September 10, 2008- So what’s a girl to do during forced hermitage….um…I mean Integration: I arrived at my site on August 29th a little sleep-deprived and gloomy. Group 5 treated us to Mbabane’s finest night life—Malendela’s—an Irish pub (yes, an Irish pub with a not so Irish name, owned by a Brit) outside of town after Swear-in. And then, around midnight, for those who were a little more adventurous, a visit to a dance club in town. Reggae music from across the globe was the theme for the evening/early morning hours. It was so much fun to dance. All summer I’d been missing my weekly dose of Poker Alice during Friday night happy hour at Carey’s. This satisfied my craving even though some reggae is hard to dance to, especially when drawing attention from the locals—they wanted to dance with us, trying desperately to impress us with their moves. Luckily we had one guy with us, so he kept most advances at bay.I got home at 2am. My alarm went off at 6:30am. We were expected to have our stuff packed and to the pick-up point by 7am. My travel group of 4 departed around 9am. It took about 2 hours to drive from Mbabane to Mahlalini; I was the first person dropped off. The PC staff person riding with us departed my place saying “one day at a time.” Yes. Okay. I waved good-bye, watching the caravan leave the homestead, and then walked back into my madness. Dead bugs of various sorts and sizes dotted the floor, with my stuff piled on the cleanest patch. My make wasn’t home, just one of the OVC’s. She seemed indifferent to my being there. I asked for a broom to sweep out the mound of bugs. I also asked to borrow a chair so I could comb down the overabundance of cobwebs and spiders on the ceiling and in the corners. The windows were wide open, and I closed them as it was a bit chilly. I didn’t know what to do with myself much less my things. I had no storage containers or closet or wardrobe. No kitchen counter, cupboards or table and chairs. Just a bare 21 x 12 ½ foot (my own foot) room with cement floor, cinderblock and plastered walls and tin roof. While inspecting the gaps between the window and the frame and the holes developing where the walls meet the roof, I discovered 3 visitors—geckos, I think. They were the same color as the wall, so I didn’t notice them at first. As I peered closer to see what the heck was so lumpy on my wall, one moved. I jumped back, and yes, let out a little scream. I’m justified; it scared me! One scurried out the gap in the window. The other two through the holes near the ceiling. Damn! I started checking other gaps in the house. A few in every corner near the ceiling, a large one around the door because they cut the new door too small and a few gaps where tin overlapped tin. I started a list of things to buy the next day: broom and mop, weather stripping, expanding foam sealant, and of course bed, stove, and refrigerator. I am lucky enough to have electricity, and I’m not afraid to use it. To quote a Group 5 volunteer: “you’re already in Africa; it’s hard enough. You might as well live with a few familiar things to make life more bearable and homey.” Well said. Sure, some volunteers are boasting “I’m going to make it 2 years in Africa without electricity.” That’s great; more power to ya. But having electricity isn’t always what it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes if it’s too windy (or even just a little windy) it goes out. Sometimes when it rains it goes out. I’ve been told during lightening storms it goes out. Sometimes it just goes out for no reasonat all. All the lines run above ground, and I see lots of tree branches or plastic bags hanging from the lines most days. More culprits. I also am required to pay my host family for the amount of electricity I use, which I hear is about R75 to 100 per month. Every situation has its trade-offs. After I made my shopping list I did the next best thing I could think to do, unroll my yoga mat, put my sleeping bag on top of it, and nap for hours. This was my alternativeto calling Peace Corps, pleading them to turn around the caravan and take me back to Mbabane.
September 13, 2008- Running with a gaggle of girls and my first fatty comment: I started running again last week. I only run a handful of times during training so I wanted to get myself back into a routine again. There is an 8K race in Cape Town in March. There’s also a half and full marathon the next day. But I want to ease myself into the half marathon pack, so I think starting with an 8K is the way to go. A half marathon is on the agenda for 2010. On Wednesday while I was running, I happened past a group of girls playing net ball, which is similar to basketball but without the dribbling. I’m sure it’s more complicated than that but I have yet to watch a game. Fish-bowl effect fully engaged, since I was wearing running pants, running shoes, and wearing earphones, they all stared at me. I was expecting laughter and mimicked running since I got that the first day I went running. Instead they joined me. A group of 20 girls ranging from 7 to 15, I’m guessing. And they put me to shame. I tried consoling myself with the fact that they were all quite younger than me, and I had already gone ¾ of a mile. But some were running in flip flops, some in shoes too big, others in shoes too small, and still others bare foot. No one wore a pair of running shoes. No one had an iPod loaded with music to keep them going. The roads are quite rough and rocky, yet they trudged on with me. After I ran about a mile, finishing up a hill, I stopped to walk and chat with the girls. I told them my name, I was working at the clinic, and I was training for the marathon in Cape Town, trying to throw in siSwati as often as I could (Ligama lami ngu Thandeka Bhembe. Ngisebenta eDwaleni Clinic. Ngiyagijima Cape Town Marathon). They were unimpressed. I asked them about net ball. They invited me to join them. I said I didn’t know how to play but would like to watch. Alright! I got their attention. They were having a game the next afternoon. I was invited to watch. Perfect. Turning around, I said I was going to run about half a mile and then walk again. We started running, and one girl asked me if I only had one pace. Smiling, I thought about how to explain training for a marathon; I decided against it, replying yes instead. Once we got halfway up the other hill, running a little further than ½ a mile, I stopped to walk the rest of the way. The girl next to me, the same girl questioning my pace, said, “You’re too fat.” Too fat?! For what? Running?! Being told you are getting fat is generally considered a compliment in this culture. It means you are healthy, you are not sick, and you are being taken care of, i.e. have money to afford food. We were cautioned people might tell us we are fat so don’t take it personal. But I was running, and her tone wasn’t complimentary, at least not in my book. So I’m left to assume she thought I was too fat to run. My first fatty comment; oh joy. I decided to keep track of how many times someone tells me I’m fat. I’m just curious. I’m also tallying the number of marriage proposals, as well as baby offers from random people on the street, in the store or at the clinic, as in “Do you want to hold me baby? Oh, take her. You can have my baby. You want me baby. Take my baby.” Interesting isn’t it? I can’t quite wrap my head around it, although Group 5 volunteers say baby holding pleas usually lead to pick-pocketing or purse nabbing. At the clinic it’s usually bogogo requesting I take their grandchildren. I’m guessing they are raising their children’s children, and are plain tired of child-rearing. So far I’ve received five baby offers, 3 marriage proposals and 1 fatty comment. Sorry, Dad. No one has mentioned the number of cattle they are willing to trade for me; I’ll know someone is really serious when cattle number and negotiation enter conversation. A Group 5 volunteer is up to 50 head from one gentleman in her community. That’s pretty steep trading ‘round here.
