CNaWR1M6Fm9hZKAAQRCcLk0zHycrp-3nblJMlkRtX7JzRt-eBS13rX/s1600/Jenns+003.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498576686631449074" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggviljmLrEzFdEiTrfxtISjBlwcmriMjmkggDJLURhSCfmakVdOw41lF7IOUykIF8wDG5HPbY8XAa1la5SdhRRj4CNaWR1M6Fm9hZKAAQRCcLk0zHycrp-3nblJMlkRtX7JzRt-eBS13rX/s320/Jenns+003.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br />My bedroom<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_VUDxT0vCWgChHuPvdaVFjBWIwgxK3iYkU4ol-ViIDWCUeN-AeKnS5b7e2HVewakSJqXD2Mn2xqEGtD4nlODu6Kef34rmK6ZsNmjVrd0pVZ-uYmAYrupnLhu-1BRARF7s2tYSNc2n7CM/s1600/July+2010+007.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498576702998289986" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr_VUDxT0vCWgChHuPvdaVFjBWIwgxK3iYkU4ol-ViIDWCUeN-AeKnS5b7e2HVewakSJqXD2Mn2xqEGtD4nlODu6Kef34rmK6ZsNmjVrd0pVZ-uYmAYrupnLhu-1BRARF7s2tYSNc2n7CM/s320/July+2010+007.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Bathroom<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir81z1yq7t-GX0GPG-cd5de3YKV9BDTq1KpqlUSGw-ktwCVQWDmtBT6EBRtADqkM2_NsZPJAUAWF3Darp-RPk7lHjXnKve6mewAAHr5Y-Ha4Y8IpwIBo_LxNXlSCgaZrl5tvtF8nyK77qz/s1600/Jenns+002.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498576679262752962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir81z1yq7t-GX0GPG-cd5de3YKV9BDTq1KpqlUSGw-ktwCVQWDmtBT6EBRtADqkM2_NsZPJAUAWF3Darp-RPk7lHjXnKve6mewAAHr5Y-Ha4Y8IpwIBo_LxNXlSCgaZrl5tvtF8nyK77qz/s320/Jenns+002.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Living Room<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH79HBgTbCLgqXFHjG2RzLpUnYVCG9J7oW-OIHvxZfEdQOdFHO39oa_Ti7nNrvr0OldDRIHz47X7iL6FJv-_yeq7c4oxcaaxSRL6qcQJ9JGzsa4xZRWd1U9wI8gYsIOl8Df1YExmxmTSSY/s1600/Jenns+001.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498576669826194514" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH79HBgTbCLgqXFHjG2RzLpUnYVCG9J7oW-OIHvxZfEdQOdFHO39oa_Ti7nNrvr0OldDRIHz47X7iL6FJv-_yeq7c4oxcaaxSRL6qcQJ9JGzsa4xZRWd1U9wI8gYsIOl8Df1YExmxmTSSY/s320/Jenns+001.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Kitchen<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-52591149331917862642010-07-27T06:02:00.000-07:002010-07-27T06:06:58.149-07:00More June pics- hanging with bosisi na bobhuti<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0UMjm-Im58-6tIxjf2alMHEt1WITO9SC2PCtV3MJf0_z-94jFzQYwwErIs_go5M78MVW7EZimCfF3h3R2FDTvzQylyotrMMJvrrMIRJOiA13_n6C0d1ZVB0dg2EiWzzetxAkeVpn9bIY/s1600/June+2010+023.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571710626319682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv0UMjm-Im58-6tIxjf2alMHEt1WITO9SC2PCtV3MJf0_z-94jFzQYwwErIs_go5M78MVW7EZimCfF3h3R2FDTvzQylyotrMMJvrrMIRJOiA13_n6C0d1ZVB0dg2EiWzzetxAkeVpn9bIY/s320/June+2010+023.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKIKIF8oHdVjbRD3sEVt-iS7e_9whavDwxs-YieNE9ClvsbTsShknaJcyCVgbTKQ93TtVoOdyCAKWXPljuww1rJHbst1BlxupCrNiqZLhLVCdnddvIQGeDtdr6y8Rlf66tJXilspo2Nf9/s1600/June+2010+035.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571702401284898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBKIKIF8oHdVjbRD3sEVt-iS7e_9whavDwxs-YieNE9ClvsbTsShknaJcyCVgbTKQ93TtVoOdyCAKWXPljuww1rJHbst1BlxupCrNiqZLhLVCdnddvIQGeDtdr6y8Rlf66tJXilspo2Nf9/s320/June+2010+035.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgYr9cBIxW9wPLGNq4n9LPAikZO6xdIfYMhaJC_08DsjwU3XWgzc-f-GN6Lk3B9qf3soNNhSfdnq7tZpmbSwKrX8rR_4FkvPRpsGxRdT3RbEwmFAc3pjR8-FDPIJI08vju8HiTguFOOGs/s1600/June+2010+018.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571344410761906" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBgYr9cBIxW9wPLGNq4n9LPAikZO6xdIfYMhaJC_08DsjwU3XWgzc-f-GN6Lk3B9qf3soNNhSfdnq7tZpmbSwKrX8rR_4FkvPRpsGxRdT3RbEwmFAc3pjR8-FDPIJI08vju8HiTguFOOGs/s320/June+2010+018.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXO0StWXJ59w64DJroxMFffaiS4xW2q2li5_ggYVJn_poX7Y_Z1vvJh8KtAvFTfkz6yG43L3GXc-r8-gQ-w5WG3dTvNKYho4onlAPIqCFOHtgjb4ZPG7DuYaDeI1VC6y2TFSAY5JuZyGNG/s1600/June+2010+019.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571317793016978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXO0StWXJ59w64DJroxMFffaiS4xW2q2li5_ggYVJn_poX7Y_Z1vvJh8KtAvFTfkz6yG43L3GXc-r8-gQ-w5WG3dTvNKYho4onlAPIqCFOHtgjb4ZPG7DuYaDeI1VC6y2TFSAY5JuZyGNG/s320/June+2010+019.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4brUvfnLUDq7EU62jx4YKdUBot1bEjME56Dh9lJJz6VczSf6DbepSZ6al3iB-byqNiwiKy4JO_zGK9Rlx7IH0SZwUJd7qbNy-JGVm2kKmf4LcYTsB3_gatRpMjFWFAxciNw48RG_cGXGZ/s1600/June+2010+029.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571337307778738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4brUvfnLUDq7EU62jx4YKdUBot1bEjME56Dh9lJJz6VczSf6DbepSZ6al3iB-byqNiwiKy4JO_zGK9Rlx7IH0SZwUJd7qbNy-JGVm2kKmf4LcYTsB3_gatRpMjFWFAxciNw48RG_cGXGZ/s320/June+2010+029.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTs1IKXLuo9x6hwwO7p31WKt9noZPl2Y8XuFaG4qC7gNXRdIh-H6M7R-hsDUteaxoBt2dBg_RGL-XdsLtGJkTfEQS3he6gjHFTpZJNj-fcHL9aAs_jDEtbigP6qCbugw21lSf0kTkLyft/s1600/June+2010+020.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571326459073970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNTs1IKXLuo9x6hwwO7p31WKt9noZPl2Y8XuFaG4qC7gNXRdIh-H6M7R-hsDUteaxoBt2dBg_RGL-XdsLtGJkTfEQS3he6gjHFTpZJNj-fcHL9aAs_jDEtbigP6qCbugw21lSf0kTkLyft/s320/June+2010+020.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC1N3VvIRvQQBVztC6NZJhZ7AfZ-dmJ89zArqsKZV1ZmhwG1MugpTXfwE1RY58ineQmI7cKBlU2Srs42s978Ew9X8-nseI1bLo51IOWXaCrOjxpo-Gjx8W6sc9B1iSls3L8IhyphenhyphenXx_2t_wZ/s1600/June+2010+017.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498571310999904898" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC1N3VvIRvQQBVztC6NZJhZ7AfZ-dmJ89zArqsKZV1ZmhwG1MugpTXfwE1RY58ineQmI7cKBlU2Srs42s978Ew9X8-nseI1bLo51IOWXaCrOjxpo-Gjx8W6sc9B1iSls3L8IhyphenhyphenXx_2t_wZ/s320/June+2010+017.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-1607958208364772502010-07-27T05:57:00.001-07:002010-07-27T06:02:45.356-07:00World Cup pics, June 2010- I was cheering for Italy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8su5phM_l4n9CqNF7REg6S72-hjrALCujLmRlZypkZgeKGrJFhs67yTZwRWjO4VdWk02nvutdijU7yp8RpXzlz8MDWSFeftW_UJUCBeCRFrQPhmSVna6eISvPV9u5a-pY8HorBpba8PH/s1600/v.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570622090255026" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8su5phM_l4n9CqNF7REg6S72-hjrALCujLmRlZypkZgeKGrJFhs67yTZwRWjO4VdWk02nvutdijU7yp8RpXzlz8MDWSFeftW_UJUCBeCRFrQPhmSVna6eISvPV9u5a-pY8HorBpba8PH/s320/v.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0SiVK6_P8asPVdHhdDq958T6lcjqHoRvvU4MoHqy0RDF4iFLyh6nguMB2een2B2bxDTH3fFgm8r6BSZYfBBg4ecgYa_pqEBTjAMJKjNLXOl7XX7Oq1S5HNNY26GxlBt2ods9FrqNRy3E/s1600/tt.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570615351193890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq0SiVK6_P8asPVdHhdDq958T6lcjqHoRvvU4MoHqy0RDF4iFLyh6nguMB2een2B2bxDTH3fFgm8r6BSZYfBBg4ecgYa_pqEBTjAMJKjNLXOl7XX7Oq1S5HNNY26GxlBt2ods9FrqNRy3E/s320/tt.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GO33KX14tvk_OolZl5gCAMMHCdZhpn6j3VE5twY5wyJ2eyYPiHvNTc65ZGDabijxUnpJqTKoCF2vE8QciK7lCAE8Xnbj5cZF6JbxtzguNpcQdtDoZv956OFPyUB1aexFsCeHC2AiPeDu/s1600/June+2010+019.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570610995008578" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GO33KX14tvk_OolZl5gCAMMHCdZhpn6j3VE5twY5wyJ2eyYPiHvNTc65ZGDabijxUnpJqTKoCF2vE8QciK7lCAE8Xnbj5cZF6JbxtzguNpcQdtDoZv956OFPyUB1aexFsCeHC2AiPeDu/s320/June+2010+019.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifghopLvgBaqK1x5L6lGYg4Kz8XOr0tB5Zgeoed1sOEMEap08xoDgVHkbM3R8K27x4xiyFx0thCjfApB0a_rxubbdUthCei6Y6DcI-VF3XXiUhBxTSi7zRwazg5ZugCrR-UN9IKSTGfaiw/s1600/June+2010+012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570092352071474" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 238px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifghopLvgBaqK1x5L6lGYg4Kz8XOr0tB5Zgeoed1sOEMEap08xoDgVHkbM3R8K27x4xiyFx0thCjfApB0a_rxubbdUthCei6Y6DcI-VF3XXiUhBxTSi7zRwazg5ZugCrR-UN9IKSTGfaiw/s320/June+2010+012.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhgNWbKnhAZXCxZq2iURujUcl9ik-uX3dFFe_i-kdvjADy295xC7knqRnLFiT3ZS5PTZIbMiwNEJ2jMjD_xtn2zj5NoFHYCvvI9j8XlhbaZO5pyL-48R4gw4-mka2OJkv0LyvA7etqCp6/s1600/bb.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570037131924258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMhgNWbKnhAZXCxZq2iURujUcl9ik-uX3dFFe_i-kdvjADy295xC7knqRnLFiT3ZS5PTZIbMiwNEJ2jMjD_xtn2zj5NoFHYCvvI9j8XlhbaZO5pyL-48R4gw4-mka2OJkv0LyvA7etqCp6/s320/bb.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8AOL7UvMqG579PpufWNTGhY3wwktd-UOW6YNi9WlE4M1ftiwheoRgKBYb2XHS3ItPDoxarfGC01dN2xhmlcSPaZic7UuTKd0LGMQo8NMpsyYMpPtbN_lMx-pC9-aCBFSXhCciG1m3ypH/s1600/June+2010+014.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570108696064642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL8AOL7UvMqG579PpufWNTGhY3wwktd-UOW6YNi9WlE4M1ftiwheoRgKBYb2XHS3ItPDoxarfGC01dN2xhmlcSPaZic7UuTKd0LGMQo8NMpsyYMpPtbN_lMx-pC9-aCBFSXhCciG1m3ypH/s320/June+2010+014.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFrUv09x_H9lCfBbjMsMtJ_zoXF8UG7uYRij5cnKp_vZ1egxZiIcmM7XsHW1g49_nacmLK2StvKxrRXBf0tWmRUBWTXeyqc4qGoXlfUNfWhiBaQBKtl58nquDoaMEsoXGUgXhL4bGZ83R/s1600/June+2010+010.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570068457375778" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMFrUv09x_H9lCfBbjMsMtJ_zoXF8UG7uYRij5cnKp_vZ1egxZiIcmM7XsHW1g49_nacmLK2StvKxrRXBf0tWmRUBWTXeyqc4qGoXlfUNfWhiBaQBKtl58nquDoaMEsoXGUgXhL4bGZ83R/s320/June+2010+010.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVVq4LRuXJ_uE9pqPSjNX53xT0ln5uFKNKOUsUBibN3OjCqVkwjb_GQtKj3U67_u52iish_RRcCn7gIndo7Lfd69Mh373-1JaTZI7xopmax5neuVRw3WWXsPSNzanaT98g1ranSZBjer2/s1600/June+2010+005.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498570052034012402" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHVVq4LRuXJ_uE9pqPSjNX53xT0ln5uFKNKOUsUBibN3OjCqVkwjb_GQtKj3U67_u52iish_RRcCn7gIndo7Lfd69Mh373-1JaTZI7xopmax5neuVRw3WWXsPSNzanaT98g1ranSZBjer2/s320/June+2010+005.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-41196153756438371542010-07-27T05:51:00.000-07:002010-07-27T05:57:26.995-07:00June pictures<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJR29G8E9QjTpE0Xvywq36BNkk3XmXYNRM33pR5BIdpWu5F5v2XP49wp6xRYyg3HgiLSjqDEc-bUqLihEpzK9W2it10y-pvGgGh406Z-f-r1dKRnC0Ul-vFf8GdCIcP64VnD_nd9ZQmR9/s1600/June+2010+008.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498569106875760354" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJR29G8E9QjTpE0Xvywq36BNkk3XmXYNRM33pR5BIdpWu5F5v2XP49wp6xRYyg3HgiLSjqDEc-bUqLihEpzK9W2it10y-pvGgGh406Z-f-r1dKRnC0Ul-vFf8GdCIcP64VnD_nd9ZQmR9/s320/June+2010+008.jpg" border="0" /></a> Views walking to the Madulini NCP<br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbym9rv4kO4gZY4fD5RrTlpY7ZB0Cc5OVJ2nQYeojWoVRFt644fbDRS1jXxKPoR86NJc3c2E6aDW5oppdjuZ_tGc_ni7hn47pIQYp9cFOzw5cDItopYd11zarIRNDsIKqnmJ5PKYPN4t5k/s1600/June+2010+006.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498569097528726130" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbym9rv4kO4gZY4fD5RrTlpY7ZB0Cc5OVJ2nQYeojWoVRFt644fbDRS1jXxKPoR86NJc3c2E6aDW5oppdjuZ_tGc_ni7hn47pIQYp9cFOzw5cDItopYd11zarIRNDsIKqnmJ5PKYPN4t5k/s320/June+2010+006.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrnhHP7vbkwxuYQklAaXnrITVx3E_hNfCt3CUJlB_yOVWk0mbfOgTXl736E_uc91H5T3CKVnUQYd45PML-VfqyqGoB78ic6cIf3jitbhC01j4-K4ua0sQjNViw7bsydN65H4kAlHUxqqp/s1600/June+2010+004.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498569090743339202" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPrnhHP7vbkwxuYQklAaXnrITVx3E_hNfCt3CUJlB_yOVWk0mbfOgTXl736E_uc91H5T3CKVnUQYd45PML-VfqyqGoB78ic6cIf3jitbhC01j4-K4ua0sQjNViw7bsydN65H4kAlHUxqqp/s320/June+2010+004.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUCPB_DcZY8R7G1cfB7WoBy37BGsgJfZbv_iGE2CYDH6fwukHEGYcQgGsPaJqlWNKZFZu9OTLFnLoHbDRapsSIh7Zo9QqpygeW23wTkdn9ZF22pWfeoPktgy6weBQNmat0t9SdwlL28Fl/s1600/June+2010+026.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498569072397970530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUCPB_DcZY8R7G1cfB7WoBy37BGsgJfZbv_iGE2CYDH6fwukHEGYcQgGsPaJqlWNKZFZu9OTLFnLoHbDRapsSIh7Zo9QqpygeW23wTkdn9ZF22pWfeoPktgy6weBQNmat0t9SdwlL28Fl/s320/June+2010+026.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc89Q7-WD_xIexSMt7kzoUZvnZs3yFg2D_A328bjnuJM0hxv6DcqSAEV2-eLAAkmod48_IfIRFByN8NUl8ROD4yyys9EOR9C15PHH0x__YD0FUbpdCHOFLE36AfBooM1s-6nyjU9O7Lr_/s1600/June+2010+029.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5498569083846991314" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvc89Q7-WD_xIexSMt7kzoUZvnZs3yFg2D_A328bjnuJM0hxv6DcqSAEV2-eLAAkmod48_IfIRFByN8NUl8ROD4yyys9EOR9C15PHH0x__YD0FUbpdCHOFLE36AfBooM1s-6nyjU9O7Lr_/s320/June+2010+029.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />My last day at the Edwaleni Clinic<br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-16008997408642665792010-07-27T05:50:00.000-07:002010-07-27T05:51:40.949-07:00June 20106 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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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!”<br /> “And you don’t stop. And you don’t quit.” –Michael Franti<br />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.<br />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?<br />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.<br />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. <br />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!<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br /> 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.<br />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. <br />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.<br />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.<br />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.<br />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.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-5800409674413081792010-06-12T04:23:00.000-07:002010-06-12T04:31:56.386-07:00May pics-Bushfire & Bambanani Project<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UXz9siMsLkscf7TPcUeaAnGxsuvZQHLohAjXbqK9eoGSvYmHOgI5nchwhiHqeSSFa5L32lOn51idG19sqomM4rITR9632dqOk0f04h3g9Zd5G0dv1j5clt1jhhmAZflX-FX2ZPOF9jBs/s1600/May+2010+009.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9UXz9siMsLkscf7TPcUeaAnGxsuvZQHLohAjXbqK9eoGSvYmHOgI5nchwhiHqeSSFa5L32lOn51idG19sqomM4rITR9632dqOk0f04h3g9Zd5G0dv1j5clt1jhhmAZflX-FX2ZPOF9jBs/s320/May+2010+009.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481848230048839074" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCHjTq2xvYhFp6t9YZZKyFm8OFd2sj_4FGfHVFVsKu415HaD9AmKVtAjfZjDu_cLRBmjWEEfHxGq3lJMaukbHEFDNC5wIq_Gin9NL8FlR1lqc97lRYFPlnJxvrLXtgB0Ac04eCmtkW5W-j/s1600/May+2010+008.jpg"><img style="float:left; 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margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZNBMKTr-T2AfWGH14hX3y4hF9j11wH6iCPEfTfC7gJSGZyY6gYs4NJXfeP93tOl5VaFIhJ67k0BIA6uLbW2srcptOrTigwZRbLaGiA42wIrsmqUCNEBAXAtGR9Tt1BtJRjkw7t1Ajwtlf/s320/May+2010+006.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481848210104086354" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZMrCKaJNkfyepMJ-qlUP0X0Fvu5N6QP1qvkEvryy0aXzJq67mj6J233O4zmPpcoWPsB4fjYRxA41_MTB5sL9C-giug9HzncD-BP9kXggnulMnAKnsp0IsDoUhFU9CLxRTsRsfxvK5EFZ/s1600/May+2010+005.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXZMrCKaJNkfyepMJ-qlUP0X0Fvu5N6QP1qvkEvryy0aXzJq67mj6J233O4zmPpcoWPsB4fjYRxA41_MTB5sL9C-giug9HzncD-BP9kXggnulMnAKnsp0IsDoUhFU9CLxRTsRsfxvK5EFZ/s320/May+2010+005.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481847106602365730" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispOCG0D3WheQl7iCV2nunMkAf3hRAP7SXc7GYxUQ4xWMUhtwjcECchO9mNa44QNYRmL6D8o7gPeXOxL23-Niq5ldtlCzPVvU4R6YTMVZYbf_LyRXXB31mTghUgPxyE0J5hKu2hJOdry6H/s1600/May+2010+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEispOCG0D3WheQl7iCV2nunMkAf3hRAP7SXc7GYxUQ4xWMUhtwjcECchO9mNa44QNYRmL6D8o7gPeXOxL23-Niq5ldtlCzPVvU4R6YTMVZYbf_LyRXXB31mTghUgPxyE0J5hKu2hJOdry6H/s320/May+2010+004.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481847100529647362" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjb0bqXi4KWqyUlNNFYhj6PZuNx3uR9TT3LhsRrcUJgbCqgj02_ejbm_I-fJ0cnfpEl4iVObA1vFz74-B4uhuDqwHOpfx4NpVE8DGGdUTBSavq-oLZxRD9BQ_j14dWxP4sagh0wama8h4/s1600/May+2010+003.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKjb0bqXi4KWqyUlNNFYhj6PZuNx3uR9TT3LhsRrcUJgbCqgj02_ejbm_I-fJ0cnfpEl4iVObA1vFz74-B4uhuDqwHOpfx4NpVE8DGGdUTBSavq-oLZxRD9BQ_j14dWxP4sagh0wama8h4/s320/May+2010+003.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481847092128560770" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh811Eu2kcaMoTtbLOqw2egW4N4j-_z7QNoAnOVHb5HguTFAXCopp5wJEPdofVReDosey5OsSCcQ7lG0LCo1IOD0LXjZC80uScqWffOxZk5uUSr7cFsAYVD0rJlCrILmBqnp5zFmpysjYjU/s1600/May+2010+002.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh811Eu2kcaMoTtbLOqw2egW4N4j-_z7QNoAnOVHb5HguTFAXCopp5wJEPdofVReDosey5OsSCcQ7lG0LCo1IOD0LXjZC80uScqWffOxZk5uUSr7cFsAYVD0rJlCrILmBqnp5zFmpysjYjU/s320/May+2010+002.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481847084993778754" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6M5t_L14t-TttLkq_AN8dqMytB1yB7Rni9Sy3RdWcpBUFMlFDJqkOxiDfrIod7lDnrPLkhJMw8pXiietfPAPWYkafgd9B7MHGhirxujXyUgtvPKGbMErx4x_dHRSEr6FZcQwG_i8tbMc-/s1600/May+2010+001.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 234px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6M5t_L14t-TttLkq_AN8dqMytB1yB7Rni9Sy3RdWcpBUFMlFDJqkOxiDfrIod7lDnrPLkhJMw8pXiietfPAPWYkafgd9B7MHGhirxujXyUgtvPKGbMErx4x_dHRSEr6FZcQwG_i8tbMc-/s320/May+2010+001.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481847073206513458" /></a>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-3916563749904112932010-06-12T04:21:00.000-07:002010-06-12T04:23:34.570-07:00May happenings<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">A water tap!</b> 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.)</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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.” </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">It’s possible to hear this or something quite similar several times a week. Could I have money? No. Well, I love you anyway. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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 <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>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.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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?!</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="'font-family:">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. </span></p>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-66697379030136332062010-04-27T05:30:00.001-07:002010-04-27T05:48:58.312-07:00Images from Lesotho<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9MciL3r3qXR3pfrsn4bQlBfsnxrnLMxzz68uOr8YOIa86Ye8yAT-uZX6uKftqwGyMc3OHEHr5yAZ9xXA1012IblLqCOUlJcqpfyVXvdruPQZcO2R-bdYzpwpjpFOEPOtgMuNDimLJYQFL/s1600/March-April+2010+087.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464798227541541378" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9MciL3r3qXR3pfrsn4bQlBfsnxrnLMxzz68uOr8YOIa86Ye8yAT-uZX6uKftqwGyMc3OHEHr5yAZ9xXA1012IblLqCOUlJcqpfyVXvdruPQZcO2R-bdYzpwpjpFOEPOtgMuNDimLJYQFL/s320/March-April+2010+087.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTLOM71sUbfPo5ouRwYe6dWWUmi_ZsF556D0GxZ3ndi_MFA_XOibHVuzsOTaDAySlTS3Midrt96LVSJbYEzpayykwVottPW8Sgdx4E6MDgBSYV7eNoPp9iJ8EW8CiqWnDaMMDjlvZluTI/s1600/March-April+2010+084.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464798221170216754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVTLOM71sUbfPo5ouRwYe6dWWUmi_ZsF556D0GxZ3ndi_MFA_XOibHVuzsOTaDAySlTS3Midrt96LVSJbYEzpayykwVottPW8Sgdx4E6MDgBSYV7eNoPp9iJ8EW8CiqWnDaMMDjlvZluTI/s320/March-April+2010+084.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5l4K_HdkbolV2-pyBckXN0QCOyYihAkTO6WMvw_z5K3N_7fyTIeJkzX-sznSvz7iMkDRSzZZdYCx0BZrCyBttTg9jImxPec9qPLABP3JzUmYy3hMeA7Jyz0Bwz9RcCtD_6Kgq4kzbleO/s1600/March-April+2010+063.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464796293423492770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW5l4K_HdkbolV2-pyBckXN0QCOyYihAkTO6WMvw_z5K3N_7fyTIeJkzX-sznSvz7iMkDRSzZZdYCx0BZrCyBttTg9jImxPec9qPLABP3JzUmYy3hMeA7Jyz0Bwz9RcCtD_6Kgq4kzbleO/s320/March-April+2010+063.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWB4F-4BGHVTwfMR35RZuVZis7Dj95WmHaht2YvyWTkA6C_IuAlpe2MXIh1zfK5dtiINIxGa5ktMf8TZBwNTSjROcOp9MC3G25UMZDvEhQBO4saH2cdTrO799c7h6gIsOsOKudl3ymGK4g/s1600/March-April+2010+056.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464796285813406770" style="FLOAT: left; 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MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVhZtuNKPZEwRJiu2B_HUfqM3NkG4cBGJpAd14a-PAnUvTiWO1PjWiGAOA0nIAvUxvGgT6YV4s8PDVwYLOlRkq_4rDQxrIzbFhx_60GR1NdujEd4LTvec20zyypUBHpkgi-8VYfsG17f0U/s320/March-April+2010+045.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjz6lLdBxQarghyphenhyphenXUGY4arj-fvrSJFtilLVuzFxnGbnoERjzy-NX4cfPIAzu7gnH4pZcyrwoVHXMQ8lZ-GnvOH1bnGsZ3AWQW5QkWJDlscMff17g3dKIllB8xmCj2jIxP7RiriABGRTCg/s1600/March-April+2010+035.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464796264132211266" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCjz6lLdBxQarghyphenhyphenXUGY4arj-fvrSJFtilLVuzFxnGbnoERjzy-NX4cfPIAzu7gnH4pZcyrwoVHXMQ8lZ-GnvOH1bnGsZ3AWQW5QkWJDlscMff17g3dKIllB8xmCj2jIxP7RiriABGRTCg/s320/March-April+2010+035.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHwm3qccITSqiKpioCdWeBJ1_t4u5uSG7O-Euhmgv5DXODs0v-hxTwTRUif7BslCjJwRt9uR10IVeHRJJbYq4rzXslUKeqJHG42pRoxDh8nJLSRRYj_FJom4zYNffLwfocTiQ8C8JqWaD4/s1600/March-April+2010+032.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464794772000154594" style="FLOAT: left; 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MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyP-OMJ771n034BcHpt-tYHfSP0hgJn9C6sCf4XkARh_huCBA9ZHAhkg_wam1BsuoEeWNW3aDcLKsPyKo8bgNIt-OrST_WA7rq0KwD0diFRh133RELdLq7Te3nxLaww0NXXNoThhRzcgD7/s320/March-April+2010+023.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNynhdLp8vZdpdf-Ch1KBdk2w1f4iYIYhIr0Af5_j1ql1ipnRWKqgtEdSvhVqNKcEhuGUPA7zsqelN3W_7LIlN7DO3PRlyLixYyy5LpSTZcmt455ifuJ7UnzYPApBXojb2gX48Wbc9fJV0/s1600/March-April+2010+013.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464794753492121842" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNynhdLp8vZdpdf-Ch1KBdk2w1f4iYIYhIr0Af5_j1ql1ipnRWKqgtEdSvhVqNKcEhuGUPA7zsqelN3W_7LIlN7DO3PRlyLixYyy5LpSTZcmt455ifuJ7UnzYPApBXojb2gX48Wbc9fJV0/s320/March-April+2010+013.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65twJ9zCqd5vu6H-_YMNYZsp7UQF_qOC58QxBLqUImqeZM0M6CG5WNE2GlmMQyF-hrIqnmtMjz9J7UWxEGQhgojj1qoHa03F1yQai7ZgcH__FkHS4-cBe_sEijYuEbB4x3g1eTXrZiN0o/s1600/March-April+2010+012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464794743837400754" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 234px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg65twJ9zCqd5vu6H-_YMNYZsp7UQF_qOC58QxBLqUImqeZM0M6CG5WNE2GlmMQyF-hrIqnmtMjz9J7UWxEGQhgojj1qoHa03F1yQai7ZgcH__FkHS4-cBe_sEijYuEbB4x3g1eTXrZiN0o/s320/March-April+2010+012.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-26498257689015851702010-04-27T05:24:00.000-07:002010-04-27T05:25:11.244-07:00March & April 2010Beginning of March- Beware the Ides of March: Why ‘Beware the Ides of March’? Really? I recall the line from Shakespeare’s play Caesar, where Caesar is warned about things to come. But worry only creates stress, usually if it’s unnecessary worry. Sometimes as volunteers, we get caught up in worries regarding our worth or effectiveness, especially as service draws to an end. We wonder, have we done enough? It’s a relentless question with never an easy answer, sometimes with no answer at all. I find I can get caught up in the question or the answer or both on occasion, and I then struggle to suppress my ego once I realize that I will forever ask questions and forever seek answers. That cyclical questions and seeking answers are constant. What really matters is what I do in between time. So in an effort to quiet my ego and leave something for my community, I decided to paint.