June 2010

6 June 2010- My bus ride home: A man I’ve never seen before on my bus sat behind me today. He was an mkhulu, an old man, of at least 65. He was carrying a knob carry, a walking stick with a rounded end. When he saw me on the bus, he immediately wanted to talk me. He launched into the typical tirade of ‘you are beautiful’, ‘I love you’ and ‘will you marry me’ I so often hear. I laughed at first because sometimes that’s all you can do, and the easiest way to deflect unwanted attention. He was not so easily deterred. He continued saying how I would be lucky to marry him, he could satisfy me. I continued to chuckle. Then he got raunchy. He told me was a real man, a man capable of really loving me. “I love you quickly”, he said many times and I told him to stop talking to me. Then he pointed to his knob carry to indicate the size of his penis, again declaring how quickly and well he would love me. I asked him, nicely, several times to stop. I told he was being disrespectful. The others around me, mostly women, had been laughing since the exchange began. No one defended me as mkhulu continued to convince me what a man he was. Finally, I’d had enough. I scolded mkhulu, saying it was incredibly disrespectful to speak to a woman the way he was speaking to me. Then I scolded the women around me, saying it was not okay for a man to treat a woman the way he was treating me. I told them they needed to stand up for women who are being mistreated by men. They stopped laughing, looking at me with disbelief on their faces. One of the women did, however, tell mkhulu to stop talking to me, that he was being rude. He complied rather quickly, even apologizing for his behavior. I waved him away. I was too disgusted to respond. I turned me face to the window, put my headphones in my ears, put on my sunglasses and cried silently the rest of my ride home. It was the worst treatment I’d ever received from anyone, and I wasn’t sure how to reconcile it in my soul.
7 June 2010- My friend at the clinic: My friend Andile is a live wire. She’s always laughing, always telling jokes and teasing everyone, especially me. I’ve taken to calling her kuhlupa, or troublesome. She began as the expert client for MSF at my clinic; an expert clinic is one who’s positive, living a healthy life, and willing to share his/her experiences and tips on living healthy with other positive people. She recently moved up the ranks, taking a workshop several weeks ago to be a Pharmacy tech. She was quite proud of her achievements, and could hardly contain herself when she told me.
Today she was a different person. She was sullen, moving slowly between rooms, barely looking at anyone. At first all she would tell me is she wasn’t feeling well. I told her to sit by the heater and drink tea. We chatted about this and that, nothing really engaging. Finally she told me why she was so sick. She’d taken the remaining contents of her ARV bottle (anti-retroviral drugs), 43 pills—each constitute 3 different types of ARV’s in one pill. She was trying to overdose because her boyfriend beat her up the night before. She was trying to leave him since he’d invited his other two girlfriends to his house, and was insisting they all stay together. She told him to shove it, intending to leave his homestead and walk back to her mother’s place where she stays with her sisters, her three children and her sisters’ children. He wouldn’t let her leave; he beat her on her torso so bruises wouldn’t be easy to see. That night she took all her ARV’s, intending to take her life. Instead, the pills made her incredibly nauseas and achy all over. She came to work hoping the nurses would know how to help her. They called MSF; a car came around noon to take her to the MSF clinic in Nhlangano. They pumped her stomach. They started counseling, and insisted she come with one of her sisters every day for counseling and support. She restarted her ARV regime.
We rode together on the bus the following week; I was going to Baylor, she was going to counseling. I told her she was too important to too many people to let go of her life. I said her children needed a strong mother to look up to. I asked her to remain strong. She told me she left her boyfriend, and promised never to see him again. She said she realized how much her children would suffer if she weren’t around. And she loved her job with MSF; she wanted to warn others against what she did.
She was back to work a week later, back to her old tricks and with a radiant smile on her face. She had a new lease on life. She was telling everyone she was alive, and she intended to live. Every day since then, she greets me and then laughs, holding her heart saying, “I’m very happy today. My heart is very happy! I’m alive, sis Thadeka!”
“And you don’t stop. And you don’t quit.” –Michael Franti