September 24th 2008- A typical day in the Swaz or My “new” normal day or 20 things I do every day: 1.) During the week, I get up at 6:30 am; my alarm is set for 6:30am, but I usually wake before then. The sun begins streaming into my hut b/w 5:45 and 6am. By 6:15am, my room is bright and beginning to warm up so even if I wanted to sleep in, it’s quite difficult to do. Combine that with the fact that people on my homestead begin stirring around 5:30am, and makeis already yelling at bobhuti or bobsisi for something or another. The latest I sleep on weekends is 8 am. But honestly I don’t mind it. Wow. I can’t believeI’m admitting that. A very adamant (more like obstinate) non-morning person admitting she doesn’t mind getting up before 7am. Oh, there’s something wrong w/ me! 2.) Quick trip to the pit latrine, trying very hard to avoid everyone. Forming sentences is hard enough, but even harder in siSwati when you just wake up. I really have to thinking about my words…I sometimes say ‘thank you’ instead of ‘I am fine’ when asked how are you. Embarrassing. 3.) Pour water in the kettle from my 25 liter jug and put it on the stovetop to heat. 4.) Make my bed. Yes mom, I make my bed every day. Don’t have a heart attack, please! Making my bed back home was something I did only after washing my linens. Here, I don’t want to appear slovenly in case make pops in for a visit. When we first arrived, PC staff strongly recommended we make our beds every day b/c we were guests in our host family homes; it was the polite thing to do. Also, Swazi culture has a saying: if you don’t make your bed every morning, your whole day will be messy and disorganized. A made bed = an organized day. So now I’m in the habit. Admittedly, when you cannot shut your bedroom door and forget that disheveled bed, the room looks unsightly. 4.) Listen to BBC & BBC Africa on Radio Swaziland for world news, then switch to Durban’s East Coast Radio for local and South Africa news 5.) Use boiled water to wash face and hands. 6.) Pull the day’s outfit from the closet aka suitcase. 7.) Use small hand mirror, which is stuck to the wall w/ sticky tack (they call it bostick here) to fix my face and hair. 8.) Eat breakfast. 9.) Walk to clinic, but not before greeting make and telling her I’m leaving. I sorta feel like a kid again…”Mom, I’m going to school. See ya later.” But one day she didn’t see me all day and was very worried I had gotten lost. The next morning she threatened to beat me if I didn’t tell her where I was going. She was joking….I’m pretty sure. Nonetheless, I’ve decided NOT to test the theory. If I see her at least once a day, she seems satisfied. I keep reminding myself, I’m a guest in her homestead. Act like a guest! 10.) From 8am – 10 or 10:30am, I assist one of the 2 wards with weighing. Since I offer an extra hand, the three nurses actually have time with their patients. We weigh children from newborn to 60 months, pregnant and lactating women, and people taking ART’s (anti-retroviral therapy). People taking ART’s are generally HIV positive. I say generally because sometimes clinics start women on ART’s if they suspect they’ve been exposed to HIV, in order to prevent transmitting it to their baby, either in utero or while nursing. This is before they know their status. If their test is negative, then they quit taking ART’s; if it’s positive, then early prevention is better. The chance of them living a long, healthy life is greater by taking ART’s early. All the people coming to this clinic for ART’s are HIV positive. The Ministry of Health recommends mothers bring their babies to the clinic each month, for the first 5 years, to weigh them. This gives the clinic staff and Ministry of Health information regarding the health of the baby, hopefully helping to explain decline in health or show improvements in health, encourage mothers to make healthy choices, as well as recording those who are malnourished. As an incentive to making the monthly journey to the clinic, the World FoodProgramme in conjunction w/ the Ministry of Health, offer mothers 6kg of Corn Soya Mix—a ground mixture of maize and soy protein designed to help infants/women gain weight—per child/self. Those who have malnourished children, under-weight children, and women w/ TB or who are malnourished themselves are eligible to receive this mixture. 11.) Usually around 10 or half past 10 (I’ve started saying half past and quarter past b/c that’s how Swazi’s tell time…a remnant of British control while they were still part of South Africa), I take tea break with the nurses (another remnant of the Brits). It’s an unstated mandatory tea break. Everyone does it. We had tea breaks from 10am to half past and from 3pm to half past every day during training. A welcome break from language training. Rooibos or black tea with a variety of emabiscuit (aka many biscuits…in America butter cookies or shortbread cookies) for half an hour was fabulous. I really like the idea of morning and afternoon tea break! 12.) After tea break, we go back to weighing and distributing corn soya. If there is no one to weigh after break, I help count and fill medication packets. Most clinics have their own pharmacy, of sorts. They receive bulk meds from the Ministry of Health (every public clinic in the country is run and employed by the Ministry of Health) then distribute meds to patients as needed. 13.) I usually leave the clinic around half past 12 or 1pm. My lunch time…plus the afternoons are quiet at the clinic. The clinic sees anywhere from 50 – 100 people per day, most arriving between 8am – 1pm. 14.) After lunch I may do a variety of things, depending on my mood. Since I don’t have any other projects going on right now, I mostly hide out in my hut. It’s glorious having time to myself, and a nice break from constantly being on my toes trying to speak siSwati. I have time to read books I’ve wanted to read for quite a while. Sometimes I read over my siSwati lessons. Sometimes I take a nap. Sometimes I bake something. I almost always boil water to filter. Later afternoon I reserve for exercising. Twice a week I run. Two to three times a week I practice yoga. 15.) Dinner and listen to the evening news. 16.) Evening activities. Again, this varies depending on my mood. Sometimes I read more. Sometimes I watch a movie. Sometimes I play solitaire or do a crossword puzzle. 17.) Boil water for bucket bath. 18.) Use some of the heated water to do the day’s dishes. 19.) Take bucket bath. Remember hearing that old cliché excuse women used when they didn’t want to call or date a guy? “I have to wash my hair.” Well here that would be a legitimate excuse! Here I wash my hair every 3 – 4 days. Back home I never dealt with greasy hair. I do here. Gross! But it’s such a pain to wash my hair every day and take a bath. One, it takes forever to wash my hair and take a bath in the same night. Two, I cannot heat enough water to sufficiently wash my hair and my body in the same night. I have a 3 liter kettle, which is enough water to wash my hair with a little to spare. I refuse to use more electricity to heat another kettle of water. So, sadly, I plan the night I will wash my hair. It’s sorta hilarious, isn’t it?! Also, I’m challenging myself to use the least amount of water for bathing and still be clean. When I think about all the water I use to waste showering, it makes me sick. Here I can get by on 1 liter of water for bathing. 3 liters on nights I need to bath and wash my hair. It really is possible. Don’t get me wrong. I really miss standing under the shower for 15-20 minutes, letting the water beat on my tired, sore muscles. I also REALLY miss lingering baths with herbs and oils, drawing more hot water the instant I felt it begin to cool. Two guilty pleasures I will probably take back up the moment I step off the plane in America. But for now, it’s more practical to conserve. I have to haul that water from the spout to my house every few days. It’s a chore….one I don’t mind but it takes time. At least I’m building my arm muscles! 20.) Wind down. Crawl in bed anywhere from 8:30 – 9pm with a good book and read until I’m tired. I usually go to bed around 9:30 or 10pm. The other day I wrote in my journal, ‘I feel like I’ve had a “normal” day’—the PC Medical Officer visited, so I didn’t go to the clinic. After she left, I read my mail and finished a book. It felt like a day off back home, where I would sleep in late, leisurely drink coffee, read, run errands. It wasn’t quite the same as a day off back home but if you can think of the above as normal, then I finally had a normal day. And it was fantastic.
September 29, 2008- The people you meet on the way to the clinic: I met the chief on my walk to the clinic today. I thought I met him last Wednesday when I attended the umphakatsi (center of community gov’t for chiefdom) meeting. But apparently I just met the Indvuna- the headmen serving for chiefs within theirchiefdoms and of each inkhundla- a constituency area covering a number of chiefdoms. And the person I thought was chief was actually the bucopho- an elected person within the chiefdom that serves as a liaison b/w the gov’t of the chiefdom and that of the inkhundla. I had put on a nice dress, and thought long and hard about introducing myself in siSwati and what I would say to the chief and his inner-council. My counterpart introduced me toward the end of the meeting. I was sitting next to my make; she insisted I sit next to her so everyone would know she was my make. When my counterpart began introducing me, she pushed me to stand up, saying, “Stand in front of them so they can see you.” So, I was on display and the stakes were high. Do I say everything I want to say in siSwati? Of course! This is the chief after all; I must make a good impression. And so I began slowly, carefully thinking about each word: Ligama lami ngu Thandeka Bhembe. Ngiphuma eMelika. Ngisebenta eDwalini Clinic nge nalabasha nge umgcugcuteli. Ngiyafundzisa eHIV nge AIDS. Ngiyabonga. (My name is Thandeka Bhembe. I am from America. I am working at eDwalini and with youth and with Rural Health Motivators. I will teach about HIV and AIDS. Thank you.) Smile. Shakily walk back to my seat. Sit down. Big sigh. Be thankful I said everything without stumbling over the words. Oh! They are clapping! I must have done okay. Amen! Okay, keep smiling. Oh. They’re saying they are happy to meet me; happy to have me here. Say something. Ngiyabonga kakhulu. (Thank you very much.) It might sound very elementary. But to pronounce all the words accurately and still get my point across is a big deal, especially in front of the chiefdom elders and people I will be working with the next 2 years. So imagine my surprise and shock when I met the chief this morning, catching me completely off guard. I was put off at first b/c I noticed him staring at me for the longest time and then smiling at me from his truck. Oh crap, he’s getting out and walking straight toward me. Oh great. Another man coming to bother me. We greet each other but my greetings are abrupt. He asks, Ubani lo? (Who are you/what is your name?) Then he introduces himself. I’m Chief Khondlo. Oh God! My mind races as I’m trying to back step and begin exchanging niceties with THE CHIEF. Oh, it is nice to meet you! (Shit. I’m wearing jeans today.) I started working at the clinic. (I wasn’t being friendly when I first spoke to him. Did I shake his hand with my right hand correctly?) Yes, I will meet with my counterpart to identify the needs of the community. (Am I smiling enough now to make up for my curt beginning? What else can I say to redeem myself?) Yes, I’m excited to be here! (Damn! I’ve forgotten all my siSwati. I’m such a freakin’ idiot!) Luckily he doesn’t seem to notice my stupidity. I almost blew it. Lesson learned for today: don’t judge people so quickly. You just might be meeting the chief!
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
August 2008 updates 2
August 21, 2008- L.P.I. aka Language Practice Final: Today was our language final. YIKES! We took the mock final 3 weeks ago and it was rough. We were expected to pass it with a score of Novice Low. I passed at Novice High- a big surprise, I must say. Today we were required to pass at Intermediate Low. I think I did. We’ll either receive our results tomorrow or Monday, but honestly I don’t care. It’s over. NO MORE LANGUAGE LESSONS. And what’s better….I felt way more confident today than I did for the mock….AND I was able to have an actual conversation in siSwati! So that tells me I’ve improved. WOO HOO! And even if I didn’t pass, I would be required to take extra tutoring in Mbabane, which would just make me a better speaker…so win-win either way.
Now that I’m on this side of training, I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone. Getting through is the hard part- adjusting to a different way of living, new people, loss of autonomy, living in a fish bowl. Since I generally like everyone in my village, my transition was a bit smoother. One girl was a bit of a drama queen, and another not aware of her surroundings at all- reminds me of the stereotypical tourist who gets off the tour bus, eye to camera, noticing the sites but not the person behind her picking her pocket. On the whole, my village was great. I really love my language classmates: Jason and Erica, married, from New Jersey, Jason worked recently as an EMT, Erica with non-profits; and Margaret, a just graduated triple major from Oregon who will read anything. It was nice to find people to have intelligent conversations, yet be able to laugh at the most ridiculous or absurd situations for days. I will miss them- Erica and Jason were placed in the HhoHho region, 4 hrs north, near the South African/Mozambique borders; Margaret in the Lubombo region, a 2 ½ hr trip east and a little north. I will be sad to be so far away from them. We’ll be able to meet up in Mbabane but that means staying overnight and paying for a hostel for all of us b/c of transportation time- the time it takes to and from sites is generally different on paper than actual time. Hopefully we’ll be able to arrange something on occasion.