<br />My plans for 2010 in my community involved helping improve the 4 functioning NCP’s. Neighborhood Care Points or NCP’s have been charged with the task of starting preschool, in order to provide OVC’s (Orphan &/or Vulnerable Children) some foundation before entering primary school. Most NCP workers are volunteers with limited education themselves. Many didn’t know where to begin. Last August and September I organized First Aid Kits and basic training for each NCP worker, at the same time assessing their preschool start-up needs. Essentially they needed everything but I’m not a miracle worker. So I decided to give them something I was physically capable of: painting curriculum on their walls. Two of the four NCP’s have actual structures, so I sought permission and planned out objects for each wall. At both NCP’s I painted the alphabet with an object corresponding to each letter, numbers with circles to represent the amount of each number, shapes, colors, and a healthy eating food chart. I also added a tree and a sun at one; at the other I painted the rainbow to represent colors and the phrase: “Rise and Give God Glory” in yellow and orange. My intention for putting curriculum on the walls was twofold: first, if no one was teaching on a given day, as least the children could learn by looking; and two, if a volunteer wasn’t sure what she could teach she would simply refer to the walls. I think the first goal was accomplished, if nothing else. Each day I painted, children lingered near the entrance or close behind me. I heard their hushed voices, naming each object and counting numbers. It was sweet.<br />March 9, 2010- As I Was Walking to the NCP: On the path to one NCP there is a Jehovah’s Witness church. Today a few members milled outside the gate, looking as if they just finished a meeting. They were excited to see me, as I’ve discovered many people in neighboring communities are since they do not see me on a regular basis. Little did I know they were even more excited to see me today. I greeted them with the obligatory greetings. As I did, a young man of maybe 21 approached with a flyer he was eager to share with me. He said, “My sister, I have something very important to share with you. Take it and please read it.” I read the title: Comfort for the depressed. Suppressing my giggles, I thanked him with a smile and continued along my way shaking my head. I knew I looked tired, as I had to walk about 4km with six liters of paint since the connecting bus never came. Did he think I was depressed because of it? I don’t know but it was worth a laugh. Sadly, I accidently spilled paint on the flyer so I never read the message waiting inside.<br />March 17-18, 2010- Happy St. Patrick’s Day & Mourning my Chief: This morning my make came from the chief’s homestead wailing and saying “Nkosi yami. Nkosi yami!” (my God, my God). I heard screams from the chief’s homestead earlier, and thought my make was causing trouble since she went to discuss an issue with the chief’s wife. It turns out my chief died. He’d been in and out of the hospital since January. I was told he was getting better. But this morning make told me he’d been in Pretoria, SA the last few weeks. I found out later that he contracted meningitis. He’d gone to Pretoria for surgery but either didn’t survive surgery or it didn’t work. A person can suffer from meningitis in advanced stages of HIV, but I’m unaware if he was positive.<br />The following day I accompanied the primary and high school teachers to mourn with the family. Men stay outside the main house, sitting around the fire or on porches of secondary houses. Women cover their heads with scarves or hats and approach the main house singing a song of sorrow. They remove their shoes at the entrance, and then enter by crawling or crouching to a space on the floor where they sit and continue to sing. After several minutes of singing, they stop and begin praying out loud. Once they finish, a representative or two from the group offer a prayer or speech of sorrow to the family. If other people approach the house singing, the group inside stops what they are doing and picks up the song of those entering. Then out-loud prayers begin again. Once the group has offered what they can, the family thanks the group for coming. Then the group begins their leaving song, and slowly, one by one, they stand, bent, to leave. This continues all day, and sometimes during the night; the family receives mourners whenever they come. Those who stay all day to mourn, usually relatives, are fed; extended family members bake and cook constantly from the first mourning day until after the funeral. Mourning days occur from the time the death is announced until the night vigil. Depending on how far away family members live, mourning could be a week or more since the night vigil doesn’t begin until all immediate family members are present. <br />March 19-23- Walking to Ntjanini w/ Jaci & Weekend w/ the Jackson’s: Jaci and I walked from her site to Hilary and Jay Jackson’s site, about a 3 hr walk. Hilary’s birthday is 17 March, and she wanted a party. Since we left Jaci’s site at noon, we encountered hordes of school children walking home. We felt like the Piped Piper at times, since more than once we had groups of children following us, and mimicking everything we did.<br />Eleven people showed for Hil’s party. We grilled hotdogs and chicken. Jay made homemade vanilla ice-cream the day before. I helped Hilary make fudge brownies to eat with the ice-cream. We drank wine and beer and talked into the wee hours of the morning. The following day, most people left. Matthew and I stayed longer. It was easier for me to go to Nhlangano from their site since I had training on Monday in Nhlangano. Besides, I wanted Hil to teach me to crochet the page boy hat she made months ago and I’d coveted. We had the house to ourselves all afternoon; Jay had a youth group meeting and he took Matthew with him. It was nice to have some one-on-one time with Hil since we rarely get the chance. The hat was harder than I expected but I figured out how to back post crochet, and that’s the main stitch I needed to make the hat. I decided to borrow her book and work on it, without pressure, at my hut. We ended our afternoon with a Rodney Yee yoga cd, our favorite yogi.<br />The bus ride to Nhlangano was unpleasant as I got sick during the night. I’m not sure what caused it but I’m blaming the chicken. I sipped ORS (oral dehydration salts) water while Matthew distracted my nausea with engaging conversation. Once I got to Pasture Valley, I crashed out for 4 hours. I woke feeling like I’d been hit by a Mac truck, and with a fever. I took ibuprofen, drank several glasses of water, and then took a hot shower. I went to bed early. (17 April, 2010: I’ve been sick since, unfortunately. Some days I’m fine, and other days nothing I eat will settle with me. Oh Africa life! I’m not sure visiting my PCMO will do much good. I think I just need to work something out of my system, and I’d rather do that with my home remedies. The only positive is the decline of fat comments. You cannot tell someone who’s lost another 5 lbs that she’s fat!)<br />I woke the next morning still feeling rough but successfully trained 30 women from the Shiselweni Reformed Church Home-Based Care group to make paper beads. Justine taught basic business all morning; she and Michelle helped me inspect the quality of paper beads in the afternoon. Most of the women caught on quickly, even asking how to make smaller and larger beads. Others struggled with using a toothpick to roll paper. I showed a few who struggled to use their fingers to roll; it was still a problem. I offered encouragement, just keep trying and practicing. We dismissed at 3pm, sending them home with several magazine sheets and glue. We’re keeping our fingers crossed, hoping they produce high quality beads and bring them to the next training day.<br />March 25, 2010: Attending Two Mourning Services: We scheduled another bead training for the Home-Based Care group on 26 March. As it turns out, it was the same day as my chief’s night vigil. In all honesty I was glad I had another obligation. I attended the end of a night vigil once during training, and have been to other mourning days. It’s awkward, culturally; I’m never sure if I’m committing a faux paux or not. I don’t know the language well enough to sing along or pray out loud. And I just don’t quite belong. I asked make if I could bake the chief’s wife something and take it to her; perhaps even sit with her awhile. Make said it would be okay, and she would accompany me. I made oatmeal and cornmeal biscuits. We walked up the hill slowly, and I thought about what I could say to a woman who lost her husband to strange circumstances. The chief’s mother received us at the main house; her daughter in-law was in town seeing to funeral preparations. I gave the biscuits to the sister in-law of the chief with my greetings to the chief’s wife and my sympathies. Then I extended my sympathies to his mother; she hugged me so tightly I started tearing up. I sat as make sang and prayed with those in the room.<br />Later that morning make found me at the clinic. She was on her way to another mourning. She asked me to accompany her, and since she helped me this morning, I thought it only right to go with her. It turns out we were paying our respects to the mother of the peer educator in my community; his sister passed. I’m glad I attended the mourning since I know him and have had several conversations with him about life, health, HIV and education on the bus.<br />It was an exhausting day, to say the least. I didn’t know my chief well but saw him often and spoke with him on a few occasions. Yet, grief rushed over me both days I mourned at the chief’s house. The longer I’m here, the more people I get to know and know well. With that comes the possible death of people I might actually know or have interacted with frequently. It’s a strange feeling. One of disbelief, anger, confusion and sadness.<br />28 March, 2010- Freshly Ground: Freshly Ground, a South African musical group won an MTV music award sometime in early 2000. Tonight they made their second visit to Swaziland to debut the release of their 3rd album. They combine traditional South African music with jazz, blues and a little rock. In 2004 their song Doo Be Doo was #1 at the South African music awards. They give an amazingly high energy performance. Listen to their cd online. You will not be disappointed.<br />2 - 8 April, 2010- Lesotho: I spent the Easter weekend in Lesotho with Jaclyn, Justine and Danielle on a 3-day pony trek through the Malealea area. Lesotho is a beautifully mountainous country with purplish and greenish hued rocks. Basotho people are incredibly friendly and welcoming, and quite proud of their peaceful, beautiful country. They wear wool blankets with maize motifs instead of coats. They make wonderfully delicious sourdough bread. Alongside maize, they raise sorghum. Sustainable development is actively happening; Basotho people willingly support and even initiate many of the projects and growth currently happening in Lesotho. Needless to say, I feel in love with Lesotho; mostly because of the mountains, partly because it really felt like Africa, and finally because the people don’t feel apathetic to their situations.<br />The pony-trek was interesting. Had I known the path we would take and the precariously narrow trails we sometimes traversed, I would have told my travel companions that I had no business being on that horse. But I am glad I tried it, and I can honestly say I would do another pony trek, but perhaps not longer than five days. My horse was quite patient with me. Jaci joked that we each got a horse to fit our personality; yes, my horse must have practiced Zen meditation and yoga at some point, maybe just to put up with other trekkers. Luckily he remained calm when two other horses fell, and remained incredibly calm each time I over-steered him. It drizzled during the first day making some rocks quite slick. My horse almost jumped a steep ravine to avoid the slippery rocks. I freaked for a moment, causing my horse stress and confusion. Luckily our guide was behind me, and led the horse down the slippery rocks. I wanted to get off and walk a while. Our guide, Mpho, said, “Sorry, miss. It will be okay.” I did get off and walk a bit, but once the mud got too sticky, I got back on my horse, and tried to remember to breath. We stayed two nights on a homestead in a little village on the side of the mountain. Our rondoval had a packed dirt floor. We cooked on a gas stove, and used candlelight to light the hut. Not unlike our experiences in Swaziland. But had I not experienced something similar I’m not sure I’d appreciate a place to rest my head or shelter from the windy mountainside as much as I did.<br />Grace be to God: The day we left, Michelle, from Pasture Valley Children’s Home gave us a ride to the border. She was on her way to the hospital. The baby, Gracie, wasn’t doing well, and she was going to check on her. She’d been admitted a few days earlier with pneumonia. Gracie is a 9-month old with HIV. A few weeks ago, several of the children contracted German measles aka mumps. Gracie suffered a mild case; her ARV medication helped to keep the high fevers at bay, but she was still affected since her immune system is compromised. As a result of the infection, her immune system took a dive. She’d had a 103 degree temperature for two days; Gogo gave her cool baths, thinking that would be enough. Gogo didn’t alert Michelle or Peter about Gracie’s condition; in Swazi culture, being sick is not distressing. Michelle visited late in the afternoon on the second day; after taking her temperature she rushed Gracie to the clinic immediately. They admitted her and began an IV drip. Unfortunately it was too late. Gracie’s body wasn’t strong enough to fight. She died the day before Easter. They buried her in a cemetery on the property. Her headstone, a simple wooden cross, reads: Grace be to God.<br />I cannot even describe how much this pains me. I held her. I played with her. I fed her bottles. She smiled when she saw my smile. This makes no sense to me. There are days I curse humanity. I even curse the universe. I don’t understand a world that allows an innocent child to suffer; I don’t understand idly standing by, letting destruction happen without concern. Sometimes, I simply don’t understand life. And that is without a doubt the hardest part of my service, and probably something I’ll never quite grasp.<br />16 April, 2010- Grant update: as most of you know my revised grant was funded. I updated the budget to finish one building. Previous experience with construction would have suited me well, and helped me ask the right questions. I was unaware that the budget only included figures for roofing. It didn’t include estimates for a ceiling. I found that out once the contractor, his assistant, the Clinic Committee Treasurer and I arrived at the building store to purchase materials. The original estimates include tiles for the roof but we switched to corrugated iron and rust-resistance paint after discovering tiles were twice the cost. I asked the people at the building store to look at the floor plans, estimate the amount of materials needed for a ceiling and how much it would cost. Well over my newly estimated budget, I thought it worthwhile to know in case money appears to help install a ceiling. The entire time this was happening, the contractor was absent. We found him later at the police station; he was defending himself against a woman who’d brought a case against him, most likely a case of not finishing his work. He’s done the same thing to the Clinic Committee. They paid him a certain amount to pour the base of both houses and to begin work on the second. They paid him in full, unfortunately, and he didn’t finish everything the committee asked him to finish. I told the head nurse I didn’t trust his guy; he agreed but acquiesced with the committee’s desire to allow this contractor to finish the work. Well, my instincts were right but don’t do me much good at the moment. I will not have a problem, however, telling the committee to fire him if he doesn’t show up, continually make progress on the building or mess up. And I will not pay him until the work is completed and approved by the Ministry of Works. Oh, the lessons I learn.<br />20 April – 23 April, 2010- COS Conference: COS stands for Close of Service conference. Our COS conf is geared toward reflection and transition; reflecting on our service and how to transition from Swaziland back to America. We talked about our highs and lows, and our proud moments during each period of service. We discussed how to say good-bye to host families and communities, as well as how to close out projects. We learned about medical coverage after PC. We shared our plans for after service. We learned what to expect. We had a great panel of returned volunteers who are now working and living in Swaziland. Mostly Embassy people, they talked about their first trip back to America after service. How difficult it was to go to the grocery store and be inundated by all the choices. How patience was needed with the plethora of questions from family and friends. How friends and family might not understand what you experienced, and you won’t be able to explain it to them sufficiently enough for understanding. It was nice to hear their perspective on life after PC. A bit hard to know I’ll never think about America or Africa in the same way again, this could be good or bad. And what’s harder is that I’ll never be that person my friends and family use to know. Along with that, my family and friends won’t be the same either. That was a tough one to hear. I knew/know I’ve changed. But I didn’t think about not reconnecting in the same way to dear ones back home. They said to give your self time, and be patient with self and others. Something I’ve really learned to embrace while living here. On the whole, it was an enjoyable conference even though it was emotionally draining. It was a pleasure to have everyone together again, to share and reflect. We did a tying in ceremony to remind us that we are part of a community, and we’ll always be connected. We each will wear a piece of twine around our right wrist for at least 3 days; we can never cut it, rather we let it wear off or slip it off but never toss it. Great closure, even though it felt a little surreal since I’m not leaving yet. A few in our group are leaving end of May, so it was more real for them. A few leave in July and the rest in August. Six will remain; two volunteers are staying 13 months, one will stay until December, two until February and one leaves next May. I’m one of the volunteer leaving in February. 26 February is my official extension COS date. And after that? Other than traveling the rest of Africa, the only thing I know for sure is my desire to obtain a teacher’s certification in hatha yoga. I offer to lead classes at each conference/workshop we’ve had during service, and I’ve discovered that I really enjoy practicing with others and leading them, especially people new to yoga. I really believe in the sense of community and unity I feel when practicing with others, and how that sense feels more and more important as the madness of this world continues.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-42237374797373774342010-03-15T04:39:00.000-07:002010-03-15T04:59:23.653-07:00My new hobby/habit: paper beads; my view in Jan; my flowers in Dec<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EZsgOAd6iL5ed9Y_t1whI1HHnTps8KfWOYo3BCeVHMtOhn4oEYToRlSyffF6fbK2tGOOIXyv2NmbK8ZozpfC1CYq4ot0b62NxcNV3OPp1HybilwcNdziN0W3lw6MgqYJM1DG7T-vUIwt/s1600-h/DSC01683.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448828512205165858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EZsgOAd6iL5ed9Y_t1whI1HHnTps8KfWOYo3BCeVHMtOhn4oEYToRlSyffF6fbK2tGOOIXyv2NmbK8ZozpfC1CYq4ot0b62NxcNV3OPp1HybilwcNdziN0W3lw6MgqYJM1DG7T-vUIwt/s320/DSC01683.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTaOqRTAczQClBOlMr3klRl_CKiv9QRUqWlYpgf-aPA2cNRsBanitsZVQmu2wWyq8S1lkoBxjz13-pbwBVruFL0X51Ckl1w2wlJhdC5R8CWMvCVp71EqK6Zb4-CcO8k76c8k_2CNBCowMj/s1600-h/DSC01681.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448828502441427554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTaOqRTAczQClBOlMr3klRl_CKiv9QRUqWlYpgf-aPA2cNRsBanitsZVQmu2wWyq8S1lkoBxjz13-pbwBVruFL0X51Ckl1w2wlJhdC5R8CWMvCVp71EqK6Zb4-CcO8k76c8k_2CNBCowMj/s320/DSC01681.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2TtvnFG-StCLXJCnSRDdNJA74w0N6gaaOoh79J33_Z-3dnzhuRmoUgYkEZeB4wIA3FiN3DpTVUj544mCHDmfihDoAiApcIazKhbQtUwpGsFlqbFYG1YP4KDt-PT1-33olVzfl7vYAcMi/s1600-h/DSC01680.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448828496404180834" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy2TtvnFG-StCLXJCnSRDdNJA74w0N6gaaOoh79J33_Z-3dnzhuRmoUgYkEZeB4wIA3FiN3DpTVUj544mCHDmfihDoAiApcIazKhbQtUwpGsFlqbFYG1YP4KDt-PT1-33olVzfl7vYAcMi/s320/DSC01680.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhns1X6undq40EiM3BvhNl4X7mbaLx37JBbFIsQzLSzSiLO9Te4P2PCIDvfFjvj2DJmx65np7esKT0w2ypg82LA3Ag60zgkIJI7u9WAepnS8rglbcnigjOJCiq-1BXx56RqDVYqIds59r_7/s1600-h/DSC01677.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448828487754416466" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhns1X6undq40EiM3BvhNl4X7mbaLx37JBbFIsQzLSzSiLO9Te4P2PCIDvfFjvj2DJmx65np7esKT0w2ypg82LA3Ag60zgkIJI7u9WAepnS8rglbcnigjOJCiq-1BXx56RqDVYqIds59r_7/s320/DSC01677.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-N8SpXwDSkq7GxnKYGsWBn1iKLvb4U-lti_qZhsTPhEQ26aIerCQlRIZ82Mlpz4mNmYDrLmzv2e0yTp_8UakXir8ZlAlSQ29kdHk45OXi9zLvuu1FKpPCv1797PQlaiGuxeJrE7BwsAp/s1600-h/DSC01676.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448828475572498146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-N8SpXwDSkq7GxnKYGsWBn1iKLvb4U-lti_qZhsTPhEQ26aIerCQlRIZ82Mlpz4mNmYDrLmzv2e0yTp_8UakXir8ZlAlSQ29kdHk45OXi9zLvuu1FKpPCv1797PQlaiGuxeJrE7BwsAp/s320/DSC01676.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-83426290459162391102010-03-13T02:03:00.000-08:002010-03-13T02:11:03.087-08:00Life in February, 2010January 28-30, 2010- Introducing Jenn & Vic to Pasture Valley: Since Justine, Jaclyn and I mostly talk non-stop about the incredible children’s home we volunteer at, more volunteers in our group are interested in what really makes this place wonderful. Jenn is considering extending her time, and since I’ve praised this haven in the country, she was curious. Jenn and Vic live in the HhoHho region so the trek was long to the Shiselweni, about 5 hours, but both were eager for a weekend away on the farm.<br />The majority of times we stay with Michelle and Peter, Michelle either makes us yummy lunches or hearty, home cooked dinners. Yes, we are volunteers with limited resources, so the home cooked meal is welcome, and so delicious. However, our Midwest upbringings (Justine grew up in Kansas, Jaclyn in Iowa…yeah, the Shis crew are also Midwest girls) require us to either work for said meals or reciprocate in some way; we’re happy doing either as a trip to the farm is like going home for each of us in some way.