Sunday, January 24, 2010
Life in Dec 09 and Jan 2010
December 7 – 11 2009- Painting Health Signs: As a way to motivate my health club, I suggested we paint health signs around school grounds as a daily reminder for students. I researched appropriate health-related messages, and approved them with the Head Teacher the week classes ended. The three most active members agreed to help me during holiday break. On the day we slated to begin drawing, my sisi, also a member, called the other two members. One was busy without giving a reason; the other was taking her mother to the hospital. So I began drawing the signs; my sisi helped me with the last three, which she picked among the 20 that were approved. It only took us one morning, about 4 hours, to draw the words. The following 3 of the 4 days, I painted the words by myself. Again, there was no word from the other two members, and my sisi was busy in the field, weeding the maize. I convinced Justine to help me one of the days, in exchange for cooking dinner and buying chocolate for dessert; not a tough sell. The signs turned out really well; I even painted the AIDS ribbon next to quotes related to HIV/AIDS. There was a little activity at the school on the days I painted; people stopped to ask what I was doing or to read the signs. The responses seemed positive; I take that as a success.
Below are the messages I painted:
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. Eleanor Roosevelt
Education is the most powerful weapon, which you can use to change the world. Nelson Mandela
The global HIV/AIDS epidemic is an unprecedented crisis that requires an unprecedented response…it requires solidarity… Kofi Annan
The feeling of being valuable - 'I am a valuable person'- is essential to mental health and is a cornerstone of self-discipline. M. Scott Peck
…never let anyone tell you that what you are doing is insignificant. Bishop Desmond Tutu
Let us give publicity to HIV/AIDS and not hide it, because [that is] the only way to make it appear like a normal illness. Nelson Mandela
One Love: Talk – Respect – Protect. One Love Campaign
The Head Teacher would like me to paint a new motto for the school; currently the walled gate as you enter says: Fight the Good Fight. He wants the school motto to be a bit more uplifting and positive. He also wants me to paint messages in the assembly hall, which is sometimes used by the community. We’ll work out the details next term. I‘m hoping my health club is more active when that time comes.
December 12 2009- Visiting the Orphanage and 21st Birthday Party: Tim and Jamie Cook have been eager for several months to visit Pasture Valley Children’s Home; Justine and I decided to take them this weekend since we planned to be in town already. We’d been invited to a 21st birthday party of the daughter and niece of Make Simelane, the woman we house sit for. The birthday party was supposed to begin at 10, and in true Swazi fashion it began late. Under a tent, the two birthday girls were flanked by friends at a table toward the front of tent. The guests of honor were dressed in hot pink, as were their friends. Their dresses resembled bridesmaid or prom attire; being PC volunteers, arriving everywhere in jeans and t-shirts or well-washed skirts and tees, we felt considerably under-dressed. The celebration was to honor Samke and Khetsiwe for not only turning 21, but also for not getting pregnant or loosing their virginity. Many relatives and friends spoke highly of the girls’ integrity, as well as their passion for education; both are at university. Make narrated the slide show with pictures of them growing up together. The guest speaker, a former teacher of both girls, ended her endearing speech with a toast to long life and happiness. We ate lots of food—also a Swazi tradition at any gathering—drank sodas, a new tradition, and finished with dry cake. We’ve known both girls for about a year but not well; they are genuinely nice every time I see them, and seem ready to share their home or food. I was happy to share this important day with them. It was interesting to me the reason for celebrating a 21st birthday here. When I reflect, it’s also about celebrating a life endured. Had either of them already had sex, both would probably be HIV positive. I don’t want to even think about how being positive would dramatically change their present situation but I can say with certainty that neither would have finished high school much less gone to university. Then I think about the reasons for celebrating a 21st birthday in America. I know every situation is different but we really have forgotten to celebrate LIFE in America; we are too eager to drink our weight in shots or sign up for military service and put our lives at risk. My appreciation for the sanctity of life has gradually taken new meaning thanks to my interaction with Swazi people.
We returned to the children’s home to work off our full bellies with play. The boys were eager to have a male figure to play with; Tim was more than willing to romp on the jungle gym, play tag and teach the boys to throw a football American style. Jamie, being a former cheerleader, taught those willing several cheerleader jumps and gymnastic moves; I followed with yoga poses, namely headstand, crow and bridge. Justine’s approach was cheering and holding the younger children. Eventually the Lego tub came out, and Tim set to building airplanes with eager children sitting around him gleaning his skills. We all took turns holding Gracie, the 5 month old, then ended the afternoon with hugs and high 5’s. Since Michelle and Peter, the owners, were away for the day, we stayed in the cabin behind one of the orphanages. It’s a two bedroom place with shower and combined kitchen and living room. We spent the evening telling stories of the past, listening to Moth and NPR podcasts and lots of music, and drinking wine. Eventually we cooked dinner and I displayed the contents of the package retrieved earlier in the day from the Post Office.
It’s rare that Tim and Jamie stray from their homestead, so it was a real treat to spend a weekend with them. Tim is a writer and Jamie is a PT; I feel like I have a lot in common with each, so we never want for conversation. They are the oldest couple in our group; Tim is several months older than me. We always joke about being mkhulu (old man/grandfather) and bogogo (grandmothers). It is also their goal to visit more volunteer homesteads in the coming year; I hope to join them on a few visits.
December 14, 2009- Learning Another Lesson:
I’m not sure I wholly believe the adage, “home is where the heart is.” I believe that home is where you are happy or where you are able to have a little happiness in some moment every day, wherever you happen to be. I believe this because I have obtained happiness here but my heart is sometimes elsewhere: in Vermillion with the Farmers Market, Coffee Shop Gallery, in my massage practice or with my fabulous friends; at my parent’s place, on the farm, in Nebraska; wondering through the pasture near my parent’s farm; with my family, at holidays or impromptu gatherings; in Sioux City with my massage friends; in the Old Market in Omaha; in the mountains in Colorado; in yoga class; in France; or in places yet to discover. Surprisingly, I find my heart in places I visit here, with friends in my community, and fellow volunteers, as well as with my Swazi family, especially my bosisi. So I’ve discovered my heart is in many places, whether I happen to be happy there or not.
I’ve been reading the book “A New Earth: Awakening to your life’s purpose” by Eckhart Tolle. In a beginning section he talks about the secret of happiness, saying that “being at peace and being who you are, that is, being yourself, are one.” That being at peace, having peace, is letting go of the ego. And that being one with life is being one with Now. One should not seek happiness; if you seek it you won’t find it since happiness is elusive. However “freedom from unhappiness is attainable now, but facing what is rather than making up stories about it. Unhappiness covers up your natural state of well-being and inner peace, the source of true happiness.” Oh, how many times I tried to seek happiness when I first arrived, only to fail and become even more despondent. I thought actively searching for happiness or things or make me happy would make it okay to be here, would make me feel better about being here. Oh my vanity! Oh my ego! It wasn’t until I let go of controlling what would or would not happen, living each day as they came, being as present in each day as possible, that I found happiness had been at my doorstep for months. My fickle friend but of my own making.
Even though some days may pass without much recognition of whether I am happy or not happy, and at time I may become melancholy and ride the rollercoaster of emotions, happiness is apart of my every day, apart of me—I am not trying in vain to seek it. It’s just there when I am present enough to feel it.
December 15, 2009- Fatty Comment w/ an Ass Pat: I was wearing jeans today, so of course Make made a comment about my bum becoming bigger. “My daughter! She is getting bigger and bigger. Look at her bum. She is becoming like me.” She even went so far as to pat my butt and right thigh as I passed her. Thanks Make. Little does she know that earlier in the day I bought a pair of jeans a size smaller than the pair I bought when I first arrived. My main reason for buying jeans was to have a pair that actually fit for my Cape Town trip. Secondly I thought it might be nice to have a pair that weren’t as tattered as the pair I brought with me. And finally, they were only E40; in US dollars that’s less than $6. After purchasing them I was excited about how well they fit and looked on me, as well as the good deal I got. But after returning home to an ass pat and fatty comment, it’s more about a battle that I won with the war on fatty comments from Make. No matter it’s a silent battle between us, and I’m the only one who knows the war is on. Today I won!
December 17, 2009- Plaiting my Hair: My sisi Nomdumiso offered to plait my hair last week, and today I decided to take her up on the offer. I wanted just the front plaited, thinking it wouldn’t take long and thinking it would be nice to have a few braids here and there. We didn’t have the same vision in mind. She plaited everything from my ears forward. Once I realized what she was doing, she was already too far into the process for me to stop her. So I decided to sit quietly, hoping it would turn out. And as things usually do, it worked out well. The small braids took over 2 hours to create, and they were very nicely done. I was very happy with the results. She wants to plait my hair again, next time with colored extensions or with a zigzag design. I’m not objecting.
December 18 – 20, 2009- Celebrating my Birthday, Hiking to Mvubu Falls, & Early Christmas at Pasture Valley: Since the people I wanted to help me celebrate my birthday would be at a children’s camp, we met the night before at Café Lingo. An out of the way place in Mbabane, we sat outside drinking wine and eating pizza for the better part of the evening. An African jazz group began playing around 9, and we danced to their upbeat grooves. Then a few of us ventured to House on Fire for more music and dancing. The following afternoon, Victoria, Justine and I set out to find Mvubu Falls. Just a sort distance from Mbabane, Mvubu Falls is an easy hike to 3 beautiful waterfalls. The afternoon sun was warm but since the walk to the falls is mostly tree covered, the only thing we found troubling was the tree snake we happened upon at the beginning of the hike. On Sunday, Justine and I rode with the Country Director and the Medical Officer to Pasture Valley. They wanted to bring Christmas presents to the children and Peter and Michelle, their way of giving at Christmastime. Justine and I sat in the circle of children, helping the little ones open presents, installing batteries and removing tags. To see their faces light up upon discovering the treasure behind the wrapping paper… I cannot even describe how priceless that moment. Then there were treats Michelle made, as well as candy sent from a former volunteer at Pasture Valley. For most this was their first Christmas celebration; for others a reinforcement that they have a family, a home.
December 24 – 28, 2009- Celebrating Christmas: Make Simelane asked Justine and I to house sit during the holidays. We gladly accepted. The house was full, as a few Group 7 volunteers stayed with us before they headed out to Durban. No matter. Justine and I were occupied with spending Christmas at Pasture Valley. Peter and Michelle invited us to the Christmas celebration they were planning with the children on Christmas Eve: reading the Christmas story, opening presents from Michelle’s father and sister, opening presents from their neighbors, eating Christmas treats, singing carols, and watching a movie. It felt more like Christmas than last year, and I heartily welcomed the change. Christmastime seems more festive when children are involved; their wonder and excitement at presents, eating too much food and learning Christmas songs is endearing, especially the children at Pasture Valley. Everything they were given was accepted with a thank you, a knee bend and a smile, no matter what was being given. They were genuinely appreciative, and that would warm the heart of any scrooge.
The next day, Christmas Day, Justine and I took sugar cookies we’d made the night before to lunch. We made green and pink icing before lunch, then after we showed them how to decorate their own cookie, many enjoying theirs piled with green and pink icing. After playing games, coloring and teaching them how to use their new outdoor toys, we headed back to Make Simelane’s and joined G7 in Christmas dinner. The next day G7 left for Durban, and Justine and I enjoyed a quiet house, watching movies and eating our Christmas dinner—orange chicken—after cleaning the house in preparation for Make’s arrival the following day. It was not the most relaxing Christmas I was hoping for but the time with the children at Pasture Valley was uplifting, and just what I needed, for me the essence of Christmas.
December 29-30, 2009- The Train Trip to Cape Town:
The land outside Jo’burg resembles the Midwestern
plains—lots of farm land, many trees and herds of cattle.
Shortly, the landscape gives way to rolling hills and scrub brush, reminding me of eastern Colorado. The sky holds 3 shades of blue, and
increasingly fills with clouds as we traverse west.
Each of us in our own zone.
The train is crowded, and we struggle for our own space.
Except for the mix of languages I hear around me, I could easily be traveling thru the heartland of America, searching for mountains I love and seeking wine country in the distance.
Road tripping with three unforgettable friends. Oh the adventures to come.
A rain cloud directly over the train, it begins to rain. I reluctantly edge the window up a little to avoid getting wet, and at the urging of a fellow passenger.
But I don’t close it completely; I want to feel the cool clean air on my face and smell the fresh crispness it brings.
It keeps the train car from becoming too stifling, keeps me from smelling my own sweat and the stench of 80 others in this car.
Back to more scrub brush and flat land.
Several windmills rapidly spin in the wind.
In the distance, a storm brews, the sky is a blue grey.
Rays of sunlight pierce thru clouds but the sun doesn’t fool me.
We are driving into a storm, and I anticipate the erratic energy it will bring.
The rains come again, at a slant, struggling to fall against the wind.
I love storms, and on the train it seems even more romantic and ominous. Sadly the rain doesn’t last long; the drops are enough to wet the windows.
We’re back to blue skies peeking thru the clouds.
I open my window once again.
December 30-
My sleep is fitful, and I grow cold toward morning so I rise to look out my window. The buttes in the distance are mist covered, the plains and scrub brush a solid tan. The sun rises 30 minutes later, around 5:30, like a precocious child, quickly and without remorse, transforming everything into golden.
The train is mostly quiet, still.
My companions slumber without want.
Several travelers shift in their sleep, trying in vain to
find comfort in their seats.
A two-year-old chatters to her groggy mother.
The train pauses and more people begin to stir, some rising to stretch, others stumbling their way to the toilet.
It’s morning time in Africa. The day always begins early and immediate with activity.
With the sun at my back, I slowly thaw and begin my coffee daydream.
As we discovered last night this train doesn’t have a kitchen car.
Coffee will remain a daydream. My eyelids become increasingly heavy, and I resist the urge to let them close fully.
Sleep deprivation triumphs, and I fall asleep for another hour.
We’re heading toward the Western Cape.
Mountains spring up, sharp and rocky, reminding me of Colorado.
My spirit feels renewed. I feel alive and refreshed. I feel like I’m home.
Nestled under the foothills are rows and rows of grape vines; wine country is near.
The train’s multinationals talked politics and passion for their country since last night. Mugabe. The state of Zimbabwe. Apartheid in all nations. Language and terminiology. Lack of jobs. The division of the Congo- now two separate countries. Some conversations become heated usually due to inebriation.
Those people walk away or someone works to keep the peace. But most people become fast friends, even thru the arguments, and look after each other.
Several groups have adopted us—making it their mission to make the only white girls on the train comfortable and welcome.
The men from the Congo give us tips for places to visit in Cape Town. One woman walks us to get food during a train interlude. Another buys us ice cream for breakfast. A man offers his wife’s hair dressing services; he says she would plait our hair and make us really beautiful.
The two-year-old takes turns playing with each of us, inquiring about our belongings in Zimbabwean.
Siswati is somewhat similar, so I ask her questions.
But her English isn’t bad, so I point to things and she repeats what I say almost perfectly.
We arrive in Cape Town to afternoon heat,
anxious to explore the city but desperate for showers.
Cleanliness wins out, and we hail a taxi to the backpackers.
Anne’s plane should be landing.
I am anxious once again, waiting for her call.
We meet a few hours later for pizza and beers.
We meet Ryan, her PC friend from the DR and his fiancé, Ali.
We make plans to hike the next morning.
I go home with them.
Anne and I talk as long as we can before sleep beckons.
She is in Africa.
I am on vacation.
Life is good.
December 31, 2009- Cape Town, Day 1:
Hiked Lion’s Head
Lunch at Café de Cuba on Long Street
Exploring Long Street, hoping to find a cute dress, to no avail
Finding Green Market Square
Happy hour at the No Happy Hour bar, watching taxi
drivers play cards in the trunk of one car.
New Year’s Eve celebration at Green Market Square- coffee and hummus
at the Kurdish place, dinner there later w/ the girls,
salsa music playing at the Kurdish place,
bands begin to play, we begin to dance.
New Year’s Eve with a few fireworks, anticlimactic,
but enjoyed with friends. It’s 2010; I’m
in a foreign country.
January 1, 2010- Cape Town, Day 2:
Bo Kaap district- Malay community, we
discover a festival, a minstrel show to honor
their culture and the new year; traditionally
the one day per year
they got off from work.
People of all ages in each group, dressed
in bright costumes, playing instruments, singing
and dancing, marching thru
the streets where vibrantly colored houses
stand, celebrating life. We watch
for hours, each group louder and jollier
than then last. Bystanders and community members
get caught up in the action,
and sing and dance with minstrels along
the way. Everyone is laughing. Everyone
is enjoying.
We learn later that it’s become a competition
among minstrel groups, who can play and
march the best. The competition begins
at 11pm, and groups march throughout
the night along the main street, with
the top groups giving a final performance
at the stadium. Sometime is takes
two days, sometimes 3. They celebrate
for as long as they need.
We decide to get food, Vietnamese, then
venture along Long Street for possible night life. We
discover many bars open and people sitting along
the festival route, finding
good seats. We get a beer at one place
with a surly bartender; out tip is minimal.
We watch the festival begin, then
shortly make our way to sleep.
January 2, 2010- Cape Town, Day 3:
I sleep until 9, the latest I’ve slept in a long
while. Anne’s jet leg is kicking in; I tell her to
sleep as long as she needs. I call
car rental places, hoping something is available
for touring wine country. Nothing is
available until Monday.
The day is hot but Table Mt is clear, a
first since our arrival; I want to
take advantage of it. Anne says she
will take the cable car to the top. The
other girls want a cooler day to hike, and
opt for Simon’s Town. I hike
it on 2 hours, 20 minutes. The route I take
is like climbing stairs in an old house, narrow
in some places, steep, and immediate. The altitude
bothers me at first, but after trekking
one-fourth of the way, I find my chi
breath, and take my time climbing the stair steps.
I meet Anne at the top, feeling a huge sense of
accomplishment. We discover later the high for
the day was 44 degrees C (or 111 degrees F). I pat
myself of the back again.
We make our way to the V & A Waterfront
for Thai food and cold drinks with
pineapple garnishes. I hear Hot Water playing
at the amphitheater; they played
at House on Fire last New Year’s Eve.
Thai food and good music, perfect combination.
We meet the girls at the
Green Dolphin Jazz Bar later for drinks.
We make plans for tomorrow.
January 3, 2010- Cape Town, Day 4:
Anne and I both sleep in; the girls
are hiking Table Mountain, and we’re
meeting them once they finish.
We walk to the Table Mt entrance, then take
an expensive cab ride to the Botanical
Gardens. It’s beautiful. I seek out
my favorite African flower, Protea,
along the way; I need to see nothing else.