August 18, 2008- Fieldtrip to Montanga Museum and Cultural Village: Just northwest of Manzini is a nature reserve which boosts the only cultural village in Swaziland, complete with the traditional huts and homestead configuration. Every day around 11, 2 dozen men, women, teens and children perform traditional Swazi dance in traditional Swazi dress. They are amazing. I wish I could send you a video to watch; your jaws would drop. Most of the dances include a high kick. When I say high, I mean they get their knee to their forehead without bending forward. And the men and boys kick so high and so hard on their last kick, they usually fall on their backs. It’s truly incredible. Honestly, I’m not describing it well enough to give it full credit. Anyone visiting me who wishes to attend a performance won’t have to talk me into going back. After the hour-long performance, we took a ½ mile nature walk to the Mantanga Waterfall. It’s the clearest water I’ve seen since being here- sky blue and tempting enough to drink. An interesting note to the day: As we departed Nhlangano to start our trip, we were stopped by a random (and apparently routine) police road block just outside town. We were forced off the bus and into separate male/female lines. No one had a clue. The guys had to spread their legs and were patted down by male officers; female officers were checking women’s bags/purses. It wasn’t until our boThishela stepped off the bus that we were able to ask an explanation. Drug search. They were searching every vehicle, every person, and every bag for marijuana. Apparently it happens all the time. And according to one Thishela, you can easily get pot any day of the week, any hour of the day, from just about anyone…even gogo! And, she adds, “it’s the good stuff in Swaziland; the really good stuff…not that I would know.” But she proceeded to show us the sign you make w/ your hands- a fist w/ the right hand, grinding into the palm of the left hand- to any cab driver and he’ll know what you’re talking about. She finishes by saying, “don’t do it! You’ll get caught and get in big trouble!” It took all of my will to not laugh while she was telling us about dogga, as they call it in the Swaz, and how to get it. But alotta people sell it b/c they need money. It is illegal, but almost anyone who wants it can access it.
August 25, 2008- LPI Results: I PASSED MY LANGUAGE TEST!!! I scored an Intermediate Low score. I was hoping for an Intermediate Mid score. The reason I didn’t get that score was due to my repeating the question, my tester asked, in English before giving my answer in siSwati. I wanted to make sure I was giving the correct answer. It indicated to my tester that I wasn’t certain of the question when in fact I knew each question she asked. Oh well! Live and learn. The important thing is I passed. I also found out that everyone is required to find and hire a tutor, no matter their score, for on-going language training. We are reimbursed for the expense of hiring a tutor, which generally around R20/hr, not to exceed 40 hrs per year. I have until November to identify and hire a tutor in my community. Once school reopens, I plan to pay boThishela a visit. Luckily I have a primary and secondary school right next door.
August 26, 2008- Leaving Tuscany: When I arrived for training at Ngwane Teachers College the end of June, the view from our classrooms reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Tuscany- masses of tall, green trees, little houses nestled together and scattered alone the rolling hills, rugged, red roads that hugged the curvy hills and stretched endlessly, toward the horizon. One day I was dreamily looking at ‘my Tuscany,’ when Gladys- a Swazi staff member- asked what I was doing, standing all alone. Didn’t I want to have tea break with my colleagues? I said I was enjoying the view; I was secretly hiding from my fellow trainees, as I needed some ‘me’ time and wanted to imagine traveling those red roads to wherever they would take me. I told her I thought the village, the scene I saw, was beautiful. She shook her head, smiled, and said “you will get tired of looking at it”. Never, I thought. Little did I know the village I was daydreaming of as ‘my Tuscany’, was Lebovu (translates as it is red), the village I’d spend 7 weeks living in, and having a love/hate relationship with. Funny thing, that Karma!
I did travel those red roads but not far; they lead to South Africa maybe 20 km away. But we couldn’t cross the border—no independent traveling allowed during training. The dirt stained my socks, my shoes, my pant legs, and my skin. And rugged doesn’t even describe the conditions. I bought a pair of Mary Jane knock-offs to have a dresser pair of shoes. They are ruined after 6 weeks of walking those red roads. The dust from passing khombis intoxicated my nose and lungs, eventually causing an allergic reaction, which sent me to the doctor for an anti-allergy shot (her words) and a week’s worth of amoxicillin and vitamin C tabs. Those little houses nestled along the hillside where actually homesteads with cinderblock and tin-roofed or thatch-roofed huts that hold the day’s heat until the sun goes down then transform into ice boxes. Ah, my Tuscany! I did say it was love/hate. My host family—who went from overwhelming, to inquiring to the point of nosy, to tolerable, to clingy—eventually softened my heart. Yes, my make did offer to help me with my bucket bath, which still blows me away. She was adamant I sweep the kitchen floor to see if I knew how to sweep. She insisted I start a fire in the wood-burning stove when company was there to show the guests they had taught the white girl the Swazi way. She endlessly asked if I wanted to watch them butcher a chicken. No. Thanks. I’ve done that before! But every time I was away for a few days or she was gone for a few days, she said she missed me, they all missed me. And I believe she sincerely meant it. It felt nice to be missed by a family that barely knew me. Their constant concern for my health, the amount of food I was eating (or not eating), or for my studies came from their hearts, even though at times it felt smothering.
The 9 children on my homestead were my real source of joy and sometimes comfort. They began waiting for me at the gate when they knew I was arriving from school. They hung around the entrance to my hut just to watch what I was doing. They accompanied me to the water source; I was relieved most days for their help. I had yet to figure out the system of whose turn it was to get their water next. They always knew. The girls danced and sang for me once they discovered I loved music and to dance; usually dances were ones they made up, but sometimes it was traditional dances or games they learned from school. I loved they way little Temakholo said my name, and how she’d say she was fine when I said hello. She became my shadow, following me everywhere. I would take her home with me if I could; she always had a smile on her sweet round face, and a laugh shortly following the smile. The boys taught me cards- Casino Royale, Sisu (or Stomach) and their version of Crazy 8’s; they didn’t always explain very well but they had fun laughing at my mistakes and helping me make the right play. I taught them rumi and slap jack, which they loved. They were captivated by my card shuffling, calling it magic. Siyanda picked it up after a week and with my prodding that he should just keep practicing. One day after school, he ran to meet me. “Nonhlanhla, are you busy? Can we play cards? I shuffle now the way you do. I will show you.”
A few days before I left, I was showered with gifts. Gogo gave me a grass mat w/ a thin purple design throughout. I received a traditional wrap (laheya) w/ the Swazi flag and beaded necklace from Babe Lomkhulu and his wife, Lungile. Lungile immediately tied the laheya around me and pronounced that I was now a Swazi woman. She said she loved me the morning I left. She hugged me; I wanted to cry. I only choked out a ‘love you too’ and a quick good bye- I couldn’t look back. I felt a real kinship with her and have a special place in my heart for her children- Temakholo and Mehluko. I perceived Lungile received some education and understood the world, at least a little. She wanted to know how the world really worked, from my perspective. She wanted to understand a different way of doing things, and was happy to listen to my stories of home. And finally a traditional wrap w/ King Mswati III from make. The night before I left, my make brought a chicken to my door. “This is for you”, she said. “Gogo says you must take it on your journey to your new place.” Oh my God. The whole chicken?! Then she offeredto cook it for me since I’d already packed my stove. She wanted to leave it whole after cooking, wrap it in plastic bags, then newspaper, so it would keep during my travel, and I could eat well on the journey and my first few days at my new place. I tried to explain that we were going to the capital for 3 days first, and I wouldn’t be at my site for 4 days. I offered them half the chicken, saying I would take as much as would fit in my 3 food storage containers. Once the chicken was cooked and I was summoned to collect it, I found make had also prepared dumplings. So I took 3 pieces of chicken, carefully avoiding the head, and 3 dumplings to go w/ my pieces of chicken.
So I left ‘my Tuscany’ with 3 pieces of chicken, 3 dumplings, and a loaded backpack with gifts, book, and clothes and headed to the siteshi (bus stop) with my make, Margaret, Serena and her make, and 7 or 8 kids in tow- from my family and Serena’s family. Make was very worried about my containers of chicken, and insisted put the bag in my backpack once we got to the siteshi. Other trainees came with bosisi or make. They all waited w/ us at the siteshi until our khombi arrived- it was late. It was always late. Once it came we said our good-byes, piled into the khombi and it headed on down the road, like a bat outta hell, which is usual. When I looked back, I couldn’t see any of the family members standing at the siteshi. They were already walking back home to start the day’s work.