10 June 2010- Visiting the NCP’s: During the month of May and throughout June my intension was to finish visiting my NCP’s. A few angels from back home sent me school supplies throughout the year and with the money I received from Holy Family I added to what friends and family sent me. I was able to take loads of school supplies to each of my NCP’s including coloring books, pencils, colors, pencil sharpeners, story books, flash cards, note paper, molding clay, colored pencils, water colors and paint brushes. I distributed the items to two NCP’s in May, and finished the third today. I took my counterpart with me today. The last time I went to the Mthombe NCP was in November, and I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the convoluted route. And last time we encounter some pretty fierce dogs; I didn’t want to cross that homestead alone.
This NCP is lucky to have a full-time preschool teacher, and she gladly accepted my hand painted posters of colors, shapes, numbers and songs as the NCP couldn’t afford pre-printed laminated posters. I taught a few lessons with her using the posters, and then I taught them a few songs. They loved the itsy bitsy spider, but had a hard time with the finger motions. They sang me a few songs, including an American Christmas carol which threw me for a minute. As the children ate their meal and my counterpart and I enjoyed tea and biscuits from the teacher, I couldn’t help but observe how happy the children seemed. The structure they were in had a dirt floor; the Council of Churches supported the construction of this new NCP and they were waiting for funds to buy more cement. The walls were finished but the window weren’t fully installed. And there was no electricity. Yet the children had real desks and chairs. They received a daily meal. And they had a teacher educated as a preschool teacher. They were learning. And they smiled. What more is there?
16 June 2010- Items Stolen from Building Materials: Eight of the twelve fascia boards were taken from the clinic grounds. I’m not exactly sure what they are, but I do know fascia boards are essential to finishing the roof. No one at the clinic, including the night watchman, was sure how long the boards were missing. But they waited a week to tell me about the theft, fearing my wrath. They involved local police, who were supposed to interview everyone involved. I’m not sure if that happened. The Clinic Committee assured me that they would find the thief and recover the boards. I shook my head yes, and inside I was thinking the idea of finding the boards was absurd. They are long gone, and so it the thief.
Funny enough, I wasn’t too upset when I found out. I should say, I was galled but this happening seemed like standard practice for Swaziland. I almost expected it.
19 June 2010- World Cup Soccer: I attended the New Zealand vs. Italy game with Jenn, Kathy—former PCV from the 80’s—and her daughter. It ended in a draw, one to one. The Italians fans, albeit passionate from beginning to end, were crestfallen their team didn’t win. The New Zealanders, aka Kiwis, were attending the game for only the second time in the history of World Cup play. Some of their players didn’t play on professional teams. They were ecstatic about the draw. We sat near the goal post in row five, close enough to see faces. The New Zealand victory dance after their first goal happened right in front of us. I am now a soccer fan. I’m not sure if it’s the World Cup fever, seeing a live game or finally understanding the rules of the game. Whatever it is, I got da feevah….and what a fun feevah it is!
25 June 2010- My (2nd to last) Official Function in my Community: I visited the Madulini NCP today. It’s a 20 minute walk through a forest and over a river from the siteshi (bus station). I didn’t mind. The weather was beautiful for a winter day. The sun was shining. The wind was mild. The air crisp. And the landscape spectacular. The forest is mostly evergreens, and seeing the bright green trees contrasting with the dirt-red paths and browning grass is wonderfully and strangely comforting. I noticed the change from summer to fall more prominently this year than last. It felt like a Midwest autumn. As I crossed the river and walked up the hill, forest gave way to gently rolling hills and grasses. Cattle were grazing in a nearby field. The grasses they ate, once close to shoulder height, were now barely coming to my knees.
My friend Jane, the main volunteer at this NCP, and her granddaughter were waiting for me near the entrance of the gate. They were resting on the ground, propped up against the wire fence surrounding the NCP. She was delighted to receive the rest of the school supplies, and I should her how to use each item. Then I gave her an article on how to build school desks and chairs from plastic water and soda bottles, as well as tin cans and aluminum cans. Since they don’t have chairs or tables for the children, she promised to start saving her rubbish and ask neighbors to do the same. Then I told her I was moving the Nhlangano. She didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t plead like so many others. She simply asked me to visit again before I go back to America, to bring her a few books because she loves to read before bed, and to leave her with a picture of me with her. She would put the last thing I say to her on a piece of paper above the picture and look at it daily. The only thing I could think to say to that was okay. And somehow I must manage to do just that. I’ve always been touched by Jane. She’s a rare positive deviant. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a hard worker for her family and her community. I wished so many times I lived closer to Madulini so I could visit her and the NCP more often.