<br />Since we were bringing 2 extra mouths to feed, Justine and I decided we would provide dinner that evening. We prepared orange chicken & spicy orange tofu, lettuce salad and steamed green beans for Michelle and Peter and their kids, as well as for ourselves. Michelle and Peter’s kids were not impressed with orange chicken even though they were required to taste a little. However the rest of us enjoyed heartily, and gladly reached for seconds. Wine accompanied the meal, as well as lively conversation, first about Victoria and Jenn’s hometowns then about the work they are doing in their community. Inevitably the conversation turns to HIV, as Michelle and Peter are eager to learn as much as possible; several of the children are positive and being informed caregivers is a goal.<br />On Friday morning Jenn and Justine accompanied me to the preschool to help me teach. Michelle asked if I could give at least one day each week to teaching preschool. The woman she hired was asked to leave the first week of class since she wasn’t following Michelle’s instructions; the woman seemed more concerned with cleaning than teaching, leaving the children sitting alone in the preschool room. Michelle’s philosophy is learning through creative play, and even though I have limited experience teaching preschool I can play. There are blocks, puzzle pieces, sing-a-long cd’s, colors and paints, play dough, books, and the curriculum we painted on the walls. It’s a bit of a stretch for me, as my sister Sharon confirmed to me on the phone when I told her. But I’m doing what I can until Michelle finds another teacher. There are only 4 students; two boys and two girls between the ages of 3 – 6. Four is manageable for me, for now.<br />February 3, 2010- Presenting the Craft Proposal: Michelle scheduled a meeting with the Board of Directors for the children’s home. We are eager to begin the craft project as a pilot program at Pasture Valley; if it works on a small scale here then we will take it to other communities in the Shiselweni region, eventually increasing to 100 women participating in making crafts. We’re applied for funding through a U.S. Embassy Women in Development grant; they are currently reviewing applications. In the meantime, we’re seeking seed money to begin the project; we want the women to be making quality products to sell by the time World Cup fever arrives in June. Justine presented the overview of the project we are calling Bambani Sandla or hands taking hold together, hands grasping together. I presented the craft ideas and showed samples of items Justine and I are experimenting with—paper and fabric beads strung as necklaces and earrings, mobiles using paper and fabric beads and other recycled materials, paper mache and handbags. We received positive feedback from the Board and approval to begin the project. I’m excited and anxious. I really believe in this income generating project because it’s not only about a steady income for vulnerable woman but also a social outlet and support group. Along with providing ongoing skills training, we will offer weekly workshops focusing on women’s health issues and general life issues. Once a month we plan to bring in a professional speaker to talk about more sensitive topics or those out of our expertise. The project’s vision is to foster a supportive community among the women while providing them useful life skills and a sense of purpose. It’s a lot of work to undertake so I’m anxious about getting the details right and implementing each facet. Nonetheless, I’m excited as well. To be part of the dream for a better tomorrow so these women may envision a future is humbling.<br />February 9-10, 2010- Cleaning the Shed at Pasture Valley: In order to implement the craft project, we need a space large enough to hold at least 20 women and work areas for each craft. Peter acquiesced, giving up ¼ of his storage shed for a workspace; I’m not sure he was really keen on the idea of giving up space but supports the project 100%. Justine set to cleaning, along with the children’s help on Tuesday afternoon. Michelle asked me to attend a Standards meeting given by the Ministry of Social Welfare on Tuesday morning. The Ministry is trying to lay standards in place for children’s homes throughout Swaziland, and is asking for feedback from existing homes or those looking to set up new homes. After attending the meeting, I’m curious how the first meeting of standards in America proceeded or perhaps unfolded, as may be the case. Many people attending the meeting believe the standards are unattainable given their limited resources, funds and/or personnel; nothing seemed unattainable to me especially if the higher standards are slowly implemented or more support is given from the Ministry in order to implement them. I’m interested in attending future meetings to witness the progress.<br />I left the meeting before lunch in order to catch early transport back to Nhlangano. I arrived to a somewhat organized shed and about 12 children saturated in sweat and covered in dust; it was an especially hot day and working in an enclosed shed made conditions worse. The following morning, Justine and I rose early to finish organizing and cleaning. It had rained overnight, cooling the air but not settling the dust. We worked quickly with the help of one of Peter’s staff. In the process the staff worker and I uncovered a snake, which Billy the farmhand, unceremoniously picked up by the tail with bare hands and then using the snake pole put in a bucket. We discovered later it was just a slug eater, and would not hurt a person. While I was away teaching preschool Justine found 6 rats that quickly scattered in all directions, the slowest one beaten by Peter as he tried to escape. I’m happy to have missed that, since the snake was enough for me. We finished by 12:30, just in time for a 1 o’clock braii with Peter and his staff, a going-away party for Billy.<br />February 22, 2010- Keeping Tallies: Since September 2008 until today I’ve been keeping track of the number of times I’ve been asked certain things or told certain things or done certain things. I thought, at first, it would be an interesting experiment or contribute to an anthropological study I was planning of my time in Swaziland. I decided to keep track of the number of marriage proposals I received, the number of times people offered me their babies, how many snakes wondered into my hut, the number of times people told me I was getting fat and the number of books I’ve read since my arrival. It was sort of comical at first, perhaps even a badge of honor for enduring certain things. But as time went on, I begrudgingly tallied marriage proposals and fatty comments. As mentioned in previous blogs, the fat comments have increased with my level of happiness in being here but have taken a toll on my self-esteem and body image. I sadly and sometimes angrily tallied baby offers, forgetting to remember why bogogo (grannies) were offering me their grandchildren. After mentioning this to my Shis crew, they asked why I continued to tally things that upset me. Good question. I had to ask myself that question several times. Am I just a glutton for punishment? No, I’m not. It’s ridiculous to me to be in a situation where you constantly punish yourself; I’m not in to S&M. Am I really going to conduct an anthropological study around my response/reaction to marriage proposals or my decreased self-esteem due to fat comments? Chances are, an anthropological study would focus on why Swazi men propose at will or why Swazi women comment on weigh. Do I think tallying snake encounters in my hut will keep them from entering? Probably not. But given my distain and fear for snakes, I endured their presence and successfully rid my hut of them. I feel proud, even confident, of my abilities to tolerate each encounter, and endure the anguish of hut living. So while some tallying was good for my ego, my ego fought many others. Since I’m trying to quiet my ego, I’ve decided to discontinue all tallying except for one—the number of books I read. It serves as my challenge to read more instead of watching movies in the evening. So, without further ado, here are the tallies for September 2008 to present: Marriage Proposals: 21, the fifth one w/ an offer of 30 cows; Snakes: 3; Baby Offers: 11; Fatty Comments: 21; Books: 22. I think it’s interesting that the number of fat comments and the number of marriage offers are the same. Is that coincidence or is my perceived weight gain, which also means I’m happy, an indication of increase attractiveness as a wife and mother? Because if I’m happy to be here, and I continue to ‘gain weigh’ then surely I’d want to marry a Swazi man and stay here for life? The jury is out and will remain out since I’m weary of talking about my weight, and I don’t want to increase a man’s interest by chatting him up about marriage. I will merely continue to think the numbers are interesting and purely coincidental.<br />February 23, 2010- A Letter to Jacy: Just read your letter while sitting at an outdoor café. I happily eat warm bread and drink ginger ale. It’s not as romantic as it sounds. The bread was a whole loaf from the grocery store that I have to break off and the ginger ale is called Stoney’s Ginger Brew—ginger ale on crack…it’s that strong!<br />The café is just a collection of plastic tables and chairs set near a kiosk that sells a variety of things including the best fast cakes (little donuts) and chips (fries) w/ salt and vinegar in Nhlangano. But also sells soda, juices, candy, super glue and batteries. Of course! The owners are from Bangladesh. The one brother is cute! And very nice—he keeps eyeing me but he’s not much better than other men here—prolly has a girlfriend or wife and still flirts! Good God!<br />A young boy looks over my shoulder as I read, hoping to see the pics you included—creep! I gave him the evil eye, not that he noticed.<br />Then, 15 minutes later, as I read the Reader’s Digest from Ma & Pa, 2 teenaged boys- prolly not more than 20—sit next to me and begin professing their love. They both reek of Marula Brew—a beer made from marula nuts. It’s the season and everyone from young to old—even granny—gets wasted. We tried it when we first got here—part of a medical/cultural class—tastes like fermented yeast. Nasty! Anyway, when I said Hamba! (go) one began telling me how rich he is—has a car, and tv and fridge at home. I asked them several times to go, saying I didn’t care to talk to them. And privately I thought I cannot stand to smell you anymore—marula brew giving an even worse smell when sweated through the pores. I finally got up and walked away, to cat calls from the perpetrators, and jeers from their friends who were watching the exchange. Now, I’m sitting in KFC—yes there’s a KFC here! And I think I’m gonna eat some ice cream. Blah!<br />February 25, 2010- The Gila Monster: A few months ago I saw a lizard outside my window, the kind you’d see gliding across the Arizona desert, scaly and prickly. Not at all like the smooth color-changing geckos that I’ve grown accustomed to sharing my hut. He peered into my window, examining the bugs he could eat. I startled him as I moved closer to the window for a glance at the 6” creature; he quickly scampered along the side of my hut, away from my prying eyes. I’ve seen him a few more times since, each time a little bigger than the last, crawling along the walls. Once he bypassed my door. I’m glad he’s too big to fit under the gap but I still stuff rags under the door just in case. Today, as I entered my homestead I saw him perched on the side of my house. He’s a good 2 feet long now, a little longer if you include the tail, and his body has widened. When I approached, he became anxious and rapidly crawled between the space in my walls and the tin roof. So he’s living in the spaces in my roof? That explains the scratching sounds I occasionally hear; although sometimes that’s the bats that live in the roof spaces also. Oh joy! I’m looking forward to the cabin I’ll inhabit in a few short months at Pasture Valley. A non-tin roof. An indoor bathroom with shower. Hot, running water. A full-sized fridge and sink in the kitchen area. A front loading washer. A combined living room and kitchen but 2 separate bedrooms. And to top it all off, a porch—the icing on the cake, so to speak. Awwww, the little things!<br />February 27, 2010- Bus Ride Home, Rewiring the light fixture and Babysitting: Tomorrow marks 20 months in Swaziland but I swear no two days can ever be the same here. I went to town today; I needed a few necessities as well as a new fixture for my light bulb. At the post office I discovered a package from my dear friend Jenny filled with pictures of her beautiful children as well as coffee, chocolate, lotion and movies. All things I gladly welcome. On my bus ride home I was reading Country magazine, something my parents sent in a package. I usually read something that doesn’t take much concentration or consists of short articles while riding the bus home. Usually it’s the Nebraska Life magazine my parents gave me a subscription to or the Christian Science Monitor from my friend Julia. I never thought I’d enjoy the Nebraska Life magazine as much as I do. It’s fun to read about little out-of-the-way places I’ve never been or thought to go, or things in Omaha or Lincoln I’d forgotten exist. But now I have a mental list of places Mom and I will venture to when I return or adventures I’ll take by myself, like the dog sledding and northern lights trip to Hudson Bay in Canada I was reading about in the Country magazine.<br />As I read Country, the young woman next to me looked over my shoulder at the pictures. She was mesmerized, so I showed her a picture of a snow covered forest in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains. Then I flipped to the beginning and took her through each page, looking at the beauty and wonder of the United States during winter. Each picture of snow caught her breath, and she asked if it was the sea each time. I tried to explain snow to her, and they she realized she’d read about the white stuff in her social studies book in school. To read about something and then to see or experience it are very different things, which was apparent in our exchange. The bus conductor approached for the fare, so I lay the magazine on my lap to pay. She eyed it several times then lightly picked it up to look at the pictures more closely while I fumbled with money. She opened it to the beginning and started to read the first article. She asked me to pronounce a county in Minnesota, one with a very Native American sounding name. She read on. I realized I was have a cross-cultural experience right then, and since I’d read most of the articles already I decided she should take the magazine with her. I took the recipes from the middle, since lately I have a slight obsession with new recipes, and then handed it back to her. She smiled. At the next stop she got off, clutching the magazine to her chest, and as the bus pulled away, I saw her walking home looking at the next article and smiling. I couldn’t help myself; I smiled for her as the bus round the next corner.<br />Once I got home I put my groceries away then set upon my next task. Rewiring the light fixture. I needed to replace the part that holds the bulb in since both notches broke off, and once the bulb heats it fall out or explodes, leaving scattered glass scattered all over my floor. I cut the power in the main house. Then using my trusty multi-purpose leatherman knock-off from Jarrod I disconnected the old fixture and rewired the new one in place. And I did it right.<br />I walked back to the main house to switch on the power. Machawe joked that now I was an electrical engineer. I laughed. Hardly. He was occupying the new OVC Make brought home two weeks ago. While visiting Babe on her last trip, a neighbor begged her to take her son since she couldn’t feed him. Make finally relented after many pleas. He’s a shy five year old named Khayelethu but his nickname is something meaning lazy because he was a lazy baby. I’m not sure how Make will manage to keep him well fed or healthy considering she’s feeding four other OVC’s.<br />Leaving the four in charge of him, she left some time after I did to visit a relative and would not return until the following day. I was busy going through my package so I didn’t notice Zandele, Nomdumiso or Machawe leave. After some time, Khayelethu came to my door, shyly. “Wentani?” I asked (what are you doing?). No answer. “Uyafuna icolor?” (would you like to color?). A mumble. “Angiva?” I ask (I don’t understand/hear). Then he begins speaking quickly in siSwati and tears stream down his face. I don’t understand anything he’s saying but my heart aches for him. I ask him where Zandele and Nomdumiso have gone. I pick out a few words I understand from his crying speech and gather that they’ve gone to do work somewhere. The same goes for Machawe. What about Mcolisi? He points to the house where the boys stay but I conclude that Mcolisi isn’t around either. We walk around the homestead to see if Mcolisi is around. I don’t see him. Asambe (let’s go) I say, and we walk to the soccer pitch to see if anyone there. Nope. I ask Zandele’s friend if she’s seen them. She says the three have gone to take some maize to be ground; she hasn’t seen Mcolosi. We go back to my hut, and I tell him ngena (come in); siyadlala (we are playing.) I let him color while I bake granola. Then I break out the play dough and I teach him to make shapes, numbers, and snakes for close to an hour. He lies down on the grass mat that’s in front of my bed. “Udziniwe?” I ask (are you tired?). Yebo. I imagine him falling asleep on my mat then waking up an hour later hungry, yet the kids aren’t back so there’s no way to get into the main house to get him food. Then what? So I ask if he’s hungry. Ulambile? Yebo. So I boil water for tea, wash some grapes and give him an oatmeal biscuit I made the other day. He begins to gobble the biscuit, and I tell him to eat slowly several times. Small bites. He finally complies. I show him to eat the grapes, and spit the seeds in the bowl; he was just spitting them out on the floor or throwing them across the room. I forgot how messily five year olds eat. Biscuit crumbs are everywhere, and slurped teaspoons of tea drop to the grass mat. I take a breath and try to cultivate patience. Caphela! Careful, I say as he sips the tea. Eventually Zandele and Nomdumiso make their way home. I’m upset with them, and ask for the details. Mcolisi was left with the task of watching him. He’s the most irresponsible, selfish boy I’ve met here. Why did they pick him? I told the girls I wasn’t mad at them, just upset that a 5 year old was left alone. They told me Make would take care of the matter when she gets home; she would beat Mcolisi. I said I wanted to beat him. They laugh at me. I’m half serious. Mcolisi makes his way home sometime after dark, so I haven’t told him how disappointed I am by his actions.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-54453777383796221662010-02-06T21:33:00.000-08:002010-02-15T06:13:12.438-08:00Video: Peace Corps Partnership Project<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzLVxPWh1mztWlrBAE9ZEjzbNNnkG4yBnHiiSOuO0XkRaNslvRi9TT3eTq8PQXlkZPo7rNGCTvFWSTi9VVd0w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-17391161663667245402010-01-24T05:25:00.000-08:002010-01-24T05:54:01.913-08:00<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7oI_-vJwB9X46IwlEnOhf9v7LsZgsWi77lVSyKv-9ZTlNowWfN3j_i86rnhJwg1zRAtYvhgVOH0Jl2opOQlE39sU5HmYploHayJmkhuO7BdHNqCISjcO0csyXcFvqavqeC5flvbckRdb/s1600-h/DSCN0029.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430302420262493618" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis7oI_-vJwB9X46IwlEnOhf9v7LsZgsWi77lVSyKv-9ZTlNowWfN3j_i86rnhJwg1zRAtYvhgVOH0Jl2opOQlE39sU5HmYploHayJmkhuO7BdHNqCISjcO0csyXcFvqavqeC5flvbckRdb/s320/DSCN0029.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXNGH0S-i0yRLjTy0vczbb0glIQsiUTXf3xwz7T29b6EVm7V3NquWZKgYwuqhUxwfXSMPJM0IWR3mKScec36EBrCYPxGqUgJHqArFDeY688KeRzU8LigC_9i86xQ-Z1Aky4o0kx-fYuUV/s1600-h/DSCN0012.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430302404036962386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeXNGH0S-i0yRLjTy0vczbb0glIQsiUTXf3xwz7T29b6EVm7V3NquWZKgYwuqhUxwfXSMPJM0IWR3mKScec36EBrCYPxGqUgJHqArFDeY688KeRzU8LigC_9i86xQ-Z1Aky4o0kx-fYuUV/s320/DSCN0012.jpg" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr61Drp8fOjopBa3RJpGRYiiNyGx2izBC7GELdGOZnDaV3LeIElD091h6xn6-KjVELVAM00b5Ghjb1aSHkc34OS9EZ4gzeWqVnMZ_GkM-Qc7OCcS_7JztbosHCytgJvkJn7deTGqhhspNd/s1600-h/DSCN0023.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430302415505753682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr61Drp8fOjopBa3RJpGRYiiNyGx2izBC7GELdGOZnDaV3LeIElD091h6xn6-KjVELVAM00b5Ghjb1aSHkc34OS9EZ4gzeWqVnMZ_GkM-Qc7OCcS_7JztbosHCytgJvkJn7deTGqhhspNd/s320/DSCN0023.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhP3jTxKF8B31HEXqlx_JBXZlnwcGLjf19HURbnsh9xhbidby5afzJxuWwe_Fukv66z-V30fqkX9RRKvX56LtKXSvEaIkcb3V9OgISyto1UnZU5Lnle5QjU-bcZYs8idwP-G_fTiT6SwL/s1600-h/DSCN0019.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430302404681761058" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhhP3jTxKF8B31HEXqlx_JBXZlnwcGLjf19HURbnsh9xhbidby5afzJxuWwe_Fukv66z-V30fqkX9RRKvX56LtKXSvEaIkcb3V9OgISyto1UnZU5Lnle5QjU-bcZYs8idwP-G_fTiT6SwL/s320/DSCN0019.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div></div></div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-36754334229883210112010-01-24T04:54:00.000-08:002010-01-24T04:57:35.757-08:00Life in Dec 09 and Jan 2010December 7 – 11 2009- Painting Health Signs: As a way to motivate my health club, I suggested we paint health signs around school grounds as a daily reminder for students. I researched appropriate health-related messages, and approved them with the Head Teacher the week classes ended. The three most active members agreed to help me during holiday break. On the day we slated to begin drawing, my sisi, also a member, called the other two members. One was busy without giving a reason; the other was taking her mother to the hospital. So I began drawing the signs; my sisi helped me with the last three, which she picked among the 20 that were approved. It only took us one morning, about 4 hours, to draw the words. The following 3 of the 4 days, I painted the words by myself. Again, there was no word from the other two members, and my sisi was busy in the field, weeding the maize. I convinced Justine to help me one of the days, in exchange for cooking dinner and buying chocolate for dessert; not a tough sell. The signs turned out really well; I even painted the AIDS ribbon next to quotes related to HIV/AIDS. There was a little activity at the school on the days I painted; people stopped to ask what I was doing or to read the signs. The responses seemed positive; I take that as a success.<br /> Below are the messages I painted:<br />The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. Eleanor Roosevelt<br /><br />Education is the most powerful weapon, which you can use to change the world. Nelson Mandela<br />The global HIV/AIDS epidemic is an unprecedented crisis that requires an unprecedented response…it requires solidarity… Kofi Annan<br /><br />The feeling of being valuable - 'I am a valuable person'- is essential to mental health and is a cornerstone of self-discipline. M. Scott Peck<br /><br />…never let anyone tell you that what you are doing is insignificant. Bishop Desmond Tutu<br /><br />Let us give publicity to HIV/AIDS and not hide it, because [that is] the only way to make it appear like a normal illness. Nelson Mandela<br />One Love: Talk – Respect – Protect. One Love Campaign<br />The Head Teacher would like me to paint a new motto for the school; currently the walled gate as you enter says: Fight the Good Fight. He wants the school motto to be a bit more uplifting and positive. He also wants me to paint messages in the assembly hall, which is sometimes used by the community. We’ll work out the details next term. I‘m hoping my health club is more active when that time comes.