August 28, 2008- Swearing in: Group 6’s swearing-in ceremony took place at the Ambassador to Swaziland’s residence in Mbabane. The ceremony drew some important dignitaries—the Ambassador, of course, the director of NERCHA (National Emergency Response Council on HIV/AIDS) and soon to be ‘boss’, Swaziland’s Country Director, and the most important dignitary—one of the first wives of King Mswati III—Inkhosikati Make LaMatsebula. Because of her presence, 1 local news channel and 2 local paper crews covered the event. She is an amazing woman. Having been taught by a Peace Corps volunteer when PC was here in the 80’s doing education work, she holds of soft spot in her heart for volunteers. She is the official patron to Peace Corps from the royal family. Her speech was well written, witty and succinct. She spoke from the heart about her nation’s struggle with a terrible pandemic, and urged the Ambassador to approve new Peace Corps groups each year. The NERCHA director, who had a British accent and I’m assuming is a white Swazi, opened his speech by asking us what the hell we were doing in Peace Corps. He followed by saying this was a scary job. Weren’t we afraid? Um, if we weren’t before, we are now! His point- this wasn’t going to be an easy ride. Peace Corps life might be different than it was 20 years ago but the work is the same- physically, mentally and emotionally grueling. He was glad we were there to do the job. The Inkhosikati’s and the NERCHA director’s unabashed, to-the-point speech were by far the highlight of the ceremony. A close second was the amazing buffet prepared for us after we took official oath and became Peace Corps Volunteers, not just mere trainees. A great mix of Swazi and American food, I was happy eating and not spending over an hour to prepare a meal on a handigas stove.
So I’m now an official volunteer. What does that mean? Well I have 3 months of “Integration” to figure that out, to formulate my plan of action, so to speak. Some call Integration the 3 hardest months you’ll spend in service, somewhat harder than training. Harder than training? Shit! Some say it’s a time to explore your community, learn about the people and their needs, free from the constant watch of staff and without the assistance from other volunteers. Okay. That sounds tolerable. I’ve also heard it referred to as force hermitage, which cracked me up at first. But considering we are only allowed to leave our site for one overnight visit a month until November and we’re not allowed to congregate in large droves in any one place, forced hermitage sounds about right. What’s a girl to do?
Now that I’m on this side of training, I can’t believe how quickly it’s gone. Getting through is the hard part- adjusting to a different way of living, new people, loss of autonomy, living in a fish bowl. Since I generally like everyone in my village, my transition was a bit smoother. One girl was a bit of a drama queen, and another not aware of her surroundings at all- reminds me of the stereotypical tourist who gets off the tour bus, eye to camera, noticing the sites but not the person behind her picking her pocket. On the whole, my village was great. I really love my language classmates: Jason and Erica, married, from New Jersey, Jason worked recently as an EMT, Erica with non-profits; and Margaret, a just graduated triple major from Oregon who will read anything. It was nice to find people to have intelligent conversations, yet be able to laugh at the most ridiculous or absurd situations for days. I will miss them- Erica and Jason were placed in the HhoHho region, 4 hrs north, near the South African/Mozambique borders; Margaret in the Lubombo region, a 2 ½ hr trip east and a little north. I will be sad to be so far away from them. We’ll be able to meet up in Mbabane but that means staying overnight and paying for a hostel for all of us b/c of transportation time- the time it takes to and from sites is generally different on paper than actual time. Hopefully we’ll be able to arrange something on occasion.
August 18, 2008- Fieldtrip to Montanga Museum and Cultural Village: Just northwest of Manzini is a nature reserve which boosts the only cultural village in Swaziland, complete with the traditional huts and homestead configuration. Every day around 11, 2 dozen men, women, teens and children perform traditional Swazi dance in traditional Swazi dress. They are amazing. I wish I could send you a video to watch; your jaws would drop. Most of the dances include a high kick. When I say high, I mean they get their knee to their forehead without bending forward. And the men and boys kick so high and so hard on their last kick, they usually fall on their backs. It’s truly incredible. Honestly, I’m not describing it well enough to give it full credit. Anyone visiting me who wishes to attend a performance won’t have to talk me into going back. After the hour-long performance, we took a ½ mile nature walk to the Mantanga Waterfall. It’s the clearest water I’ve seen since being here- sky blue and tempting enough to drink. An interesting note to the day: As we departed Nhlangano to start our trip, we were stopped by a random (and apparently routine) police road block just outside town. We were forced off the bus and into separate male/female lines. No one had a clue. The guys had to spread their legs and were patted down by male officers; female officers were checking women’s bags/purses. It wasn’t until our boThishela stepped off the bus that we were able to ask an explanation. Drug search. They were searching every vehicle, every person, and every bag for marijuana. Apparently it happens all the time. And according to one Thishela, you can easily get pot any day of the week, any hour of the day, from just about anyone…even gogo! And, she adds, “it’s the good stuff in Swaziland; the really good stuff…not that I would know.” But she proceeded to show us the sign you make w/ your hands- a fist w/ the right hand, grinding into the palm of the left hand- to any cab driver and he’ll know what you’re talking about. She finishes by saying, “don’t do it! You’ll get caught and get in big trouble!” It took all of my will to not laugh while she was telling us about dogga, as they call it in the Swaz, and how to get it. But alotta people sell it b/c they need money. It is illegal, but almost anyone who wants it can access it.
August 25, 2008- LPI Results: I PASSED MY LANGUAGE TEST!!! I scored an Intermediate Low score. I was hoping for an Intermediate Mid score. The reason I didn’t get that score was due to my repeating the question, my tester asked, in English before giving my answer in siSwati. I wanted to make sure I was giving the correct answer. It indicated to my tester that I wasn’t certain of the question when in fact I knew each question she asked. Oh well! Live and learn. The important thing is I passed. I also found out that everyone is required to find and hire a tutor, no matter their score, for on-going language training. We are reimbursed for the expense of hiring a tutor, which generally around R20/hr, not to exceed 40 hrs per year. I have until November to identify and hire a tutor in my community. Once school reopens, I plan to pay boThishela a visit. Luckily I have a primary and secondary school right next door.
August 26, 2008- Leaving Tuscany: When I arrived for training at Ngwane Teachers College the end of June, the view from our classrooms reminded me of pictures I’d seen of Tuscany- masses of tall, green trees, little houses nestled together and scattered alone the rolling hills, rugged, red roads that hugged the curvy hills and stretched endlessly, toward the horizon. One day I was dreamily looking at ‘my Tuscany,’ when Gladys- a Swazi staff member- asked what I was doing, standing all alone. Didn’t I want to have tea break with my colleagues? I said I was enjoying the view; I was secretly hiding from my fellow trainees, as I needed some ‘me’ time and wanted to imagine traveling those red roads to wherever they would take me. I told her I thought the village, the scene I saw, was beautiful. She shook her head, smiled, and said “you will get tired of looking at it”. Never, I thought. Little did I know the village I was daydreaming of as ‘my Tuscany’, was Lebovu (translates as it is red), the village I’d spend 7 weeks living in, and having a love/hate relationship with. Funny thing, that Karma!
I did travel those red roads but not far; they lead to South Africa maybe 20 km away. But we couldn’t cross the border—no independent traveling allowed during training. The dirt stained my socks, my shoes, my pant legs, and my skin. And rugged doesn’t even describe the conditions. I bought a pair of Mary Jane knock-offs to have a dresser pair of shoes. They are ruined after 6 weeks of walking those red roads. The dust from passing khombis intoxicated my nose and lungs, eventually causing an allergic reaction, which sent me to the doctor for an anti-allergy shot (her words) and a week’s worth of amoxicillin and vitamin C tabs. Those little houses nestled along the hillside where actually homesteads with cinderblock and tin-roofed or thatch-roofed huts that hold the day’s heat until the sun goes down then transform into ice boxes. Ah, my Tuscany! I did say it was love/hate. My host family—who went from overwhelming, to inquiring to the point of nosy, to tolerable, to clingy—eventually softened my heart. Yes, my make did offer to help me with my bucket bath, which still blows me away. She was adamant I sweep the kitchen floor to see if I knew how to sweep. She insisted I start a fire in the wood-burning stove when company was there to show the guests they had taught the white girl the Swazi way. She endlessly asked if I wanted to watch them butcher a chicken. No. Thanks. I’ve done that before! But every time I was away for a few days or she was gone for a few days, she said she missed me, they all missed me. And I believe she sincerely meant it. It felt nice to be missed by a family that barely knew me. Their constant concern for my health, the amount of food I was eating (or not eating), or for my studies came from their hearts, even though at times it felt smothering.
The 9 children on my homestead were my real source of joy and sometimes comfort. They began waiting for me at the gate when they knew I was arriving from school. They hung around the entrance to my hut just to watch what I was doing. They accompanied me to the water source; I was relieved most days for their help. I had yet to figure out the system of whose turn it was to get their water next. They always knew. The girls danced and sang for me once they discovered I loved music and to dance; usually dances were ones they made up, but sometimes it was traditional dances or games they learned from school. I loved they way little Temakholo said my name, and how she’d say she was fine when I said hello. She became my shadow, following me everywhere. I would take her home with me if I could; she always had a smile on her sweet round face, and a laugh shortly following the smile. The boys taught me cards- Casino Royale, Sisu (or Stomach) and their version of Crazy 8’s; they didn’t always explain very well but they had fun laughing at my mistakes and helping me make the right play. I taught them rumi and slap jack, which they loved. They were captivated by my card shuffling, calling it magic. Siyanda picked it up after a week and with my prodding that he should just keep practicing. One day after school, he ran to meet me. “Nonhlanhla, are you busy? Can we play cards? I shuffle now the way you do. I will show you.”