I decided to walk home, a trip that took me close to three hours. But I didn’t mind. I knew it would be difficult to catch a bus, and I’ve always wanted to walk that road. The peaks in and around my community are quite impressive and I wanted to breath them in. Mostly I wanted time to reflect. As I walked I thought about the two years in my community. The people I met. The projects I tackled. The projects I didn’t tackle. The relationships I created and the relationships others created with me. I had a family and friends, and I believe I was as much apart of the community as any foreigner could possibly be after two years.
I felt a little low about being finished with things in my community, and at the same time I felt quite content. My proudest accomplishments were ones involving relationships, creating and working to sustain friendships. In my estimation, there is nothing more significant than connecting with another human being on a level that is pure and true.
26 June 2010- Umphakatsi Meeting: I intended to say good-bye to the inner-council at their meeting today. My counterpart told me two weeks in advance. Pretty good planning for Swaziland. I should have known it was too good to be true. The meeting never happened. By the time the Indvuna (liaison to chief) and Buchopo (liaison b/w inner-council & community) arrived I’d been waiting an hour and 30 minutes. They decided after another 30 minutes of waiting that not enough members were present to conduct a meeting so they postponed it. I asked my counterpart what I should do since I was leaving the community the following week; I wanted to follow protocol. He told Indvuna and Buchopo that I had news. He said I could address them, so I relayed my plans and departure date. Both were very surprised I was leaving. I reminded them my contract was for two years, as well as telling them I would visit frequently since I needed to finish the clinic housing. After several siyabonga kakhulu (thank you’s), they continued the conversation they were having before like I wasn’t there.
28 June 2010- Packing Up: Two years ago today, I arrived in country. Since then, it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, with many unexpected twists and turns. As I take letters, cards and pictures off my walls and pack them away, I think back two years ago when I was packing, preparing to leave family and friends for the unknown, exciting and anxiety producing adventure awaiting me with Peace Corps. I am transported there again as I pack; I’m leaving my Swazi family and friends for Pasture Valley where I’ll be joining a new family unit but with a completely different definition of family. This new adventure is somewhat unknown, anxiety-provoking and riddled with special challenges. What strikes me is how upsetting it is leaving my Swazi family; how similar it was to leaving my real family, and how I have a feeling of not wanting to go. Quite an unexpected turn of events! I’m struggling with how to reconcile all these feelings in a constructive way, so I may move forward and transition more smoothly than I did two years ago.
What I’ve learned since that first day in country is this: You can find family anywhere. New relationships may flourish if you make an effort with people willing to make an effort with you. Acquaintances are easy to come by; true friendship takes time and some toil, and with friends who will soon be old friends, it is also effortless.
30 June 2010: My Last Day in the Community: As usual, I went to the clinic this morning. When I got there everyone was abuzz, rushing to finish their clients on time. I assumed it was due to having tea break with me. I told a few people I was bringing treats to have with tea time. As it turns out, they had a braii planned for me. As soon as the last client had received his medication, the nurses were preparing the chicken and lipalishi and the ward clerk and registrar were sweeping and mopping the floors. Chicken pieces were loaded with seasonings and grilled outside on a braii stand. Nurse Phiri brought a cabbage salad and chocolate cake. Before we ate, she gave a speech of thanks that had me tearing up in seconds. It suddenly dawned on me that the clinic staff was my second family during my service. I told them they keep me here when I wanted to leave. When I first arrived, I started the joke, “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” in response to a question one of them asked me. We often used the phrase throughout my time here. I mentioned it again today, thanking them for making me laugh when I really wanted to cry.
I rushed home to my second party of the day. I promised to cook Nomy and Phindile lunch. They were impressed with the potato soup with avocado garnish, and mentally took down the recipe. Then we ate apple cake, drank tea and chatted about visiting each other in town. As Phindile stood to leave, she embraced me with a hug reminiscent of the hug my mom gave me when I left. I took my breath away. After I walked them to the gate, I went back to my house, sat in my camp chair and cried.