<br />December 12 2009- Visiting the Orphanage and 21st Birthday Party: Tim and Jamie Cook have been eager for several months to visit Pasture Valley Children’s Home; Justine and I decided to take them this weekend since we planned to be in town already. We’d been invited to a 21st birthday party of the daughter and niece of Make Simelane, the woman we house sit for. The birthday party was supposed to begin at 10, and in true Swazi fashion it began late. Under a tent, the two birthday girls were flanked by friends at a table toward the front of tent. The guests of honor were dressed in hot pink, as were their friends. Their dresses resembled bridesmaid or prom attire; being PC volunteers, arriving everywhere in jeans and t-shirts or well-washed skirts and tees, we felt considerably under-dressed. The celebration was to honor Samke and Khetsiwe for not only turning 21, but also for not getting pregnant or loosing their virginity. Many relatives and friends spoke highly of the girls’ integrity, as well as their passion for education; both are at university. Make narrated the slide show with pictures of them growing up together. The guest speaker, a former teacher of both girls, ended her endearing speech with a toast to long life and happiness. We ate lots of food—also a Swazi tradition at any gathering—drank sodas, a new tradition, and finished with dry cake. We’ve known both girls for about a year but not well; they are genuinely nice every time I see them, and seem ready to share their home or food. I was happy to share this important day with them. It was interesting to me the reason for celebrating a 21st birthday here. When I reflect, it’s also about celebrating a life endured. Had either of them already had sex, both would probably be HIV positive. I don’t want to even think about how being positive would dramatically change their present situation but I can say with certainty that neither would have finished high school much less gone to university. Then I think about the reasons for celebrating a 21st birthday in America. I know every situation is different but we really have forgotten to celebrate LIFE in America; we are too eager to drink our weight in shots or sign up for military service and put our lives at risk. My appreciation for the sanctity of life has gradually taken new meaning thanks to my interaction with Swazi people.<br /> We returned to the children’s home to work off our full bellies with play. The boys were eager to have a male figure to play with; Tim was more than willing to romp on the jungle gym, play tag and teach the boys to throw a football American style. Jamie, being a former cheerleader, taught those willing several cheerleader jumps and gymnastic moves; I followed with yoga poses, namely headstand, crow and bridge. Justine’s approach was cheering and holding the younger children. Eventually the Lego tub came out, and Tim set to building airplanes with eager children sitting around him gleaning his skills. We all took turns holding Gracie, the 5 month old, then ended the afternoon with hugs and high 5’s. Since Michelle and Peter, the owners, were away for the day, we stayed in the cabin behind one of the orphanages. It’s a two bedroom place with shower and combined kitchen and living room. We spent the evening telling stories of the past, listening to Moth and NPR podcasts and lots of music, and drinking wine. Eventually we cooked dinner and I displayed the contents of the package retrieved earlier in the day from the Post Office.<br />It’s rare that Tim and Jamie stray from their homestead, so it was a real treat to spend a weekend with them. Tim is a writer and Jamie is a PT; I feel like I have a lot in common with each, so we never want for conversation. They are the oldest couple in our group; Tim is several months older than me. We always joke about being mkhulu (old man/grandfather) and bogogo (grandmothers). It is also their goal to visit more volunteer homesteads in the coming year; I hope to join them on a few visits.<br /><br />December 14, 2009- Learning Another Lesson:<br />I’m not sure I wholly believe the adage, “home is where the heart is.” I believe that home is where you are happy or where you are able to have a little happiness in some moment every day, wherever you happen to be. I believe this because I have obtained happiness here but my heart is sometimes elsewhere: in Vermillion with the Farmers Market, Coffee Shop Gallery, in my massage practice or with my fabulous friends; at my parent’s place, on the farm, in Nebraska; wondering through the pasture near my parent’s farm; with my family, at holidays or impromptu gatherings; in Sioux City with my massage friends; in the Old Market in Omaha; in the mountains in Colorado; in yoga class; in France; or in places yet to discover. Surprisingly, I find my heart in places I visit here, with friends in my community, and fellow volunteers, as well as with my Swazi family, especially my bosisi. So I’ve discovered my heart is in many places, whether I happen to be happy there or not.<br /> I’ve been reading the book “A New Earth: Awakening to your life’s purpose” by Eckhart Tolle. In a beginning section he talks about the secret of happiness, saying that “being at peace and being who you are, that is, being yourself, are one.” That being at peace, having peace, is letting go of the ego. And that being one with life is being one with Now. One should not seek happiness; if you seek it you won’t find it since happiness is elusive. However “freedom from unhappiness is attainable now, but facing what is rather than making up stories about it. Unhappiness covers up your natural state of well-being and inner peace, the source of true happiness.” Oh, how many times I tried to seek happiness when I first arrived, only to fail and become even more despondent. I thought actively searching for happiness or things or make me happy would make it okay to be here, would make me feel better about being here. Oh my vanity! Oh my ego! It wasn’t until I let go of controlling what would or would not happen, living each day as they came, being as present in each day as possible, that I found happiness had been at my doorstep for months. My fickle friend but of my own making. <br />Even though some days may pass without much recognition of whether I am happy or not happy, and at time I may become melancholy and ride the rollercoaster of emotions, happiness is apart of my every day, apart of me—I am not trying in vain to seek it. It’s just there when I am present enough to feel it.<br /><br /><br />December 15, 2009- Fatty Comment w/ an Ass Pat: I was wearing jeans today, so of course Make made a comment about my bum becoming bigger. “My daughter! She is getting bigger and bigger. Look at her bum. She is becoming like me.” She even went so far as to pat my butt and right thigh as I passed her. Thanks Make. Little does she know that earlier in the day I bought a pair of jeans a size smaller than the pair I bought when I first arrived. My main reason for buying jeans was to have a pair that actually fit for my Cape Town trip. Secondly I thought it might be nice to have a pair that weren’t as tattered as the pair I brought with me. And finally, they were only E40; in US dollars that’s less than $6. After purchasing them I was excited about how well they fit and looked on me, as well as the good deal I got. But after returning home to an ass pat and fatty comment, it’s more about a battle that I won with the war on fatty comments from Make. No matter it’s a silent battle between us, and I’m the only one who knows the war is on. Today I won!<br /><br />December 17, 2009- Plaiting my Hair: My sisi Nomdumiso offered to plait my hair last week, and today I decided to take her up on the offer. I wanted just the front plaited, thinking it wouldn’t take long and thinking it would be nice to have a few braids here and there. We didn’t have the same vision in mind. She plaited everything from my ears forward. Once I realized what she was doing, she was already too far into the process for me to stop her. So I decided to sit quietly, hoping it would turn out. And as things usually do, it worked out well. The small braids took over 2 hours to create, and they were very nicely done. I was very happy with the results. She wants to plait my hair again, next time with colored extensions or with a zigzag design. I’m not objecting.<br /><br />December 18 – 20, 2009- Celebrating my Birthday, Hiking to Mvubu Falls, & Early Christmas at Pasture Valley: Since the people I wanted to help me celebrate my birthday would be at a children’s camp, we met the night before at Café Lingo. An out of the way place in Mbabane, we sat outside drinking wine and eating pizza for the better part of the evening. An African jazz group began playing around 9, and we danced to their upbeat grooves. Then a few of us ventured to House on Fire for more music and dancing. The following afternoon, Victoria, Justine and I set out to find Mvubu Falls. Just a sort distance from Mbabane, Mvubu Falls is an easy hike to 3 beautiful waterfalls. The afternoon sun was warm but since the walk to the falls is mostly tree covered, the only thing we found troubling was the tree snake we happened upon at the beginning of the hike. On Sunday, Justine and I rode with the Country Director and the Medical Officer to Pasture Valley. They wanted to bring Christmas presents to the children and Peter and Michelle, their way of giving at Christmastime. Justine and I sat in the circle of children, helping the little ones open presents, installing batteries and removing tags. To see their faces light up upon discovering the treasure behind the wrapping paper… I cannot even describe how priceless that moment. Then there were treats Michelle made, as well as candy sent from a former volunteer at Pasture Valley. For most this was their first Christmas celebration; for others a reinforcement that they have a family, a home.<br /><br />December 24 – 28, 2009- Celebrating Christmas: Make Simelane asked Justine and I to house sit during the holidays. We gladly accepted. The house was full, as a few Group 7 volunteers stayed with us before they headed out to Durban. No matter. Justine and I were occupied with spending Christmas at Pasture Valley. Peter and Michelle invited us to the Christmas celebration they were planning with the children on Christmas Eve: reading the Christmas story, opening presents from Michelle’s father and sister, opening presents from their neighbors, eating Christmas treats, singing carols, and watching a movie. It felt more like Christmas than last year, and I heartily welcomed the change. Christmastime seems more festive when children are involved; their wonder and excitement at presents, eating too much food and learning Christmas songs is endearing, especially the children at Pasture Valley. Everything they were given was accepted with a thank you, a knee bend and a smile, no matter what was being given. They were genuinely appreciative, and that would warm the heart of any scrooge.<br />The next day, Christmas Day, Justine and I took sugar cookies we’d made the night before to lunch. We made green and pink icing before lunch, then after we showed them how to decorate their own cookie, many enjoying theirs piled with green and pink icing. After playing games, coloring and teaching them how to use their new outdoor toys, we headed back to Make Simelane’s and joined G7 in Christmas dinner. The next day G7 left for Durban, and Justine and I enjoyed a quiet house, watching movies and eating our Christmas dinner—orange chicken—after cleaning the house in preparation for Make’s arrival the following day. It was not the most relaxing Christmas I was hoping for but the time with the children at Pasture Valley was uplifting, and just what I needed, for me the essence of Christmas.<br />December 29-30, 2009- The Train Trip to Cape Town:<br />The land outside Jo’burg resembles the Midwestern<br />plains—lots of farm land, many trees and herds of cattle.<br />Shortly, the landscape gives way to rolling hills and scrub brush, reminding me of eastern Colorado. The sky holds 3 shades of blue, and<br />increasingly fills with clouds as we traverse west.<br />Each of us in our own zone.<br />The train is crowded, and we struggle for our own space.<br />Except for the mix of languages I hear around me, I could easily be traveling thru the heartland of America, searching for mountains I love and seeking wine country in the distance.<br />Road tripping with three unforgettable friends. Oh the adventures to come.<br /><br />A rain cloud directly over the train, it begins to rain. I reluctantly edge the window up a little to avoid getting wet, and at the urging of a fellow passenger.<br />But I don’t close it completely; I want to feel the cool clean air on my face and smell the fresh crispness it brings.<br />It keeps the train car from becoming too stifling, keeps me from smelling my own sweat and the stench of 80 others in this car.<br /><br />Back to more scrub brush and flat land.<br />Several windmills rapidly spin in the wind.<br />In the distance, a storm brews, the sky is a blue grey.<br />Rays of sunlight pierce thru clouds but the sun doesn’t fool me.<br />We are driving into a storm, and I anticipate the erratic energy it will bring.<br /><br />The rains come again, at a slant, struggling to fall against the wind.<br />I love storms, and on the train it seems even more romantic and ominous. Sadly the rain doesn’t last long; the drops are enough to wet the windows.<br />We’re back to blue skies peeking thru the clouds.<br />I open my window once again.<br /><br />December 30-<br />My sleep is fitful, and I grow cold toward morning so I rise to look out my window. The buttes in the distance are mist covered, the plains and scrub brush a solid tan. The sun rises 30 minutes later, around 5:30, like a precocious child, quickly and without remorse, transforming everything into golden.<br />The train is mostly quiet, still.<br />My companions slumber without want.<br />Several travelers shift in their sleep, trying in vain to<br />find comfort in their seats.<br />A two-year-old chatters to her groggy mother.<br /><br />The train pauses and more people begin to stir, some rising to stretch, others stumbling their way to the toilet.<br />It’s morning time in Africa. The day always begins early and immediate with activity.<br /><br />With the sun at my back, I slowly thaw and begin my coffee daydream.<br />As we discovered last night this train doesn’t have a kitchen car.<br />Coffee will remain a daydream. My eyelids become increasingly heavy, and I resist the urge to let them close fully.<br />Sleep deprivation triumphs, and I fall asleep for another hour.<br /><br />We’re heading toward the Western Cape.<br />Mountains spring up, sharp and rocky, reminding me of Colorado.<br />My spirit feels renewed. I feel alive and refreshed. I feel like I’m home.<br /><br />Nestled under the foothills are rows and rows of grape vines; wine country is near.<br /><br />The train’s multinationals talked politics and passion for their country since last night. Mugabe. The state of Zimbabwe. Apartheid in all nations. Language and terminiology. Lack of jobs. The division of the Congo- now two separate countries. Some conversations become heated usually due to inebriation.<br />Those people walk away or someone works to keep the peace. But most people become fast friends, even thru the arguments, and look after each other.<br /><br />Several groups have adopted us—making it their mission to make the only white girls on the train comfortable and welcome.<br />The men from the Congo give us tips for places to visit in Cape Town. One woman walks us to get food during a train interlude. Another buys us ice cream for breakfast. A man offers his wife’s hair dressing services; he says she would plait our hair and make us really beautiful.<br />The two-year-old takes turns playing with each of us, inquiring about our belongings in Zimbabwean.<br />Siswati is somewhat similar, so I ask her questions.<br />But her English isn’t bad, so I point to things and she repeats what I say almost perfectly.<br /><br />We arrive in Cape Town to afternoon heat,<br />anxious to explore the city but desperate for showers.<br />Cleanliness wins out, and we hail a taxi to the backpackers.<br /><br />Anne’s plane should be landing.<br />I am anxious once again, waiting for her call.<br />We meet a few hours later for pizza and beers.<br />We meet Ryan, her PC friend from the DR and his fiancé, Ali.<br />We make plans to hike the next morning.<br />I go home with them.<br />Anne and I talk as long as we can before sleep beckons.<br /><br />She is in Africa.<br />I am on vacation.<br />Life is good.<br /><br />December 31, 2009- Cape Town, Day 1:<br />Hiked Lion’s Head<br />Lunch at Café de Cuba on Long Street<br />Exploring Long Street, hoping to find a cute dress, to no avail<br />Finding Green Market Square<br />Happy hour at the No Happy Hour bar, watching taxi<br />drivers play cards in the trunk of one car.<br />New Year’s Eve celebration at Green Market Square- coffee and hummus<br />at the Kurdish place, dinner there later w/ the girls,<br />salsa music playing at the Kurdish place,<br />bands begin to play, we begin to dance.<br />New Year’s Eve with a few fireworks, anticlimactic,<br />but enjoyed with friends. It’s 2010; I’m<br />in a foreign country.<br /><br />January 1, 2010- Cape Town, Day 2:<br />Bo Kaap district- Malay community, we<br />discover a festival, a minstrel show to honor<br />their culture and the new year; traditionally<br />the one day per year<br />they got off from work.<br />People of all ages in each group, dressed<br />in bright costumes, playing instruments, singing<br />and dancing, marching thru<br />the streets where vibrantly colored houses<br />stand, celebrating life. We watch<br />for hours, each group louder and jollier<br />than then last. Bystanders and community members<br />get caught up in the action,<br />and sing and dance with minstrels along<br />the way. Everyone is laughing. Everyone<br />is enjoying.<br /><br />We learn later that it’s become a competition<br />among minstrel groups, who can play and<br />march the best. The competition begins<br />at 11pm, and groups march throughout<br />the night along the main street, with<br />the top groups giving a final performance<br />at the stadium. Sometime is takes<br />two days, sometimes 3. They celebrate<br />for as long as they need.<br /><br />We decide to get food, Vietnamese, then<br />venture along Long Street for possible night life. We<br />discover many bars open and people sitting along<br />the festival route, finding<br />good seats. We get a beer at one place<br />with a surly bartender; out tip is minimal.<br />We watch the festival begin, then<br />shortly make our way to sleep.<br /><br />January 2, 2010- Cape Town, Day 3:<br />I sleep until 9, the latest I’ve slept in a long<br />while. Anne’s jet leg is kicking in; I tell her to<br />sleep as long as she needs. I call<br />car rental places, hoping something is available<br />for touring wine country. Nothing is<br />available until Monday.<br />The day is hot but Table Mt is clear, a<br />first since our arrival; I want to<br />take advantage of it. Anne says she<br />will take the cable car to the top. The<br />other girls want a cooler day to hike, and<br />opt for Simon’s Town. I hike<br />it on 2 hours, 20 minutes. The route I take<br />is like climbing stairs in an old house, narrow<br />in some places, steep, and immediate. The altitude<br />bothers me at first, but after trekking<br />one-fourth of the way, I find my chi<br />breath, and take my time climbing the stair steps.<br />I meet Anne at the top, feeling a huge sense of<br />accomplishment. We discover later the high for<br />the day was 44 degrees C (or 111 degrees F). I pat<br />myself of the back again.<br />We make our way to the V & A Waterfront<br />for Thai food and cold drinks with<br />pineapple garnishes. I hear Hot Water playing<br />at the amphitheater; they played<br />at House on Fire last New Year’s Eve.<br />Thai food and good music, perfect combination.<br />We meet the girls at the<br />Green Dolphin Jazz Bar later for drinks.<br />We make plans for tomorrow.<br />January 3, 2010- Cape Town, Day 4:<br />Anne and I both sleep in; the girls<br />are hiking Table Mountain, and we’re<br />meeting them once they finish.<br />We walk to the Table Mt entrance, then take<br />an expensive cab ride to the Botanical<br />Gardens. It’s beautiful. I seek out<br />my favorite African flower, Protea,<br />along the way; I need to see nothing else.<br /><br />The girls go back to their hostel to<br />shower; we will meet them at La Med<br />later. Anne and I walk towards the<br />promenade. We eye a gelato shoppe<br />along the way. She gets granadilla aka<br />passion fruit; I abandon my standard<br />chocolate for lemon. We happily lick our<br />way to the Indian Ocean, and<br />imagine we can see all the way<br />to South America. Would we see Brazil?<br /><br />La Med is the happening spot for the 20 something’s,<br />hipsters, and wanna-be’s. As Anne says,<br />“it’s the scene!” We feel slightly<br />outta place, but enjoy the scenery. The<br />bar, complete with outdoor patios, is on<br />the beach. Goldfish is slated<br />to play. Anne and I leave early; only Goldfish<br />remixes are playing, and we want to say<br />farewell to Ryan and Ali; they are headed to<br />Thailand tomorrow.<br /><br />January 4, 2010- The Trip, Day 5:<br />We pick up the rental car. Hurray,<br />they have an automatic. We pick up the<br />girls and head to Simon’s Town to see<br />penguins, and the gorgeous beaches. We long<br />to stay. We drive back up the coast to<br />Muizenberg. After lunch at an<br />organic coffee shop, we bid<br />Vic and Mar adieu. Jenn, Anne, and I<br />begin our journey back to Swaziland<br />via the Garden and Wilderness Routes.<br /><br />Anne quickly masters driving on the right<br />sides of the car and road. I try my skills<br />later, once she tires of the wind<br />and concentration of passing people…there are<br />no rules for passing in Africa; you go when you can, where<br />you can.<br /><br />I haven’t driven a car in 18 months. Surprisingly<br />it’s like riding a bike, and I remember<br />instantly; after 5 minutes<br />of nervousness about driving on<br />the right, I’m like an old pro.<br /><br />We decide to stop in Knysna, a quaint town<br />famed for it’s lagoon harbor, protected<br />by the sea by two sandstone cliffs. South<br />Africa’s largest commercial oyster-farming<br />Center is based in the lagoon. We<br />find the backpackers quite friendly. The<br />friend of the owner shares his extra veggies<br />with us; we make a curry dish and<br />grilled cheese sammies. They also<br />recommend a close bar to enjoy<br />a few Windhoek, a beer made<br />in Namibia. During the<br />night, the owner rushes in to<br />alert the drivers of a white Toyota<br />that it’s been vandalized, and to come quite;<br />the police are waiting. We panic for a moment,<br />then remember out white car is a Chevy.<br /><br />January 5, 2010- The Trip, Day 6:<br />After yoga and a long hot shower, we<br />pick up coffee and breakfast. We head to the<br />lagoon look-out point, enjoying scones, hot<br />coffee and the view.