A few days before I left, I was showered with gifts. Gogo gave me a grass mat w/ a thin purple design throughout. I received a traditional wrap (laheya) w/ the Swazi flag and beaded necklace from Babe Lomkhulu and his wife, Lungile. Lungile immediately tied the laheya around me and pronounced that I was now a Swazi woman. She said she loved me the morning I left. She hugged me; I wanted to cry. I only choked out a ‘love you too’ and a quick good bye- I couldn’t look back. I felt a real kinship with her and have a special place in my heart for her children- Temakholo and Mehluko. I perceived Lungile received some education and understood the world, at least a little. She wanted to know how the world really worked, from my perspective. She wanted to understand a different way of doing things, and was happy to listen to my stories of home. And finally a traditional wrap w/ King Mswati III from make. The night before I left, my make brought a chicken to my door. “This is for you”, she said. “Gogo says you must take it on your journey to your new place.” Oh my God. The whole chicken?! Then she offeredto cook it for me since I’d already packed my stove. She wanted to leave it whole after cooking, wrap it in plastic bags, then newspaper, so it would keep during my travel, and I could eat well on the journey and my first few days at my new place. I tried to explain that we were going to the capital for 3 days first, and I wouldn’t be at my site for 4 days. I offered them half the chicken, saying I would take as much as would fit in my 3 food storage containers. Once the chicken was cooked and I was summoned to collect it, I found make had also prepared dumplings. So I took 3 pieces of chicken, carefully avoiding the head, and 3 dumplings to go w/ my pieces of chicken.
So I left ‘my Tuscany’ with 3 pieces of chicken, 3 dumplings, and a loaded backpack with gifts, book, and clothes and headed to the siteshi (bus stop) with my make, Margaret, Serena and her make, and 7 or 8 kids in tow- from my family and Serena’s family. Make was very worried about my containers of chicken, and insisted put the bag in my backpack once we got to the siteshi. Other trainees came with bosisi or make. They all waited w/ us at the siteshi until our khombi arrived- it was late. It was always late. Once it came we said our good-byes, piled into the khombi and it headed on down the road, like a bat outta hell, which is usual. When I looked back, I couldn’t see any of the family members standing at the siteshi. They were already walking back home to start the day’s work.
August 28, 2008- Swearing in: Group 6’s swearing-in ceremony took place at the Ambassador to Swaziland’s residence in Mbabane. The ceremony drew some important dignitaries—the Ambassador, of course, the director of NERCHA (National Emergency Response Council on HIV/AIDS) and soon to be ‘boss’, Swaziland’s Country Director, and the most important dignitary—one of the first wives of King Mswati III—Inkhosikati Make LaMatsebula. Because of her presence, 1 local news channel and 2 local paper crews covered the event. She is an amazing woman. Having been taught by a Peace Corps volunteer when PC was here in the 80’s doing education work, she holds of soft spot in her heart for volunteers. She is the official patron to Peace Corps from the royal family. Her speech was well written, witty and succinct. She spoke from the heart about her nation’s struggle with a terrible pandemic, and urged the Ambassador to approve new Peace Corps groups each year. The NERCHA director, who had a British accent and I’m assuming is a white Swazi, opened his speech by asking us what the hell we were doing in Peace Corps. He followed by saying this was a scary job. Weren’t we afraid? Um, if we weren’t before, we are now! His point- this wasn’t going to be an easy ride. Peace Corps life might be different than it was 20 years ago but the work is the same- physically, mentally and emotionally grueling. He was glad we were there to do the job. The Inkhosikati’s and the NERCHA director’s unabashed, to-the-point speech were by far the highlight of the ceremony. A close second was the amazing buffet prepared for us after we took official oath and became Peace Corps Volunteers, not just mere trainees. A great mix of Swazi and American food, I was happy eating and not spending over an hour to prepare a meal on a handigas stove.
So I’m now an official volunteer. What does that mean? Well I have 3 months of “Integration” to figure that out, to formulate my plan of action, so to speak. Some call Integration the 3 hardest months you’ll spend in service, somewhat harder than training. Harder than training? Shit! Some say it’s a time to explore your community, learn about the people and their needs, free from the constant watch of staff and without the assistance from other volunteers. Okay. That sounds tolerable. I’ve also heard it referred to as force hermitage, which cracked me up at first. But considering we are only allowed to leave our site for one overnight visit a month until November and we’re not allowed to congregate in large droves in any one place, forced hermitage sounds about right. What’s a girl to do?
August 2008 updates 1
August 9, 2008- “OJT”, a little language lesson & election update: OJT stands for On-the-Job Training- 5 days in which to locate my permanent site, meet my counterpart aka Kagogo (ga go go) Clerk, get to know my family and visit the points of interest in my new town- Mahlalini (ma thla lean e). I think I will like my new site. My counterparts says the chief of Mahlalini use to be a senator, that he is in many ways a modernized chief, and he is very interested in developing the area. My counterpart, Mkhasibe (mm ka see bay), seems pretty motivated; although, he is new to the position. The record-keeping done by the previous clerk left little to be desired and he wants alotta help organizing it. No problem. The Kagogo Clerk is a paid position by NERCHA. When I say paid, I mean meager wages. NERCHA is an organization dedicated to education and prevention on HIV and AIDS-related issues. I cannot remember what the acronym stands for; however, it is a Swazi national organization which tries to employ the most highly motivated individuals of each chiefdom in Swaziland who are interested in helping decrease the spread of HIV and AIDS. There are 91 chiefdoms in the Shiselweni region- the region I will serve. The KaGogo Clerk organized people in the chiefdom to work with- Rural Health Motivators and Peer Educators. There are 70,000 OVC’s in Swaziland; NERCHA estimates the number will be 120,000 by 2010. The term kagogo originates from the Swazi word, gogo for grandmother. In Swazi culture the first hut built is called kaGogo, which is where family members meet and make important family decisions. These centers support community services for HIV and AIDS by providing opportunity and maintaining a space for holistic support to the community’s response on HIV and AIDS issues. There is space for meetings, food storage and catering, provision of basic care, education and counseling. The mandate from NERCHA for the KaGogo Centers is to serve as an entry point for all HIV and AIDS interventions in rural communities. I will be working one-on-one w/ the KaGogo Clerk to identify other possible income-generating projects, identify the real issues in Mahlalini and what to do about these issues, and help him maintain data on OVC’s.
My new place: The view from my new house is beautiful- mountains! There are mountains in my backyard! This area is considered mid-veld- cooler winters, and summers that don’t get hotter than 25 to 26 degrees C…. or so my new bhuti tells me. I’m not very good w/ the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit, but I think it’ll be around 85 degrees (please correct me if I’m wrong). I can handle that! My new place is not ready yet. They just repainted the walls, hung a new door and replaced the burglar bars. I brought a sleeping bag, assuming I’d sleep on the floor the next 4 nights but my new make (ma gay) aka mother insisted I sleep in a spare room. Fine with me. The floor of my new place is cement; considering it still gets pretty chilly here at night and my sleeping back is only rated to 20 degrees, a double bed off the floor sounds glorious.
My make is 60, has 7 living children- 2 have died- with many grandchildren, is a Rural Health Motivator- something very similar to a Hospice volunteer, and hosts 4 OVC’s or Orphans and Vulnerable Children. Philiswa is 7, Zandele is 13 I think, Machewe is 16, I think and Mcolisi is 19. They are very sweet and I already feel comfortable with them. Make believes the boys are too lazy, but I believe it is typical teenage behavior, unfortunately. She does keep them on their toes and expects allota work from them. But I think it is good for them. She is giving them a chance for a life- she helps pay their school fees and provides food for them to cook. That is a lot considering they are not blood related AND she is not in the best health. Make’s babe (ba bay) aka husband is staying in the Lubombo region, several hours away and only visits a few times a year. He is farming…I’m assuming sugar cane or maize. She is rarely able to visit b/c of the expense to travel there. On Monday fares will go up due to rising petrol costs. The trip from Nhlangano (nn thlan gano) to Mahlalini cost me R6.50 today; Wednesday when I travel back to my host family, the fare will be R10. For every 1 US dollar I get 6 to 7 Rand (South African currency) or 6 to 7 Emilangeni (Swaziland currency) - both are usually interchangeable. If I think about bus fare in terms of US dollars, I’m paying less than a dollar. But right now I’m living on about $30/week; once I’m done w/ training I’ll be living on $70/week. So if I travel to the nearest large town at R10 too often, I’ll deplete my allowance quickly. Plus I cannot think of my allowance in terms of dollars; I will spend too much money that way! Bread at the town markets costs R5.99. A bag of apples (12) is R13.99. Soy milk is R12.99. Cereal- just the basic Corn Flakes- is R23.99. The price of food is going up, b/c of the rising transportation costs. I’m curious what gas costs in the states. And I’m curious to see how much transportation will go up here by the time I leave.
Elections- well I received clarification from my host family on elections. The King dissolves Parliament every 5 years- everyone serves a 5 year term and then if they want to be re-elected must run for office and be voted back in. During campaign time, anyone may run for election to an office. The Prime Minister is generally appointed by the King after elections are held. Those being murdered are directly involved w/ running for elections. They are not at all concerned w/ the whities (mhlolope) right now!