May pics-Bushfire & Bambanani Project

May happenings

1 May 2010- A very important piece of information: I neglected to tell you a very exciting development in my life. It happened last month. When I returned from the COS conference there was a change on my homestead. A water tap! What does that mean? It means underground pipes from the main tap were connected to the ones running to my homestead. It means I no longer have to take the wheelbarrow and two 25-liter jugs to the water tap near the store to fetch water (a ten minute walk). I merely walk 20 feet to fill my kettle or one 25-liter jug and happily walk 20 feet back to my hut. Make’s son, who’s been staying with us since February, reconnected the pipes. And I’ve been in heaven since. I did joke with them that now I would need to find an exercise as good as for my arms as hauling two full 25 liter jugs once a week. But I’m not complaining very loudly! (Update: 10 June- water tap isn’t working at home. The river is running low, so water running to the main tap near the sitolo is running slowly. Hence, water is not making it to the homestead. Water is such a problem here, and I wish I knew the solution.)

3 May 2010- Adoption Woes: My PC Admin Officer and her husband are in the process of adopting a 3 year old girl name Siphelile; they took custody of her shortly before Christmas. They are doing a local adoption since International adoptions are currently suspended due to possible human trafficking violations. The Ministry was ordered (by the UN, I believe but don’t quote me) to restructure their processes for adoption if they wanted to reopen International adoptions. A local adoption means the adoptees are currently living in Swaziland and plan to stay one to two years after the adoption is official to ensure legalization of the process: one year if you plan to pay an adoption agency in the US to process paperwork on the US side to make the adoption legal there; and two years if you don’t want to pay the fees—after two years of custody in the child’s country of origin, the US will recognize adoptees as legal guardians and the only fees you pay are for passport processing. I’ve been following their struggle, talking to Nicole often about the crazy road of adopting and the hoops they had to jump because I was also considering adopting a little girl. She lives at Pasture Valley, the children’s home where I’ve been volunteering. Her name is Buhle, which means beautiful. Her mother was young when she became pregnant, 17 I think. Believing Buhle was a mistake, the mother neglected her for the better part of 2 years, sometimes feeding her sleeping pills so she’d sleep for days and days. Since I began volunteering at Pasture Valley in August, I’ve felt a connection to Buhle, one I didn’t feel I could ignore.

And so I contemplated the idea at length before talking to my Admin Officer or Michelle and Peter, the owners of Pasture Valley. The first step was determining her HIV status. We took her to the Baylor clinic were I volunteer. She’s negative. Unfortunately, that’s where I stopped. Local adoptions have just recently been suspended; the Ministry decided to restructure both local and International adoption processes at the same time. Because of this, I’m not allowed to begin any paperwork while the processes are being reorganized. There is no indication as to when adoption processes, local or international, will be sorted out, and chances of it being a quick process is not likely.

I guess I’m thankful for the chance to examine my feelings about adoption and the possibility of taking care of a child on my own. I know that I’m capable, and it’s good to know that one is able. I must confess, though, I’m a bit crestfallen. Nonetheless, things happen the way they need to happen. So I am grateful to the universe for its answer.

10 May 2010- My adoring fan says: A young guy was trying to get my attention today. Here’s what he said: Hey Obama! Hey Obama! Hey Obama! (Pause) Hey Barak! Hey Barack! (Pause) Hey Miss… Miss America! After chatting me up, asking who I was and what I was doing here, he parted by saying, “Could I have E2? I said, “No. “Okay, well I love you.”

It’s possible to hear this or something quite similar several times a week. Could I have money? No. Well, I love you anyway.

12 May 2010- Spitting Cobra: I was visiting my friend Phindile this afternoon. On my way home, I noticed my neighbor Babe Sibandze throwing rocks at something on the road; others lingered slightly away while Babe’s dogs yelped and ran around fitfully. I know this Babe well, and I couldn’t help but think he’d jumped off the deep end—throwing rocks at nothing. Approaching the scene, I noticed the dead animal he was stoning. And I wondered again, what’s his deal?—throwing rocks at something already dead. But then I took a closer look. He was killing a snake. I greeted Babe Sibandze, and wondered in amazement at his killing abilities; the snake had a gapping hole in its middle. I asked what kind it was. He said the kind that, and then using his fingers as tongues at his mouth, made a spitting motion with his fingers. Then he pointed at both of his eyes to indicate they spit in your eyes to blind you. I said, “How?!” which is the expression used to indicate surprise, shock or amazement. I looked a little closer, wishing I’d had my camera. The snake was a silvery grey and its head was small. So I’m not sure if it was a spitting cobra because I couldn’t see the telltale sign of a cobra—it’s hood. Either way, the snake looked menacing, even dead. I’m glad Babe Sibandze was on the road ahead of me and that I left Phindile’s house 5 minutes later than I planned.