<br />How far will we drive today? Let’s see<br />where we are around 5. The Garden Route<br />is a majestic stretch of coastline, encompassing<br />mountains, rivers, lagoons, lakes, beaches, and<br />indigenous forests. In 1780, the French<br />naturalist, Francois Le Vaillant, wrote: “Nature<br />has made an enchanted abode of this beautiful<br />place.” Enchanted is it, and each town is<br />quainter and boasts more activities than<br />the next. Jenn decides Coffee Bay, along<br />the Wild Coast, is our<br />final destination for the day. The Wild Coast<br />is an adventurers paradise, with rugged cliffs,<br />untouched coastlines, sheltered bays, pounding<br />breakers and dense coastal forest.<br />Beautiful. Yes. It lifts our spirits<br />until we discover the road to Coffee Bay<br />is littered with potholes and 62 km from<br />the main highway. It took 2 ½ hrs to drive. We<br />arrive dejected, exhausted, in need of food, and a<br />bed. We’re welcomed by Rasta look-alikes, old hippies,<br />young hippies and extreme sport enthusiasts. We lurk on the<br />edge of the excitement, waiting for the manager<br />to assign us a dorm. Then Jenn says, “maybe we<br />should gets beers while we wait?!” Anne and I<br />nod in agreement; might as well join the<br />festivities. Eventually we’re<br />shown to our beds, but after quick<br />discussion and since the beers have<br />already gone to our heads, we<br />join the crowd around the camp fire<br />and drink more beers. Anne and I realize this<br />is our first time getting drunk together. We cheers<br />to that. Close to 1 am, Anne and I stumble to our<br />beds, leaving Jenn catching the eye of a<br />fellow camper.<br /><br />January 6, 2010- The Trip, Day 7:<br />After little sleep we rise to get an early<br />start on the final leg, the drive<br />to Durban. We traverse the<br />potholes in half the time it took<br />last night. We stop for breakfast and<br />coffee at a rest stop, and look thru<br />the guide book for a place to stay. Anne<br />is tired of backpackers; she offers<br />to spring for a nice place. I make<br />reservations at Durban Manor. The<br />drive is uneventful; Anne and I take turns<br />driving and sleeping. Jenn sleeps most of the<br />way. We pass the edge of Drakensberg Park, and<br />I must resist the urge to steer the<br />car that direction. Another trip.<br />We over-estimate the amount of time<br />it will take; we arrive in Durban during<br />rush hour, but successfully find the drop-<br />off for the rental car, and walk a short distance<br />to the Durban Manor. It’s a turn-of-the century<br />mansion. The room is spacious but the<br />hall is eerily quiet. It feels mysterious, and quite like<br />a haunted house. We crash on the<br />bed and turn on the television. We unwind<br />watching a movie, then shower, get ready, and<br />walk to Roma’s Revolving Restaurant. The Italian<br />food hits the spot and a<br />360 degree view of the city is lovely<br />but service is poor; we wait<br />45 minutes for our bill. Once back to the<br />mansion we feel like we’re being spied on; I<br />wish is explore this haunted place but sleep calls<br />to me strongly.<br /><br />January 7, 2010- The Trip, Day 8:<br />One no is moving quickly. I lazily hit the snooze<br />alarm twice. I finally force myself up; Jenn and Anne<br />reluctantly follow.<br />Breakfast is served in the breakfast nook,<br />where we’re waited on by a butler, of sorts,<br />dressed in a black waistcoat, and carrying a<br />towel over his left forearm. We feel transferred<br />to a different time and place, but our dress<br />makes us feel out of context.<br />The receptionist hails us a cab. We want<br />to make one stop before heading to<br />Swaziland. The Victoria St. Market, a market filled<br />with smells, tastes and wares from India. We smell<br />incense, taste spices, and peruse over 100 stalls, selling<br />everything from jewelry, fabrics, spices, ceramics and clothing.<br />The building is striking enough; it features 11 domes,<br />each modeled after a notable building in India. The<br />bazaar is noisy, but crowds are minimal today. I buy<br />two pair of earrings, one made from banana<br />leaves, the other from springbok bones. I buy<br />sandalwood and nag champa incense, and vanilla beans;<br />I want to try my hand at making vanilla essence. Later<br />I wish I would have bought masala spice. We<br />wait for 2 hours for the khombi to Swaziland to leave.<br />We pass the time eating litchi, listening to music, and<br />recalling the long drive, each of us longing to return to<br />explore a different place<br />along the Garden and Wilderness Routes. The drive<br />is mostly uneventful except for a moment near<br />St. Lucia. Two vehicle-loads of men dressed in all black<br />with machine guns pile out and surround a truck with 2 men<br />inside. As we speed quickly passed, we hear gunfire. Our<br />fellow passengers say SA is cracking down<br />on criminals. We hope they had the right perpetrators; I saw<br />one man’s face—he seemed surprised and scared.<br />We cross the border at Lavumisa, and I breathe a sigh of<br />relief. It feels good to be home. Anne removes her camera,<br />to capture the rainbow that appears after<br />a short rain. She says, “This looks like Africa.” It’s my<br />idea of Africa too. We stay with my<br />Salesian friends in Manzini. Their shower<br />feels amazing as I remove the travel from<br />my body.<br />January 8, 2010- The Trip, Day 9:<br />We take our pile of dirty clothes to the Laundromat. After<br />coffee with we head to the Manzini market<br />and Jenn heads home. The market is quiet for<br />a Thursday, normally it’s biggest selling day. Anne<br />finds great gifts for family and friends; I find<br />thin acrylic yarn, perfect for braiding necklaces. Once<br />we pick up our laundry, we run to catch the last bus to Nhlangano<br />with only a few minutes to spare. I become<br />increasingly excited to share the journey to my<br />place and my site with Anne. In Nhlangano we<br />purchase fruits and veggies then hop on the bus<br />to my site. Bomake greet us; Anne comments on the<br />friendliness of the bus and it’s occupants, and I smile. This<br />is my bus. These are my people. I am on my way home.<br /><br />We arrive at site to find only Zandele home. Make has<br />been gone since before Christmas; she is staying<br />with Babe. As I unpack<br />Anne reads my walls and looks at<br />all the pictures I’ve accumulated. She thinks my<br />place is homey. It really is. I need water, so<br />she helps me fetch it with the wheelbarrow. I make<br />popcorn for supper, and we spend the<br />evening listening to music and chatting.<br />January 9, 2010- The Trip, Day 10:<br />I take Anne to see the primary and<br />secondary schools; I want to show her<br />the health signs I painted. On the way home,<br />the neighbor boy hands me one of Make’s<br />chickens; it had gotten out and he caught it.<br />I reluctantly take the chicken, and carry it<br />home. Anne thinks it’s funny and takes a<br />photo. I give her a disgusted look. For lunch,<br />Anne teaches me to make bean burgers. We sit outside under<br />the rondoval to eat; my hut is too hot. After lunch,<br />we continue sitting outside; I teach her<br />to crochet. We crochet all afternoon. She makes<br />two potholder for me. My sisi<br />visits us from time to time, and I share the<br />chocolate Anne bought me with her. Eventually<br />her friends visit, and we dance, and perform head-<br />and handstands in the front yard. Anne records<br />them on her Flip; they are fascinated. She requires them<br />to perform if they want to be filmed. A few sing the<br />Swazi national anthem; others dance.<br />We make my Mom’s cereal treat recipe, and I<br />write it down for Anne; it’s her favorite treat<br />and memory of my mom’s house as a child. I make<br />liphalisi for supper—maize meal and water cooked. I<br />show her how Swazi’s eat it with their hands. She<br />enjoys the experience as much as the taste.<br />January 10, 2010- The Trip, Day 11:<br />I make maize meal pancakes for brunch as<br />Anne begins a scarf. She helps me make<br />fabric beads, and I begin putting together<br />a prototype mobile. It takes space nicely. We<br />walk to my friend Phindile’s house in the afternoon,<br />taking her some cereal treats. She offers us mango,<br />and we gladly accept. It’s my favorite type of<br />mango, the large ones without stringy palp, sweet<br />but not too sweet. We stay a few hours, then head home<br />the back way. I boil water for Anne’s first<br />bucket bath. In the DR she had a tile floor with<br />a drain. I tell her not to worry about splashing<br />water on the cement floor; it wipes up<br />easily. I create a makeshift curtain; she bathes<br />while I begin preparing supper, veggie pizza with<br />mangos. I take a piece to Zandele and<br />invite her to hang with us. We play UNO, then<br />teach Anne to play sisu, a Swazi card<br />game; sisu means stomach. Zandele has a cold;<br />she leaves early to go to bed. I download pictures<br />to my computer from Anne’s camera.<br />January 11, 2010- The Trip, Day 12:<br />I make New Year’s treats for the clinic staff. We<br />both repack our bags, and I try to clean my hut<br />as best as possible. I introduce Anne to my clinic<br />family. They instantly love her. I give her a tour, and<br />take her to see the project I’m trying to help<br />them with. She makes a video of the buildings<br />as well as me explaining the need for the project; she<br />wants to put something together for my blog and<br />perhaps Facebook. We take the 11 am bus, and meet Justine<br />and Jaci in town for lunch at Richfield’s. I catch up<br />with them; we talk about out trips, upcoming<br />projects, upcoming trips. Then Anne and I head<br />to Pasture Valley. We play all afternoon with<br />the children. She loves the painted preschool room<br />and the map. Buhle falls asleep in her lap; Piwa in mine.<br />Michelle arrives late afternoon. We<br />go with her to their house. We chat about the craft<br />project. Peter joins us later, tells us there is<br />too much craft talk, and offers us a beer. We<br />eat supper with Michelle and Peter and their children.<br />January 12, 2010- The Trip, Day 11:<br />Michelle offers us a ride to town; we gladly accept<br />and talk crafts all the way to town. I tell her<br />I want to be as involved as possible. I think<br />she’s relieved to know there will<br />be help. I tell her I want to extend my PC<br />service at Pasture Valley. She’s excited. For how<br />long? Will 6 months work? Yes, of course. Yah!<br />Good! Anne and I venture to<br />Manzini; we find the khombi that will take us<br />through Ezulweni Valley. Our first stop is<br />Rosecrafts and Swazi Candles. We have lunch<br />at Sambane Tea Garden, then go to Swazi candles<br />to watch crafters shape the candles. One guy has<br />worked there for 20 years, another for 10 years.<br />Then it’s Baobab Batiks, the weaving place, the<br />jewelry place, and finally the individual vendors. She<br />finishes her gift list. Our second stop is<br />Malendela’s. We shop at Gone Rural, and she<br />finds grass placemats for herself. We have a<br />few beers, then tour House on Fire. She’s amazed<br />at the detail in the carving on the walls. Our<br />wait for the khombi to Mbabane is short. We make<br />our way to Jason’s backpacking place. We drink<br />wine in the backyard; she sits in the hammock, I on<br />a lounge chair near the pool. We make<br />gazpacho for supper, and go to bed early.<br />January 13, 2010- The Trip, Day 12:<br />I take Anne to the PC office; I have a mid-morning<br />VAC meeting. I log her onto a computer, and she<br />happily uses the computer, content to be in<br />our lounge, as if she’s a PC volunteer again. She meets<br />Jason and Connor, two guys in my group, as<br />well as many staff members. Victoria stops in<br />too, and they keep each other company during<br />my meeting. My meeting is short, and while<br />I wait for her to finish in the internet, I<br />open a package from my former boss. It’s filled<br />with everything I was needing: chocolate, new flip flops,<br />lotions, Christmas decorations, lip balm, books. The letter<br />is sweet, and I gladly read and think of work times.<br />We repack one bag to take with us, necessities only, then grab<br />borrowed tents and sleeping bags. We meet Jenn, Jaci and her PC<br />friend from Moz in Manzini. We find the bus to Lomahasha; it<br />will take drop us by Hlane Game Reserve. We reserve<br />space on the 5:30 am game drive. After<br />getting passed an ostrich to get to the camp<br />and setting up our tents, we walk to the<br />watering hole to watch the rhinos and hippos<br />frolic. A few warthogs sidle up to water’s edge. We drink<br />Windhoek and watch their nightly routine. Afternoon<br />slowly slips into evening, and we think about building<br />a fire to roast hotdogs and coconut marshmallows. An<br />elephant grazes on the opposite side of the<br />fence near our camp while we cook. The girls want<br />up-close pictures, and tip toe toward the fence.<br />I hang back, screening my body with<br />the trunk of a tree; I am awed<br />by elephants’ power, majesty, peacefulness. The<br />camera flashes disturb him, and he rushes<br />the fence a few times to warn us that he<br />is boss. By 8:30 it is dark, and we retire to<br />our respective tents, trying with great effort to find<br />comfort on the solid dirt ground.<br />January 14, 2010- The Trip, Day 13:<br />Five o’clock comes early. We rise quietly, apply<br />sunscreen, don hats or bandanas, and saunter<br />toward the office. Our driver is ready. The<br />game drive is 2 ½ hours and we manage is spot<br />warthogs, impala, ostrich, elephant, inyala, white<br />rhinos, hippos, a lone lion, two turles, several golden<br />spiders, a blind snake and a few crocs. Our driver<br />tells a story about a drive he did a few<br />years ago where an elephant charged the truck,<br />knocking it over and injuring several passengers. He<br />is apprehensive about elephants but had no problem<br />getting quite close to the lion. According to him,<br />lion’s don’t care; when they are tired of the attention<br />they will walk away. So he drove us very close<br />to the lion. Had I been outside the truck, I could have<br />taken 2 steps and been right next his hind legs. A little too<br />close for me. After breaking camp, the girls showered.<br />A guide offers us a lift to Manzini for free; we patiently<br />waited for him. We go our separate ways in Manzini Mall. I have<br />another meeting at the office, which gives Anne the chance<br />to check her flight status. Then we get some Indian food,<br />and eat it blissfully at the outside tables. Back<br />to the backpackers, we take showers, then<br />sit on the patio wanting to enjoy the last<br />hours of sunlight. Anne transfers her<br />purse contents into the new purse I’d given her, giving<br />me things she doesn’t need anymore. Once<br />it grows chilly, we sit at the table inside; I<br />write the siSwati words and phrases I taught her<br />in her journal, as well as my Swazi friends’ names.<br />We play Scrabble in later; she beats my by 10 points.<br /><br />January 15, 2010- The Trip, Day 14:<br />We sleep in until 9; it feels good.<br />I want to do yoga, and Anne joins me wanting some<br />stretching before the long hours on the plane. Fresh<br />mangos and litchi, one last time, for breakfast. Jason<br />gives us a lift downtown. We negotiate a<br />fair ride with a taxi driver to the airport. Her<br />flight leaves at 2:20pm; we wait in the lounge.<br />I teach her to crochet a flower; it’s confusing. I<br />promise to send her instructions. She’s<br />disgusted with her scarf, and pulls it out. She<br />confesses that she planned to wait until on<br />the plane to redo it, so I wouldn’t know. But I<br />tell her that I knew she’d do that; she’s a<br />perfectionist, like me. Boarding begins at 2pm;<br />I bid her farewell. I’m sad to see her go, and<br />wait to shed tears until I leave the terminal,<br />keeping a happy face on until she passes security<br />and out of my view. It was a great<br />visit. I beginning walking to town; a khombi<br />offers me a lift to Manzini. I catch the half 3 bus to Nhlangano<br />and the 5 o’clock to my site. My vacation is over. My<br />cousin is gone. I am back home, felling slightly<br />blah, but ready for the month ahead. I have<br />projects to accomplish; I’m eager to start and<br />finish them.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-42376310364177087172009-12-03T22:49:00.000-08:002009-12-03T22:52:35.037-08:00Life in November, 2009November 4, 2009- Final Exams: My 6th graders take final exams; I just found out today. They begin next week, so my time with them is finished. I’m actually a little sad. Had I known in advance, I would have tried to do more recycled art projects with them. We were going to make bugs out of egg cartons and styrofoam and plant a jacaranda seed in decorated tin cans. Oh well. The BBC Plant Earth series was a hit, so I’m glad they were able to watch two episodes. In addition, we were able to string their handmade paper beads with plastics ones—left from a Group 5’er—which was a huge treat for them. Nonetheless, I was hoping to teach a few more lessons about recycling, to hammer that concept home; alas, it is left undone. I do plan to give each student an Earth Day activities book before terms ends, something to take home, read and remember.<br /><br />November 6, 2009- Steroid Injection in my Foot: Long story short, my PCMO believes I have chronic tendonitis due to scar tissue build-up from previous stress fractures. After consulting the orthopedic doctor at the Mbabane Clinic, both recommended a cortisone injection in my foot to decrease the inflammation. According to Peace Corps, this is the next level of conservative measures, and if it’s successful I should get another in 3 months. So I agreed since I’m desperate for something to work. The doctor warned me that there’s a 10% chance it will not work, as it doesn’t work for everyone. I’m also supposed to refrain from a lot of walking for two weeks. Then I’m allowed to test my foot with small walking/running sessions. While injecting me, the doctor suggested I take up another exercise, like biking. The doctor should see my site.<br /><br />November 11, 2009- My 16th Fatty Comment: My Make believes my butt and hips are becoming bigger and bigger, and I’m guessing that makes me more and more her daughter since Swazi’s consider weight gain a sign of happiness and an acceptance of them as your family. I keep telling her I am the same shape as the day I came, maybe even more toned but that I am very happy to be here. Yet lately, every time I wear my sarong or a pair of pants, she comments on my shape, in particular my thighs; I’m guessing she associates it to me not running. I used to defend myself because it’s not an easy thing to hear as frequently as I do. Now I just shake my head and walk away. There is no convincing her, and I cannot handle her saying it twice in a row.<br /><br />November 12, 2009- Writing a poem on a rainy day:<br />November 12, 2009<br /><br />It’s been raining since noon. I<br />occupy myself with a sentimental story,<br />then a sentimental comedy-<br />this makes me want a cigarette.<br /><br />I smoke it as a storm rolls in;<br />thunder, lightning, and rain<br />barrage my hut.<br /><br />I light incense to cover the smell of smoke<br />and continue smoking by my back window,<br />watching the rain thrash the corn.<br /><br />I wonder how close lightning could strike<br />without striking me. I dare it with reckless<br />haughtiness. “How close will you come?” I taunt.<br />Does it know I could strike back too?<br /><br /><br />This evening seems like a cigarette smoking<br />evening. The rain beckons the smoke.<br />Slowly the past begins beckoning my thoughts,<br />and as I meditate on each inhale, it forces<br />me to recall the past.<br /><br />I long for company; yet I am alone<br />in my solitude- always alone<br />-making my desire to know the<br />potential all that much greater.<br />With each lightning strike I feel the need to know become more<br />unbearable, and I reach out<br />only to be struck.<br /><br /><br />This evening is suited for smoking<br />cigarettes and drinking wine.<br />Stormy weather seems to beckon in me<br />thoughts of the past; melancholy rolls in,<br />and I long for company.<br /><br /><br /><br />November 14, 2009- Writing an article for SoJo: Two elected volunteers edit our monthly newsletter for staff and volunteers, The Swazi So Journal, affectionately dubbed SoJo. The volunteers serve a 1-year term, then the new group votes in two new volunteers from their group. Our group decided to require 4 - 5 random volunteers each month to submit articles to fill the newsletter pages; staff are required to submit monthly. Articles range from volunteer projects, vacation spots worthy of volunteer time and money, book reviews, recipes, funny or interesting stories about our communities, and sometimes how to make something from scratch, like a rug from plastic bags. I submitted an article a few months ago on the benefits of yoga and basic meditation. I included an easy to begin meditation guide.<br />The editors are always looking for submissions; and since our group is phasing out as the main contributors, I decided to submit another article before year-end. It follows below.<br /><br />A lesson in compassion<br />by Jennifer Gaspers<br /><br />“Do not utter words in friendship that can be used in animosity.” –Yogi Bhajan<br /><br />While thumbing through Yoga Magazine, I happened upon an article about creating connections in this busy, mad world we inhabit. The article, geared toward families with children, talks about how we take our family unit for granted, “presuming they will always be there when we need them.” Learning to create a strong relationship, mutually with conscious communication, is essential for a sense of trust among those you’re in contact with daily. This concept easily applies to life in general, but particularly to Peace Corps service. Currently we live within several ‘family units’—our homestead family, the Peace Corps family, and fellow volunteers we chose to adopt as extended family. At times, it can be quite dysfunctional, but I would rather choose the lunacy over having nothing or no one to call ‘family’ here. Therefore, my interactions with ‘family’ are most effective when performed with compassion, awareness, and humanity, especially if I wish to remain a vital member within the family unit. Partly I choose to conduct my interactions with great care because my desire for a sense of family is a selfish need. Nonetheless, shouldn’t we always take great care with those we love or interact with daily? After all, how else do we learn about others unless we are willing to actively Sit with them, listening with compassion and speaking our words with honesty and loving kindness. Below is a piece of the article in which the author gives a few tips on how to implement conscious communication. The guidelines are great suggestions for daily living, whether at home or in Swaziland. Namaste, my family.<br /><br />Conscious Communication by Indra Singh (taken from Yoga Magazine)<br /> When we communicate it is important to do our best to communicate from the heart; it takes practice and involves being aware of what you say to others before you actually say it.