August 11, 2008- I’m suffering from multiple personalities: Peace Corps staff asks our Pre-Service Training (PST) host family to give us a Swazi name when we arrive at our new homestead. So I’ve been Nonhlanhla Mavimbela since July…I’m not even going to try a language lesson w/ this one. You’ll have to hear it sometime. When I heard my new name, I thought, “Great! The “hl” sound is the hardest for me to pronounce, and I have 2 in my name. Damn!” Well, now I can pronounce the “hl” sound well. Before OJT, we were told we might get a new first name from our permanent host family. I was expecting a new surname, but I thought I’d might be able to keep Nonhlanhla b/c I like the meaning- lucky. My PST family says Nonhlanhla, then lucky girl. I like that. I’m a lucky girl. So, when I asked my counterpart if I had a new name, he said no; I could use Jennifer or Nonhlanhla. Nope! My new make insisted on naming me. So now I am Thadeka (taun day ga) Bhembe (bem bay). I don’t mind b/c I like the meaning of Thadeka- the loveable one. However, it’s taken some getting use to; I don’t always recognize my name when someone is calling me. Of course, they laugh at that! If I were to go by Jennifer, I would just get called Jennifer Lopez and constantly asked if I know her. “I know who she is, but I do not know her personally” is usually met w/ a blank stare. Don’t all Americans w/ the same first name or surname know each other? Ummmm…..no. It’s taken some getting use to, this multiple identity thing…or should I say crisis? It feels like a crisis, a predicament. There definitely is a loss of identity, autonomy, anonymity in Peace Corps, at least as far as we define those words in America. I’m not thrilled about it; it’s a bit harder to be myself. I’m told I must respectfully represent a government organization. I’m told I must respectfully represent America. I must represent the notion of white person without money, who is a volunteer but just picks up, leaves my family, crosses an ocean, and lives in a new place and not for education/college, mind you. Why would I leave America, they always ask. Why do I want to help strangers? And why in God’s name would I leave my family? Well I wanted to offer my services, my knowledge, myself b/c I’ve been given so much. I want to doing something for others b/c I can, to give back to something bigger than myself. Huh?! I’ve been living on my own for 10 years. How? They always ask. By yourself? Yes. They shake their heads. And a grown woman, not married, no children. Living on her own. How?
Where do I fall into all of that? Who will I be here? Who will I become? I’m not sure. I’m still mulling it over b/c I’m still wondering why I’m here. So much of the HIV epidemic is tied into Swazi culture. This is a patriarchal, polygamist culture. If your husband/boyfriend says jump, you jump. If you are dating and want to use condoms, he questions your integrity and faithfulness. If he says he won’t get tested, she cannot talk him into it. If he forbids her to go to the clinic for testing, support or education, she cannot go. If she does and he finds out, she risks being kicked off the homestead and out of the family forever. She will be forced to leave her children behind. She will leave behind any meager possessions she might have acquired. She leaves behind security, a roof over her head, and food. She is left w/ poverty, homelessness- her family will not take her back b/c of shame, and generally no hope for income b/c of lack of education.
So some days, often every day, I vacillate between dreams of doing good work and dreams of my old/new life; the vacations I will take once I’m done w/ service and the majestic regions of Swaziland I will explore while serving; the foundation I’ll lay for future PCV’s and the foundations I’d rather be laying for myself. It is a conundrum, but it is what it is. And that’s all the insight I have right now.
My new place: The view from my new house is beautiful- mountains! There are mountains in my backyard! This area is considered mid-veld- cooler winters, and summers that don’t get hotter than 25 to 26 degrees C…. or so my new bhuti tells me. I’m not very good w/ the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit, but I think it’ll be around 85 degrees (please correct me if I’m wrong). I can handle that! My new place is not ready yet. They just repainted the walls, hung a new door and replaced the burglar bars. I brought a sleeping bag, assuming I’d sleep on the floor the next 4 nights but my new make (ma gay) aka mother insisted I sleep in a spare room. Fine with me. The floor of my new place is cement; considering it still gets pretty chilly here at night and my sleeping back is only rated to 20 degrees, a double bed off the floor sounds glorious.
My make is 60, has 7 living children- 2 have died- with many grandchildren, is a Rural Health Motivator- something very similar to a Hospice volunteer, and hosts 4 OVC’s or Orphans and Vulnerable Children. Philiswa is 7, Zandele is 13 I think, Machewe is 16, I think and Mcolisi is 19. They are very sweet and I already feel comfortable with them. Make believes the boys are too lazy, but I believe it is typical teenage behavior, unfortunately. She does keep them on their toes and expects allota work from them. But I think it is good for them. She is giving them a chance for a life- she helps pay their school fees and provides food for them to cook. That is a lot considering they are not blood related AND she is not in the best health. Make’s babe (ba bay) aka husband is staying in the Lubombo region, several hours away and only visits a few times a year. He is farming…I’m assuming sugar cane or maize. She is rarely able to visit b/c of the expense to travel there. On Monday fares will go up due to rising petrol costs. The trip from Nhlangano (nn thlan gano) to Mahlalini cost me R6.50 today; Wednesday when I travel back to my host family, the fare will be R10. For every 1 US dollar I get 6 to 7 Rand (South African currency) or 6 to 7 Emilangeni (Swaziland currency) - both are usually interchangeable. If I think about bus fare in terms of US dollars, I’m paying less than a dollar. But right now I’m living on about $30/week; once I’m done w/ training I’ll be living on $70/week. So if I travel to the nearest large town at R10 too often, I’ll deplete my allowance quickly. Plus I cannot think of my allowance in terms of dollars; I will spend too much money that way! Bread at the town markets costs R5.99. A bag of apples (12) is R13.99. Soy milk is R12.99. Cereal- just the basic Corn Flakes- is R23.99. The price of food is going up, b/c of the rising transportation costs. I’m curious what gas costs in the states. And I’m curious to see how much transportation will go up here by the time I leave.
Elections- well I received clarification from my host family on elections. The King dissolves Parliament every 5 years- everyone serves a 5 year term and then if they want to be re-elected must run for office and be voted back in. During campaign time, anyone may run for election to an office. The Prime Minister is generally appointed by the King after elections are held. Those being murdered are directly involved w/ running for elections. They are not at all concerned w/ the whities (mhlolope) right now!
August 11, 2008- I’m suffering from multiple personalities: Peace Corps staff asks our Pre-Service Training (PST) host family to give us a Swazi name when we arrive at our new homestead. So I’ve been Nonhlanhla Mavimbela since July…I’m not even going to try a language lesson w/ this one. You’ll have to hear it sometime. When I heard my new name, I thought, “Great! The “hl” sound is the hardest for me to pronounce, and I have 2 in my name. Damn!” Well, now I can pronounce the “hl” sound well. Before OJT, we were told we might get a new first name from our permanent host family. I was expecting a new surname, but I thought I’d might be able to keep Nonhlanhla b/c I like the meaning- lucky. My PST family says Nonhlanhla, then lucky girl. I like that. I’m a lucky girl. So, when I asked my counterpart if I had a new name, he said no; I could use Jennifer or Nonhlanhla. Nope! My new make insisted on naming me. So now I am Thadeka (taun day ga) Bhembe (bem bay). I don’t mind b/c I like the meaning of Thadeka- the loveable one. However, it’s taken some getting use to; I don’t always recognize my name when someone is calling me. Of course, they laugh at that! If I were to go by Jennifer, I would just get called Jennifer Lopez and constantly asked if I know her. “I know who she is, but I do not know her personally” is usually met w/ a blank stare. Don’t all Americans w/ the same first name or surname know each other? Ummmm…..no. It’s taken some getting use to, this multiple identity thing…or should I say crisis? It feels like a crisis, a predicament. There definitely is a loss of identity, autonomy, anonymity in Peace Corps, at least as far as we define those words in America. I’m not thrilled about it; it’s a bit harder to be myself. I’m told I must respectfully represent a government organization. I’m told I must respectfully represent America. I must represent the notion of white person without money, who is a volunteer but just picks up, leaves my family, crosses an ocean, and lives in a new place and not for education/college, mind you. Why would I leave America, they always ask. Why do I want to help strangers? And why in God’s name would I leave my family? Well I wanted to offer my services, my knowledge, myself b/c I’ve been given so much. I want to doing something for others b/c I can, to give back to something bigger than myself. Huh?! I’ve been living on my own for 10 years. How? They always ask. By yourself? Yes. They shake their heads. And a grown woman, not married, no children. Living on her own. How?
Where do I fall into all of that? Who will I be here? Who will I become? I’m not sure. I’m still mulling it over b/c I’m still wondering why I’m here. So much of the HIV epidemic is tied into Swazi culture. This is a patriarchal, polygamist culture. If your husband/boyfriend says jump, you jump. If you are dating and want to use condoms, he questions your integrity and faithfulness. If he says he won’t get tested, she cannot talk him into it. If he forbids her to go to the clinic for testing, support or education, she cannot go. If she does and he finds out, she risks being kicked off the homestead and out of the family forever. She will be forced to leave her children behind. She will leave behind any meager possessions she might have acquired. She leaves behind security, a roof over her head, and food. She is left w/ poverty, homelessness- her family will not take her back b/c of shame, and generally no hope for income b/c of lack of education.