14 May – 16 May, 2010- Getting robbed and eating zebra: The cabin that I will be moving to in July was vandalized. The day started with Justine and I teaching crafts at Pasture Valley; once the sun began to set, we decided to make our way to the cabin for the evening. While walking from the orphanage to the cabin, we heard noises in the forest. Neither of us thought anything about it; mostly likely a cow or dogs. The door was harder to unlock than normal; I couldn’t get the key to turn. Justine tried and the door popped open. Once inside, I sensed something strange, out of the ordinary, had happened. There were blankets haphazardly strewn outside one of the bedroom. I said to Justine, “This is strange. Something’s not right here. It seems as if someone was trying to rob us but left in a big hurry. Or maybe the children came to get some of our bedding to wash. But why would they leave things like this?” I was half-joking, but then we noticed all the blankets had been taken off both beds, including the ones we bought in Lesotho. Bizarre. That’s when we noticed all the cupboard doors in the kitchen were open, and matches were scattered all over the kitchen. I’m not sure why we gravitated toward the door, but we checked it. The lock had been jammed into the locking area, which is why I couldn’t unlock it. Justine and I starred out each other, thinking the same thing: we’d been robbed, and they must have come near dark, using matches to see. We heard more noise in the forest; they were still out there! Justine called Peter and Michelle; I called our Safety & Security Officer. While Michelle called the police, Peter searched the forest and their roads with the help of a neighbor. Peter scared the perpetrators with gun fire into the air; we heard them running away, and saw flashlights cutting through the trees. Alas they  were never found. The police came about 2 hours later to take our statements. The chief came into the cabin with his semi-automatic machine gun, towering over both of us as if we were children. He set his gun on the couch, looked briefly into the rooms, ordered his deputies to take statements, and then walked outside to talk to the children and one housemother who came to observe the drama. The officer taking Justine’s statement flirted with her the entire time, saying she was of marrying age so why wasn’t she married. Mine didn’t; he must have either been very professional, or judging by my age, thought I was too old or already married. They commented on the cake on the dining table, so we gave them the last slice. Justine sat on the couch while they finished writing, forgetting the gun was there. Suddenly realizing it was there, she looked at it, mouth gaping, and then turned to me and mouthed ‘oh my God!” I mouthed, ‘I want a picture of you next to the gun!” and tried to not laugh at the madness of the situation we found ourselves in. If only a picture were possible. As they started to leave, they gave us their numbers in case we needed to call again. I asked if they wanted to take their machine gun with them once they reached the porch. They laughed, saying they were about to forget it. I told them I would keep it if I knew how to use it. They laughed again. Justine and I slept in the same room that night and the following night. We tied the front door shut with plastic Spar bags, and locked our bedroom door. Neither of us had a peaceful sleep; every noise seemed to wake us. The following morning, our Safety and Security Officer visited to take our statement as well as pictures of the damage. We promised to begin using the padlock on the burglar door.

Thinking about it now, weeks later, I can admit I was scared the first night, freaked out that a group of inconsiderate people violated my space. Then I was angry, ready to kick some burglar arse for coming into my space. My anger subsided quickly, though. I realize it was a crime of necessity. They took blankets to keep warm. Perhaps they would have used them to wrap other items in to make a quick get-away and maybe that’s why they were on their way back to the cabin that night. I am still upset about my blanket since it was my beautiful maize-themed Lesotho blanket. But what can I do? Mostly I feel I need to remain confidence in my ability to handle myself, stay aware of my surroundings and lock the burglar door every time I leave.

They rest of the weekend consisted of teaching more crafts, attending my friend Phindile’s graduation party and having Sunday lunch with Michelle, Peter, and their church friends. Peter grilled zebra and nyala (like an antelope), a gift from Michelle’s cousin that runs a game reserve in SA. It was my first time eating either. Zebra, I must confess, is quite good. I helped myself to a second piece.