<br /> Try not to speak unnecessarily. Words can have a profound effect once they have been spoken.<br /> Treat those around you with the respect you wish to be treated with and communication will flourish between you and your family members.<br /> Yogi Bhajan, master of kundalini yoga, created five rules for harmonious communication:<br />· You are communicating for a better tomorrow, not to spoil today.<br />· Whatever you are going to say is going to live forever and you have to live through it, therefore take care you don’t have to live through the mud of your communication.<br />· One wrong word said can do much more wrong than you can even imagine or even estimate.<br />· Words spoken are a chance for communication—don’t turn them into war.<br />· When you communicate you have to communicate again, don’t make the road rough.<br /><br />“If you are not aware of someone else then in reality you are not aware of yourself.”<br />–Yogi Bhajan<br /><br /><br />November 14 -15, 2009- Passing time during a rainy weekend:<br /><br />The Road goes ever on and on<br />Down from the door where it began.<br />Now far ahead the Road has gone,<br />And I must follow, if I can,<br />Pursuing it with eager feet,<br />Until it joins some larger way<br />Where many paths and errands meet,<br />And whither then? I cannot say.<br />-J.R.R. Tolkien<br /><br />Yesterday and today, I spent most of my morning and early afternoon stringing beads. These are the paper beads I’ve been rolling since August. I had quite a pile growing, so I decided to try my hand at stringing them. I’ve strung necklaces before but this time I wanted something edgier. Studying the glass bead necklace my friend Amy made, I discovered the string is braided. I pulled out my cross-stitch floss and began braiding. I started by braiding the same colors together, then I intertwined grey-blue with grey, grey-blue with black, and grey-blue with chocolate brown. I also had some braiding cord, which I intertwined with the floss. The result was the right amount of edge for the beads I’d made. As Swazis say, bah bops or kukahle…it’s good! In two days, I made twelve necklaces, and it was so much fun. The entire time I was stringing, I was thinking of other ways to display my beads; I want to make some earrings once I find findings, and I envisioned paper bead mobiles.<br />Within the last few weeks, I’ve found my creative hands again, for which I am thankful; to feel inspired is a gift I welcome. After being so restless from not running, I was eager to find something equally satisfying. Making paper beads is by far more creative and better for me spiritually and emotionally but nothing compares to the physical high and mental release of running. I have another week, and then I am testing out my foot! YAH!<br /><br />November 16, 2009- Unseasonable Weather: This year’s October and November weather have been much cooler than last year. Today was 13 degrees C! I can see my breath as I type; it feels like winter, and honestly compares to October nights in Nebraska or South Dakota. I’ve been wearing several layers, and socks and mitten to bed again; I lie under 2 doubled blankets. Burr!!!! The last few weeks it’s been raining every few days for 2 – 3 days at a time. When the rain comes in torrents, which is usually at least once or twice during the 2 – 3 day period, water runs under my door. Silently I thank myself for the good decision of purchasing a mop each time I use it.<br />Last year those kinds of rains came in January and February. I’m ready for the rainy season to be done but I must endure until March. On the up side, the countryside it greening nicely, the corn is growing well, and the flowers I planted in front of my hut are in full bloom. I planted lisela (in siSwati it means thief- they say it ‘steals’ the snakes away), a bulb plant that looks and smells very much like spring garlic with a large purple flower head and marigolds, which are blooming shades of orange- buttery orange, dark orange, and burnt orange all mixed together with pale yellow. They are supposed to keep the snakes away; so far, they are doing their job! Even though the rains bring color to Swaziland, I really hope there is reprieve in December and beginning of January when my cousin, Anne, is visiting. I meet her in Cape Town, SA on 30 December, and she flies back to America on 15 January. YAH! So I’d hate to stay in-doors the whole time; we have too much to see and explore.<br /><br />November 22 – 30, 2009- All Volunteer Conference, Thanksgiving at the Ambassador’s house, Oliver Mtukudzi, Hiking to Waterfalls and Eating Grapes on Public Transport: My group joined the newly released-from-seclusion group 7s for an All Volunteer conference. Most of the information was geared toward the new group, unfortunately. However, the sessions on male circumcision and behavior change were interesting. For instance, being circumcised reduces a male’s changes of contracting or spreading HIV by 60%. It doesn’t mean that people should discontinue using condoms; it just means it increases a male’s chances, and in turn his partner’s chances, of being safer during sexual intercourse. Of course, the best part of the conference was being with my fellow G6ers. We are just that great of a group; we all get along, genuinely like each other, and never want for conversation. I also enjoyed starting my day with yoga, showering each morning, eating three meals a day that I didn’t have to cook or clean up after, and close proximity to some night life.<br />Thanksgiving dinner was hosted by the Ambassador at his rather lavish house with pool and a view of the hills of Mbabane…yes your tax dollars are going to good use. We enjoyed all the traditional food items—home-grown turkeys from the Jackson’s homestead, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, sage stuffing, mixed greens and pumpkin pie—as well as new-to-some editions—veggie lasagna, cranberry & nut stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and chocolate cake. There was even an impromptu game of football after food digested. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, this is my home-away-from-home family. While I’m not close to everyone the way I am with some, I am glad to call them family. And I’m happy I had them to share a day of thanks.<br />I stayed in town for the weekend. I heard about a concert by a well-known African musician, and about the Mbabane Hiking Club excursion. I couldn’t miss either. Oliver Mtukudzi, a musician from Zimbabwe, is in his late 70’s and still rockin’ as if he’s 20. His music is a mix of traditional African with a little rock and a little rhythm and blues. He played for three hours, and Victoria, Jenn, Marloes and I danced the night away. It was well worth the ticket price, and the venue was great- I love House on Fire.<br />The following day Marloes (a volunteer from Norway working with an NGO run by a former PC volunteer from the 80’s) and I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club in their trek to the famed waterfalls near Mbuluzi. It was mostly a downhill hike to the falls. Knowing the way out would be mostly uphill didn’t deter us, though, especially considering the splendor of the falls. Called the Three Waterfalls because there are three tiers, they flow into a small pool after rushing over the last tier. I cursed myself for my broken camera, although I’m not sure I could quite capture the magnificence of the fall’s beauty; even so, Marloes has promised me copies.<br />Before I headed home the following day, after two spontaneous meetings, I stopped at the Spar in Manzini since I knew there were more grocery options there than at my Spar. I found a bag of mixed green and purple grapes, a large handful of each for E16. I splurged. I haven’t eaten a grape in so long, my mouth water as soon as I spied them; everything else paled in comparison. I decided I was worth E16! I felt decadent, though, as I ate them one-by-one on the bus ride home, slowly savoring the texture and delighting in the juices as I watched the seven shades of green reappear on the landscape. The man next to me longingly eyed each grape as I popped them in my mouth. I feel a pang of guilt for about a second, and then went back to languidly eating them. The perfect breakfast, in my book.<br />My euphoria lasted until I walked into my hut. It smelled like a musty locker room, and I quickly discovered my walls were wet and moldy in places. I set to cleaning immediately. It took me a little over 3 hours to clean. Some pictures met their demise. Many bugs were swept out. I even had to burn my pillows; they were propped against the wall, and mold had grown through the mosquito net, through the pillowcases to the pillows. They were moldy to the core. Luckily, it hadn’t reached the blankets. Water even reached my grass mat, somehow, and it too was moldy in places. I let it hang in the sun after shaking it out. I took a nap following the ‘spring-cleaning’, since I felt dejected and exhausted. I woke an hour later to the voices of my bosisi and bhuti. I joined them on the lawn, and soon after, we practiced some dance moves, which has become an evening ritual of late. They were happy to see me, saying there were missing me. They laughed at my dance moves, and I said I was missing them. I felt less melancholy. Once again, I was home.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-14612717669659826692009-11-05T00:34:00.000-08:002009-11-05T00:35:25.019-08:00October 2009October 2 – 8, 2009- The Weekend That Was: I began this weekend by visiting my training family. It’s a nice feeling getting off at the siteshi (bus stop) and feeling a sense of familiar and home. I walked passed the sitolo (shop) that we kept in business during training, buying sodas, peanut butter, bread, and fat cakes. I walked passed several homesteads, recalling children who used to yell at us. Now well equipped with siSwati greetings, I could yell back, mostly to laughing or dropped jaw responses. There were a few updates to some houses and even to our training classroom, and the land is gradually changing to its seven shades of green. As I began my walk down the hill to the homestead I occupied for 2 months, the children spied me and came running up the hill, meeting me halfway. Even the oldest (13), who later seemed “too cool” to chat with me, was running to greet me. I laughed, greeting each one with a handshake and a ‘how’s it’, but really, I wanted to cry. I was overwhelmed with this feeling of kinship. In a word, I was vaclepmt! I consider it one of the best feelings I’ve felt since coming to Swaziland. I think it will be, by far, the best feeling I will feel here.<br />The next day I met Justine in town to take Jaci’s ever-packed bus 2-1/2 hrs to her site. She asked us to help her judge a speech competition happening the next morning between four high schools in her area. The morning welcomed us with rain. I usually carry my raincoat, but for some reason I forget it this time, so I borrowed Jaci’s. It was hanging on the back of her front door; she hadn’t worn it in months, but no matter, it would keep me dry. Shortly after putting it on and setting off to catch the bus, the left side of my body became itchy. To push ideas of a possible second bout of scabies out of my head, I tried to listen intently to Jaci and Justine’s conversation. I couldn’t. As we neared the siteshi, the itching became more persistent. Once settled onto the bus, I took off the raincoat since it was warm and sat on it. The itching continued, and other sections of my left side began itching, including my upper thigh and bum. Again, I tried to play cool since we were being introduced to a friend of Jaci’s but finally I could not take it anymore. I told Jaci I felt something was biting me; my side was itching a lot. I was afraid to look at my skin, fearing the worst, but she offered to investigate. As I covertly lifted my shirt, her eyes grew concerned. “You have red spots,” she said. I looked for myself. I had little red bumps all along my side and across half my belly. There were a few on the inside of my bicep and along the supine side of my arm. It didn’t think look like scabies but I couldn’t imagine what else could cause bumps. Maybe an allergic reaction to some medication I‘m taking? Maybe spiders or bugs in the bed at my training family’s house? I prayed, and so did Jaci that I didn’t give her something since we shared her bed the previous night.<br />I did everything I could to slow my breathing and look calm, and I tried to sit very still to just keep myself together. Jaci promised we’d figure it out. At our bus stop, the rain was coming down heavier, so I put the raincoat back on. Within minutes, the itchy, prickly feeling came back and it felt as if it were spreading to my legs and lower back. I brought Justine up-to-date, and she offered to rule out scabies, so I lifted my shirt again to show her my belly. She confirmed that it wasn’t scabies. So what the hell was it?<br />I could not imagine sitting through a morning of judging speeches and remaining focused; somehow, I managed, even after finding a mirror in the bathroom and sneaking a look at the multiplying red bumps. I was horrified! Sitting quite still seemed to help, so I did, and judged 20 speakers.<br />By early afternoon, we were heading back to the bus stop. The rain persisted all morning and through the afternoon, so I donned the coat again as we walked. Again, I felt the itching begin; I was convinced it was spreading. At the bus stop, the rain stopped and I decided to take off the raincoat. As I began to pull it off, I noticed a cocoon attached to the inside pocket. I threw it off quickly, with screams of disgust and “oh my God’s” to Jaci and Justine. The inside of her coat was filled with little black hairs. Jaci and Justine were intrigued, and finding a stick, they used it to detach the cocoon. Justine broke it open to discover it was a caterpillar. So I had rubbed caterpillar hairs into my body all morning. Fantastic. It began to sprinkle again. Jaci, laughing, offered me the raincoat. I said I’d rather get wet, and she could keep it.<br />It took several baths, exfoliating, tweezers, eucalyptus oil, hydrocortisone cream and a week and a half to dislodge the hairs and clear up the irritation. After telling the story and showing the spots to one of the Baylor doctors, just to confirm, he said I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Caterpillars carry neurotoxins, and it could have caused a several allergic reaction.<br />Yes, folks, I keep saying yes to this every morning when I wake, whether it is conscious or not. Some days I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing. WHO DOES THIS? Even so, I’m sure once I return to America, I’ll be well aware of who I am and won’t look twice at adversity. Bring on the caterpillars!<br />The rest of the weekend we spent laughing about my (misfortune?) incident, as well as razzing Jaci about her housecleaning habits. She promised to dispose of the coat; she was never planning to wear it ever again. We also talked about the mad life and times of community living. I told them the story about my Make wanting to give me a baboon to ride after giving her homemade marmalade. Jaci told me her family says only witches ride baboons, which is why Swazis fear baboons. I guess witches follow shortly after baboons appear. I’m not sure if Make is complementing me: my marmalade is so good it’s magical; or if she thinks I’m a witch. What would I rather be, magical or witch-like? Hmmmm, perhaps both?!<br />When I returned home, my hut was without electricity. Because it’s been raining so heavily, the rain washed away the ground where the electrical piping, which runs to my hut, is buried. Considering the piping isn’t buried very deep, it wasn’t a hard task to accomplish. Water got into the piping causing a short in the wires. I waited until the next day to take action, hoping if I allowed the pipes time to dry, that it would be better. Make insisted I call an electrician, so I got the name of a local electrician from the clinic staff. When I called he promised to come the next morning by 6 am, but he didn’t show. When I returned from Baylor at 5pm, I called him. He said forgot but that he was on his way. He came at 6:30pm. I held a flashlight as four guys worked to find the problem. It took 30 minutes to find the right set of piping running to my house, and other 45 minutes to correct the problem. They had to splice a section of the old, damaged electrical wires with a section of new wires and then protect it with new piping. The head electrician wasted so much time trying his best to flirt with me. I played the game thinking it would make him work faster; you know, to impress the white girl. It didn’t work that way; although, he only charged me E50 for labor. Apparently, it should have cost me E200 for all the materials. But he said he was being nice. Rarely do I use my sexuality to get what I want; I don’t like playing games. But I guess flirting worked in my favor this time, and I only endured a few annoying phone calls from him for the next couple of days. I’m not confident of their handiwork, though. They didn’t bury the piping very deep. I bet my brother, the electrician, would have a heart attach for sure watching them work. At least I have electricity again, and I paid very little for it.<br /><br /><br />October 6, 2009- Letter from Home: Today my mailbox held a letter from Rebecca, my dear friend in Vermillion. It detailed all the wonderful happenings in Vermillion. I drooled as she described the vegetables she grew this season- baskets of peppers and heirloom tomatoes, bags of beans, overflowing buckets of zucchini, squash and eggplant. She wrote about the end of season gatherings, the visitors that flocked to Vermillion, and the vacation she took to see friends in Seattle. The Vermillion Area Farmers Market, which I helped establish and served on the Board of Directors for 4 years, is thriving. There are about a dozen consistent vendors, customer traffic is increasing, and everyone is happily making money, she said. The new market manager is a local, and seriously dedicated to the “think global, buy local” adage. Rebecca managed to get an Electronic Funds Transfer machine for customer use, and she wrangled with the State to allow those using food stamps to shop at the market, a first for farmers’ markets in South Dakota. Her philosophy is everyone should be exposed and able to afford fresh, local produce. I agree! And I’m delighted that the market is flourishing. It’s nice to know that something I helped establish and grow is enduring and sustainable.<br />There is talk of starting a Slow Food chapter in eastern South Dakota, something Rebecca and I pondered the possibility of during long, cold winters. A new Asian-Fusion restaurant opened near the Coffee Shop. The community garden is continuing its success.<br />As I hear the news about my old home, I cannot help but long to be part of the undertakings. Vermillion is a unique little Midwest town. In many ways, it can be stifling. Yet, it’s filled with multi-talented people, each with plethora of interests and ideas, looking to enhance the space they occupy. And those people are my friends; they are people I admire, encouraged, supported, cavorted with, collaborated with, and shared a sense of pride when we accomplished some feat. Vermillion is a great place because of these people. When I left, I felt I had outgrown the town. I was ready to go beyond its borders in search of something more, something new, and something completely different. I found it, that’s for sure. However, some days I long for the familiar, the sense of family I felt in Vermillion, and working with committed others to generate ideas and actually put them into action. I’m not sure if I’ll return to Vermillion to live when I get back to America but it’s a possibility; there are many possibilities. What I do know is that Vermillion was mostly good to me, and I’m happy it’s well. I hope to find a place that makes me feel the way I feel about Vermillion wherever I journey.<br /><br />October 7, 2009- Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, Recycle Class: This week I showed my students an episode of BBC’s Planet Earth series. The first in the series, Pole to Pole, is about the world from the North Pole to the South Pole and everything in-between. I’ve never seen my students more attentive or more delighted at learning about anything! It was the first time the classroom was quiet. In light of this, I’ve decided to scrap most of my environmental curriculum and show more Planet Earth episodes. I will continue the recycling art projects combined with a few reduce, reuse, and recycle tips but the rest is gone. If my students learn even a little from the Planet Earth series and how to reuse things to make art then I’m okay with less teaching.<br /><br />October 13, 2009- Holding Headstand: Since June, I’ve had the goal of holding my posture in headstand. I have no problem getting into headstand, but I’ve never been able to hold it for any length of time. I began to incorporate it into each practice, but today while practicing yoga, I decided my focus would be poses that prepare the body for headstand and attempting to hold the pose. For the first time ever I was able to hold the posture. For five breaths to be exact. Huh, patience and practice do pay off.<br /><br />October 14, 2009- Saving Chris Brown: Today I asked my first period 6th grade class to get into groups and create murals about saving the earth. I told them to choose a theme centered on either saving the earth, saving animals or recycling. I gave each group a magazine or newspaper to look for pictures representing their theme. They did really well sticking to their theme, and most nicely arranged and decorated their murals. Some labeled each picture; some wrote “Save the Earth” and “Save Animals” across the top and bottom of their mural. When groups were finishing I gave them bo-stick to hang their mural on the wall of their choice. As I walked around to admire each group’s artwork, I noticed a “save” expression I hadn’t offered as a suggestion. Next to a Nike swoosh drawn someone in the group, a student wrote “Save Chris Brown.” I asked that group about their mural. “Chris Brown needs to be saved?” I asked. “Why, is he in danger? And the Nike swoosh? It needs to be saved?” I only got smiles for answers. As a fellow volunteer reminded me, Chris Brown is beloved in Swaziland; they probably believe he needs saving from Rihanna. What about the Nike swoosh? Is Nike in bankruptcy?<br /><br />October 16 – 18, 2009- Electricity can be elusive: The rainy season is in full swing. It began earlier this month, much earlier than last year. This year’s rainfall is more and heavier than last year too. Since the rains have been so heavy, the electricity comes and goes frequently. This whole weekend, I was forced to use the gas stove in the main house to heat water and cook food since I never had power for more than 30 to 40 minutes at a time. I have a newfound appreciation for those who live without electricity each day, relying only on wood burning stoves or open wood fires. My skills of maneuvering and operating by candlelight have greatly increased. Even so, the notion of living by candlelight is romantic for a short time only; it soon becomes taxing. Reading becomes a chore, and strains the eyes. Crocheting by candlelight is tricky; I’m glad I’m beginning to learn to crochet without looking. Alternatives for heating water and cooking food are imperative. And one learns which corners not to stumble into for fear of stubbing toes or stepping on spiders. I also go to bed earlier; one due to eyestrain, and two because there’s not much else to do.