So some days, often every day, I vacillate between dreams of doing good work and dreams of my old/new life; the vacations I will take once I’m done w/ service and the majestic regions of Swaziland I will explore while serving; the foundation I’ll lay for future PCV’s and the foundations I’d rather be laying for myself. It is a conundrum, but it is what it is. And that’s all the insight I have right now.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
August posts
August 9, 2008- “OJT”, a little language lesson & election update: OJT stands for On-the-Job Training- 5 days in which to locate my permanent site, meet my counterpart aka Kagogo (ga go go) Clerk, get to know my family and visit the points of interest in my new town- Mahlalini (ma thla lean e). I think I will like my new site. My counterparts says the chief of Mahlalini use to be a senator, that he is in many ways a modernized chief, and he is very interested in developing the area. My counterpart, Mkhasibe (mm ka see bay), seems pretty motivated; although, he is new to the position. The record-keeping done by the previous clerk left little to be desired and he wants alotta help organizing it. No problem. The Kagogo Clerk is a paid position by NERCHA. When I say paid, I mean meager wages. NERCHA is an organization dedicated to education and prevention on HIV and AIDS-related issues. I cannot remember what the acronym stands for; however, it is a Swazi national organization which tries to employ the most highly motivated individuals of each chiefdom in
My new place: The view from my new house is beautiful- mountains! There are mountains in my backyard! This area is considered mid-veld- cooler winters, and summers that don’t get hotter than 25 to 26 degrees C…. or so my new bhuti tells me. I’m not very good w/ the conversion from Celsius to Fahrenheit, but I think it’ll be around 85 degrees (please correct me if I’m wrong). I can handle that! My new place is not ready yet. They just repainted the walls, hung a new door and replaced the burglar bars. I brought a sleeping bag, assuming I’d sleep on the floor the next 4 nights but my new make (ma gay) aka mother insisted I sleep in a spare room. Fine with me. The floor of my new place is cement; considering it still gets pretty chilly here at night and my sleeping back is only rated to 20 degrees, a double bed off the floor sounds glorious.
My make is 60, has 7 living children- 2 have died- with many grandchildren, is a Rural Health Motivator- something very similar to a Hospice volunteer, and hosts 4 OVC’s or Orphans and Vulnerable Children. Philiswa is 7, Zanele is 13 I think, Machewe is 16, I think and Mcolisi is 19. They are very sweet and I already feel comfortable with them. Make believes the boys are too lazy, but I believe it is typical teenage behavior, unfortunately. She does keep them on their toes and expects allota work from them. But I think it is good for them. She is giving them a chance for a life- she helps pay their school fees and provides food for them to cook. That is a lot considering they are not blood related AND she is not in the best health. Make’s babe (ba bay) aka husband is staying in the Lubombo region, several hours away and only visits a few times a year. He is farming…I’m assuming sugar cane or maize. She is rarely able to visit b/c of the expense to travel there. On Monday fares will go up due to rising petrol costs. The trip from Nhlangano (nn thlan gano) to Mahlalini cost me R6.50 today; Wednesday when I travel back to my host family, the fare will be R10. For every 1 US dollar I get 6 to 7 Rand (South African currency) or 6 to 7 Emilangeni (Swaziland currency) - both are usually interchangeable. If I think about bus fare in terms of US dollars, I’m paying less than a dollar. But right now I’m living on about $30/week; once I’m done w/ training I’ll be living on $70/week. So if I travel to the nearest large town at R10 too often, I’ll deplete my allowance quickly. Plus I cannot think of my allowance in terms of dollars; I will spend too much money that way! Bread at the town markets costs R5.99. A bag of apples (12) is R13.99. Soy milk is R12.99. Cereal- just the basic Corn Flakes- is R23.99. The price of food is going up, b/c of the rising transportation costs. I’m curious what gas costs in the states. And I’m curious to see how much transportation will go up here by the time I leave.
Elections- well I received clarification from my host family on elections. The King dissolves Parliament every 5 years- everyone serves a 5 year term and then if they want to be re-elected must run for office and be voted back in. During campaign time, anyone may run for election to an office. The Prime Minister is generally appointed by the King after elections are held. Those being murdered are directly involved w/ running for elections. They are not at all concerned w/ the whities (mhlolope) right now!
August 11, 2008- I’m suffering from multiple personalities: Peace Corps staff asks our Pre-Service Training (PST) host family to give us a Swazi name when we arrive at our new homestead. So I’ve been Nonhlanhla Mavimbela since July…I’m not even going to try a language lesson w/ this one. You’ll have to hear it sometime. When I heard my new name, I thought, “Great! The “hl” sound is the hardest for me to pronounce, and I have 2 in my name. Damn!” Well, now I can pronounce the “hl” sound well. Before OJT, we were told we might get a new first name from our permanent host family. I was expecting a new surname, but I thought I’d might be able to keep Nonhlanhla b/c I like the mean- lucky. My PST family says Nonhlanhla, then lucky girl. I like that. I’m a lucky girl. So, when I asked my counterpart if I had a new name, he said no; I could use Jennifer or Nonhlanhla. Nope! My new make insisted on naming me. So now I am Thadeka (taun day ga) Bhembe (bem bay). I don’t mind b/c I like the meaning of Thadeka- the loveable one. However, it’s taken some getting use to; I don’t always recognize my name when someone is calling me. Of course, they laugh at that! If I were to go by Jennifer, I would just get called Jennifer Lopez and constantly asked if I know her. “I know who she is, but I do not know her personally” is usually met w/ a blank stare. Don’t all Americans w/ the same first name or surname know each other? Ummmm…..no. It’s taken some getting use to, this multiple identity thing…or should I say crisis? It feels like a crisis, a predicament. There definitely is a loss of identity, autonomy, anonymity in Peace Corps, at least as far as we define those words in
Where do I fall into all of that? Who will I be here? Who will I become? I’m not sure. I’m still mulling it over b/c I’m still wondering why I’m here. So much of the HIV epidemic is tied into Swazi culture. This is a patriarchal, polygamist culture. If your husband/boyfriend says jump, you jump. If you are dating and want to use condoms, he questions your integrity and faithfulness. If he says he won’t get tested, she cannot talk him into it. If he forbids her to go to the clinic for testing, support or education, she cannot go. If she does and he finds out, she risks being kicked off the homestead and out of the family forever. She will be forced to leave her children behind. She will leave behind any meager possessions she might have acquired. She leaves behind security, a roof over her head, and food. She is left w/ poverty, homelessness- her family will not take her back b/c of shame, and generally no nope for income b/c of lack of education.
So some days, often every day, I vacillate between dreams of doing good work and dreams of my old/new life; the vacations I will take once I’m done w/ service and the majestic regions of Swaziland I will explore while serving; the foundation I’ll lay for future PCV’s and the foundations I’d rather be laying for myself. It is a conundrum, but it is what it is. And that’s all the insight I have right now.
July posts
July 18th-A little about the weather and the food I eat: I have eaten some of the best avocados (likotapeni) here that I’ve ever tasted. They are a native fruit. So are mango and papaya but I haven’t had those yet; they are considered summer fruits. It is winter right now; winter lasts all June and July. Spring starts the end of July and runs thru the end of August. It can get pretty chilly at night during the winter season, especially if the wind blows. And does it blow. I would say the coldest night here was 40 degrees; mild by
I got my gas stove last weekend, so I’ve been cooking for myself since. It’s really nice to control portion sizes as well as the type of food I choose to ingest. Honestly, I haven’t eaten anything to terrible. Sour porridge is not my favorite and I snuck sugar to put on top of it the 2nd time I ate it…but I’m not a very picky eater so I’m getting along better than others. The only problem I have w/ the diet is that it’s corn-based, and it hasn’t been great on my digestive system.
That same day, we split up into groups of 4 to make some of our favorite American foods or food we were craving to share w/ the Swazi PC staff. My group made Peanut Sautee, greens w/ veggies for salad and apple crisp. I brought leftover apple crisp to my family. It was only a little so they all shared a small bite. My make dished it out and b/c she liked it so much, horded the rest. She asked me to make it again; I said I would make a large batch soon. She also asked me if I knew how to make cake. She’s never eaten homemade cake. They have cake in bakeries/grocery stores here but they aren’t great. So I promised to make a cake too…chocolate w/ chocolate icing. Yum. They continually give me a hard time about how little I eat. My make said if I bake for them all the time, then I will get fat. I said I don’t want to get fat! But it is a sign of wealth, and a sign that your family is taking care of you, and that you are healthy, so I’m sure they’d be really happy to see me fattening up. Apparently female volunteers generally gain 10 -15 lbs b/c they have a harder time metabolizing the food than male volunteers, who generally lose weight. Well, I’m working really hard for that to NOT happen. Hence, one of the other reasons I’m glad I’m cooking for myself.
Sleeping w/ the dogs….and spiders….and cockroaches. There are 2 dogs (tinja) on my homestead. Every homestead has a least one dog. In
Oh, and the spiders! One night last week I found a brown spider in my room the size of a half dollar. I had to think about killing it for 10 minutes. It was near the corner-where two walls meet, and I didn’t want to miss hitting it when I smacked it w/ my flats. After killing the ginormous thing, I went to the kitchen hut to ask my make if
July 20th- Catholic Church and Chocolate Cake:
When I got home, I decided to make the chocolate cake my family requested a few days ago. It is very different baking a cake in a wood-burning stove. The top burnt before the middle was done. But it turned out okay…I just cut off the burnt parts and covered it w/ lots of frosting. We are eating it after supper. I’m excited! I feel like I haven’t baked in forever. Can’t wait to make bread!!!! But that will have to wait until I get to my permanent site. I don’t have the space to do it here.