19 May 2010- Conversation with my Sisi: Make thinks my bosisi are having sex. Apparently a neighbor saw a boy visiting over the Christmas holidays when Make was visiting Babe and I was in Cape Town. Make was livid. But I cannot figure out whether she is more upset about them possibly having had sex or that they are possibly having sex in her house. She doesn’t believe their side of the story, so I thought I would have a little chat with each about boyfriends and sexual activity. Sexual debut happens at an unbelievably young age for girls, sometimes as young as twelve. Most girls are forced into it; in other words they are raped or the man/boy convinces them it will be beneficial since the will receive money or gifts. They are told they will be “taken care of.”  I wanted to make sure nothing like that was happening. Plus, a chance of the girls using condoms is unlikely, so I wanted to assess the situation in that area too. Zandele was adamant that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Nomdumiso insisted it was all a misunderstanding. The boy who visited was a friend of Machawe. She said she was too young to have a boyfriend. I asked that she tell me when she is serious about a boy, because then we needed to chat about being safe. She promised. I want to believe her. I think she’s quite a flirt. But I really want to believe her and Zandele haven’t had sex. I just know they wouldn’t use condoms if they were having sex; people don’t use condoms here no matter how much literature is thrown their way. And without condom use or proper condom use, they would face with either pregnancy or HIV or perhaps both. I don’t wish those circumstances on either sisi or any young girl. It’s the way I feel about my nieces; I want them to be young and untainted for as long as possible. 

20 May 2010- Gauging my Ears: In November I bought an earring a size larger than a normal post in order to begin gauging my second earring hole. I want to take something physical from Swazi culture with me back to America. Victoria is also gauging her ears, and gave me plugs she can no longer use. So I have a plug in one earring hole and the size larger post in the other, which I need to replace with a plug soon. I plan to get a larger plug or spiral earring to replace the first plug when I go to Nelspruit in a few weeks. I’ll be there to watch the New Zealand vs. Italy World Cup Soccer game. Are you jealous?!

25 May – 30 May 2010- Preparing for Bushfire and Bushfire 2010: The Bambanani Project, an income-generating project I began working with in March, sold products at Bushfire 2010. Bushfire is a 3-day music festival held at House on Fire; this is the third year. Not only a music festival and international arts festival, it’s also a fundraising event. Proceeds from the event go to Young Heroes, an NGO that pays school fees and buys school uniforms for orphaned children in Swaziland. Justine, Michelle and I have been working with the boMake and boBabe group at Dwaleni to make recycled jewelry; namely paper beads that we string into necklaces or earrings. We’ve also been teaching the girls at the children’s home to make the necklaces and earrings as well as sewing handbags. We sold necklaces and earrings by the girls and boMake & boBabe, handbags and canned preserves made by the older girls, and cards made by the younger children. Considering this was our first debut, we did well. We didn’t make enough to recoup expenses but we made many contacts and got good ideas from other marketers, as well as positive feedback from buyers. I was quite stressed about the event; I wanted to participate and show off my group’s hard work. But I didn’t anticipate the amount of time and work that would go into getting ready for such an event. However we pulled it off, and with a nicely displayed booth of products too.

This same weekend, 11 volunteers from my groups said good-bye; they COS’ed or closed their service. This weekend was the last time Group 6 would be together in Swaziland. We danced and sang to the Parlitones on Friday night and to Freshly Ground Saturday night. Then we hugged and I said, “See you later” but not good-bye as I will be seeing those precious faces again, some time soon.

31 May 2010- Celebrity Sighting: I met Chris Lowell, the actor who places Dell Parker on Private Practice at Bushfire. He said he was there visiting a friend. He also told me he’d just finished jamming with his band, Two Shots for Poe. I didn’t believe it was him at first. I asked him if people think he looks like Dell from Private Practice, and he said, “Well, I am that character. We just finished shooting session three.” I still wasn’t sure if I could believe him; after all, I can be pretty gullible. But I asked to take a picture with him anyway, just in case. Turns out, the Mozambican PCVs that were dancing with him confirmed that it was indeed ‘Dell’ from Private Practice. Lucky for me, I had my camera. And I have a picture.

Images from Lesotho

March & April 2010

Beginning 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!)
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.

My new hobby/habit: paper beads; my view in Jan; my flowers in Dec

Life in February, 2010

January 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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!
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.
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!
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.