The girls go back to their hostel to
shower; we will meet them at La Med
later. Anne and I walk towards the
promenade. We eye a gelato shoppe
along the way. She gets granadilla aka
passion fruit; I abandon my standard
chocolate for lemon. We happily lick our
way to the Indian Ocean, and
imagine we can see all the way
to South America. Would we see Brazil?
La Med is the happening spot for the 20 something’s,
hipsters, and wanna-be’s. As Anne says,
“it’s the scene!” We feel slightly
outta place, but enjoy the scenery. The
bar, complete with outdoor patios, is on
the beach. Goldfish is slated
to play. Anne and I leave early; only Goldfish
remixes are playing, and we want to say
farewell to Ryan and Ali; they are headed to
Thailand tomorrow.
January 4, 2010- The Trip, Day 5:
We pick up the rental car. Hurray,
they have an automatic. We pick up the
girls and head to Simon’s Town to see
penguins, and the gorgeous beaches. We long
to stay. We drive back up the coast to
Muizenberg. After lunch at an
organic coffee shop, we bid
Vic and Mar adieu. Jenn, Anne, and I
begin our journey back to Swaziland
via the Garden and Wilderness Routes.
Anne quickly masters driving on the right
sides of the car and road. I try my skills
later, once she tires of the wind
and concentration of passing people…there are
no rules for passing in Africa; you go when you can, where
you can.
I haven’t driven a car in 18 months. Surprisingly
it’s like riding a bike, and I remember
instantly; after 5 minutes
of nervousness about driving on
the right, I’m like an old pro.
We decide to stop in Knysna, a quaint town
famed for it’s lagoon harbor, protected
by the sea by two sandstone cliffs. South
Africa’s largest commercial oyster-farming
Center is based in the lagoon. We
find the backpackers quite friendly. The
friend of the owner shares his extra veggies
with us; we make a curry dish and
grilled cheese sammies. They also
recommend a close bar to enjoy
a few Windhoek, a beer made
in Namibia. During the
night, the owner rushes in to
alert the drivers of a white Toyota
that it’s been vandalized, and to come quite;
the police are waiting. We panic for a moment,
then remember out white car is a Chevy.
January 5, 2010- The Trip, Day 6:
After yoga and a long hot shower, we
pick up coffee and breakfast. We head to the
lagoon look-out point, enjoying scones, hot
coffee and the view.
How far will we drive today? Let’s see
where we are around 5. The Garden Route
is a majestic stretch of coastline, encompassing
mountains, rivers, lagoons, lakes, beaches, and
indigenous forests. In 1780, the French
naturalist, Francois Le Vaillant, wrote: “Nature
has made an enchanted abode of this beautiful
place.” Enchanted is it, and each town is
quainter and boasts more activities than
the next. Jenn decides Coffee Bay, along
the Wild Coast, is our
final destination for the day. The Wild Coast
is an adventurers paradise, with rugged cliffs,
untouched coastlines, sheltered bays, pounding
breakers and dense coastal forest.
Beautiful. Yes. It lifts our spirits
until we discover the road to Coffee Bay
is littered with potholes and 62 km from
the main highway. It took 2 ½ hrs to drive. We
arrive dejected, exhausted, in need of food, and a
bed. We’re welcomed by Rasta look-alikes, old hippies,
young hippies and extreme sport enthusiasts. We lurk on the
edge of the excitement, waiting for the manager
to assign us a dorm. Then Jenn says, “maybe we
should gets beers while we wait?!” Anne and I
nod in agreement; might as well join the
festivities. Eventually we’re
shown to our beds, but after quick
discussion and since the beers have
already gone to our heads, we
join the crowd around the camp fire
and drink more beers. Anne and I realize this
is our first time getting drunk together. We cheers
to that. Close to 1 am, Anne and I stumble to our
beds, leaving Jenn catching the eye of a
fellow camper.
January 6, 2010- The Trip, Day 7:
After little sleep we rise to get an early
start on the final leg, the drive
to Durban. We traverse the
potholes in half the time it took
last night. We stop for breakfast and
coffee at a rest stop, and look thru
the guide book for a place to stay. Anne
is tired of backpackers; she offers
to spring for a nice place. I make
reservations at Durban Manor. The
drive is uneventful; Anne and I take turns
driving and sleeping. Jenn sleeps most of the
way. We pass the edge of Drakensberg Park, and
I must resist the urge to steer the
car that direction. Another trip.
We over-estimate the amount of time
it will take; we arrive in Durban during
rush hour, but successfully find the drop-
off for the rental car, and walk a short distance
to the Durban Manor. It’s a turn-of-the century
mansion. The room is spacious but the
hall is eerily quiet. It feels mysterious, and quite like
a haunted house. We crash on the
bed and turn on the television. We unwind
watching a movie, then shower, get ready, and
walk to Roma’s Revolving Restaurant. The Italian
food hits the spot and a
360 degree view of the city is lovely
but service is poor; we wait
45 minutes for our bill. Once back to the
mansion we feel like we’re being spied on; I
wish is explore this haunted place but sleep calls
to me strongly.
January 7, 2010- The Trip, Day 8:
One no is moving quickly. I lazily hit the snooze
alarm twice. I finally force myself up; Jenn and Anne
reluctantly follow.
Breakfast is served in the breakfast nook,
where we’re waited on by a butler, of sorts,
dressed in a black waistcoat, and carrying a
towel over his left forearm. We feel transferred
to a different time and place, but our dress
makes us feel out of context.
The receptionist hails us a cab. We want
to make one stop before heading to
Swaziland. The Victoria St. Market, a market filled
with smells, tastes and wares from India. We smell
incense, taste spices, and peruse over 100 stalls, selling
everything from jewelry, fabrics, spices, ceramics and clothing.
The building is striking enough; it features 11 domes,
each modeled after a notable building in India. The
bazaar is noisy, but crowds are minimal today. I buy
two pair of earrings, one made from banana
leaves, the other from springbok bones. I buy
sandalwood and nag champa incense, and vanilla beans;
I want to try my hand at making vanilla essence. Later
I wish I would have bought masala spice. We
wait for 2 hours for the khombi to Swaziland to leave.
We pass the time eating litchi, listening to music, and
recalling the long drive, each of us longing to return to
explore a different place
along the Garden and Wilderness Routes. The drive
is mostly uneventful except for a moment near
St. Lucia. Two vehicle-loads of men dressed in all black
with machine guns pile out and surround a truck with 2 men
inside. As we speed quickly passed, we hear gunfire. Our
fellow passengers say SA is cracking down
on criminals. We hope they had the right perpetrators; I saw
one man’s face—he seemed surprised and scared.
We cross the border at Lavumisa, and I breathe a sigh of
relief. It feels good to be home. Anne removes her camera,
to capture the rainbow that appears after
a short rain. She says, “This looks like Africa.” It’s my
idea of Africa too. We stay with my
Salesian friends in Manzini. Their shower
feels amazing as I remove the travel from
my body.
January 8, 2010- The Trip, Day 9:
We take our pile of dirty clothes to the Laundromat. After
coffee with we head to the Manzini market
and Jenn heads home. The market is quiet for
a Thursday, normally it’s biggest selling day. Anne
finds great gifts for family and friends; I find
thin acrylic yarn, perfect for braiding necklaces. Once
we pick up our laundry, we run to catch the last bus to Nhlangano
with only a few minutes to spare. I become
increasingly excited to share the journey to my
place and my site with Anne. In Nhlangano we
purchase fruits and veggies then hop on the bus
to my site. Bomake greet us; Anne comments on the
friendliness of the bus and it’s occupants, and I smile. This
is my bus. These are my people. I am on my way home.
We arrive at site to find only Zandele home. Make has
been gone since before Christmas; she is staying
with Babe. As I unpack
Anne reads my walls and looks at
all the pictures I’ve accumulated. She thinks my
place is homey. It really is. I need water, so
she helps me fetch it with the wheelbarrow. I make
popcorn for supper, and we spend the
evening listening to music and chatting.
January 9, 2010- The Trip, Day 10:
I take Anne to see the primary and
secondary schools; I want to show her
the health signs I painted. On the way home,
the neighbor boy hands me one of Make’s
chickens; it had gotten out and he caught it.
I reluctantly take the chicken, and carry it
home. Anne thinks it’s funny and takes a
photo. I give her a disgusted look. For lunch,
Anne teaches me to make bean burgers. We sit outside under
the rondoval to eat; my hut is too hot. After lunch,
we continue sitting outside; I teach her
to crochet. We crochet all afternoon. She makes
two potholder for me. My sisi
visits us from time to time, and I share the
chocolate Anne bought me with her. Eventually
her friends visit, and we dance, and perform head-
and handstands in the front yard. Anne records
them on her Flip; they are fascinated. She requires them
to perform if they want to be filmed. A few sing the
Swazi national anthem; others dance.
We make my Mom’s cereal treat recipe, and I
write it down for Anne; it’s her favorite treat
and memory of my mom’s house as a child. I make
liphalisi for supper—maize meal and water cooked. I
show her how Swazi’s eat it with their hands. She
enjoys the experience as much as the taste.
January 10, 2010- The Trip, Day 11:
I make maize meal pancakes for brunch as
Anne begins a scarf. She helps me make
fabric beads, and I begin putting together
a prototype mobile. It takes space nicely. We
walk to my friend Phindile’s house in the afternoon,
taking her some cereal treats. She offers us mango,
and we gladly accept. It’s my favorite type of
mango, the large ones without stringy palp, sweet
but not too sweet. We stay a few hours, then head home
the back way. I boil water for Anne’s first
bucket bath. In the DR she had a tile floor with
a drain. I tell her not to worry about splashing
water on the cement floor; it wipes up
easily. I create a makeshift curtain; she bathes
while I begin preparing supper, veggie pizza with
mangos. I take a piece to Zandele and
invite her to hang with us. We play UNO, then
teach Anne to play sisu, a Swazi card
game; sisu means stomach. Zandele has a cold;
she leaves early to go to bed. I download pictures
to my computer from Anne’s camera.
January 11, 2010- The Trip, Day 12:
I make New Year’s treats for the clinic staff. We
both repack our bags, and I try to clean my hut
as best as possible. I introduce Anne to my clinic
family. They instantly love her. I give her a tour, and
take her to see the project I’m trying to help
them with. She makes a video of the buildings
as well as me explaining the need for the project; she
wants to put something together for my blog and
perhaps Facebook. We take the 11 am bus, and meet Justine
and Jaci in town for lunch at Richfield’s. I catch up
with them; we talk about out trips, upcoming
projects, upcoming trips. Then Anne and I head
to Pasture Valley. We play all afternoon with
the children. She loves the painted preschool room
and the map. Buhle falls asleep in her lap; Piwa in mine.
Michelle arrives late afternoon. We
go with her to their house. We chat about the craft
project. Peter joins us later, tells us there is
too much craft talk, and offers us a beer. We
eat supper with Michelle and Peter and their children.
January 12, 2010- The Trip, Day 11:
Michelle offers us a ride to town; we gladly accept
and talk crafts all the way to town. I tell her
I want to be as involved as possible. I think
she’s relieved to know there will
be help. I tell her I want to extend my PC
service at Pasture Valley. She’s excited. For how
long? Will 6 months work? Yes, of course. Yah!
Good! Anne and I venture to
Manzini; we find the khombi that will take us
through Ezulweni Valley. Our first stop is
Rosecrafts and Swazi Candles. We have lunch
at Sambane Tea Garden, then go to Swazi candles
to watch crafters shape the candles. One guy has
worked there for 20 years, another for 10 years.
Then it’s Baobab Batiks, the weaving place, the
jewelry place, and finally the individual vendors. She
finishes her gift list. Our second stop is
Malendela’s. We shop at Gone Rural, and she
finds grass placemats for herself. We have a
few beers, then tour House on Fire. She’s amazed
at the detail in the carving on the walls. Our
wait for the khombi to Mbabane is short. We make
our way to Jason’s backpacking place. We drink
wine in the backyard; she sits in the hammock, I on
a lounge chair near the pool. We make
gazpacho for supper, and go to bed early.
January 13, 2010- The Trip, Day 12:
I take Anne to the PC office; I have a mid-morning
VAC meeting. I log her onto a computer, and she
happily uses the computer, content to be in
our lounge, as if she’s a PC volunteer again. She meets
Jason and Connor, two guys in my group, as
well as many staff members. Victoria stops in
too, and they keep each other company during
my meeting. My meeting is short, and while
I wait for her to finish in the internet, I
open a package from my former boss. It’s filled
with everything I was needing: chocolate, new flip flops,
lotions, Christmas decorations, lip balm, books. The letter
is sweet, and I gladly read and think of work times.
We repack one bag to take with us, necessities only, then grab
borrowed tents and sleeping bags. We meet Jenn, Jaci and her PC
friend from Moz in Manzini. We find the bus to Lomahasha; it
will take drop us by Hlane Game Reserve. We reserve
space on the 5:30 am game drive. After
getting passed an ostrich to get to the camp
and setting up our tents, we walk to the
watering hole to watch the rhinos and hippos
frolic. A few warthogs sidle up to water’s edge. We drink
Windhoek and watch their nightly routine. Afternoon
slowly slips into evening, and we think about building
a fire to roast hotdogs and coconut marshmallows. An
elephant grazes on the opposite side of the
fence near our camp while we cook. The girls want
up-close pictures, and tip toe toward the fence.
I hang back, screening my body with
the trunk of a tree; I am awed
by elephants’ power, majesty, peacefulness. The
camera flashes disturb him, and he rushes
the fence a few times to warn us that he
is boss. By 8:30 it is dark, and we retire to
our respective tents, trying with great effort to find
comfort on the solid dirt ground.
January 14, 2010- The Trip, Day 13:
Five o’clock comes early. We rise quietly, apply
sunscreen, don hats or bandanas, and saunter
toward the office. Our driver is ready. The
game drive is 2 ½ hours and we manage is spot
warthogs, impala, ostrich, elephant, inyala, white
rhinos, hippos, a lone lion, two turles, several golden
spiders, a blind snake and a few crocs. Our driver
tells a story about a drive he did a few
years ago where an elephant charged the truck,
knocking it over and injuring several passengers. He
is apprehensive about elephants but had no problem
getting quite close to the lion. According to him,
lion’s don’t care; when they are tired of the attention
they will walk away. So he drove us very close
to the lion. Had I been outside the truck, I could have
taken 2 steps and been right next his hind legs. A little too
close for me. After breaking camp, the girls showered.
A guide offers us a lift to Manzini for free; we patiently
waited for him. We go our separate ways in Manzini Mall. I have
another meeting at the office, which gives Anne the chance
to check her flight status. Then we get some Indian food,
and eat it blissfully at the outside tables. Back
to the backpackers, we take showers, then
sit on the patio wanting to enjoy the last
hours of sunlight. Anne transfers her
purse contents into the new purse I’d given her, giving
me things she doesn’t need anymore. Once
it grows chilly, we sit at the table inside; I
write the siSwati words and phrases I taught her
in her journal, as well as my Swazi friends’ names.
We play Scrabble in later; she beats my by 10 points.
January 15, 2010- The Trip, Day 14:
We sleep in until 9; it feels good.
I want to do yoga, and Anne joins me wanting some
stretching before the long hours on the plane. Fresh
mangos and litchi, one last time, for breakfast. Jason
gives us a lift downtown. We negotiate a
fair ride with a taxi driver to the airport. Her
flight leaves at 2:20pm; we wait in the lounge.
I teach her to crochet a flower; it’s confusing. I
promise to send her instructions. She’s
disgusted with her scarf, and pulls it out. She
confesses that she planned to wait until on
the plane to redo it, so I wouldn’t know. But I
tell her that I knew she’d do that; she’s a
perfectionist, like me. Boarding begins at 2pm;
I bid her farewell. I’m sad to see her go, and
wait to shed tears until I leave the terminal,
keeping a happy face on until she passes security
and out of my view. It was a great
visit. I beginning walking to town; a khombi
offers me a lift to Manzini. I catch the half 3 bus to Nhlangano
and the 5 o’clock to my site. My vacation is over. My
cousin is gone. I am back home, felling slightly
blah, but ready for the month ahead. I have
projects to accomplish; I’m eager to start and
finish them.
Below are the messages I painted:
The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams. Eleanor Roosevelt
Education is the most powerful weapon, which you can use to change the world. Nelson Mandela
The global HIV/AIDS epidemic is an unprecedented crisis that requires an unprecedented response…it requires solidarity… Kofi Annan
The feeling of being valuable - 'I am a valuable person'- is essential to mental health and is a cornerstone of self-discipline. M. Scott Peck
…never let anyone tell you that what you are doing is insignificant. Bishop Desmond Tutu
Let us give publicity to HIV/AIDS and not hide it, because [that is] the only way to make it appear like a normal illness. Nelson Mandela
One Love: Talk – Respect – Protect. One Love Campaign
The Head Teacher would like me to paint a new motto for the school; currently the walled gate as you enter says: Fight the Good Fight. He wants the school motto to be a bit more uplifting and positive. He also wants me to paint messages in the assembly hall, which is sometimes used by the community. We’ll work out the details next term. I‘m hoping my health club is more active when that time comes.
December 12 2009- Visiting the Orphanage and 21st Birthday Party: Tim and Jamie Cook have been eager for several months to visit Pasture Valley Children’s Home; Justine and I decided to take them this weekend since we planned to be in town already. We’d been invited to a 21st birthday party of the daughter and niece of Make Simelane, the woman we house sit for. The birthday party was supposed to begin at 10, and in true Swazi fashion it began late. Under a tent, the two birthday girls were flanked by friends at a table toward the front of tent. The guests of honor were dressed in hot pink, as were their friends. Their dresses resembled bridesmaid or prom attire; being PC volunteers, arriving everywhere in jeans and t-shirts or well-washed skirts and tees, we felt considerably under-dressed. The celebration was to honor Samke and Khetsiwe for not only turning 21, but also for not getting pregnant or loosing their virginity. Many relatives and friends spoke highly of the girls’ integrity, as well as their passion for education; both are at university. Make narrated the slide show with pictures of them growing up together. The guest speaker, a former teacher of both girls, ended her endearing speech with a toast to long life and happiness. We ate lots of food—also a Swazi tradition at any gathering—drank sodas, a new tradition, and finished with dry cake. We’ve known both girls for about a year but not well; they are genuinely nice every time I see them, and seem ready to share their home or food. I was happy to share this important day with them. It was interesting to me the reason for celebrating a 21st birthday here. When I reflect, it’s also about celebrating a life endured. Had either of them already had sex, both would probably be HIV positive. I don’t want to even think about how being positive would dramatically change their present situation but I can say with certainty that neither would have finished high school much less gone to university. Then I think about the reasons for celebrating a 21st birthday in America. I know every situation is different but we really have forgotten to celebrate LIFE in America; we are too eager to drink our weight in shots or sign up for military service and put our lives at risk. My appreciation for the sanctity of life has gradually taken new meaning thanks to my interaction with Swazi people.