Well the cake was a hit. The children loved it. My gogo said I must never return to
Friday, July 18, 2008
June/July Posts
July 3, 2008, Language Training- Today was day 4 of language training. I’ve already had 3 different teachers and 3 different groups, which makes it difficult for me to continue retaining the words. Each teacher has a diverse style. My first language teacher was by far the best; she understands that sometimes we need to see it before we can comprehend it…especially considering this language is hard to pick up. There are many exceptions to the grammar which we are just supposed to accept. However, that makes it hard to know when to change the verb or noun in order for it agree w/ the other. The other frustrating things about this language: it’s only been a written language since they gained their independence from South Africa in the 70’s, which means that some words were spelled in siSwati the way they sounded- for instance, orange is li-olintji (lee o lean g); and there were lots of British and Dutch influences to words, so sometimes there is no translation- you just say the word in English w/in your siSwati sentence. There aren’t Swazi words for some things we’d like to describe. For instance, they only have names from the colors black, white, red, green and yellow and yellow is rarely used. My language class jokes that all you have to do to speak siSwati is put an e in front of a word and an i or i/y sound and you’re speaking siSwati. I’m being completely serious. I’ve heard from many people, non PC as well, that siSwati is one of the toughest languages to learn. It is coming slowly.
Beginning my journey- Friday, June 27- we arrived at
July 7, 2008- It is getting easier and easier to live w/ my host family. I’m less frustrated than I was on Friday. We moved to our host family homestead on July 4th. My make (ma-gay) aka mother came to pick me up from
My make was instructed to primarily speak siSwati to me. Friday, Saturday and Sunday were difficult for me. Every sentence my make said was met w/ a blank stare from me. At least now I’m beginning to recognize certain words; therefore more able to piece together the words in some semblance of recognition.
Today I cared a 10 liter bucket of water on my head from the water source- which is a black hose sticking out of the side of a hill…yes I’m confused about where it comes from but am too afraid to ask- to my homestead… a 5 minute walk. I did well until the very end. I also helped make, bobhuti & bosisi (bo is used in front of the noun when speaking of many) cut up firewood. They had gone to the forest to chop trees. Once bundled, they each carry a small bundle on their head back to the homestead where they saw it up into smaller pieces. I will go w/ them to the forest next time. Today I just got to help saw it. They use a 2-person saw. Make kept asking if I was getting tired. I think they worry that I tire easily from manual labor. I told them I grew up on a farm, where I use to help do lots of things like cooking, laundry, and outside chores. But I think Peace Corps sent them the idea that we don’t know how to do anything so they must teach us. Oh well. I just keep offering to help. The other day make asked if I knew how to sweep the floor. Yes, I said. She said, show me. So I swept the floor, and I think she was amazed. Although that was the same day she told me she would help me make my bed b/c I hadn’t done it right. I thought it looked the same afterwards! One of the first nights here she offered to help me w/ my bucket bath. YIKES! I laughed, and politely said no, I know how. But I was ready to scream inside…NO ONE is helping me bathe! I can do it myself.
July 12- Returned from my 2 day shadowing experience this afternoon. I shadowed Maggie who works in the Siphoweni (sp?) region in a town called Lukhetseni. She visits a clinic once a week to help them distribute ARV’s- Anti Retrovirals- but her primary job is helping the 2 sisters at Cabrini Mission- an hr khombi (taxi van) ride from her homestead. She works in the hostel aka orphanage directing activities for the children staying there. It was great to see the work she is doing, but even better to chat about life in the Swaz and life in Peace Corps. Justine- the girl who shadowed w/ me- and I asked her to NOT sugar coat things. Our staff has been conveniently leaving out information from our training. For instance, Swazis are not a communal society like we were told. We were also told they are the friendliest people in
They are also not telling us the truth about events surrounding the dissolve of parliament and the upcoming elections, which are scheduled to take place in about 60 days. There have been demonstrations and some murders surrounding the politics of those involved in the elections- the people murdered- about 6- are directly involved in the elections. I am safe, but would like to know the honest truth about the areas around me. Are they safe? Please do not be alarmed. I AM SAFE.
More about shadowing- being petted. The children at Cabrini Mission were very excited to have 3 white women in their presence…more light hair to pet, jewelry to scrutinize and white skin to kiss. Yes, I was kissed on the arm…I think the little girl wanted to know what it felt like….she did it twice. Smile. Something else interesting- the children drew themselves to us immediately. They only knew us as Maggie’s new friends but it didn’t take long for them to sit in our laps, pet our hair, hang on our arms. It seemed to me they were craving human touch.
July 14th- Being sick and the cockroach on my stove. I started feeling sick last night. My family asked me to cook the cans of tuna they received from PC (Peace Corps dropped off 3 week’s worth of food to help our families feed us). So I decided to make tuna rice casserole. I sautéed onions, added hard boiled eggs, milk and tuna- I didn’t have a lot to work with. I heated then added it to the rice they had kindly precooked for me. Then they made another pot of rice to add to it, completely diluting the rest of the ingredients. Oh well. After I heaped everyone’s bowl full, my make brought me cooked spinach to add to the bowls, and then cooked butternut squash! And after I added that, they brought me a chicken leg they saved for me from lunch. I thought I was cooking supper?! My plate of food was enormous! And I don’t think they really liked the casserole. The children gobbled it down like they do any food they are given- I think, sadly, they are perpetually hungry. My make and her bosisi said the food was nice and thanked me twice. But the look on their face when there were eating it was not one of enjoyment. It was prolly similar to my first sour porridge experience….. I will choke this down as best I can w/ a neutral face! So needless to say I went to bed feeling sicker to my stomach, and woke this morning feeling very yucky. I didn’t eat much all day and my teacher aka thishela was very concerned about me b/c I took a nap during lunch. He insisted I call the Medical Officer. She didn’t seem concerned. After class Jarrod, Jaclyn and Melissa came to my place to make lasagna. I actually felt hungry when we were preparing it, so I think I’m over the worst. We took it to Serena’s place and all Village C aka Lebovu (it is reb\d; bovu is red) shared their dinners together. When I came home to clean up the mess I found a cockroach on my gas stove. YUCK! I’ve seen others in my hut and I have to get over that fact that they will invade a space w/out discretion, but it’s so gross to actually come across them in your space…esp. on your cookware!
Friday, June 27, 2008
Mbabane Swaziland
I'm in the Swaz. We arrived by charted bus to Mbabane this afternoon. It took an hour to cross the border from South Africa into Swaziland. As we approached the border, and continued to travel toward our destination, the scenery changed from brown, desolate vegetation to lush green trees and fields. The one really great thing i saw in SA was an irrigation system... i think it was a Valley. I thought about what my dad would think about the farming practices. And in J'burg we saw palm trees- they are huge! Oh the other really great thing....cattle roam free along the roadside. We had to slow down a few times to avoid hitting ones that wondered onto the highway. Oh speaking of the highways, it's the British system; everything is opposite.
I'm feeling a little off b/c of the malaria pills. Kinda dizzy since tuesday, and last night i started having really weird dreams....apparently both are normal. GREAT!
The current volunteers were over-eager to meet us. A little overwhelming for me after traveling 2 days on a plane and then 4 hours by bus. They launched into conversation as sooner as we got off the bus. YIKES! Maybe they just wanted fresh conversation w/ new people.
My group is growing on me. I really like my roomie...she's lived in Mpls the last 6 years, is a Med Tech, vegetarian, loves bike riding, and it very laid back. We've enjoyed sharing our sarcasm. The rest of the group is super out-going and mostly extroverts. Not a bad thing unless you're an extreme introvert like me! Nonetheless, we all seem to be getting along.
My adapters and converters don't work here...i bought the wrong ones, so i need to sign off for now and save some battery space for tomorrow. I get to walk around Mbabane tomorrow w/ my walk-around allowance of 360 Emalangeni...i believe the conversion is 6 to 1....and that has to last me 2 weeks! Hopefully i'll be able to find the right outlet adapter.
This is still a surreal trip. It hit me at border crossing this i was actually in Africa. One day at a time, right?! Hugs, Love and Namaste
I'm feeling a little off b/c of the malaria pills. Kinda dizzy since tuesday, and last night i started having really weird dreams....apparently both are normal. GREAT!
The current volunteers were over-eager to meet us. A little overwhelming for me after traveling 2 days on a plane and then 4 hours by bus. They launched into conversation as sooner as we got off the bus. YIKES! Maybe they just wanted fresh conversation w/ new people.
My group is growing on me. I really like my roomie...she's lived in Mpls the last 6 years, is a Med Tech, vegetarian, loves bike riding, and it very laid back. We've enjoyed sharing our sarcasm. The rest of the group is super out-going and mostly extroverts. Not a bad thing unless you're an extreme introvert like me! Nonetheless, we all seem to be getting along.
My adapters and converters don't work here...i bought the wrong ones, so i need to sign off for now and save some battery space for tomorrow. I get to walk around Mbabane tomorrow w/ my walk-around allowance of 360 Emalangeni...i believe the conversion is 6 to 1....and that has to last me 2 weeks! Hopefully i'll be able to find the right outlet adapter.
This is still a surreal trip. It hit me at border crossing this i was actually in Africa. One day at a time, right?! Hugs, Love and Namaste
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