<br />I’m better at conserving electricity and water here than I was in the states, even though I thought I was pretty conscious of what I used. Here, how much you have and how much you use take on new connotations. I know that if I use more than 2 or 3 liters of water a day, then I’ll have to carry my containers twice a week to the water tap instead of once. I know that on rainy days I must be efficient, boiling the water that I will need for the day when I have power in case the power comes and goes. Multi-tasking, here, has become an art form.<br /><br />October 20, 2009- ‘Plowing’ the Field: I helped bosisi wami (my sisters) plow the fields to ready them for planting. The term plowing in siSwati does not have the same meaning at is does in English. Plowing means to ready the land, as it does in English, but it also means making the holes for each kernel of maize. The field we readied was about the size of mom’s garden. When plowing each hole, you have to dig in each of the four directions, north, south, east and west; then the hole is ready for manure. Make used to use chemical fertilizer; this year she is utilizing the organic methods she learned from the RDA (Rural Development Assoc.). The manure sits overnight or for 24 hours; then the holes are ready for maize the following day. When I asked why it’s necessary to dig in all four directions, I never got a straight answer, something about making the hole the right size for the kernel.<br />Bosisi wami laughed when I said I wanted to help. They didn’t think I was capable of hoeing a hole much less a third of the field. They laughed at my hoeing techniques because I didn’t do it exactly as they did. Nonetheless, I think they appreciated the help. If I hadn’t helped they would have spend another afternoon plowing. Instead, the next afternoon they were able to plant. It was great exercise for me, but also nice to think about my parents, grand- and great-grandparents as I dug, wondering at their experiences with plowing. It’s easy to forget that America is not far removed from this way of life.<br /><br />October 24 -25, 2009- Hiking all Weekend: Having to be in the capital for meetings and a workshop, I decided to work in a few hikes. The world’s largest exposed granite dome is near Mbabane. Estimated at three billion years old, it looms over the city, and I’ve been eyeing it since we arrived. Taking to enthusiastic hiking buddies, Matthew and Jenn, we walked to the outcropping in two hours. It’s a relatively easy hike if you enter from the plateau; we decided we need to come back and climb the face of the dome. There’s also several caves but we didn’t take the time to search for them as time was limited for them. I could have stayed all day. I took pictures with Jenn’s camera, as mine is broken. I cannot wait to view them; I felt inspired. We rested on the top of the dome; having brought my travel journal from Annette, I drew the landscape. It was a great cathartic rest. The following day I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club for a hike near my site, as it turned out. About 5 km from my site is a rocky pinnacle that tested my limited rock climbing skills, and excited experienced climbers. The hike up to the pinnacle was beautiful; the countryside looked lush. Due to the rains, everything is greening and flowering trees are blooming.<br />The Mbabane Hiking Club consists of some Peace Corps staff and volunteers, Embassy staff, NGO workers and ex-pats. The mix is eclectic, to say the least, and no one is want for good or interesting conversation. Three other volunteers, Jay and Hilary and Matthew, joined me. It was a perfect day. Walking thru nature is therapy; beautiful scenery is a perk.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-6384986834272319572009-10-09T03:26:00.000-07:002009-10-09T03:27:08.829-07:00Sept Joys and WoesSeptember 2, 2009- My First Blanket: I began crocheting a blanket the January before I left for Swaziland. I finished it today, 1 year and 8 months later. I call it my chakra blanket as it represents each chakra color, which also happens to correspond to the colors of the rainbow. It’s about 3 ½ feet wide and 6-ish feet long. So it’s basically a lap blanket; but it is pretty, and sweet, and coincidently, warm for those evenings when chill sets in and no amount of tea will warm the body. Many thanks to family and friends—mostly mom and dad—for sending me yarn to finish it. Little did they know they were contributing to my new addiction but crocheting is probably the healthiest obsession I could acquire here. I’ve made several scarves and a few hats/berets. My next project is another blanket consisting of granny squares and daisies. It will be multi-colored as well. I found a sewing shop in Mbabane; they have a small but nice selection of yarn. I visit each time I’m in town.<br /><br />September 8 -10, 2009- Mid-Service Physicals: One year into service and volunteers are required to visit their friendly PCMO (PC Medical Officer) for an annual exam. I discovered that due to chronic rhinitis, which I cannot seem to shake here, I need to take a daily allergy tab and use a nasal spray. Oh Joy. It’s probably due mostly to the dusty road I walk daily, which I cannot break from, and partly to all the animals I live with. So hopefully once I get back to America, I will be able to wean myself from the tabs and spray. We were treated to the dentist, which was a pleasant and unpleasant surprise. Pleasant because didn’t think I get to see a dentist, so I was glad to have my teeth cleaned. But unpleasant because I was afraid I’d have a cavity or two. No cavities, just many comments about my receding gums (WHAT?!) and a fitting for a bite plate (REALLY?!). He said my TMJ muscles were too tight. I admit I clench my jaw at night but I didn’t think it was a big problem. So now I have to wear a bite plate while I sleep. Good God! I’m not sure it’s helping. I think I clench just as much with or without it.<br />We were also tested for TB. My test was negative but I have to say I am slightly surprised. For all the TB patients at my clinic and all the coughing on buses by people/kids who don’t cover their mouth, I thought I’d have TB for sure. I’m glad I don’t because the treatment is lengthy and the medication can cause liver damage.<br />The most enjoyable parts of the 3-day experience were: 1.) I might, eventually, get an MRI on my foot. It’s still bothering me so no running…but I’m dying to run. And confession…sometimes I sneak in a mile here and there just to release; 2.) Hanging with the 7 other volunteers in my mid-service physicals group, enjoying many philosophical (and not so philosophical) discussions to all hours of the morning, some enhanced by good wine and yummy beers; 3.) Cooking with other volunteers. It seems living here has enhanced my love to cook, and appreciation of the cooking process, when I have someone to share a meal with, or three or four awesome someones; 4.) Watching seasons one and two of 30 Rock. Brilliant! Tina Fey is fabulous, and who knew Alex Baldwin was so damn funny?!; 5.) Playing Scrabble; 6.) Singing 80’s songs via karaoke. I had just finished my legwarmers. I was wearing leggings, legwarmers and an oversized sweatshirt…all by chance, but totally fitting for singing 80’s songs!; and 7.) Devoting time to figure out some all important life issues, continually ongoing but ever necessary.<br /><br />September 11, 2009- Saying Farewell to our APCD: Chad Fleck, our Assistant Programming Country Director for almost three years, was a former PCV in Nepal. He was tough on us but he led with compassion because he understood well the life of a volunteer. A few months ago, he began sending our group quotes to help keep us motivated. For his going-away party we each wrote him our favorite quote and a short note, and assembled them in a book from the lounge’s library aptly named “Passage to India”, which he’s read. It was meant to represent the past, present and future—a book from his past, from volunteers that he impacted, and memories of Swaziland for years to come.<br />Chad was great at recognizing and giving perspective, especially when it came to host country nationals. He would always say, “Well have you thought about it this way…” He also reminded us about the art and psychology of sitting during PC service, as in Sitting with a capital S as opposed to sitting with a lower-case s. “Small-s sitting is sitting on your haunches waiting for something else to happen. It’s sitting with a future-orientation, an intention that you’d rather be somewhere else. Sitting—with a capital S—is about having a now-orientation. It’s being present, with intention. And what is intention? It is intention of cultivating social relations with the people around you at the moment, regardless of whether you are busy or still, talking or silent. Your intention is that moment changes everything.” –Chad Fleck<br />He also quoted Andreas Fuglesang as saying, “People in Western civilization no longer have time for each other, they have no time together, they do not share the experience of time. This explains why Westerners are incapable of understanding the psychology of sitting. In villages all over the world, sitting is an important social activity. Sitting is not a ‘waste of time’ nor is it a manifestation of laziness. Sitting is having time together, time to cultivate social relations.”<br />I am reminded of my parents’ card clubs or entertaining relatives and visitors in their home. There was always time for Sitting. News was shared, stories told, food eaten, and many laughs shared. They learned it from their parents who watched their own parents Sit with others. It’s something that used to happen in America, especially rural American communities. It’s a lost art, something I wish people would revive, and something I wish to revive when I return.<br />So, thank you, Chad Fleck, for teaching me many important lessons about patience, expectations, perception of things, asking the right questions, and the art of Sitting. Your presence will be greatly missed.<br /><br />September 15, 2009- The Rollercoaster of Inadequacy: Shadowing the Baylor doctors was emotional today. One of their patients was a 12 year old girl in heart failure due to complications of HIV, previous and current TB bouts, malnutrition and who knows what else her body is fighting against. She was retaining about 4 kgs (approx. 8.8 lbs) of fluid in her abdomen. The plan was to admit her to Hlatikhulu Hospital but before transport arrived, she collapsed and staff admitted her to Nhlangano Health Center wards. I’m unaware of her current status, but asked the doctors to keep me posted.<br />Her face haunted my thoughts all day, but my helplessness of the situation plagues me more. I feel like I could do much more for the Swazi nation if I were capable of treating them. I curse my selfishness and the fearfulness I felt for pre-med in undergraduate school. I’ve thought about medicine off-and-on since then. I was afraid of the math and advanced science courses required; I told myself I wasn’t smart enough to pass and so I didn’t even try. In massage school I learned that a fear is simply a fantasy endeavoring to appear real. So what’s holding me back?<br /><br />After I told a fellow volunteer about my day, he gave the obligatory, ‘damn that’s rough’ speech, and how he also has feelings of wanting to do more. But then he said something really prophetic. “Quite the experience this is, huh? Trying and growing, and understanding human life.” Yes, human life. And I’m caught between several notions about human life: in some places life is transient; in some places it’s disposable; and in some places people try so hard to destroy it where others fight to save it. But what I’ve noticed most is that in too many places, and for too many people, it’s taken for granted.<br />I want to see a world where people see life as beautiful, where life is valued, respected, and not taken for granted. Where all we need is a little time for Sitting, a little time to be compassionate in order to build on the love we should readily share with others. For those skeptics, this probably sounds Pollyanna-esque, highly unattainable, head-in-the-clouds dream-like, idealistic, or perhaps even impossible. But I want the impossible! I want it to be possible.<br /><br />Update on the 12-year old: Once stable, she was transferred to Hlatikhulu Hospital where they drained the fluid from her belly. She was ambulatory, and feeling better after several days of bed rest. She’s still in the hospital, and when I saw the Baylor doctors yesterday (22 September) they said there was no change in her condition expect that she was in less pain. Her liver, however, is compromised, and they are working to find a solution.<br /><br />September 16, 23 & 30, 2009- Teaching 6th Graders: I began my Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle class today. The curriculum, from the EPA’s website, is geared for 1st to 4th graders, but my students are struggling. I’m not sure if it’s because the 3 R’s concept is new or because they are always doing other work in my class but I will soldier on and define terms as I go. I’m trying to incorporate as many hands-on projects as possible to keep them engaged. The 2nd week of class we talked about reusing materials to make something else. I showed them how to cut and roll paper into beads. Everyone started out well, and then the boys began making cigarettes, of course. In a few weeks I’ll take the beads back to class and allow them to make necklaces or bracelets. The 3rd week of class we talked about reducing waste. I asked them to get into groups of 5 to write letters to my World Wise School matches (my sister Sharon’s 1st graders and my cousin Christine’s 2nd graders). They claimed they had written letters before but I don’t think they’ve ever written letters without being directed on what to write, line by line. So I wrote on the board, and they copied. I did ask them to fill in certain blanks, for instance, “What are you learning in this class?” and “Why are we using paper that has already been use?” For the first question, I read sentences that talked about all they classes they were taking and some about Life Skills, which is what my class is officially titled. For the second question, students began writing that they were using used paper because they didn’t have new paper. I had to reiterate many, many times the purpose of reduce and reuse. I can hardly fault them. The school system allows them to only memorize and regurgitate information, never allowing for questioning content, for critical thinking, or for analysis. So far the only positive thing that’s come from the class is making paper beads. My sisi, Zandele, loves it. And now I love it. It’s my new obsession. I’m making beads out of everything: magazines, newspapers, candy wrappers, chip bags. And I have a small mound beginning to form. Many of you will receive a beaded paper jewelry item, don’t you worry! I’m thinking of a way to make in into an income-generating project for my youth group. The only issue is to find someone who can teach them about correctly using jewelry findings and how to run a business. A project for when the term ends. In the meantime, bead making has become a wonderful stress reliever, and hopefully a few 6th graders will keep it up.<br /><br />September 24, 2009- Swine Flu Hits Hard: From today until 6 October, volunteers are on semi-lockdown. Due to several volunteers tested for H1N1, and many others w/ H1N1-like symptoms, volunteers are not allowed to stay at any backpackers in town or congregate in large groups until adequate treatment time has lapsed. So far 13 volunteers and 3 staff people were infected. Luckily Peace Corps has the medication to treat avian flu and H1N1 but no clinic in Swaziland has Tamiflu tabs. H1N1 severely affects those with low immune systems, and the very young and the very old. Nonetheless, with a 39% HIV infection rate among those 18 – 35 and an increasing TB rate, most people in this country are highly susceptible to contracting flu. I’m glad we have the medication to treat ourselves, but it hardly seems fair.<br />(At the date of this blog, 19 volunteers and 5 staff either had or suffered from symptoms relating to H1N1. Yikes!)Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-42416187027170958592009-09-08T04:41:00.000-07:002009-09-08T04:43:03.812-07:00Life in August 2009August 9, 2009- Spring Cleaning: After living at my site for almost a year I finally acquired a table. Deja, from Group 5, left me her table and having it has changed my life! As a welcome to the new-to-me table, I decided to spring clean my hut. I rearranged the book shelf, and now have a ‘library’ area. I rearranged the mini stove, fridge and carts, and now have a galley ‘kitchen and dining area’. I rearranged my ‘bathroom/closet’, which helped me take my suitcase-turned-dresser off the cement floor. I swept then mopped the floor. I purged unused papers. And I dusted fallen wall off surfaces. Now I sit at my table to eat. I can do school work at the table. I can put my laptop on my table instead of on a box on the floor to watch movies, which makes viewing eye level and much more enjoyable. I think I’m in heaven! And I feel rich.<br /><br />The weather is following suit. Nights are less cold. Days are gradually warming. The sun is rising earlier and slowly setting later and later, which makes me happy because night isn’t so long. The landscape is a juxtaposition of colors and cyclical changes. The evergreens are mingling among coppery red deciduous trees (not all deciduous trees here completely loose their leaves). Greens sprouts of grass are shooting up through tufts of brown. Frogs began croaking last week along both rivers that embrace my community.<br /><br />A support group formed at my clinic a few weeks ago. It’s led by an expert client trained by MSF (Doctors w/out Borders) in supporting people living with HIV who take ARV’s (anti-retrovirals). Wanting to help with this group, I offered my services to the expert client. Since most of the group’s English is limited, I decided leading exercises after their meeting would be my contribution. They love it. One of the older ladies, a traditional dancer, really gets into the side-stepping. She shakes her hips, almost putting me to shame. Even the oldest Mkhulu (a.k.a. grandfather/old man) stands up to move. On the first day, I told them whatever movement they were able to do is okay. I explained that any movement they do that gets blood and oxygen flowing to the muscles is healthier than no movement. Last week I was sick, but I stopped by the clinic to greet the nurses and ask the expert client to lead exercises. She was apprehensive. I tried to quell her fears by saying she could copy what I did, something simple like raising arms overhead several times and slowing lowering them or marching in place. She promised to try.<br />Today she informed me that she led the group in several of the exercises I taught her. She was proud that she remembered. I suddenly had an awe moment. This was my first glimpse of sustainable development work in action in my community! Since my arrival, I’ve been thinking sustainable work was something of a myth or at best rarely attainable and only in extreme circumstances. I am proved wrong by my own actions! I taught someone something they remembered, and they felt motivated and confident enough to share with others. I did something sustainable! One small step for Mahlalini. One giant leap for me and my faith in what I’m doing here. Making true connections by forging relationships with others has always been part of my philosophy, and I am more acutely aware than ever that I cannot be an occupant of this earth without being an active participant. I cannot just exist, I must dynamically be.<br /><br />August 8 - 31, 2009- Painting a Preschool: Justine, Jaclyn and I met the couple, Michelle and Peter McCubbin, who run Pasture Valley Children’s Home on the edge of Nhlangano through Make Simelane. We sometimes stay with Make when we’re in town for the youth support group; she works at NATICC—an AIDS testing and counseling center—where Michelle is on the Board of Directors. A completely self-sustaining orphanage, the McCubbin’s grow fruits and vegetables, operate a tree nursery, and raise dairy cows and pigs, allowing the 20 children who reside at Pasture Valley home-grown foods each day. The older children go to school nearby while the preschool-aged children are taught at a preschool on site. Two Swazi mothers live between two houses, each caring for half the children; they honor traditional Swazi living while teaching the children how to cook, clean, wash clothes and play together. The children range in age from two months to 16 years. Considering the trauma each child brings, living in this new home is life-saving for them. As terrible as it is to separate them from family, sometimes a home away from biological family is better for their well-being than being in an unhealthy environment. And this new family wants them.<br />Eager to help, we offered out services with whatever needed to be done. Michelle needed the inside of the preschool painted. We set to painting the 3 main walls and the storage cabinet doors. One wall was dedicated to the alphabet and an object associated with each letter. The second wall turned into an apple tree with numbers 1 – 20 painted on each apple. The other wall had shapes around the window. On the cabinet doors we created flowers. We finished the room with grass growing up out of the floor. The children gladly helped us each time we came to paint by dancing with us to music, handing us paint brushes, posing in pictures and eating our snacks. We frequently took breaks to play with them, getting to know names and personalities.<br />Wanting to know their stories, Michelle told us heart-wrenching stories about how some children came to live at Pasture Valley. One child, who just celebrated his sixth birthday, looks like he’s two. His mother, too sick to work, barely had enough food to feed him much less herself. Once Michelle was alerted to the situation she took him to the hospital where he spent several weeks recuperating due to severe dehydration and malnutrition. While in the hospital his mother died, and Michelle was allowed to take him to Pasture Valley. He’s the sweetest boy; smart, very polite and always with a smile on his face. I want to take him with me every time I go. Him, and a little girl who’s name means beautiful, whose mother was too young to care for her; she told Michelle the child was a mistake which made Michelle livid. The girl didn’t smile for a long time, nor did she talk, only staring listlessly when someone talked her. The first day we met her, my heart went to her immediately and I tried to engage her as much as possible, talking directly to her, smiling, looking her in the eye. When we went back two weeks later, she was beginning to smile and interact with other children but she was still guarded. She became my shadow, though; each time I left the room she followed me. The last time we were there, she was laughing and playing with the other children. She let me tickle her, hold her, and play with her. She’s beginning to allow herself to be a child, to have fun, to open up. There are two other darling girls that also tug at my heart strings. I have to say I’ve honestly considered adoption. One things for sure; I plan to spend more time at Pasture Valley, especially after the new year since I won’t be teaching in the new term. I feel working there would definitely be sustainable, but more importantly beneficial to those wonderful little persons and personally rewarding.