We returned to the children’s home to work off our full bellies with play. The boys were eager to have a male figure to play with; Tim was more than willing to romp on the jungle gym, play tag and teach the boys to throw a football American style. Jamie, being a former cheerleader, taught those willing several cheerleader jumps and gymnastic moves; I followed with yoga poses, namely headstand, crow and bridge. Justine’s approach was cheering and holding the younger children. Eventually the Lego tub came out, and Tim set to building airplanes with eager children sitting around him gleaning his skills. We all took turns holding Gracie, the 5 month old, then ended the afternoon with hugs and high 5’s. Since Michelle and Peter, the owners, were away for the day, we stayed in the cabin behind one of the orphanages. It’s a two bedroom place with shower and combined kitchen and living room. We spent the evening telling stories of the past, listening to Moth and NPR podcasts and lots of music, and drinking wine. Eventually we cooked dinner and I displayed the contents of the package retrieved earlier in the day from the Post Office.
It’s rare that Tim and Jamie stray from their homestead, so it was a real treat to spend a weekend with them. Tim is a writer and Jamie is a PT; I feel like I have a lot in common with each, so we never want for conversation. They are the oldest couple in our group; Tim is several months older than me. We always joke about being mkhulu (old man/grandfather) and bogogo (grandmothers). It is also their goal to visit more volunteer homesteads in the coming year; I hope to join them on a few visits.
December 14, 2009- Learning Another Lesson:
I’m not sure I wholly believe the adage, “home is where the heart is.” I believe that home is where you are happy or where you are able to have a little happiness in some moment every day, wherever you happen to be. I believe this because I have obtained happiness here but my heart is sometimes elsewhere: in Vermillion with the Farmers Market, Coffee Shop Gallery, in my massage practice or with my fabulous friends; at my parent’s place, on the farm, in Nebraska; wondering through the pasture near my parent’s farm; with my family, at holidays or impromptu gatherings; in Sioux City with my massage friends; in the Old Market in Omaha; in the mountains in Colorado; in yoga class; in France; or in places yet to discover. Surprisingly, I find my heart in places I visit here, with friends in my community, and fellow volunteers, as well as with my Swazi family, especially my bosisi. So I’ve discovered my heart is in many places, whether I happen to be happy there or not.
I’ve been reading the book “A New Earth: Awakening to your life’s purpose” by Eckhart Tolle. In a beginning section he talks about the secret of happiness, saying that “being at peace and being who you are, that is, being yourself, are one.” That being at peace, having peace, is letting go of the ego. And that being one with life is being one with Now. One should not seek happiness; if you seek it you won’t find it since happiness is elusive. However “freedom from unhappiness is attainable now, but facing what is rather than making up stories about it. Unhappiness covers up your natural state of well-being and inner peace, the source of true happiness.” Oh, how many times I tried to seek happiness when I first arrived, only to fail and become even more despondent. I thought actively searching for happiness or things or make me happy would make it okay to be here, would make me feel better about being here. Oh my vanity! Oh my ego! It wasn’t until I let go of controlling what would or would not happen, living each day as they came, being as present in each day as possible, that I found happiness had been at my doorstep for months. My fickle friend but of my own making.
Even though some days may pass without much recognition of whether I am happy or not happy, and at time I may become melancholy and ride the rollercoaster of emotions, happiness is apart of my every day, apart of me—I am not trying in vain to seek it. It’s just there when I am present enough to feel it.
December 15, 2009- Fatty Comment w/ an Ass Pat: I was wearing jeans today, so of course Make made a comment about my bum becoming bigger. “My daughter! She is getting bigger and bigger. Look at her bum. She is becoming like me.” She even went so far as to pat my butt and right thigh as I passed her. Thanks Make. Little does she know that earlier in the day I bought a pair of jeans a size smaller than the pair I bought when I first arrived. My main reason for buying jeans was to have a pair that actually fit for my Cape Town trip. Secondly I thought it might be nice to have a pair that weren’t as tattered as the pair I brought with me. And finally, they were only E40; in US dollars that’s less than $6. After purchasing them I was excited about how well they fit and looked on me, as well as the good deal I got. But after returning home to an ass pat and fatty comment, it’s more about a battle that I won with the war on fatty comments from Make. No matter it’s a silent battle between us, and I’m the only one who knows the war is on. Today I won!
December 17, 2009- Plaiting my Hair: My sisi Nomdumiso offered to plait my hair last week, and today I decided to take her up on the offer. I wanted just the front plaited, thinking it wouldn’t take long and thinking it would be nice to have a few braids here and there. We didn’t have the same vision in mind. She plaited everything from my ears forward. Once I realized what she was doing, she was already too far into the process for me to stop her. So I decided to sit quietly, hoping it would turn out. And as things usually do, it worked out well. The small braids took over 2 hours to create, and they were very nicely done. I was very happy with the results. She wants to plait my hair again, next time with colored extensions or with a zigzag design. I’m not objecting.
December 18 – 20, 2009- Celebrating my Birthday, Hiking to Mvubu Falls, & Early Christmas at Pasture Valley: Since the people I wanted to help me celebrate my birthday would be at a children’s camp, we met the night before at Café Lingo. An out of the way place in Mbabane, we sat outside drinking wine and eating pizza for the better part of the evening. An African jazz group began playing around 9, and we danced to their upbeat grooves. Then a few of us ventured to House on Fire for more music and dancing. The following afternoon, Victoria, Justine and I set out to find Mvubu Falls. Just a sort distance from Mbabane, Mvubu Falls is an easy hike to 3 beautiful waterfalls. The afternoon sun was warm but since the walk to the falls is mostly tree covered, the only thing we found troubling was the tree snake we happened upon at the beginning of the hike. On Sunday, Justine and I rode with the Country Director and the Medical Officer to Pasture Valley. They wanted to bring Christmas presents to the children and Peter and Michelle, their way of giving at Christmastime. Justine and I sat in the circle of children, helping the little ones open presents, installing batteries and removing tags. To see their faces light up upon discovering the treasure behind the wrapping paper… I cannot even describe how priceless that moment. Then there were treats Michelle made, as well as candy sent from a former volunteer at Pasture Valley. For most this was their first Christmas celebration; for others a reinforcement that they have a family, a home.
December 24 – 28, 2009- Celebrating Christmas: Make Simelane asked Justine and I to house sit during the holidays. We gladly accepted. The house was full, as a few Group 7 volunteers stayed with us before they headed out to Durban. No matter. Justine and I were occupied with spending Christmas at Pasture Valley. Peter and Michelle invited us to the Christmas celebration they were planning with the children on Christmas Eve: reading the Christmas story, opening presents from Michelle’s father and sister, opening presents from their neighbors, eating Christmas treats, singing carols, and watching a movie. It felt more like Christmas than last year, and I heartily welcomed the change. Christmastime seems more festive when children are involved; their wonder and excitement at presents, eating too much food and learning Christmas songs is endearing, especially the children at Pasture Valley. Everything they were given was accepted with a thank you, a knee bend and a smile, no matter what was being given. They were genuinely appreciative, and that would warm the heart of any scrooge.
The next day, Christmas Day, Justine and I took sugar cookies we’d made the night before to lunch. We made green and pink icing before lunch, then after we showed them how to decorate their own cookie, many enjoying theirs piled with green and pink icing. After playing games, coloring and teaching them how to use their new outdoor toys, we headed back to Make Simelane’s and joined G7 in Christmas dinner. The next day G7 left for Durban, and Justine and I enjoyed a quiet house, watching movies and eating our Christmas dinner—orange chicken—after cleaning the house in preparation for Make’s arrival the following day. It was not the most relaxing Christmas I was hoping for but the time with the children at Pasture Valley was uplifting, and just what I needed, for me the essence of Christmas.
December 29-30, 2009- The Train Trip to Cape Town:
The land outside Jo’burg resembles the Midwestern
plains—lots of farm land, many trees and herds of cattle.
Shortly, the landscape gives way to rolling hills and scrub brush, reminding me of eastern Colorado. The sky holds 3 shades of blue, and
increasingly fills with clouds as we traverse west.
Each of us in our own zone.
The train is crowded, and we struggle for our own space.
Except for the mix of languages I hear around me, I could easily be traveling thru the heartland of America, searching for mountains I love and seeking wine country in the distance.
Road tripping with three unforgettable friends. Oh the adventures to come.
A rain cloud directly over the train, it begins to rain. I reluctantly edge the window up a little to avoid getting wet, and at the urging of a fellow passenger.
But I don’t close it completely; I want to feel the cool clean air on my face and smell the fresh crispness it brings.
It keeps the train car from becoming too stifling, keeps me from smelling my own sweat and the stench of 80 others in this car.
Back to more scrub brush and flat land.
Several windmills rapidly spin in the wind.
In the distance, a storm brews, the sky is a blue grey.
Rays of sunlight pierce thru clouds but the sun doesn’t fool me.
We are driving into a storm, and I anticipate the erratic energy it will bring.
The rains come again, at a slant, struggling to fall against the wind.
I love storms, and on the train it seems even more romantic and ominous. Sadly the rain doesn’t last long; the drops are enough to wet the windows.
We’re back to blue skies peeking thru the clouds.
I open my window once again.
December 30-
My sleep is fitful, and I grow cold toward morning so I rise to look out my window. The buttes in the distance are mist covered, the plains and scrub brush a solid tan. The sun rises 30 minutes later, around 5:30, like a precocious child, quickly and without remorse, transforming everything into golden.
The train is mostly quiet, still.
My companions slumber without want.
Several travelers shift in their sleep, trying in vain to
find comfort in their seats.
A two-year-old chatters to her groggy mother.
The train pauses and more people begin to stir, some rising to stretch, others stumbling their way to the toilet.
It’s morning time in Africa. The day always begins early and immediate with activity.
With the sun at my back, I slowly thaw and begin my coffee daydream.
As we discovered last night this train doesn’t have a kitchen car.
Coffee will remain a daydream. My eyelids become increasingly heavy, and I resist the urge to let them close fully.
Sleep deprivation triumphs, and I fall asleep for another hour.
We’re heading toward the Western Cape.
Mountains spring up, sharp and rocky, reminding me of Colorado.
My spirit feels renewed. I feel alive and refreshed. I feel like I’m home.
Nestled under the foothills are rows and rows of grape vines; wine country is near.
The train’s multinationals talked politics and passion for their country since last night. Mugabe. The state of Zimbabwe. Apartheid in all nations. Language and terminiology. Lack of jobs. The division of the Congo- now two separate countries. Some conversations become heated usually due to inebriation.
Those people walk away or someone works to keep the peace. But most people become fast friends, even thru the arguments, and look after each other.
Several groups have adopted us—making it their mission to make the only white girls on the train comfortable and welcome.
The men from the Congo give us tips for places to visit in Cape Town. One woman walks us to get food during a train interlude. Another buys us ice cream for breakfast. A man offers his wife’s hair dressing services; he says she would plait our hair and make us really beautiful.
The two-year-old takes turns playing with each of us, inquiring about our belongings in Zimbabwean.
Siswati is somewhat similar, so I ask her questions.
But her English isn’t bad, so I point to things and she repeats what I say almost perfectly.
We arrive in Cape Town to afternoon heat,
anxious to explore the city but desperate for showers.
Cleanliness wins out, and we hail a taxi to the backpackers.
Anne’s plane should be landing.
I am anxious once again, waiting for her call.
We meet a few hours later for pizza and beers.
We meet Ryan, her PC friend from the DR and his fiancé, Ali.
We make plans to hike the next morning.
I go home with them.
Anne and I talk as long as we can before sleep beckons.
She is in Africa.
I am on vacation.
Life is good.
December 31, 2009- Cape Town, Day 1:
Hiked Lion’s Head
Lunch at Café de Cuba on Long Street
Exploring Long Street, hoping to find a cute dress, to no avail
Finding Green Market Square
Happy hour at the No Happy Hour bar, watching taxi
drivers play cards in the trunk of one car.
New Year’s Eve celebration at Green Market Square- coffee and hummus
at the Kurdish place, dinner there later w/ the girls,
salsa music playing at the Kurdish place,
bands begin to play, we begin to dance.
New Year’s Eve with a few fireworks, anticlimactic,
but enjoyed with friends. It’s 2010; I’m
in a foreign country.
January 1, 2010- Cape Town, Day 2:
Bo Kaap district- Malay community, we
discover a festival, a minstrel show to honor
their culture and the new year; traditionally
the one day per year
they got off from work.
People of all ages in each group, dressed
in bright costumes, playing instruments, singing
and dancing, marching thru
the streets where vibrantly colored houses
stand, celebrating life. We watch
for hours, each group louder and jollier
than then last. Bystanders and community members
get caught up in the action,
and sing and dance with minstrels along
the way. Everyone is laughing. Everyone
is enjoying.
We learn later that it’s become a competition
among minstrel groups, who can play and
march the best. The competition begins
at 11pm, and groups march throughout
the night along the main street, with
the top groups giving a final performance
at the stadium. Sometime is takes
two days, sometimes 3. They celebrate
for as long as they need.
We decide to get food, Vietnamese, then
venture along Long Street for possible night life. We
discover many bars open and people sitting along
the festival route, finding
good seats. We get a beer at one place
with a surly bartender; out tip is minimal.
We watch the festival begin, then
shortly make our way to sleep.
January 2, 2010- Cape Town, Day 3:
I sleep until 9, the latest I’ve slept in a long
while. Anne’s jet leg is kicking in; I tell her to
sleep as long as she needs. I call
car rental places, hoping something is available
for touring wine country. Nothing is
available until Monday.
The day is hot but Table Mt is clear, a
first since our arrival; I want to
take advantage of it. Anne says she
will take the cable car to the top. The
other girls want a cooler day to hike, and
opt for Simon’s Town. I hike
it on 2 hours, 20 minutes. The route I take
is like climbing stairs in an old house, narrow
in some places, steep, and immediate. The altitude
bothers me at first, but after trekking
one-fourth of the way, I find my chi
breath, and take my time climbing the stair steps.
I meet Anne at the top, feeling a huge sense of
accomplishment. We discover later the high for
the day was 44 degrees C (or 111 degrees F). I pat
myself of the back again.
We make our way to the V & A Waterfront
for Thai food and cold drinks with
pineapple garnishes. I hear Hot Water playing
at the amphitheater; they played
at House on Fire last New Year’s Eve.
Thai food and good music, perfect combination.
We meet the girls at the
Green Dolphin Jazz Bar later for drinks.
We make plans for tomorrow.
January 3, 2010- Cape Town, Day 4:
Anne and I both sleep in; the girls
are hiking Table Mountain, and we’re
meeting them once they finish.
We walk to the Table Mt entrance, then take
an expensive cab ride to the Botanical
Gardens. It’s beautiful. I seek out
my favorite African flower, Protea,
along the way; I need to see nothing else.
The girls go back to their hostel to
shower; we will meet them at La Med
later. Anne and I walk towards the
promenade. We eye a gelato shoppe
along the way. She gets granadilla aka
passion fruit; I abandon my standard
chocolate for lemon. We happily lick our
way to the Indian Ocean, and
imagine we can see all the way
to South America. Would we see Brazil?
La Med is the happening spot for the 20 something’s,
hipsters, and wanna-be’s. As Anne says,
“it’s the scene!” We feel slightly
outta place, but enjoy the scenery. The
bar, complete with outdoor patios, is on
the beach. Goldfish is slated
to play. Anne and I leave early; only Goldfish
remixes are playing, and we want to say
farewell to Ryan and Ali; they are headed to
Thailand tomorrow.
January 4, 2010- The Trip, Day 5:
We pick up the rental car. Hurray,
they have an automatic. We pick up the
girls and head to Simon’s Town to see
penguins, and the gorgeous beaches. We long
to stay. We drive back up the coast to
Muizenberg. After lunch at an
organic coffee shop, we bid
Vic and Mar adieu. Jenn, Anne, and I
begin our journey back to Swaziland
via the Garden and Wilderness Routes.
Anne quickly masters driving on the right
sides of the car and road. I try my skills
later, once she tires of the wind
and concentration of passing people…there are
no rules for passing in Africa; you go when you can, where
you can.
I haven’t driven a car in 18 months. Surprisingly
it’s like riding a bike, and I remember
instantly; after 5 minutes
of nervousness about driving on
the right, I’m like an old pro.
We decide to stop in Knysna, a quaint town
famed for it’s lagoon harbor, protected
by the sea by two sandstone cliffs. South
Africa’s largest commercial oyster-farming
Center is based in the lagoon. We
find the backpackers quite friendly. The
friend of the owner shares his extra veggies
with us; we make a curry dish and
grilled cheese sammies. They also
recommend a close bar to enjoy
a few Windhoek, a beer made
in Namibia. During the
night, the owner rushes in to
alert the drivers of a white Toyota
that it’s been vandalized, and to come quite;
the police are waiting. We panic for a moment,
then remember out white car is a Chevy.
January 5, 2010- The Trip, Day 6:
After yoga and a long hot shower, we
pick up coffee and breakfast. We head to the
lagoon look-out point, enjoying scones, hot
coffee and the view.
How far will we drive today? Let’s see
where we are around 5. The Garden Route
is a majestic stretch of coastline, encompassing
mountains, rivers, lagoons, lakes, beaches, and
indigenous forests. In 1780, the French
naturalist, Francois Le Vaillant, wrote: “Nature
has made an enchanted abode of this beautiful
place.” Enchanted is it, and each town is
quainter and boasts more activities than
the next. Jenn decides Coffee Bay, along
the Wild Coast, is our
final destination for the day. The Wild Coast
is an adventurers paradise, with rugged cliffs,
untouched coastlines, sheltered bays, pounding
breakers and dense coastal forest.
Beautiful. Yes. It lifts our spirits
until we discover the road to Coffee Bay
is littered with potholes and 62 km from
the main highway. It took 2 ½ hrs to drive. We
arrive dejected, exhausted, in need of food, and a
bed. We’re welcomed by Rasta look-alikes, old hippies,
young hippies and extreme sport enthusiasts. We lurk on the
edge of the excitement, waiting for the manager
to assign us a dorm. Then Jenn says, “maybe we
should gets beers while we wait?!” Anne and I
nod in agreement; might as well join the
festivities. Eventually we’re
shown to our beds, but after quick
discussion and since the beers have
already gone to our heads, we
join the crowd around the camp fire
and drink more beers. Anne and I realize this
is our first time getting drunk together. We cheers
to that. Close to 1 am, Anne and I stumble to our
beds, leaving Jenn catching the eye of a
fellow camper.
January 6, 2010- The Trip, Day 7:
After little sleep we rise to get an early
start on the final leg, the drive
to Durban. We traverse the
potholes in half the time it took
last night. We stop for breakfast and
coffee at a rest stop, and look thru
the guide book for a place to stay. Anne
is tired of backpackers; she offers
to spring for a nice place. I make
reservations at Durban Manor. The
drive is uneventful; Anne and I take turns
driving and sleeping. Jenn sleeps most of the
way. We pass the edge of Drakensberg Park, and
I must resist the urge to steer the
car that direction. Another trip.
We over-estimate the amount of time
it will take; we arrive in Durban during
rush hour, but successfully find the drop-
off for the rental car, and walk a short distance
to the Durban Manor. It’s a turn-of-the century
mansion. The room is spacious but the
hall is eerily quiet. It feels mysterious, and quite like
a haunted house. We crash on the
bed and turn on the television. We unwind
watching a movie, then shower, get ready, and
walk to Roma’s Revolving Restaurant. The Italian
food hits the spot and a
360 degree view of the city is lovely
but service is poor; we wait
45 minutes for our bill. Once back to the
mansion we feel like we’re being spied on; I
wish is explore this haunted place but sleep calls
to me strongly.
January 7, 2010- The Trip, Day 8:
One no is moving quickly. I lazily hit the snooze
alarm twice. I finally force myself up; Jenn and Anne
reluctantly follow.
Breakfast is served in the breakfast nook,
where we’re waited on by a butler, of sorts,
dressed in a black waistcoat, and carrying a
towel over his left forearm. We feel transferred
to a different time and place, but our dress
makes us feel out of context.
The receptionist hails us a cab. We want
to make one stop before heading to
Swaziland. The Victoria St. Market, a market filled
with smells, tastes and wares from India. We smell
incense, taste spices, and peruse over 100 stalls, selling
everything from jewelry, fabrics, spices, ceramics and clothing.
The building is striking enough; it features 11 domes,
each modeled after a notable building in India. The
bazaar is noisy, but crowds are minimal today. I buy
two pair of earrings, one made from banana
leaves, the other from springbok bones. I buy
sandalwood and nag champa incense, and vanilla beans;
I want to try my hand at making vanilla essence. Later
I wish I would have bought masala spice. We
wait for 2 hours for the khombi to Swaziland to leave.
We pass the time eating litchi, listening to music, and
recalling the long drive, each of us longing to return to
explore a different place
along the Garden and Wilderness Routes. The drive
is mostly uneventful except for a moment near
St. Lucia. Two vehicle-loads of men dressed in all black
with machine guns pile out and surround a truck with 2 men
inside. As we speed quickly passed, we hear gunfire. Our
fellow passengers say SA is cracking down
on criminals. We hope they had the right perpetrators; I saw
one man’s face—he seemed surprised and scared.
We cross the border at Lavumisa, and I breathe a sigh of
relief. It feels good to be home. Anne removes her camera,
to capture the rainbow that appears after
a short rain. She says, “This looks like Africa.” It’s my
idea of Africa too. We stay with my
Salesian friends in Manzini. Their shower
feels amazing as I remove the travel from
my body.
January 8, 2010- The Trip, Day 9:
We take our pile of dirty clothes to the Laundromat. After
coffee with we head to the Manzini market
and Jenn heads home. The market is quiet for
a Thursday, normally it’s biggest selling day. Anne
finds great gifts for family and friends; I find
thin acrylic yarn, perfect for braiding necklaces. Once
we pick up our laundry, we run to catch the last bus to Nhlangano
with only a few minutes to spare. I become
increasingly excited to share the journey to my
place and my site with Anne. In Nhlangano we
purchase fruits and veggies then hop on the bus
to my site. Bomake greet us; Anne comments on the
friendliness of the bus and it’s occupants, and I smile. This
is my bus. These are my people. I am on my way home.
We arrive at site to find only Zandele home. Make has
been gone since before Christmas; she is staying
with Babe. As I unpack
Anne reads my walls and looks at
all the pictures I’ve accumulated. She thinks my
place is homey. It really is. I need water, so
she helps me fetch it with the wheelbarrow. I make
popcorn for supper, and we spend the
evening listening to music and chatting.
January 9, 2010- The Trip, Day 10:
I take Anne to see the primary and
secondary schools; I want to show her
the health signs I painted. On the way home,
the neighbor boy hands me one of Make’s
chickens; it had gotten out and he caught it.
I reluctantly take the chicken, and carry it
home. Anne thinks it’s funny and takes a
photo. I give her a disgusted look. For lunch,
Anne teaches me to make bean burgers. We sit outside under
the rondoval to eat; my hut is too hot. After lunch,
we continue sitting outside; I teach her
to crochet. We crochet all afternoon. She makes
two potholder for me. My sisi
visits us from time to time, and I share the
chocolate Anne bought me with her. Eventually
her friends visit, and we dance, and perform head-
and handstands in the front yard. Anne records
them on her Flip; they are fascinated. She requires them
to perform if they want to be filmed. A few sing the
Swazi national anthem; others dance.
We make my Mom’s cereal treat recipe, and I
write it down for Anne; it’s her favorite treat
and memory of my mom’s house as a child. I make
liphalisi for supper—maize meal and water cooked. I
show her how Swazi’s eat it with their hands. She
enjoys the experience as much as the taste.
January 10, 2010- The Trip, Day 11:
I make maize meal pancakes for brunch as
Anne begins a scarf. She helps me make
fabric beads, and I begin putting together
a prototype mobile. It takes space nicely. We
walk to my friend Phindile’s house in the afternoon,
taking her some cereal treats. She offers us mango,
and we gladly accept. It’s my favorite type of
mango, the large ones without stringy palp, sweet
but not too sweet. We stay a few hours, then head home
the back way. I boil water for Anne’s first
bucket bath. In the DR she had a tile floor with
a drain. I tell her not to worry about splashing
water on the cement floor; it wipes up
easily. I create a makeshift curtain; she bathes
while I begin preparing supper, veggie pizza with
mangos. I take a piece to Zandele and
invite her to hang with us. We play UNO, then
teach Anne to play sisu, a Swazi card
game; sisu means stomach. Zandele has a cold;
she leaves early to go to bed. I download pictures
to my computer from Anne’s camera.
January 11, 2010- The Trip, Day 12:
I make New Year’s treats for the clinic staff. We
both repack our bags, and I try to clean my hut
as best as possible. I introduce Anne to my clinic
family. They instantly love her. I give her a tour, and
take her to see the project I’m trying to help
them with. She makes a video of the buildings
as well as me explaining the need for the project; she
wants to put something together for my blog and
perhaps Facebook. We take the 11 am bus, and meet Justine
and Jaci in town for lunch at Richfield’s. I catch up
with them; we talk about out trips, upcoming
projects, upcoming trips. Then Anne and I head
to Pasture Valley. We play all afternoon with
the children. She loves the painted preschool room
and the map. Buhle falls asleep in her lap; Piwa in mine.
Michelle arrives late afternoon. We
go with her to their house. We chat about the craft
project. Peter joins us later, tells us there is
too much craft talk, and offers us a beer. We
eat supper with Michelle and Peter and their children.
January 12, 2010- The Trip, Day 11:
Michelle offers us a ride to town; we gladly accept
and talk crafts all the way to town. I tell her
I want to be as involved as possible. I think
she’s relieved to know there will
be help. I tell her I want to extend my PC
service at Pasture Valley. She’s excited. For how
long? Will 6 months work? Yes, of course. Yah!
Good! Anne and I venture to
Manzini; we find the khombi that will take us
through Ezulweni Valley. Our first stop is
Rosecrafts and Swazi Candles. We have lunch
at Sambane Tea Garden, then go to Swazi candles
to watch crafters shape the candles. One guy has
worked there for 20 years, another for 10 years.
Then it’s Baobab Batiks, the weaving place, the
jewelry place, and finally the individual vendors. She
finishes her gift list. Our second stop is
Malendela’s. We shop at Gone Rural, and she
finds grass placemats for herself. We have a
few beers, then tour House on Fire. She’s amazed
at the detail in the carving on the walls. Our
wait for the khombi to Mbabane is short. We make
our way to Jason’s backpacking place. We drink
wine in the backyard; she sits in the hammock, I on
a lounge chair near the pool. We make
gazpacho for supper, and go to bed early.
January 13, 2010- The Trip, Day 12:
I take Anne to the PC office; I have a mid-morning
VAC meeting. I log her onto a computer, and she
happily uses the computer, content to be in
our lounge, as if she’s a PC volunteer again. She meets
Jason and Connor, two guys in my group, as
well as many staff members. Victoria stops in
too, and they keep each other company during
my meeting. My meeting is short, and while
I wait for her to finish in the internet, I
open a package from my former boss. It’s filled
with everything I was needing: chocolate, new flip flops,
lotions, Christmas decorations, lip balm, books. The letter
is sweet, and I gladly read and think of work times.
We repack one bag to take with us, necessities only, then grab
borrowed tents and sleeping bags. We meet Jenn, Jaci and her PC
friend from Moz in Manzini. We find the bus to Lomahasha; it
will take drop us by Hlane Game Reserve. We reserve
space on the 5:30 am game drive. After
getting passed an ostrich to get to the camp
and setting up our tents, we walk to the
watering hole to watch the rhinos and hippos
frolic. A few warthogs sidle up to water’s edge. We drink
Windhoek and watch their nightly routine. Afternoon
slowly slips into evening, and we think about building
a fire to roast hotdogs and coconut marshmallows. An
elephant grazes on the opposite side of the
fence near our camp while we cook. The girls want
up-close pictures, and tip toe toward the fence.
I hang back, screening my body with
the trunk of a tree; I am awed
by elephants’ power, majesty, peacefulness. The
camera flashes disturb him, and he rushes
the fence a few times to warn us that he
is boss. By 8:30 it is dark, and we retire to
our respective tents, trying with great effort to find
comfort on the solid dirt ground.
January 14, 2010- The Trip, Day 13:
Five o’clock comes early. We rise quietly, apply
sunscreen, don hats or bandanas, and saunter
toward the office. Our driver is ready. The
game drive is 2 ½ hours and we manage is spot
warthogs, impala, ostrich, elephant, inyala, white
rhinos, hippos, a lone lion, two turles, several golden
spiders, a blind snake and a few crocs. Our driver
tells a story about a drive he did a few
years ago where an elephant charged the truck,
knocking it over and injuring several passengers. He
is apprehensive about elephants but had no problem
getting quite close to the lion. According to him,
lion’s don’t care; when they are tired of the attention
they will walk away. So he drove us very close
to the lion. Had I been outside the truck, I could have
taken 2 steps and been right next his hind legs. A little too
close for me. After breaking camp, the girls showered.
A guide offers us a lift to Manzini for free; we patiently
waited for him. We go our separate ways in Manzini Mall. I have
another meeting at the office, which gives Anne the chance
to check her flight status. Then we get some Indian food,
and eat it blissfully at the outside tables. Back
to the backpackers, we take showers, then
sit on the patio wanting to enjoy the last
hours of sunlight. Anne transfers her
purse contents into the new purse I’d given her, giving
me things she doesn’t need anymore. Once
it grows chilly, we sit at the table inside; I
write the siSwati words and phrases I taught her
in her journal, as well as my Swazi friends’ names.
We play Scrabble in later; she beats my by 10 points.
January 15, 2010- The Trip, Day 14:
We sleep in until 9; it feels good.
I want to do yoga, and Anne joins me wanting some
stretching before the long hours on the plane. Fresh
mangos and litchi, one last time, for breakfast. Jason
gives us a lift downtown. We negotiate a
fair ride with a taxi driver to the airport. Her
flight leaves at 2:20pm; we wait in the lounge.
I teach her to crochet a flower; it’s confusing. I
promise to send her instructions. She’s
disgusted with her scarf, and pulls it out. She
confesses that she planned to wait until on
the plane to redo it, so I wouldn’t know. But I
tell her that I knew she’d do that; she’s a
perfectionist, like me. Boarding begins at 2pm;
I bid her farewell. I’m sad to see her go, and
wait to shed tears until I leave the terminal,
keeping a happy face on until she passes security
and out of my view. It was a great
visit. I beginning walking to town; a khombi
offers me a lift to Manzini. I catch the half 3 bus to Nhlangano
and the 5 o’clock to my site. My vacation is over. My
cousin is gone. I am back home, felling slightly
blah, but ready for the month ahead. I have
projects to accomplish; I’m eager to start and
finish them.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Life in November, 2009
November 4, 2009- Final Exams: My 6th graders take final exams; I just found out today. They begin next week, so my time with them is finished. I’m actually a little sad. Had I known in advance, I would have tried to do more recycled art projects with them. We were going to make bugs out of egg cartons and styrofoam and plant a jacaranda seed in decorated tin cans. Oh well. The BBC Plant Earth series was a hit, so I’m glad they were able to watch two episodes. In addition, we were able to string their handmade paper beads with plastics ones—left from a Group 5’er—which was a huge treat for them. Nonetheless, I was hoping to teach a few more lessons about recycling, to hammer that concept home; alas, it is left undone. I do plan to give each student an Earth Day activities book before terms ends, something to take home, read and remember.
November 6, 2009- Steroid Injection in my Foot: Long story short, my PCMO believes I have chronic tendonitis due to scar tissue build-up from previous stress fractures. After consulting the orthopedic doctor at the Mbabane Clinic, both recommended a cortisone injection in my foot to decrease the inflammation. According to Peace Corps, this is the next level of conservative measures, and if it’s successful I should get another in 3 months. So I agreed since I’m desperate for something to work. The doctor warned me that there’s a 10% chance it will not work, as it doesn’t work for everyone. I’m also supposed to refrain from a lot of walking for two weeks. Then I’m allowed to test my foot with small walking/running sessions. While injecting me, the doctor suggested I take up another exercise, like biking. The doctor should see my site.
November 11, 2009- My 16th Fatty Comment: My Make believes my butt and hips are becoming bigger and bigger, and I’m guessing that makes me more and more her daughter since Swazi’s consider weight gain a sign of happiness and an acceptance of them as your family. I keep telling her I am the same shape as the day I came, maybe even more toned but that I am very happy to be here. Yet lately, every time I wear my sarong or a pair of pants, she comments on my shape, in particular my thighs; I’m guessing she associates it to me not running. I used to defend myself because it’s not an easy thing to hear as frequently as I do. Now I just shake my head and walk away. There is no convincing her, and I cannot handle her saying it twice in a row.
November 12, 2009- Writing a poem on a rainy day:
November 12, 2009
It’s been raining since noon. I
occupy myself with a sentimental story,
then a sentimental comedy-
this makes me want a cigarette.
I smoke it as a storm rolls in;
thunder, lightning, and rain
barrage my hut.
I light incense to cover the smell of smoke
and continue smoking by my back window,
watching the rain thrash the corn.
I wonder how close lightning could strike
without striking me. I dare it with reckless
haughtiness. “How close will you come?” I taunt.
Does it know I could strike back too?
This evening seems like a cigarette smoking
evening. The rain beckons the smoke.
Slowly the past begins beckoning my thoughts,
and as I meditate on each inhale, it forces
me to recall the past.
I long for company; yet I am alone
in my solitude- always alone
-making my desire to know the
potential all that much greater.
With each lightning strike I feel the need to know become more
unbearable, and I reach out
only to be struck.
This evening is suited for smoking
cigarettes and drinking wine.
Stormy weather seems to beckon in me
thoughts of the past; melancholy rolls in,
and I long for company.
November 14, 2009- Writing an article for SoJo: Two elected volunteers edit our monthly newsletter for staff and volunteers, The Swazi So Journal, affectionately dubbed SoJo. The volunteers serve a 1-year term, then the new group votes in two new volunteers from their group. Our group decided to require 4 - 5 random volunteers each month to submit articles to fill the newsletter pages; staff are required to submit monthly. Articles range from volunteer projects, vacation spots worthy of volunteer time and money, book reviews, recipes, funny or interesting stories about our communities, and sometimes how to make something from scratch, like a rug from plastic bags. I submitted an article a few months ago on the benefits of yoga and basic meditation. I included an easy to begin meditation guide.
The editors are always looking for submissions; and since our group is phasing out as the main contributors, I decided to submit another article before year-end. It follows below.
A lesson in compassion
by Jennifer Gaspers
“Do not utter words in friendship that can be used in animosity.” –Yogi Bhajan
While thumbing through Yoga Magazine, I happened upon an article about creating connections in this busy, mad world we inhabit. The article, geared toward families with children, talks about how we take our family unit for granted, “presuming they will always be there when we need them.” Learning to create a strong relationship, mutually with conscious communication, is essential for a sense of trust among those you’re in contact with daily. This concept easily applies to life in general, but particularly to Peace Corps service. Currently we live within several ‘family units’—our homestead family, the Peace Corps family, and fellow volunteers we chose to adopt as extended family. At times, it can be quite dysfunctional, but I would rather choose the lunacy over having nothing or no one to call ‘family’ here. Therefore, my interactions with ‘family’ are most effective when performed with compassion, awareness, and humanity, especially if I wish to remain a vital member within the family unit. Partly I choose to conduct my interactions with great care because my desire for a sense of family is a selfish need. Nonetheless, shouldn’t we always take great care with those we love or interact with daily? After all, how else do we learn about others unless we are willing to actively Sit with them, listening with compassion and speaking our words with honesty and loving kindness. Below is a piece of the article in which the author gives a few tips on how to implement conscious communication. The guidelines are great suggestions for daily living, whether at home or in Swaziland. Namaste, my family.
Conscious Communication by Indra Singh (taken from Yoga Magazine)
When we communicate it is important to do our best to communicate from the heart; it takes practice and involves being aware of what you say to others before you actually say it.
Try not to speak unnecessarily. Words can have a profound effect once they have been spoken.
Treat those around you with the respect you wish to be treated with and communication will flourish between you and your family members.
Yogi Bhajan, master of kundalini yoga, created five rules for harmonious communication:
· You are communicating for a better tomorrow, not to spoil today.
· Whatever you are going to say is going to live forever and you have to live through it, therefore take care you don’t have to live through the mud of your communication.
· One wrong word said can do much more wrong than you can even imagine or even estimate.