<br /><br />August 11, 2009- Bus Rides Home: I got on the 2 o’clock bus, which primarily transports elementary students home. It gets crowded, really quickly, with 30 + children whirring around, not to mention the throng of adults heading back home with their weekly supplies and things to sell. The children are consistently a buzz of activity, and I frequently watch them since they are entertaining; although, admittedly, I try to avoid this bus. I generally get asked for sweets or money and/or get laughed at by one child which leads to all the children in the vicinity laughing at me. Being laughed at is my own fault, in all honesty; I tend to smile at them a lot, make funny faces, wave, stare or try to translate what they are saying, which I don’t consider eaves dropping since they usually talk too quickly for me to make out more than a word or two. Today a primary school girl was knitting a scarf for school. I learned from my sisi knitting is taught in Home Economics class, along with how to cook, how to wash clothes and how to clean the homestead. My sisi is lucky enough to use Make’s knitting needles. The girl on the bus was knitting with a plastic sucker handle and the ink cartridge from a disposable pen. The stitches were small, but she was making a scarf, and it was taking shape quite nicely. She seemed very proud of herself, and kept checking to make sure I continued to watch her so I gave into her vanity and told her the scarf was buhle, beautiful.<br /><br />The week before, I barely caught my half-past three bus. I struggled to get on the first step with 3 bags, a yoga bag and my purse; Jaclyn, Justine and I joke that we are really pack mules. I try to travel lighter and lighter each time I go to Mbabane but inevitably I bring something back from the office and load down the bus. Today I wasn’t the only thing loading the bus down. The official capacity for most standard-sized buses (think big yellow school bus) in Swaziland is 65 seated and 18 standing. I stood on the first step, barely inside the door, for the first 5 minutes until the bus conductor shifted enough children to allow me to step up to the landing. There were at least 100 people on bus. The PC Safety and Security Officer’s warning about the link between overcrowded buses and high accident rates briefly ran through my head, and I should have taken the next bus. But it wouldn’t come for another hour and that would get me home at 5:30. I just wanted to be home, and before dark. So I stood on the landing, with my bags wondering how to balance myself against the lurching starts and stops of the bus. The bus conductor, noticing my inability to hold onto the railing, grabbed my bags and stowed them near the driver and on the dash board. I stood for the better part of an hour holding onto one bag and my purse, having to exit each time the bus stopped to let patrons off. A seat finally opened on the last 10 minutes of the ride, and I gladly took it since my arms and legs were tired of bracing. I’ve been on buses that crowded before but I’ve always gotten on soon enough that I had a seat, and inevitably felt pity for the smooched people in the aisle.<br />My transportation woes are much improved from those riding public transport in Mocambique. Bus conductors will force 3 times the recommended limit of people onto a khombi (passenger van). People are literally hanging out the windows and sitting three-deep with the side door wide open because it cannot be closed.<br />It makes me think about the short time I took public transport in the States while going to graduate school. People are bound to the bus’ schedule but I found it enjoyable because I didn’t have to worry about traffic or putting petrol in my car and I could read or study along the way. But I remember people passing along their sympathy to me when they heard I rode the bus. I remember not understanding those comments. I realize, at the time, most people who took the bus were low-income people, students, or elderly persons. I never believed myself below taking the bus, but I’m sure that is why I received sympathy. In Swaziland, throughout Africa and in most developing countries, public transport is the only option, and sadly, not true, for some who walk great distances to get to a clinic or buy groceries. Rarely do people find they have the luxury of owning a car much less the funds to fill it with petrol. Learning to drive for most women here is a grand extravagance, and transpires only because the husband can afford driving school or has the time to teach his wife; few single women learn to drive. Then there’s insurance, licensing, maintenance, oil changes, and border crossing fees to consider.<br />Never once did I think that learning to drive was not an option for me; I always knew someone would teach me regardless, and gender never entered into it. There was no question about going to college. I think I knew at a young age it was a non-negotiable, which was fine with me because I wanted to go to college. I’m discovering how many things I, and so many others, take for granted every single day. And really, what a luxurious problem to be able to take things for granted. I make decisions and come to things on my own terms, and yet I take it for granted because I often forget how many wonderful things I really do have and how lucky I am to have the station I do.<br />So I try to appreciate every bus ride home, grateful for the scenery I pass, for the time to read the paper or a letter, interaction with neighbors, peek-a-boo with children, or the carefree lifestyle I’ve begun to embrace as normal; but if for nothing else then for the simple gratitude for what I’ve been given by the universe. Sometimes all the awakening I need is a simple 45-minute bus ride home.<br /><br />August 12, 2009- The Trainees Come for a Visit: I met two Group 7 volunteers in Nhlangano during their OJT (on-the-job training). The Morgan’s are a married couple from Missouri, and they were eager to learn about their new shopping town. We covered a great deal of the town including the best place to buy a bed, furniture stores, the hardware store, the paint store, the grocery store, the internet café, library, police station, local Ministry offices, NERCHA, and the post office. I also pointed out the really important things: cleanest bathroom in town- KFC—coincidently KFC also plays music videos and has ice cream and moderately tasty chicken; the best chicken place in town- Richfield’s Butchery, which also has great chips and biryani, plus you get to see the butchers in action…if you’re lucky they carry a whole hog or two through the restaurant to the butcher block; the best ice cream bars and moderately clean restrooms- Engen gas station near Builders; the best fresh chips (fries) and fat cakes- kiosk behind shopping mall owned and operated by 2 really friendly Pakistani guys who cook the chips a little longer for PCV’s because they know we like our chips crispy; freshest fruits and veggies: the lower and upper boMake markets…sometimes the upper market sells live chickens and it’s near the public restrooms; and the best bran muffins- Builder’s Supermarket, which also sells grocery items in bulk. (Yes, it is all about getting good food!) They rode back with me to my site, and I introduced them to the clinic staff, my boMake marketers, and my exercise club. They helped me make no-bake cookies with my exercise club; the club has been begging me to teach them since I’d brought them each a cookie the week before. I made them pizza for supper, which they were really excited to eat since they hadn’t had it since before them left America. Both are grand story tellers; the husband especially. He reminds me of a combination of my father and 2 of my uncles—they love to tell a story, pull your leg and make you laugh. They regaled me with stories of their children, their work, and how they met. It was a wonderful evening, and I loved having company, as well as people happy to share a meal. They will be a great addition to the Shiselweni family. Jaclyn believes they were automatically a great couple; any man who wears suspenders with a Garfield shirt and any wife who still chooses to be seen with her husband wearing suspenders with a Garfield shirt have to be cool.<br /><br />August 18, 2009- Hickory-Dickory Dock, A Mouse Ran Up…..: Something ran in front of my door Sunday morning. Only half paying attention, I thought it was a baby chick and paid it no mind. About 30 minutes later, nature called, and on my way out the door something ran over my foot. It was a baby rat. I screamed. Luckily the church-goers had already passed by on their way to church. No one witnessed my freak-out. The rat ran up the hill toward the rondoval, around the corner of the hut and then out of site. I stood there for a moment, collecting myself. I could still feel his feet on my foot. Gross!<br />Today Make greeted me by saying she had trapped something in the 100 gallon rain barrel. She was drowning them. She was talking so excitedly about capturing 20, it took a few minutes to figure out she was talking about rats. She said she was determined to kill all the rats on the homestead because they were getting into her corn bin. She parted me by saying I must take a look before going to the clinic. She counted 20 and I must count them. Only half believing her method of disposal and the high trespasser count, I asked my bhuti if there were rats in the barrel. He said there were 20 rats in the barrel, drowning in boiling water. I peeked in enough to see two; one struggling to swim, the other succumbed to his demise. I’m assuming the one I saw on Sunday was among the non-survivors because I don’t want to think about more than 20 rats living on the homestead. I’m hoping the rest got the message about Make’s mass execution, packed their bags and vacated the premises.<br /><br />August 19, 2009- Delivering First Aid Kits: World Vision finally came through with four first aid kits for my NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points). With a little help from an anonymous donor, I was able to buy more first aid supplies to add to the basic kits. Emily Thebo, a nurse from my clinic, and I visited the Mhlaba NCP today. I explained the contents of the kits and how to use each item; Emily translated what I said into siSwati, as well as elaborating each item’s use. I also assessed other needs of this particular NCP. They have been in operation for a year; MicroProjects helped them build the structure. However they have not been able to secure funding from their inter-council. Every chiefdom within the inkhunhla (group of chiefdoms) has an inter-council working to identify and solve problems in each community within that particular chiefdom. They are supposed to give aid to NCP’s. I’m not sure where the breakdown happened, so the boMake at this NCP were asking me for help with incoming generating projects, food, clothes, shoes, toys and teaching materials. I gave them ideas for food—start a garden to supplement the rations they receive —and for income generating projects—ask the Rural Development Association to teach them to make Vaseline. I told them to talk to their inter-council again since they are the ones responsible for supplying money for these kinds of projects. Emily and I offered to put a box at the clinic asking people to drop off unwanted items like clothes, shoes and toys. I also told them to ask for donations from their church members. I began looking for basic teaching materials through the Peace Corps office’s resources. My sister, Sharon, brought me kindergarten-level flash cards, and I will give each NCP a set. So far, no one has dropped off unwanted items at the clinic but it’s a new concept so I’m trying to be patient. If all else fails, I can apply for funds from Peace Corps. A new funding source has opened up that is specifically for aiding NCP’s. I’d rather the communities pulled together and helped each other because I won’t be here forever and I don’t want to add to the dependency they have on outside aid organizations.<br /><br />August 24, 2009- Sharing Orange Marmalade: The really good jams in the store are too expensive for me to buy, and even if I had the extra money, I can only purchase them in Mbabane. So I made orange marmalade over the weekend. Having made extra entirely on accident, I shared a jar with Make. She asked me why I was sharing with her; I said because I wanted to. She thanked me profusely, kissing my hand, and uttering comments about how happy her daughter makes her. Then she said she was going to buy me a baboon to have for my very own; I could ride it anytime I wanted, and no one else would be able to ride it. A baboon?! I have no idea what that means or the implications of riding a baboon. I’m going to assume that it’s a grand gesture, and leave it at that.<br /><br />August 28, 2009- 1 year in my hut: A year ago today I arrived at my permanent site with my belongings to an empty hut and an eerily silent homestead. I remember my abhorrence at the state of filth and amount of bugs around my room. Now only the really large spiders bother me. I remember after cleaning up what I could with a broom, I rolled out my yoga mat and took a nap, feeling unable to do much else. I still love naps, and take them when I can but not because I feel unable to do anything else. I just enjoy while I can. I remember making a list of all the things I thought I needed to establish my home. Now I try to get by on as little as possible. It’s quite possible, simply easy to accomplish and very satisfying.<br />I reread my blog entry from last year at this time; I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into, and why I came. I questioned myself for nine months. Clarity seems only to come after seeking patience and being open to receive the messages one needs to hear. I have a better understanding of why I came, even though some days it doesn’t make sense, and some days I feel I came for the wrong reasons. What I know for sure is that I’m glad I came. No regrets. I can honestly say I am happy, and I’ve been happy for several months. Yes, there are frustrations, and road blocks, and things that just do not make sense. And at times, I still feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions for days on end. But I can only control my own actions, thoughts, and feelings. So I am the one who decides when to be happy. And I’ve decided it’s better to be happy with who I am today, and to do what I can with each day, whatever that may be. It’s better than the alternative.<br /><br />The new volunteers took to their permanent sites today. There are seven Group 7’s in the Shiselweni region. Amen! We needed more bodies down south. <br /><br />August 31, 2009- Umhlanga Dance: About half my group attended the Umhlanga or Reed Dance festival, an annual event held to honor coming-of-age maidens. In the eight-day ceremony, girls cut reeds and present them to the Queen Mother who uses the reeds to reinforce her traditional homestead; in recent times, it’s done more to honor ceremony. Only childless, unmarried, chaste girls may take part. The aims of the ceremony are to preserve girls’ chastity, provide tribute labor for the Queen Mother, and produce solidarity by working together. After presenting the reeds, the girls dance for two day. Traditionally, during the second day of dancing, the King chooses a wife among the dancers but he has not taken a wife since 2006. There was quite a bit on controversy after he took his wife in 2006. Apparently, the year before he put a law into place making it illegal for any man to take a wife under the age of 18. He temporarily lifted the law in order to take his wife in 2006; she was 16 at the time. Then he reinstated the law. Needless to say, there were many angry people, and his actions caught the attention of many overseas officials and newspapers.<br />My sisi, Zandele danced for the first time at the Royal Kraal. She usually dances at the Shiselweni regional Umhlanga which is held at the region’s kraal. I wanted to see her dance, but 80,000 girls were registered to dance and she was lost in the sea of color. Nonetheless, it’s an interesting event to witness. Girls of each chiefdom try to distinguish themselves from other chiefdoms by wearing similar regalia and dancing a little differently than the group before them. The girls are honored among the nation, their communities and families. It’s an immense compliment for them, and a memorable experience, I’m told.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-437322372233072661.post-42816623198412517962009-08-04T00:47:00.000-07:002009-08-04T00:50:32.244-07:00Life in July, 2009<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkUT9CPNK4PsXqc58hQXaedKAQu6Xcqf1qRggB2dvrO1V2aNVn7e7akPrM7xAIVSy9W-IqLHIx2DE5SP3x0K4rQPDOV-guqEzXRY5IeKI6XKQ7Eauo9fCDdb9MvXeOtxa72V5odid_hJ2/s1600-h/c+matthews+pic.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366012795174190770" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOkUT9CPNK4PsXqc58hQXaedKAQu6Xcqf1qRggB2dvrO1V2aNVn7e7akPrM7xAIVSy9W-IqLHIx2DE5SP3x0K4rQPDOV-guqEzXRY5IeKI6XKQ7Eauo9fCDdb9MvXeOtxa72V5odid_hJ2/s320/c+matthews+pic.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>July 28, 2009- Quite the Blurry July: I’m not sure how I got to this end of July without writing my blog or letters to people back home. I didn’t feel extremely busy but I was on the go frequently, tying up loose ends, confirming appointments, and meeting famous former volunteers. Here’s a recap of my month:<br />-At the beginning of the month, I helped a woman in Sibovu, which is the community next to mine, write a CV and apply to an employment agency.<br />-On July 9th, I was chosen along with 4 other volunteers to meet Chris Matthews and his wife Kathy. Mr. Matthews is a former Peace Corps volunteer in Swaziland; he served from 1968 - 1970. Mr. Matthews is also the host of Hard Ball on MSNBC. Having watched the show in college I was familiar with Matthews, and knew he was a former volunteer while researching Swaziland. He’s been back to Swaziland on several occasions, a few times with his children. He told many stories about Peace Corps ‘back in the day’. It’s nothing like my experience now; however, the problems we face as volunteers in rural communities are more daunting. He talked about training in Louisiana, which sounded more like boot camp than preparing people to serve in Peace Corps. He recalled past trainers, former Ministry members, and community leaders; Matthews’ first community was Nhlangano, which is my shopping town and 20 km from my community. He reminisced about former volunteers, and highs and lows of service. My favorite story was about being dropped off at site after being in country for about a week. Matthews’ boss took him and 2 other volunteers to the nurses’ quarters near the health center. After unloading their meager belongings, his boss said, “Your job is to economically develop the Shiselweni region. Good luck.” Whoa! I feel quite a bit better about my open ended job description; at least I have goals Peace Corps require I meet. The evening was quite lovely; we enjoyed traditional food at a restaurant in the Ezulweni Valley and we shared our difficulties in the battles we must fight in Swaziland. Yet we were able to laugh about and appreciate shared experiences. For Peace Corps volunteers, the connections you make, however small or great are the most beneficial. This connection to Swaziland is one I’m honored to share.<br />-I continue to tutor the Primary teachers. Currently we are interpreting chapter 8. Its slow going since the content is increasingly difficult to comprehend. However, they are trudging along. And I’m learning a considerable amount about my capability as a ‘teacher’.<br />-I’ve been seeking first aid kits for the 4 NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points) in my inkhunhla (my inkhunhla is made up of 7 chiefdoms). NCP’s provide preschool and a meal to children who are orphaned or vulnerable. Two NCP’s asked to help them acquire first aid kits and training. Since April, I pestered Red Cross to provide me with two kits per NCP; they are supposed to provide a kit each year, as well as training. Since April, I’ve gotten the same story; we’re still waiting for funding. I was tired of the broken record. Another volunteer told me she requested kits from World Vision for her Home-Based Caregivers; perhaps I should try that route. World Vision was in my community a few weeks ago so I asked for their assistance. The Regional Coordinator for Shiselweni told me they are required to provide kits to NCP’s each year but haven’t gotten around to it yet. Go figure. I offered to distribute the kits if they brought them to me. Done! They dropped them off last week, and I picked them up today! Such a small but satisfying triumph. My next step is contacting Red Cross to set up training dates; I hope they work with me more willingly.<br />-Last week PC staff asked me to help with training again. My challenge was to help introduce how to teach Life Skills to the trainees. I taught a Life Skills class at a secondary school near the training center. Then after mentoring a small group of trainees on how to teach Life Skills, I monitored their delivery and teaching techniques. Most were unwilling participants. I remember thinking I wasn’t going to teach either. Yet, when you are struggling to find something to do in your community that is worthwhile, and want to reach a large audience, sometimes teaching is the thing to do.<br />-I started running again last week after a 3 ½ month hiatus. I wanted to test my foot’s strength, after what I now believe was a stress fracture. I decided to run around the soccer pitch; although it’s slightly uneven dirt and grass track, it’s a much better running surface than the rocky terrain of the road. My legs felt heavy and my foot fatigued quickly but I was able to run two straight half miles. My foot hurt afterwards; quite a bit actually. But I stretched and massaged it well, and the next day I only felt an ache in my legs, the kind one feels after an exercise break. Today I ran a mile straight in 10 minutes and then another ½ mile straight. I feel stronger than last week, which is a great feeling. I just need to work on my breath control, which I seemed to forget, and increase each run by ½ mile to get me where I was 3 months ago. My make is very concerned with the health of my foot, and shook her finger at my foot when I announced I was off for a run. But I promised to slowly ease into a running routine. I’m not sure she was convinced.<br />-Several Group 5 volunteers and other volunteers we know from other organizations have finished their service, and left over the last few weeks. I will greatly miss Deja Love, who helped with the Shiselweni Region Youth Support Group. I wasn’t as close to other Group 5 volunteers but their mass exodus this month was jolting. It temporarily made me reconsider my service, looking back over the year questioning what I’d accomplished, and if I could make a difference in the coming year. After talking to my girls—Jaclyn and Justine, who live in my region—about keeping each other in check, we pinky swore allegiance to each other and to staying. Thank God for those girls. They are my saving grace, my sanity, and my comic relief. </div><br /><div></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05666321225724713426noreply@blogger.com1