· Words spoken are a chance for communication—don’t turn them into war.
· When you communicate you have to communicate again, don’t make the road rough.
“If you are not aware of someone else then in reality you are not aware of yourself.”
–Yogi Bhajan
November 14 -15, 2009- Passing time during a rainy weekend:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet,
And whither then? I cannot say.
-J.R.R. Tolkien
Yesterday and today, I spent most of my morning and early afternoon stringing beads. These are the paper beads I’ve been rolling since August. I had quite a pile growing, so I decided to try my hand at stringing them. I’ve strung necklaces before but this time I wanted something edgier. Studying the glass bead necklace my friend Amy made, I discovered the string is braided. I pulled out my cross-stitch floss and began braiding. I started by braiding the same colors together, then I intertwined grey-blue with grey, grey-blue with black, and grey-blue with chocolate brown. I also had some braiding cord, which I intertwined with the floss. The result was the right amount of edge for the beads I’d made. As Swazis say, bah bops or kukahle…it’s good! In two days, I made twelve necklaces, and it was so much fun. The entire time I was stringing, I was thinking of other ways to display my beads; I want to make some earrings once I find findings, and I envisioned paper bead mobiles.
Within the last few weeks, I’ve found my creative hands again, for which I am thankful; to feel inspired is a gift I welcome. After being so restless from not running, I was eager to find something equally satisfying. Making paper beads is by far more creative and better for me spiritually and emotionally but nothing compares to the physical high and mental release of running. I have another week, and then I am testing out my foot! YAH!
November 16, 2009- Unseasonable Weather: This year’s October and November weather have been much cooler than last year. Today was 13 degrees C! I can see my breath as I type; it feels like winter, and honestly compares to October nights in Nebraska or South Dakota. I’ve been wearing several layers, and socks and mitten to bed again; I lie under 2 doubled blankets. Burr!!!! The last few weeks it’s been raining every few days for 2 – 3 days at a time. When the rain comes in torrents, which is usually at least once or twice during the 2 – 3 day period, water runs under my door. Silently I thank myself for the good decision of purchasing a mop each time I use it.
Last year those kinds of rains came in January and February. I’m ready for the rainy season to be done but I must endure until March. On the up side, the countryside it greening nicely, the corn is growing well, and the flowers I planted in front of my hut are in full bloom. I planted lisela (in siSwati it means thief- they say it ‘steals’ the snakes away), a bulb plant that looks and smells very much like spring garlic with a large purple flower head and marigolds, which are blooming shades of orange- buttery orange, dark orange, and burnt orange all mixed together with pale yellow. They are supposed to keep the snakes away; so far, they are doing their job! Even though the rains bring color to Swaziland, I really hope there is reprieve in December and beginning of January when my cousin, Anne, is visiting. I meet her in Cape Town, SA on 30 December, and she flies back to America on 15 January. YAH! So I’d hate to stay in-doors the whole time; we have too much to see and explore.
November 22 – 30, 2009- All Volunteer Conference, Thanksgiving at the Ambassador’s house, Oliver Mtukudzi, Hiking to Waterfalls and Eating Grapes on Public Transport: My group joined the newly released-from-seclusion group 7s for an All Volunteer conference. Most of the information was geared toward the new group, unfortunately. However, the sessions on male circumcision and behavior change were interesting. For instance, being circumcised reduces a male’s changes of contracting or spreading HIV by 60%. It doesn’t mean that people should discontinue using condoms; it just means it increases a male’s chances, and in turn his partner’s chances, of being safer during sexual intercourse. Of course, the best part of the conference was being with my fellow G6ers. We are just that great of a group; we all get along, genuinely like each other, and never want for conversation. I also enjoyed starting my day with yoga, showering each morning, eating three meals a day that I didn’t have to cook or clean up after, and close proximity to some night life.
Thanksgiving dinner was hosted by the Ambassador at his rather lavish house with pool and a view of the hills of Mbabane…yes your tax dollars are going to good use. We enjoyed all the traditional food items—home-grown turkeys from the Jackson’s homestead, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, sage stuffing, mixed greens and pumpkin pie—as well as new-to-some editions—veggie lasagna, cranberry & nut stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and chocolate cake. There was even an impromptu game of football after food digested. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, this is my home-away-from-home family. While I’m not close to everyone the way I am with some, I am glad to call them family. And I’m happy I had them to share a day of thanks.
I stayed in town for the weekend. I heard about a concert by a well-known African musician, and about the Mbabane Hiking Club excursion. I couldn’t miss either. Oliver Mtukudzi, a musician from Zimbabwe, is in his late 70’s and still rockin’ as if he’s 20. His music is a mix of traditional African with a little rock and a little rhythm and blues. He played for three hours, and Victoria, Jenn, Marloes and I danced the night away. It was well worth the ticket price, and the venue was great- I love House on Fire.
The following day Marloes (a volunteer from Norway working with an NGO run by a former PC volunteer from the 80’s) and I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club in their trek to the famed waterfalls near Mbuluzi. It was mostly a downhill hike to the falls. Knowing the way out would be mostly uphill didn’t deter us, though, especially considering the splendor of the falls. Called the Three Waterfalls because there are three tiers, they flow into a small pool after rushing over the last tier. I cursed myself for my broken camera, although I’m not sure I could quite capture the magnificence of the fall’s beauty; even so, Marloes has promised me copies.
Before I headed home the following day, after two spontaneous meetings, I stopped at the Spar in Manzini since I knew there were more grocery options there than at my Spar. I found a bag of mixed green and purple grapes, a large handful of each for E16. I splurged. I haven’t eaten a grape in so long, my mouth water as soon as I spied them; everything else paled in comparison. I decided I was worth E16! I felt decadent, though, as I ate them one-by-one on the bus ride home, slowly savoring the texture and delighting in the juices as I watched the seven shades of green reappear on the landscape. The man next to me longingly eyed each grape as I popped them in my mouth. I feel a pang of guilt for about a second, and then went back to languidly eating them. The perfect breakfast, in my book.
My euphoria lasted until I walked into my hut. It smelled like a musty locker room, and I quickly discovered my walls were wet and moldy in places. I set to cleaning immediately. It took me a little over 3 hours to clean. Some pictures met their demise. Many bugs were swept out. I even had to burn my pillows; they were propped against the wall, and mold had grown through the mosquito net, through the pillowcases to the pillows. They were moldy to the core. Luckily, it hadn’t reached the blankets. Water even reached my grass mat, somehow, and it too was moldy in places. I let it hang in the sun after shaking it out. I took a nap following the ‘spring-cleaning’, since I felt dejected and exhausted. I woke an hour later to the voices of my bosisi and bhuti. I joined them on the lawn, and soon after, we practiced some dance moves, which has become an evening ritual of late. They were happy to see me, saying there were missing me. They laughed at my dance moves, and I said I was missing them. I felt less melancholy. Once again, I was home.
November 6, 2009- Steroid Injection in my Foot: Long story short, my PCMO believes I have chronic tendonitis due to scar tissue build-up from previous stress fractures. After consulting the orthopedic doctor at the Mbabane Clinic, both recommended a cortisone injection in my foot to decrease the inflammation. According to Peace Corps, this is the next level of conservative measures, and if it’s successful I should get another in 3 months. So I agreed since I’m desperate for something to work. The doctor warned me that there’s a 10% chance it will not work, as it doesn’t work for everyone. I’m also supposed to refrain from a lot of walking for two weeks. Then I’m allowed to test my foot with small walking/running sessions. While injecting me, the doctor suggested I take up another exercise, like biking. The doctor should see my site.
November 11, 2009- My 16th Fatty Comment: My Make believes my butt and hips are becoming bigger and bigger, and I’m guessing that makes me more and more her daughter since Swazi’s consider weight gain a sign of happiness and an acceptance of them as your family. I keep telling her I am the same shape as the day I came, maybe even more toned but that I am very happy to be here. Yet lately, every time I wear my sarong or a pair of pants, she comments on my shape, in particular my thighs; I’m guessing she associates it to me not running. I used to defend myself because it’s not an easy thing to hear as frequently as I do. Now I just shake my head and walk away. There is no convincing her, and I cannot handle her saying it twice in a row.
November 12, 2009- Writing a poem on a rainy day:
November 12, 2009
It’s been raining since noon. I
occupy myself with a sentimental story,
then a sentimental comedy-
this makes me want a cigarette.
I smoke it as a storm rolls in;
thunder, lightning, and rain
barrage my hut.
I light incense to cover the smell of smoke
and continue smoking by my back window,
watching the rain thrash the corn.
I wonder how close lightning could strike
without striking me. I dare it with reckless
haughtiness. “How close will you come?” I taunt.
Does it know I could strike back too?
This evening seems like a cigarette smoking
evening. The rain beckons the smoke.
Slowly the past begins beckoning my thoughts,
and as I meditate on each inhale, it forces
me to recall the past.
I long for company; yet I am alone
in my solitude- always alone
-making my desire to know the
potential all that much greater.
With each lightning strike I feel the need to know become more
unbearable, and I reach out
only to be struck.
This evening is suited for smoking
cigarettes and drinking wine.
Stormy weather seems to beckon in me
thoughts of the past; melancholy rolls in,
and I long for company.
November 14, 2009- Writing an article for SoJo: Two elected volunteers edit our monthly newsletter for staff and volunteers, The Swazi So Journal, affectionately dubbed SoJo. The volunteers serve a 1-year term, then the new group votes in two new volunteers from their group. Our group decided to require 4 - 5 random volunteers each month to submit articles to fill the newsletter pages; staff are required to submit monthly. Articles range from volunteer projects, vacation spots worthy of volunteer time and money, book reviews, recipes, funny or interesting stories about our communities, and sometimes how to make something from scratch, like a rug from plastic bags. I submitted an article a few months ago on the benefits of yoga and basic meditation. I included an easy to begin meditation guide.
The editors are always looking for submissions; and since our group is phasing out as the main contributors, I decided to submit another article before year-end. It follows below.
A lesson in compassion
by Jennifer Gaspers
“Do not utter words in friendship that can be used in animosity.” –Yogi Bhajan
While thumbing through Yoga Magazine, I happened upon an article about creating connections in this busy, mad world we inhabit. The article, geared toward families with children, talks about how we take our family unit for granted, “presuming they will always be there when we need them.” Learning to create a strong relationship, mutually with conscious communication, is essential for a sense of trust among those you’re in contact with daily. This concept easily applies to life in general, but particularly to Peace Corps service. Currently we live within several ‘family units’—our homestead family, the Peace Corps family, and fellow volunteers we chose to adopt as extended family. At times, it can be quite dysfunctional, but I would rather choose the lunacy over having nothing or no one to call ‘family’ here. Therefore, my interactions with ‘family’ are most effective when performed with compassion, awareness, and humanity, especially if I wish to remain a vital member within the family unit. Partly I choose to conduct my interactions with great care because my desire for a sense of family is a selfish need. Nonetheless, shouldn’t we always take great care with those we love or interact with daily? After all, how else do we learn about others unless we are willing to actively Sit with them, listening with compassion and speaking our words with honesty and loving kindness. Below is a piece of the article in which the author gives a few tips on how to implement conscious communication. The guidelines are great suggestions for daily living, whether at home or in Swaziland. Namaste, my family.
Conscious Communication by Indra Singh (taken from Yoga Magazine)
When we communicate it is important to do our best to communicate from the heart; it takes practice and involves being aware of what you say to others before you actually say it.
Try not to speak unnecessarily. Words can have a profound effect once they have been spoken.
Treat those around you with the respect you wish to be treated with and communication will flourish between you and your family members.
Yogi Bhajan, master of kundalini yoga, created five rules for harmonious communication:
· You are communicating for a better tomorrow, not to spoil today.
· Whatever you are going to say is going to live forever and you have to live through it, therefore take care you don’t have to live through the mud of your communication.
· One wrong word said can do much more wrong than you can even imagine or even estimate.
· Words spoken are a chance for communication—don’t turn them into war.
· When you communicate you have to communicate again, don’t make the road rough.
“If you are not aware of someone else then in reality you are not aware of yourself.”
–Yogi Bhajan
November 14 -15, 2009- Passing time during a rainy weekend:
The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet,
And whither then? I cannot say.
-J.R.R. Tolkien
Yesterday and today, I spent most of my morning and early afternoon stringing beads. These are the paper beads I’ve been rolling since August. I had quite a pile growing, so I decided to try my hand at stringing them. I’ve strung necklaces before but this time I wanted something edgier. Studying the glass bead necklace my friend Amy made, I discovered the string is braided. I pulled out my cross-stitch floss and began braiding. I started by braiding the same colors together, then I intertwined grey-blue with grey, grey-blue with black, and grey-blue with chocolate brown. I also had some braiding cord, which I intertwined with the floss. The result was the right amount of edge for the beads I’d made. As Swazis say, bah bops or kukahle…it’s good! In two days, I made twelve necklaces, and it was so much fun. The entire time I was stringing, I was thinking of other ways to display my beads; I want to make some earrings once I find findings, and I envisioned paper bead mobiles.
Within the last few weeks, I’ve found my creative hands again, for which I am thankful; to feel inspired is a gift I welcome. After being so restless from not running, I was eager to find something equally satisfying. Making paper beads is by far more creative and better for me spiritually and emotionally but nothing compares to the physical high and mental release of running. I have another week, and then I am testing out my foot! YAH!
November 16, 2009- Unseasonable Weather: This year’s October and November weather have been much cooler than last year. Today was 13 degrees C! I can see my breath as I type; it feels like winter, and honestly compares to October nights in Nebraska or South Dakota. I’ve been wearing several layers, and socks and mitten to bed again; I lie under 2 doubled blankets. Burr!!!! The last few weeks it’s been raining every few days for 2 – 3 days at a time. When the rain comes in torrents, which is usually at least once or twice during the 2 – 3 day period, water runs under my door. Silently I thank myself for the good decision of purchasing a mop each time I use it.
Last year those kinds of rains came in January and February. I’m ready for the rainy season to be done but I must endure until March. On the up side, the countryside it greening nicely, the corn is growing well, and the flowers I planted in front of my hut are in full bloom. I planted lisela (in siSwati it means thief- they say it ‘steals’ the snakes away), a bulb plant that looks and smells very much like spring garlic with a large purple flower head and marigolds, which are blooming shades of orange- buttery orange, dark orange, and burnt orange all mixed together with pale yellow. They are supposed to keep the snakes away; so far, they are doing their job! Even though the rains bring color to Swaziland, I really hope there is reprieve in December and beginning of January when my cousin, Anne, is visiting. I meet her in Cape Town, SA on 30 December, and she flies back to America on 15 January. YAH! So I’d hate to stay in-doors the whole time; we have too much to see and explore.
November 22 – 30, 2009- All Volunteer Conference, Thanksgiving at the Ambassador’s house, Oliver Mtukudzi, Hiking to Waterfalls and Eating Grapes on Public Transport: My group joined the newly released-from-seclusion group 7s for an All Volunteer conference. Most of the information was geared toward the new group, unfortunately. However, the sessions on male circumcision and behavior change were interesting. For instance, being circumcised reduces a male’s changes of contracting or spreading HIV by 60%. It doesn’t mean that people should discontinue using condoms; it just means it increases a male’s chances, and in turn his partner’s chances, of being safer during sexual intercourse. Of course, the best part of the conference was being with my fellow G6ers. We are just that great of a group; we all get along, genuinely like each other, and never want for conversation. I also enjoyed starting my day with yoga, showering each morning, eating three meals a day that I didn’t have to cook or clean up after, and close proximity to some night life.
Thanksgiving dinner was hosted by the Ambassador at his rather lavish house with pool and a view of the hills of Mbabane…yes your tax dollars are going to good use. We enjoyed all the traditional food items—home-grown turkeys from the Jackson’s homestead, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, sage stuffing, mixed greens and pumpkin pie—as well as new-to-some editions—veggie lasagna, cranberry & nut stuffing, macaroni and cheese, and chocolate cake. There was even an impromptu game of football after food digested. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, this is my home-away-from-home family. While I’m not close to everyone the way I am with some, I am glad to call them family. And I’m happy I had them to share a day of thanks.
I stayed in town for the weekend. I heard about a concert by a well-known African musician, and about the Mbabane Hiking Club excursion. I couldn’t miss either. Oliver Mtukudzi, a musician from Zimbabwe, is in his late 70’s and still rockin’ as if he’s 20. His music is a mix of traditional African with a little rock and a little rhythm and blues. He played for three hours, and Victoria, Jenn, Marloes and I danced the night away. It was well worth the ticket price, and the venue was great- I love House on Fire.
The following day Marloes (a volunteer from Norway working with an NGO run by a former PC volunteer from the 80’s) and I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club in their trek to the famed waterfalls near Mbuluzi. It was mostly a downhill hike to the falls. Knowing the way out would be mostly uphill didn’t deter us, though, especially considering the splendor of the falls. Called the Three Waterfalls because there are three tiers, they flow into a small pool after rushing over the last tier. I cursed myself for my broken camera, although I’m not sure I could quite capture the magnificence of the fall’s beauty; even so, Marloes has promised me copies.
Before I headed home the following day, after two spontaneous meetings, I stopped at the Spar in Manzini since I knew there were more grocery options there than at my Spar. I found a bag of mixed green and purple grapes, a large handful of each for E16. I splurged. I haven’t eaten a grape in so long, my mouth water as soon as I spied them; everything else paled in comparison. I decided I was worth E16! I felt decadent, though, as I ate them one-by-one on the bus ride home, slowly savoring the texture and delighting in the juices as I watched the seven shades of green reappear on the landscape. The man next to me longingly eyed each grape as I popped them in my mouth. I feel a pang of guilt for about a second, and then went back to languidly eating them. The perfect breakfast, in my book.
My euphoria lasted until I walked into my hut. It smelled like a musty locker room, and I quickly discovered my walls were wet and moldy in places. I set to cleaning immediately. It took me a little over 3 hours to clean. Some pictures met their demise. Many bugs were swept out. I even had to burn my pillows; they were propped against the wall, and mold had grown through the mosquito net, through the pillowcases to the pillows. They were moldy to the core. Luckily, it hadn’t reached the blankets. Water even reached my grass mat, somehow, and it too was moldy in places. I let it hang in the sun after shaking it out. I took a nap following the ‘spring-cleaning’, since I felt dejected and exhausted. I woke an hour later to the voices of my bosisi and bhuti. I joined them on the lawn, and soon after, we practiced some dance moves, which has become an evening ritual of late. They were happy to see me, saying there were missing me. They laughed at my dance moves, and I said I was missing them. I felt less melancholy. Once again, I was home.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
October 2009
October 2 – 8, 2009- The Weekend That Was: I began this weekend by visiting my training family. It’s a nice feeling getting off at the siteshi (bus stop) and feeling a sense of familiar and home. I walked passed the sitolo (shop) that we kept in business during training, buying sodas, peanut butter, bread, and fat cakes. I walked passed several homesteads, recalling children who used to yell at us. Now well equipped with siSwati greetings, I could yell back, mostly to laughing or dropped jaw responses. There were a few updates to some houses and even to our training classroom, and the land is gradually changing to its seven shades of green. As I began my walk down the hill to the homestead I occupied for 2 months, the children spied me and came running up the hill, meeting me halfway. Even the oldest (13), who later seemed “too cool” to chat with me, was running to greet me. I laughed, greeting each one with a handshake and a ‘how’s it’, but really, I wanted to cry. I was overwhelmed with this feeling of kinship. In a word, I was vaclepmt! I consider it one of the best feelings I’ve felt since coming to Swaziland. I think it will be, by far, the best feeling I will feel here.
The next day I met Justine in town to take Jaci’s ever-packed bus 2-1/2 hrs to her site. She asked us to help her judge a speech competition happening the next morning between four high schools in her area. The morning welcomed us with rain. I usually carry my raincoat, but for some reason I forget it this time, so I borrowed Jaci’s. It was hanging on the back of her front door; she hadn’t worn it in months, but no matter, it would keep me dry. Shortly after putting it on and setting off to catch the bus, the left side of my body became itchy. To push ideas of a possible second bout of scabies out of my head, I tried to listen intently to Jaci and Justine’s conversation. I couldn’t. As we neared the siteshi, the itching became more persistent. Once settled onto the bus, I took off the raincoat since it was warm and sat on it. The itching continued, and other sections of my left side began itching, including my upper thigh and bum. Again, I tried to play cool since we were being introduced to a friend of Jaci’s but finally I could not take it anymore. I told Jaci I felt something was biting me; my side was itching a lot. I was afraid to look at my skin, fearing the worst, but she offered to investigate. As I covertly lifted my shirt, her eyes grew concerned. “You have red spots,” she said. I looked for myself. I had little red bumps all along my side and across half my belly. There were a few on the inside of my bicep and along the supine side of my arm. It didn’t think look like scabies but I couldn’t imagine what else could cause bumps. Maybe an allergic reaction to some medication I‘m taking? Maybe spiders or bugs in the bed at my training family’s house? I prayed, and so did Jaci that I didn’t give her something since we shared her bed the previous night.
I did everything I could to slow my breathing and look calm, and I tried to sit very still to just keep myself together. Jaci promised we’d figure it out. At our bus stop, the rain was coming down heavier, so I put the raincoat back on. Within minutes, the itchy, prickly feeling came back and it felt as if it were spreading to my legs and lower back. I brought Justine up-to-date, and she offered to rule out scabies, so I lifted my shirt again to show her my belly. She confirmed that it wasn’t scabies. So what the hell was it?
I could not imagine sitting through a morning of judging speeches and remaining focused; somehow, I managed, even after finding a mirror in the bathroom and sneaking a look at the multiplying red bumps. I was horrified! Sitting quite still seemed to help, so I did, and judged 20 speakers.
By early afternoon, we were heading back to the bus stop. The rain persisted all morning and through the afternoon, so I donned the coat again as we walked. Again, I felt the itching begin; I was convinced it was spreading. At the bus stop, the rain stopped and I decided to take off the raincoat. As I began to pull it off, I noticed a cocoon attached to the inside pocket. I threw it off quickly, with screams of disgust and “oh my God’s” to Jaci and Justine. The inside of her coat was filled with little black hairs. Jaci and Justine were intrigued, and finding a stick, they used it to detach the cocoon. Justine broke it open to discover it was a caterpillar. So I had rubbed caterpillar hairs into my body all morning. Fantastic. It began to sprinkle again. Jaci, laughing, offered me the raincoat. I said I’d rather get wet, and she could keep it.
It took several baths, exfoliating, tweezers, eucalyptus oil, hydrocortisone cream and a week and a half to dislodge the hairs and clear up the irritation. After telling the story and showing the spots to one of the Baylor doctors, just to confirm, he said I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Caterpillars carry neurotoxins, and it could have caused a several allergic reaction.
Yes, folks, I keep saying yes to this every morning when I wake, whether it is conscious or not. Some days I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing. WHO DOES THIS? Even so, I’m sure once I return to America, I’ll be well aware of who I am and won’t look twice at adversity. Bring on the caterpillars!
The rest of the weekend we spent laughing about my (misfortune?) incident, as well as razzing Jaci about her housecleaning habits. She promised to dispose of the coat; she was never planning to wear it ever again. We also talked about the mad life and times of community living. I told them the story about my Make wanting to give me a baboon to ride after giving her homemade marmalade. Jaci told me her family says only witches ride baboons, which is why Swazis fear baboons. I guess witches follow shortly after baboons appear. I’m not sure if Make is complementing me: my marmalade is so good it’s magical; or if she thinks I’m a witch. What would I rather be, magical or witch-like? Hmmmm, perhaps both?!
When I returned home, my hut was without electricity. Because it’s been raining so heavily, the rain washed away the ground where the electrical piping, which runs to my hut, is buried. Considering the piping isn’t buried very deep, it wasn’t a hard task to accomplish. Water got into the piping causing a short in the wires. I waited until the next day to take action, hoping if I allowed the pipes time to dry, that it would be better. Make insisted I call an electrician, so I got the name of a local electrician from the clinic staff. When I called he promised to come the next morning by 6 am, but he didn’t show. When I returned from Baylor at 5pm, I called him. He said forgot but that he was on his way. He came at 6:30pm. I held a flashlight as four guys worked to find the problem. It took 30 minutes to find the right set of piping running to my house, and other 45 minutes to correct the problem. They had to splice a section of the old, damaged electrical wires with a section of new wires and then protect it with new piping. The head electrician wasted so much time trying his best to flirt with me. I played the game thinking it would make him work faster; you know, to impress the white girl. It didn’t work that way; although, he only charged me E50 for labor. Apparently, it should have cost me E200 for all the materials. But he said he was being nice. Rarely do I use my sexuality to get what I want; I don’t like playing games. But I guess flirting worked in my favor this time, and I only endured a few annoying phone calls from him for the next couple of days. I’m not confident of their handiwork, though. They didn’t bury the piping very deep. I bet my brother, the electrician, would have a heart attach for sure watching them work. At least I have electricity again, and I paid very little for it.
October 6, 2009- Letter from Home: Today my mailbox held a letter from Rebecca, my dear friend in Vermillion. It detailed all the wonderful happenings in Vermillion. I drooled as she described the vegetables she grew this season- baskets of peppers and heirloom tomatoes, bags of beans, overflowing buckets of zucchini, squash and eggplant. She wrote about the end of season gatherings, the visitors that flocked to Vermillion, and the vacation she took to see friends in Seattle. The Vermillion Area Farmers Market, which I helped establish and served on the Board of Directors for 4 years, is thriving. There are about a dozen consistent vendors, customer traffic is increasing, and everyone is happily making money, she said. The new market manager is a local, and seriously dedicated to the “think global, buy local” adage. Rebecca managed to get an Electronic Funds Transfer machine for customer use, and she wrangled with the State to allow those using food stamps to shop at the market, a first for farmers’ markets in South Dakota. Her philosophy is everyone should be exposed and able to afford fresh, local produce. I agree! And I’m delighted that the market is flourishing. It’s nice to know that something I helped establish and grow is enduring and sustainable.
There is talk of starting a Slow Food chapter in eastern South Dakota, something Rebecca and I pondered the possibility of during long, cold winters. A new Asian-Fusion restaurant opened near the Coffee Shop. The community garden is continuing its success.
As I hear the news about my old home, I cannot help but long to be part of the undertakings. Vermillion is a unique little Midwest town. In many ways, it can be stifling. Yet, it’s filled with multi-talented people, each with plethora of interests and ideas, looking to enhance the space they occupy. And those people are my friends; they are people I admire, encouraged, supported, cavorted with, collaborated with, and shared a sense of pride when we accomplished some feat. Vermillion is a great place because of these people. When I left, I felt I had outgrown the town. I was ready to go beyond its borders in search of something more, something new, and something completely different. I found it, that’s for sure. However, some days I long for the familiar, the sense of family I felt in Vermillion, and working with committed others to generate ideas and actually put them into action. I’m not sure if I’ll return to Vermillion to live when I get back to America but it’s a possibility; there are many possibilities. What I do know is that Vermillion was mostly good to me, and I’m happy it’s well. I hope to find a place that makes me feel the way I feel about Vermillion wherever I journey.
October 7, 2009- Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, Recycle Class: This week I showed my students an episode of BBC’s Planet Earth series. The first in the series, Pole to Pole, is about the world from the North Pole to the South Pole and everything in-between. I’ve never seen my students more attentive or more delighted at learning about anything! It was the first time the classroom was quiet. In light of this, I’ve decided to scrap most of my environmental curriculum and show more Planet Earth episodes. I will continue the recycling art projects combined with a few reduce, reuse, and recycle tips but the rest is gone. If my students learn even a little from the Planet Earth series and how to reuse things to make art then I’m okay with less teaching.
October 13, 2009- Holding Headstand: Since June, I’ve had the goal of holding my posture in headstand. I have no problem getting into headstand, but I’ve never been able to hold it for any length of time. I began to incorporate it into each practice, but today while practicing yoga, I decided my focus would be poses that prepare the body for headstand and attempting to hold the pose. For the first time ever I was able to hold the posture. For five breaths to be exact. Huh, patience and practice do pay off.
October 14, 2009- Saving Chris Brown: Today I asked my first period 6th grade class to get into groups and create murals about saving the earth. I told them to choose a theme centered on either saving the earth, saving animals or recycling. I gave each group a magazine or newspaper to look for pictures representing their theme. They did really well sticking to their theme, and most nicely arranged and decorated their murals. Some labeled each picture; some wrote “Save the Earth” and “Save Animals” across the top and bottom of their mural. When groups were finishing I gave them bo-stick to hang their mural on the wall of their choice. As I walked around to admire each group’s artwork, I noticed a “save” expression I hadn’t offered as a suggestion. Next to a Nike swoosh drawn someone in the group, a student wrote “Save Chris Brown.” I asked that group about their mural. “Chris Brown needs to be saved?” I asked. “Why, is he in danger? And the Nike swoosh? It needs to be saved?” I only got smiles for answers. As a fellow volunteer reminded me, Chris Brown is beloved in Swaziland; they probably believe he needs saving from Rihanna. What about the Nike swoosh? Is Nike in bankruptcy?
October 16 – 18, 2009- Electricity can be elusive: The rainy season is in full swing. It began earlier this month, much earlier than last year. This year’s rainfall is more and heavier than last year too. Since the rains have been so heavy, the electricity comes and goes frequently. This whole weekend, I was forced to use the gas stove in the main house to heat water and cook food since I never had power for more than 30 to 40 minutes at a time. I have a newfound appreciation for those who live without electricity each day, relying only on wood burning stoves or open wood fires. My skills of maneuvering and operating by candlelight have greatly increased. Even so, the notion of living by candlelight is romantic for a short time only; it soon becomes taxing. Reading becomes a chore, and strains the eyes. Crocheting by candlelight is tricky; I’m glad I’m beginning to learn to crochet without looking. Alternatives for heating water and cooking food are imperative. And one learns which corners not to stumble into for fear of stubbing toes or stepping on spiders. I also go to bed earlier; one due to eyestrain, and two because there’s not much else to do.
I’m better at conserving electricity and water here than I was in the states, even though I thought I was pretty conscious of what I used. Here, how much you have and how much you use take on new connotations. I know that if I use more than 2 or 3 liters of water a day, then I’ll have to carry my containers twice a week to the water tap instead of once. I know that on rainy days I must be efficient, boiling the water that I will need for the day when I have power in case the power comes and goes. Multi-tasking, here, has become an art form.
October 20, 2009- ‘Plowing’ the Field: I helped bosisi wami (my sisters) plow the fields to ready them for planting. The term plowing in siSwati does not have the same meaning at is does in English. Plowing means to ready the land, as it does in English, but it also means making the holes for each kernel of maize. The field we readied was about the size of mom’s garden. When plowing each hole, you have to dig in each of the four directions, north, south, east and west; then the hole is ready for manure. Make used to use chemical fertilizer; this year she is utilizing the organic methods she learned from the RDA (Rural Development Assoc.). The manure sits overnight or for 24 hours; then the holes are ready for maize the following day. When I asked why it’s necessary to dig in all four directions, I never got a straight answer, something about making the hole the right size for the kernel.
Bosisi wami laughed when I said I wanted to help. They didn’t think I was capable of hoeing a hole much less a third of the field. They laughed at my hoeing techniques because I didn’t do it exactly as they did. Nonetheless, I think they appreciated the help. If I hadn’t helped they would have spend another afternoon plowing. Instead, the next afternoon they were able to plant. It was great exercise for me, but also nice to think about my parents, grand- and great-grandparents as I dug, wondering at their experiences with plowing. It’s easy to forget that America is not far removed from this way of life.
October 24 -25, 2009- Hiking all Weekend: Having to be in the capital for meetings and a workshop, I decided to work in a few hikes. The world’s largest exposed granite dome is near Mbabane. Estimated at three billion years old, it looms over the city, and I’ve been eyeing it since we arrived. Taking to enthusiastic hiking buddies, Matthew and Jenn, we walked to the outcropping in two hours. It’s a relatively easy hike if you enter from the plateau; we decided we need to come back and climb the face of the dome. There’s also several caves but we didn’t take the time to search for them as time was limited for them. I could have stayed all day. I took pictures with Jenn’s camera, as mine is broken. I cannot wait to view them; I felt inspired. We rested on the top of the dome; having brought my travel journal from Annette, I drew the landscape. It was a great cathartic rest. The following day I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club for a hike near my site, as it turned out. About 5 km from my site is a rocky pinnacle that tested my limited rock climbing skills, and excited experienced climbers. The hike up to the pinnacle was beautiful; the countryside looked lush. Due to the rains, everything is greening and flowering trees are blooming.
The Mbabane Hiking Club consists of some Peace Corps staff and volunteers, Embassy staff, NGO workers and ex-pats. The mix is eclectic, to say the least, and no one is want for good or interesting conversation. Three other volunteers, Jay and Hilary and Matthew, joined me. It was a perfect day. Walking thru nature is therapy; beautiful scenery is a perk.
The next day I met Justine in town to take Jaci’s ever-packed bus 2-1/2 hrs to her site. She asked us to help her judge a speech competition happening the next morning between four high schools in her area. The morning welcomed us with rain. I usually carry my raincoat, but for some reason I forget it this time, so I borrowed Jaci’s. It was hanging on the back of her front door; she hadn’t worn it in months, but no matter, it would keep me dry. Shortly after putting it on and setting off to catch the bus, the left side of my body became itchy. To push ideas of a possible second bout of scabies out of my head, I tried to listen intently to Jaci and Justine’s conversation. I couldn’t. As we neared the siteshi, the itching became more persistent. Once settled onto the bus, I took off the raincoat since it was warm and sat on it. The itching continued, and other sections of my left side began itching, including my upper thigh and bum. Again, I tried to play cool since we were being introduced to a friend of Jaci’s but finally I could not take it anymore. I told Jaci I felt something was biting me; my side was itching a lot. I was afraid to look at my skin, fearing the worst, but she offered to investigate. As I covertly lifted my shirt, her eyes grew concerned. “You have red spots,” she said. I looked for myself. I had little red bumps all along my side and across half my belly. There were a few on the inside of my bicep and along the supine side of my arm. It didn’t think look like scabies but I couldn’t imagine what else could cause bumps. Maybe an allergic reaction to some medication I‘m taking? Maybe spiders or bugs in the bed at my training family’s house? I prayed, and so did Jaci that I didn’t give her something since we shared her bed the previous night.
I did everything I could to slow my breathing and look calm, and I tried to sit very still to just keep myself together. Jaci promised we’d figure it out. At our bus stop, the rain was coming down heavier, so I put the raincoat back on. Within minutes, the itchy, prickly feeling came back and it felt as if it were spreading to my legs and lower back. I brought Justine up-to-date, and she offered to rule out scabies, so I lifted my shirt again to show her my belly. She confirmed that it wasn’t scabies. So what the hell was it?
I could not imagine sitting through a morning of judging speeches and remaining focused; somehow, I managed, even after finding a mirror in the bathroom and sneaking a look at the multiplying red bumps. I was horrified! Sitting quite still seemed to help, so I did, and judged 20 speakers.
By early afternoon, we were heading back to the bus stop. The rain persisted all morning and through the afternoon, so I donned the coat again as we walked. Again, I felt the itching begin; I was convinced it was spreading. At the bus stop, the rain stopped and I decided to take off the raincoat. As I began to pull it off, I noticed a cocoon attached to the inside pocket. I threw it off quickly, with screams of disgust and “oh my God’s” to Jaci and Justine. The inside of her coat was filled with little black hairs. Jaci and Justine were intrigued, and finding a stick, they used it to detach the cocoon. Justine broke it open to discover it was a caterpillar. So I had rubbed caterpillar hairs into my body all morning. Fantastic. It began to sprinkle again. Jaci, laughing, offered me the raincoat. I said I’d rather get wet, and she could keep it.
It took several baths, exfoliating, tweezers, eucalyptus oil, hydrocortisone cream and a week and a half to dislodge the hairs and clear up the irritation. After telling the story and showing the spots to one of the Baylor doctors, just to confirm, he said I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Caterpillars carry neurotoxins, and it could have caused a several allergic reaction.
Yes, folks, I keep saying yes to this every morning when I wake, whether it is conscious or not. Some days I wonder who the hell I am and what the hell I’m doing. WHO DOES THIS? Even so, I’m sure once I return to America, I’ll be well aware of who I am and won’t look twice at adversity. Bring on the caterpillars!
The rest of the weekend we spent laughing about my (misfortune?) incident, as well as razzing Jaci about her housecleaning habits. She promised to dispose of the coat; she was never planning to wear it ever again. We also talked about the mad life and times of community living. I told them the story about my Make wanting to give me a baboon to ride after giving her homemade marmalade. Jaci told me her family says only witches ride baboons, which is why Swazis fear baboons. I guess witches follow shortly after baboons appear. I’m not sure if Make is complementing me: my marmalade is so good it’s magical; or if she thinks I’m a witch. What would I rather be, magical or witch-like? Hmmmm, perhaps both?!
When I returned home, my hut was without electricity. Because it’s been raining so heavily, the rain washed away the ground where the electrical piping, which runs to my hut, is buried. Considering the piping isn’t buried very deep, it wasn’t a hard task to accomplish. Water got into the piping causing a short in the wires. I waited until the next day to take action, hoping if I allowed the pipes time to dry, that it would be better. Make insisted I call an electrician, so I got the name of a local electrician from the clinic staff. When I called he promised to come the next morning by 6 am, but he didn’t show. When I returned from Baylor at 5pm, I called him. He said forgot but that he was on his way. He came at 6:30pm. I held a flashlight as four guys worked to find the problem. It took 30 minutes to find the right set of piping running to my house, and other 45 minutes to correct the problem. They had to splice a section of the old, damaged electrical wires with a section of new wires and then protect it with new piping. The head electrician wasted so much time trying his best to flirt with me. I played the game thinking it would make him work faster; you know, to impress the white girl. It didn’t work that way; although, he only charged me E50 for labor. Apparently, it should have cost me E200 for all the materials. But he said he was being nice. Rarely do I use my sexuality to get what I want; I don’t like playing games. But I guess flirting worked in my favor this time, and I only endured a few annoying phone calls from him for the next couple of days. I’m not confident of their handiwork, though. They didn’t bury the piping very deep. I bet my brother, the electrician, would have a heart attach for sure watching them work. At least I have electricity again, and I paid very little for it.
October 6, 2009- Letter from Home: Today my mailbox held a letter from Rebecca, my dear friend in Vermillion. It detailed all the wonderful happenings in Vermillion. I drooled as she described the vegetables she grew this season- baskets of peppers and heirloom tomatoes, bags of beans, overflowing buckets of zucchini, squash and eggplant. She wrote about the end of season gatherings, the visitors that flocked to Vermillion, and the vacation she took to see friends in Seattle. The Vermillion Area Farmers Market, which I helped establish and served on the Board of Directors for 4 years, is thriving. There are about a dozen consistent vendors, customer traffic is increasing, and everyone is happily making money, she said. The new market manager is a local, and seriously dedicated to the “think global, buy local” adage. Rebecca managed to get an Electronic Funds Transfer machine for customer use, and she wrangled with the State to allow those using food stamps to shop at the market, a first for farmers’ markets in South Dakota. Her philosophy is everyone should be exposed and able to afford fresh, local produce. I agree! And I’m delighted that the market is flourishing. It’s nice to know that something I helped establish and grow is enduring and sustainable.
There is talk of starting a Slow Food chapter in eastern South Dakota, something Rebecca and I pondered the possibility of during long, cold winters. A new Asian-Fusion restaurant opened near the Coffee Shop. The community garden is continuing its success.
As I hear the news about my old home, I cannot help but long to be part of the undertakings. Vermillion is a unique little Midwest town. In many ways, it can be stifling. Yet, it’s filled with multi-talented people, each with plethora of interests and ideas, looking to enhance the space they occupy. And those people are my friends; they are people I admire, encouraged, supported, cavorted with, collaborated with, and shared a sense of pride when we accomplished some feat. Vermillion is a great place because of these people. When I left, I felt I had outgrown the town. I was ready to go beyond its borders in search of something more, something new, and something completely different. I found it, that’s for sure. However, some days I long for the familiar, the sense of family I felt in Vermillion, and working with committed others to generate ideas and actually put them into action. I’m not sure if I’ll return to Vermillion to live when I get back to America but it’s a possibility; there are many possibilities. What I do know is that Vermillion was mostly good to me, and I’m happy it’s well. I hope to find a place that makes me feel the way I feel about Vermillion wherever I journey.
October 7, 2009- Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, Recycle Class: This week I showed my students an episode of BBC’s Planet Earth series. The first in the series, Pole to Pole, is about the world from the North Pole to the South Pole and everything in-between. I’ve never seen my students more attentive or more delighted at learning about anything! It was the first time the classroom was quiet. In light of this, I’ve decided to scrap most of my environmental curriculum and show more Planet Earth episodes. I will continue the recycling art projects combined with a few reduce, reuse, and recycle tips but the rest is gone. If my students learn even a little from the Planet Earth series and how to reuse things to make art then I’m okay with less teaching.
October 13, 2009- Holding Headstand: Since June, I’ve had the goal of holding my posture in headstand. I have no problem getting into headstand, but I’ve never been able to hold it for any length of time. I began to incorporate it into each practice, but today while practicing yoga, I decided my focus would be poses that prepare the body for headstand and attempting to hold the pose. For the first time ever I was able to hold the posture. For five breaths to be exact. Huh, patience and practice do pay off.
October 14, 2009- Saving Chris Brown: Today I asked my first period 6th grade class to get into groups and create murals about saving the earth. I told them to choose a theme centered on either saving the earth, saving animals or recycling. I gave each group a magazine or newspaper to look for pictures representing their theme. They did really well sticking to their theme, and most nicely arranged and decorated their murals. Some labeled each picture; some wrote “Save the Earth” and “Save Animals” across the top and bottom of their mural. When groups were finishing I gave them bo-stick to hang their mural on the wall of their choice. As I walked around to admire each group’s artwork, I noticed a “save” expression I hadn’t offered as a suggestion. Next to a Nike swoosh drawn someone in the group, a student wrote “Save Chris Brown.” I asked that group about their mural. “Chris Brown needs to be saved?” I asked. “Why, is he in danger? And the Nike swoosh? It needs to be saved?” I only got smiles for answers. As a fellow volunteer reminded me, Chris Brown is beloved in Swaziland; they probably believe he needs saving from Rihanna. What about the Nike swoosh? Is Nike in bankruptcy?
October 16 – 18, 2009- Electricity can be elusive: The rainy season is in full swing. It began earlier this month, much earlier than last year. This year’s rainfall is more and heavier than last year too. Since the rains have been so heavy, the electricity comes and goes frequently. This whole weekend, I was forced to use the gas stove in the main house to heat water and cook food since I never had power for more than 30 to 40 minutes at a time. I have a newfound appreciation for those who live without electricity each day, relying only on wood burning stoves or open wood fires. My skills of maneuvering and operating by candlelight have greatly increased. Even so, the notion of living by candlelight is romantic for a short time only; it soon becomes taxing. Reading becomes a chore, and strains the eyes. Crocheting by candlelight is tricky; I’m glad I’m beginning to learn to crochet without looking. Alternatives for heating water and cooking food are imperative. And one learns which corners not to stumble into for fear of stubbing toes or stepping on spiders. I also go to bed earlier; one due to eyestrain, and two because there’s not much else to do.
I’m better at conserving electricity and water here than I was in the states, even though I thought I was pretty conscious of what I used. Here, how much you have and how much you use take on new connotations. I know that if I use more than 2 or 3 liters of water a day, then I’ll have to carry my containers twice a week to the water tap instead of once. I know that on rainy days I must be efficient, boiling the water that I will need for the day when I have power in case the power comes and goes. Multi-tasking, here, has become an art form.
October 20, 2009- ‘Plowing’ the Field: I helped bosisi wami (my sisters) plow the fields to ready them for planting. The term plowing in siSwati does not have the same meaning at is does in English. Plowing means to ready the land, as it does in English, but it also means making the holes for each kernel of maize. The field we readied was about the size of mom’s garden. When plowing each hole, you have to dig in each of the four directions, north, south, east and west; then the hole is ready for manure. Make used to use chemical fertilizer; this year she is utilizing the organic methods she learned from the RDA (Rural Development Assoc.). The manure sits overnight or for 24 hours; then the holes are ready for maize the following day. When I asked why it’s necessary to dig in all four directions, I never got a straight answer, something about making the hole the right size for the kernel.
Bosisi wami laughed when I said I wanted to help. They didn’t think I was capable of hoeing a hole much less a third of the field. They laughed at my hoeing techniques because I didn’t do it exactly as they did. Nonetheless, I think they appreciated the help. If I hadn’t helped they would have spend another afternoon plowing. Instead, the next afternoon they were able to plant. It was great exercise for me, but also nice to think about my parents, grand- and great-grandparents as I dug, wondering at their experiences with plowing. It’s easy to forget that America is not far removed from this way of life.
October 24 -25, 2009- Hiking all Weekend: Having to be in the capital for meetings and a workshop, I decided to work in a few hikes. The world’s largest exposed granite dome is near Mbabane. Estimated at three billion years old, it looms over the city, and I’ve been eyeing it since we arrived. Taking to enthusiastic hiking buddies, Matthew and Jenn, we walked to the outcropping in two hours. It’s a relatively easy hike if you enter from the plateau; we decided we need to come back and climb the face of the dome. There’s also several caves but we didn’t take the time to search for them as time was limited for them. I could have stayed all day. I took pictures with Jenn’s camera, as mine is broken. I cannot wait to view them; I felt inspired. We rested on the top of the dome; having brought my travel journal from Annette, I drew the landscape. It was a great cathartic rest. The following day I joined the Mbabane Hiking Club for a hike near my site, as it turned out. About 5 km from my site is a rocky pinnacle that tested my limited rock climbing skills, and excited experienced climbers. The hike up to the pinnacle was beautiful; the countryside looked lush. Due to the rains, everything is greening and flowering trees are blooming.
The Mbabane Hiking Club consists of some Peace Corps staff and volunteers, Embassy staff, NGO workers and ex-pats. The mix is eclectic, to say the least, and no one is want for good or interesting conversation. Three other volunteers, Jay and Hilary and Matthew, joined me. It was a perfect day. Walking thru nature is therapy; beautiful scenery is a perk.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Sept Joys and Woes
September 2, 2009- My First Blanket: I began crocheting a blanket the January before I left for Swaziland. I finished it today, 1 year and 8 months later. I call it my chakra blanket as it represents each chakra color, which also happens to correspond to the colors of the rainbow. It’s about 3 ½ feet wide and 6-ish feet long. So it’s basically a lap blanket; but it is pretty, and sweet, and coincidently, warm for those evenings when chill sets in and no amount of tea will warm the body. Many thanks to family and friends—mostly mom and dad—for sending me yarn to finish it. Little did they know they were contributing to my new addiction but crocheting is probably the healthiest obsession I could acquire here. I’ve made several scarves and a few hats/berets. My next project is another blanket consisting of granny squares and daisies. It will be multi-colored as well. I found a sewing shop in Mbabane; they have a small but nice selection of yarn. I visit each time I’m in town.
September 8 -10, 2009- Mid-Service Physicals: One year into service and volunteers are required to visit their friendly PCMO (PC Medical Officer) for an annual exam. I discovered that due to chronic rhinitis, which I cannot seem to shake here, I need to take a daily allergy tab and use a nasal spray. Oh Joy. It’s probably due mostly to the dusty road I walk daily, which I cannot break from, and partly to all the animals I live with. So hopefully once I get back to America, I will be able to wean myself from the tabs and spray. We were treated to the dentist, which was a pleasant and unpleasant surprise. Pleasant because didn’t think I get to see a dentist, so I was glad to have my teeth cleaned. But unpleasant because I was afraid I’d have a cavity or two. No cavities, just many comments about my receding gums (WHAT?!) and a fitting for a bite plate (REALLY?!). He said my TMJ muscles were too tight. I admit I clench my jaw at night but I didn’t think it was a big problem. So now I have to wear a bite plate while I sleep. Good God! I’m not sure it’s helping. I think I clench just as much with or without it.
We were also tested for TB. My test was negative but I have to say I am slightly surprised. For all the TB patients at my clinic and all the coughing on buses by people/kids who don’t cover their mouth, I thought I’d have TB for sure. I’m glad I don’t because the treatment is lengthy and the medication can cause liver damage.
The most enjoyable parts of the 3-day experience were: 1.) I might, eventually, get an MRI on my foot. It’s still bothering me so no running…but I’m dying to run. And confession…sometimes I sneak in a mile here and there just to release; 2.) Hanging with the 7 other volunteers in my mid-service physicals group, enjoying many philosophical (and not so philosophical) discussions to all hours of the morning, some enhanced by good wine and yummy beers; 3.) Cooking with other volunteers. It seems living here has enhanced my love to cook, and appreciation of the cooking process, when I have someone to share a meal with, or three or four awesome someones; 4.) Watching seasons one and two of 30 Rock. Brilliant! Tina Fey is fabulous, and who knew Alex Baldwin was so damn funny?!; 5.) Playing Scrabble; 6.) Singing 80’s songs via karaoke. I had just finished my legwarmers. I was wearing leggings, legwarmers and an oversized sweatshirt…all by chance, but totally fitting for singing 80’s songs!; and 7.) Devoting time to figure out some all important life issues, continually ongoing but ever necessary.
September 11, 2009- Saying Farewell to our APCD: Chad Fleck, our Assistant Programming Country Director for almost three years, was a former PCV in Nepal. He was tough on us but he led with compassion because he understood well the life of a volunteer. A few months ago, he began sending our group quotes to help keep us motivated. For his going-away party we each wrote him our favorite quote and a short note, and assembled them in a book from the lounge’s library aptly named “Passage to India”, which he’s read. It was meant to represent the past, present and future—a book from his past, from volunteers that he impacted, and memories of Swaziland for years to come.
Chad was great at recognizing and giving perspective, especially when it came to host country nationals. He would always say, “Well have you thought about it this way…” He also reminded us about the art and psychology of sitting during PC service, as in Sitting with a capital S as opposed to sitting with a lower-case s. “Small-s sitting is sitting on your haunches waiting for something else to happen. It’s sitting with a future-orientation, an intention that you’d rather be somewhere else. Sitting—with a capital S—is about having a now-orientation. It’s being present, with intention. And what is intention? It is intention of cultivating social relations with the people around you at the moment, regardless of whether you are busy or still, talking or silent. Your intention is that moment changes everything.” –Chad Fleck
He also quoted Andreas Fuglesang as saying, “People in Western civilization no longer have time for each other, they have no time together, they do not share the experience of time. This explains why Westerners are incapable of understanding the psychology of sitting. In villages all over the world, sitting is an important social activity. Sitting is not a ‘waste of time’ nor is it a manifestation of laziness. Sitting is having time together, time to cultivate social relations.”
I am reminded of my parents’ card clubs or entertaining relatives and visitors in their home. There was always time for Sitting. News was shared, stories told, food eaten, and many laughs shared. They learned it from their parents who watched their own parents Sit with others. It’s something that used to happen in America, especially rural American communities. It’s a lost art, something I wish people would revive, and something I wish to revive when I return.
So, thank you, Chad Fleck, for teaching me many important lessons about patience, expectations, perception of things, asking the right questions, and the art of Sitting. Your presence will be greatly missed.
September 15, 2009- The Rollercoaster of Inadequacy: Shadowing the Baylor doctors was emotional today. One of their patients was a 12 year old girl in heart failure due to complications of HIV, previous and current TB bouts, malnutrition and who knows what else her body is fighting against. She was retaining about 4 kgs (approx. 8.8 lbs) of fluid in her abdomen. The plan was to admit her to Hlatikhulu Hospital but before transport arrived, she collapsed and staff admitted her to Nhlangano Health Center wards. I’m unaware of her current status, but asked the doctors to keep me posted.
Her face haunted my thoughts all day, but my helplessness of the situation plagues me more. I feel like I could do much more for the Swazi nation if I were capable of treating them. I curse my selfishness and the fearfulness I felt for pre-med in undergraduate school. I’ve thought about medicine off-and-on since then. I was afraid of the math and advanced science courses required; I told myself I wasn’t smart enough to pass and so I didn’t even try. In massage school I learned that a fear is simply a fantasy endeavoring to appear real. So what’s holding me back?
After I told a fellow volunteer about my day, he gave the obligatory, ‘damn that’s rough’ speech, and how he also has feelings of wanting to do more. But then he said something really prophetic. “Quite the experience this is, huh? Trying and growing, and understanding human life.” Yes, human life. And I’m caught between several notions about human life: in some places life is transient; in some places it’s disposable; and in some places people try so hard to destroy it where others fight to save it. But what I’ve noticed most is that in too many places, and for too many people, it’s taken for granted.
I want to see a world where people see life as beautiful, where life is valued, respected, and not taken for granted. Where all we need is a little time for Sitting, a little time to be compassionate in order to build on the love we should readily share with others. For those skeptics, this probably sounds Pollyanna-esque, highly unattainable, head-in-the-clouds dream-like, idealistic, or perhaps even impossible. But I want the impossible! I want it to be possible.
Update on the 12-year old: Once stable, she was transferred to Hlatikhulu Hospital where they drained the fluid from her belly. She was ambulatory, and feeling better after several days of bed rest. She’s still in the hospital, and when I saw the Baylor doctors yesterday (22 September) they said there was no change in her condition expect that she was in less pain. Her liver, however, is compromised, and they are working to find a solution.
September 16, 23 & 30, 2009- Teaching 6th Graders: I began my Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle class today. The curriculum, from the EPA’s website, is geared for 1st to 4th graders, but my students are struggling. I’m not sure if it’s because the 3 R’s concept is new or because they are always doing other work in my class but I will soldier on and define terms as I go. I’m trying to incorporate as many hands-on projects as possible to keep them engaged. The 2nd week of class we talked about reusing materials to make something else. I showed them how to cut and roll paper into beads. Everyone started out well, and then the boys began making cigarettes, of course. In a few weeks I’ll take the beads back to class and allow them to make necklaces or bracelets. The 3rd week of class we talked about reducing waste. I asked them to get into groups of 5 to write letters to my World Wise School matches (my sister Sharon’s 1st graders and my cousin Christine’s 2nd graders). They claimed they had written letters before but I don’t think they’ve ever written letters without being directed on what to write, line by line. So I wrote on the board, and they copied. I did ask them to fill in certain blanks, for instance, “What are you learning in this class?” and “Why are we using paper that has already been use?” For the first question, I read sentences that talked about all they classes they were taking and some about Life Skills, which is what my class is officially titled. For the second question, students began writing that they were using used paper because they didn’t have new paper. I had to reiterate many, many times the purpose of reduce and reuse. I can hardly fault them. The school system allows them to only memorize and regurgitate information, never allowing for questioning content, for critical thinking, or for analysis. So far the only positive thing that’s come from the class is making paper beads. My sisi, Zandele, loves it. And now I love it. It’s my new obsession. I’m making beads out of everything: magazines, newspapers, candy wrappers, chip bags. And I have a small mound beginning to form. Many of you will receive a beaded paper jewelry item, don’t you worry! I’m thinking of a way to make in into an income-generating project for my youth group. The only issue is to find someone who can teach them about correctly using jewelry findings and how to run a business. A project for when the term ends. In the meantime, bead making has become a wonderful stress reliever, and hopefully a few 6th graders will keep it up.
September 24, 2009- Swine Flu Hits Hard: From today until 6 October, volunteers are on semi-lockdown. Due to several volunteers tested for H1N1, and many others w/ H1N1-like symptoms, volunteers are not allowed to stay at any backpackers in town or congregate in large groups until adequate treatment time has lapsed. So far 13 volunteers and 3 staff people were infected. Luckily Peace Corps has the medication to treat avian flu and H1N1 but no clinic in Swaziland has Tamiflu tabs. H1N1 severely affects those with low immune systems, and the very young and the very old. Nonetheless, with a 39% HIV infection rate among those 18 – 35 and an increasing TB rate, most people in this country are highly susceptible to contracting flu. I’m glad we have the medication to treat ourselves, but it hardly seems fair.
(At the date of this blog, 19 volunteers and 5 staff either had or suffered from symptoms relating to H1N1. Yikes!)
September 8 -10, 2009- Mid-Service Physicals: One year into service and volunteers are required to visit their friendly PCMO (PC Medical Officer) for an annual exam. I discovered that due to chronic rhinitis, which I cannot seem to shake here, I need to take a daily allergy tab and use a nasal spray. Oh Joy. It’s probably due mostly to the dusty road I walk daily, which I cannot break from, and partly to all the animals I live with. So hopefully once I get back to America, I will be able to wean myself from the tabs and spray. We were treated to the dentist, which was a pleasant and unpleasant surprise. Pleasant because didn’t think I get to see a dentist, so I was glad to have my teeth cleaned. But unpleasant because I was afraid I’d have a cavity or two. No cavities, just many comments about my receding gums (WHAT?!) and a fitting for a bite plate (REALLY?!). He said my TMJ muscles were too tight. I admit I clench my jaw at night but I didn’t think it was a big problem. So now I have to wear a bite plate while I sleep. Good God! I’m not sure it’s helping. I think I clench just as much with or without it.
We were also tested for TB. My test was negative but I have to say I am slightly surprised. For all the TB patients at my clinic and all the coughing on buses by people/kids who don’t cover their mouth, I thought I’d have TB for sure. I’m glad I don’t because the treatment is lengthy and the medication can cause liver damage.
The most enjoyable parts of the 3-day experience were: 1.) I might, eventually, get an MRI on my foot. It’s still bothering me so no running…but I’m dying to run. And confession…sometimes I sneak in a mile here and there just to release; 2.) Hanging with the 7 other volunteers in my mid-service physicals group, enjoying many philosophical (and not so philosophical) discussions to all hours of the morning, some enhanced by good wine and yummy beers; 3.) Cooking with other volunteers. It seems living here has enhanced my love to cook, and appreciation of the cooking process, when I have someone to share a meal with, or three or four awesome someones; 4.) Watching seasons one and two of 30 Rock. Brilliant! Tina Fey is fabulous, and who knew Alex Baldwin was so damn funny?!; 5.) Playing Scrabble; 6.) Singing 80’s songs via karaoke. I had just finished my legwarmers. I was wearing leggings, legwarmers and an oversized sweatshirt…all by chance, but totally fitting for singing 80’s songs!; and 7.) Devoting time to figure out some all important life issues, continually ongoing but ever necessary.
September 11, 2009- Saying Farewell to our APCD: Chad Fleck, our Assistant Programming Country Director for almost three years, was a former PCV in Nepal. He was tough on us but he led with compassion because he understood well the life of a volunteer. A few months ago, he began sending our group quotes to help keep us motivated. For his going-away party we each wrote him our favorite quote and a short note, and assembled them in a book from the lounge’s library aptly named “Passage to India”, which he’s read. It was meant to represent the past, present and future—a book from his past, from volunteers that he impacted, and memories of Swaziland for years to come.
Chad was great at recognizing and giving perspective, especially when it came to host country nationals. He would always say, “Well have you thought about it this way…” He also reminded us about the art and psychology of sitting during PC service, as in Sitting with a capital S as opposed to sitting with a lower-case s. “Small-s sitting is sitting on your haunches waiting for something else to happen. It’s sitting with a future-orientation, an intention that you’d rather be somewhere else. Sitting—with a capital S—is about having a now-orientation. It’s being present, with intention. And what is intention? It is intention of cultivating social relations with the people around you at the moment, regardless of whether you are busy or still, talking or silent. Your intention is that moment changes everything.” –Chad Fleck
He also quoted Andreas Fuglesang as saying, “People in Western civilization no longer have time for each other, they have no time together, they do not share the experience of time. This explains why Westerners are incapable of understanding the psychology of sitting. In villages all over the world, sitting is an important social activity. Sitting is not a ‘waste of time’ nor is it a manifestation of laziness. Sitting is having time together, time to cultivate social relations.”
I am reminded of my parents’ card clubs or entertaining relatives and visitors in their home. There was always time for Sitting. News was shared, stories told, food eaten, and many laughs shared. They learned it from their parents who watched their own parents Sit with others. It’s something that used to happen in America, especially rural American communities. It’s a lost art, something I wish people would revive, and something I wish to revive when I return.
So, thank you, Chad Fleck, for teaching me many important lessons about patience, expectations, perception of things, asking the right questions, and the art of Sitting. Your presence will be greatly missed.
September 15, 2009- The Rollercoaster of Inadequacy: Shadowing the Baylor doctors was emotional today. One of their patients was a 12 year old girl in heart failure due to complications of HIV, previous and current TB bouts, malnutrition and who knows what else her body is fighting against. She was retaining about 4 kgs (approx. 8.8 lbs) of fluid in her abdomen. The plan was to admit her to Hlatikhulu Hospital but before transport arrived, she collapsed and staff admitted her to Nhlangano Health Center wards. I’m unaware of her current status, but asked the doctors to keep me posted.
Her face haunted my thoughts all day, but my helplessness of the situation plagues me more. I feel like I could do much more for the Swazi nation if I were capable of treating them. I curse my selfishness and the fearfulness I felt for pre-med in undergraduate school. I’ve thought about medicine off-and-on since then. I was afraid of the math and advanced science courses required; I told myself I wasn’t smart enough to pass and so I didn’t even try. In massage school I learned that a fear is simply a fantasy endeavoring to appear real. So what’s holding me back?
After I told a fellow volunteer about my day, he gave the obligatory, ‘damn that’s rough’ speech, and how he also has feelings of wanting to do more. But then he said something really prophetic. “Quite the experience this is, huh? Trying and growing, and understanding human life.” Yes, human life. And I’m caught between several notions about human life: in some places life is transient; in some places it’s disposable; and in some places people try so hard to destroy it where others fight to save it. But what I’ve noticed most is that in too many places, and for too many people, it’s taken for granted.
I want to see a world where people see life as beautiful, where life is valued, respected, and not taken for granted. Where all we need is a little time for Sitting, a little time to be compassionate in order to build on the love we should readily share with others. For those skeptics, this probably sounds Pollyanna-esque, highly unattainable, head-in-the-clouds dream-like, idealistic, or perhaps even impossible. But I want the impossible! I want it to be possible.
Update on the 12-year old: Once stable, she was transferred to Hlatikhulu Hospital where they drained the fluid from her belly. She was ambulatory, and feeling better after several days of bed rest. She’s still in the hospital, and when I saw the Baylor doctors yesterday (22 September) they said there was no change in her condition expect that she was in less pain. Her liver, however, is compromised, and they are working to find a solution.
September 16, 23 & 30, 2009- Teaching 6th Graders: I began my Environmental/Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle class today. The curriculum, from the EPA’s website, is geared for 1st to 4th graders, but my students are struggling. I’m not sure if it’s because the 3 R’s concept is new or because they are always doing other work in my class but I will soldier on and define terms as I go. I’m trying to incorporate as many hands-on projects as possible to keep them engaged. The 2nd week of class we talked about reusing materials to make something else. I showed them how to cut and roll paper into beads. Everyone started out well, and then the boys began making cigarettes, of course. In a few weeks I’ll take the beads back to class and allow them to make necklaces or bracelets. The 3rd week of class we talked about reducing waste. I asked them to get into groups of 5 to write letters to my World Wise School matches (my sister Sharon’s 1st graders and my cousin Christine’s 2nd graders). They claimed they had written letters before but I don’t think they’ve ever written letters without being directed on what to write, line by line. So I wrote on the board, and they copied. I did ask them to fill in certain blanks, for instance, “What are you learning in this class?” and “Why are we using paper that has already been use?” For the first question, I read sentences that talked about all they classes they were taking and some about Life Skills, which is what my class is officially titled. For the second question, students began writing that they were using used paper because they didn’t have new paper. I had to reiterate many, many times the purpose of reduce and reuse. I can hardly fault them. The school system allows them to only memorize and regurgitate information, never allowing for questioning content, for critical thinking, or for analysis. So far the only positive thing that’s come from the class is making paper beads. My sisi, Zandele, loves it. And now I love it. It’s my new obsession. I’m making beads out of everything: magazines, newspapers, candy wrappers, chip bags. And I have a small mound beginning to form. Many of you will receive a beaded paper jewelry item, don’t you worry! I’m thinking of a way to make in into an income-generating project for my youth group. The only issue is to find someone who can teach them about correctly using jewelry findings and how to run a business. A project for when the term ends. In the meantime, bead making has become a wonderful stress reliever, and hopefully a few 6th graders will keep it up.
September 24, 2009- Swine Flu Hits Hard: From today until 6 October, volunteers are on semi-lockdown. Due to several volunteers tested for H1N1, and many others w/ H1N1-like symptoms, volunteers are not allowed to stay at any backpackers in town or congregate in large groups until adequate treatment time has lapsed. So far 13 volunteers and 3 staff people were infected. Luckily Peace Corps has the medication to treat avian flu and H1N1 but no clinic in Swaziland has Tamiflu tabs. H1N1 severely affects those with low immune systems, and the very young and the very old. Nonetheless, with a 39% HIV infection rate among those 18 – 35 and an increasing TB rate, most people in this country are highly susceptible to contracting flu. I’m glad we have the medication to treat ourselves, but it hardly seems fair.
(At the date of this blog, 19 volunteers and 5 staff either had or suffered from symptoms relating to H1N1. Yikes!)
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Life in August 2009
August 9, 2009- Spring Cleaning: After living at my site for almost a year I finally acquired a table. Deja, from Group 5, left me her table and having it has changed my life! As a welcome to the new-to-me table, I decided to spring clean my hut. I rearranged the book shelf, and now have a ‘library’ area. I rearranged the mini stove, fridge and carts, and now have a galley ‘kitchen and dining area’. I rearranged my ‘bathroom/closet’, which helped me take my suitcase-turned-dresser off the cement floor. I swept then mopped the floor. I purged unused papers. And I dusted fallen wall off surfaces. Now I sit at my table to eat. I can do school work at the table. I can put my laptop on my table instead of on a box on the floor to watch movies, which makes viewing eye level and much more enjoyable. I think I’m in heaven! And I feel rich.
The weather is following suit. Nights are less cold. Days are gradually warming. The sun is rising earlier and slowly setting later and later, which makes me happy because night isn’t so long. The landscape is a juxtaposition of colors and cyclical changes. The evergreens are mingling among coppery red deciduous trees (not all deciduous trees here completely loose their leaves). Greens sprouts of grass are shooting up through tufts of brown. Frogs began croaking last week along both rivers that embrace my community.
A support group formed at my clinic a few weeks ago. It’s led by an expert client trained by MSF (Doctors w/out Borders) in supporting people living with HIV who take ARV’s (anti-retrovirals). Wanting to help with this group, I offered my services to the expert client. Since most of the group’s English is limited, I decided leading exercises after their meeting would be my contribution. They love it. One of the older ladies, a traditional dancer, really gets into the side-stepping. She shakes her hips, almost putting me to shame. Even the oldest Mkhulu (a.k.a. grandfather/old man) stands up to move. On the first day, I told them whatever movement they were able to do is okay. I explained that any movement they do that gets blood and oxygen flowing to the muscles is healthier than no movement. Last week I was sick, but I stopped by the clinic to greet the nurses and ask the expert client to lead exercises. She was apprehensive. I tried to quell her fears by saying she could copy what I did, something simple like raising arms overhead several times and slowing lowering them or marching in place. She promised to try.
Today she informed me that she led the group in several of the exercises I taught her. She was proud that she remembered. I suddenly had an awe moment. This was my first glimpse of sustainable development work in action in my community! Since my arrival, I’ve been thinking sustainable work was something of a myth or at best rarely attainable and only in extreme circumstances. I am proved wrong by my own actions! I taught someone something they remembered, and they felt motivated and confident enough to share with others. I did something sustainable! One small step for Mahlalini. One giant leap for me and my faith in what I’m doing here. Making true connections by forging relationships with others has always been part of my philosophy, and I am more acutely aware than ever that I cannot be an occupant of this earth without being an active participant. I cannot just exist, I must dynamically be.
August 8 - 31, 2009- Painting a Preschool: Justine, Jaclyn and I met the couple, Michelle and Peter McCubbin, who run Pasture Valley Children’s Home on the edge of Nhlangano through Make Simelane. We sometimes stay with Make when we’re in town for the youth support group; she works at NATICC—an AIDS testing and counseling center—where Michelle is on the Board of Directors. A completely self-sustaining orphanage, the McCubbin’s grow fruits and vegetables, operate a tree nursery, and raise dairy cows and pigs, allowing the 20 children who reside at Pasture Valley home-grown foods each day. The older children go to school nearby while the preschool-aged children are taught at a preschool on site. Two Swazi mothers live between two houses, each caring for half the children; they honor traditional Swazi living while teaching the children how to cook, clean, wash clothes and play together. The children range in age from two months to 16 years. Considering the trauma each child brings, living in this new home is life-saving for them. As terrible as it is to separate them from family, sometimes a home away from biological family is better for their well-being than being in an unhealthy environment. And this new family wants them.
Eager to help, we offered out services with whatever needed to be done. Michelle needed the inside of the preschool painted. We set to painting the 3 main walls and the storage cabinet doors. One wall was dedicated to the alphabet and an object associated with each letter. The second wall turned into an apple tree with numbers 1 – 20 painted on each apple. The other wall had shapes around the window. On the cabinet doors we created flowers. We finished the room with grass growing up out of the floor. The children gladly helped us each time we came to paint by dancing with us to music, handing us paint brushes, posing in pictures and eating our snacks. We frequently took breaks to play with them, getting to know names and personalities.
Wanting to know their stories, Michelle told us heart-wrenching stories about how some children came to live at Pasture Valley. One child, who just celebrated his sixth birthday, looks like he’s two. His mother, too sick to work, barely had enough food to feed him much less herself. Once Michelle was alerted to the situation she took him to the hospital where he spent several weeks recuperating due to severe dehydration and malnutrition. While in the hospital his mother died, and Michelle was allowed to take him to Pasture Valley. He’s the sweetest boy; smart, very polite and always with a smile on his face. I want to take him with me every time I go. Him, and a little girl who’s name means beautiful, whose mother was too young to care for her; she told Michelle the child was a mistake which made Michelle livid. The girl didn’t smile for a long time, nor did she talk, only staring listlessly when someone talked her. The first day we met her, my heart went to her immediately and I tried to engage her as much as possible, talking directly to her, smiling, looking her in the eye. When we went back two weeks later, she was beginning to smile and interact with other children but she was still guarded. She became my shadow, though; each time I left the room she followed me. The last time we were there, she was laughing and playing with the other children. She let me tickle her, hold her, and play with her. She’s beginning to allow herself to be a child, to have fun, to open up. There are two other darling girls that also tug at my heart strings. I have to say I’ve honestly considered adoption. One things for sure; I plan to spend more time at Pasture Valley, especially after the new year since I won’t be teaching in the new term. I feel working there would definitely be sustainable, but more importantly beneficial to those wonderful little persons and personally rewarding.
August 11, 2009- Bus Rides Home: I got on the 2 o’clock bus, which primarily transports elementary students home. It gets crowded, really quickly, with 30 + children whirring around, not to mention the throng of adults heading back home with their weekly supplies and things to sell. The children are consistently a buzz of activity, and I frequently watch them since they are entertaining; although, admittedly, I try to avoid this bus. I generally get asked for sweets or money and/or get laughed at by one child which leads to all the children in the vicinity laughing at me. Being laughed at is my own fault, in all honesty; I tend to smile at them a lot, make funny faces, wave, stare or try to translate what they are saying, which I don’t consider eaves dropping since they usually talk too quickly for me to make out more than a word or two. Today a primary school girl was knitting a scarf for school. I learned from my sisi knitting is taught in Home Economics class, along with how to cook, how to wash clothes and how to clean the homestead. My sisi is lucky enough to use Make’s knitting needles. The girl on the bus was knitting with a plastic sucker handle and the ink cartridge from a disposable pen. The stitches were small, but she was making a scarf, and it was taking shape quite nicely. She seemed very proud of herself, and kept checking to make sure I continued to watch her so I gave into her vanity and told her the scarf was buhle, beautiful.
The week before, I barely caught my half-past three bus. I struggled to get on the first step with 3 bags, a yoga bag and my purse; Jaclyn, Justine and I joke that we are really pack mules. I try to travel lighter and lighter each time I go to Mbabane but inevitably I bring something back from the office and load down the bus. Today I wasn’t the only thing loading the bus down. The official capacity for most standard-sized buses (think big yellow school bus) in Swaziland is 65 seated and 18 standing. I stood on the first step, barely inside the door, for the first 5 minutes until the bus conductor shifted enough children to allow me to step up to the landing. There were at least 100 people on bus. The PC Safety and Security Officer’s warning about the link between overcrowded buses and high accident rates briefly ran through my head, and I should have taken the next bus. But it wouldn’t come for another hour and that would get me home at 5:30. I just wanted to be home, and before dark. So I stood on the landing, with my bags wondering how to balance myself against the lurching starts and stops of the bus. The bus conductor, noticing my inability to hold onto the railing, grabbed my bags and stowed them near the driver and on the dash board. I stood for the better part of an hour holding onto one bag and my purse, having to exit each time the bus stopped to let patrons off. A seat finally opened on the last 10 minutes of the ride, and I gladly took it since my arms and legs were tired of bracing. I’ve been on buses that crowded before but I’ve always gotten on soon enough that I had a seat, and inevitably felt pity for the smooched people in the aisle.
My transportation woes are much improved from those riding public transport in Mocambique. Bus conductors will force 3 times the recommended limit of people onto a khombi (passenger van). People are literally hanging out the windows and sitting three-deep with the side door wide open because it cannot be closed.
It makes me think about the short time I took public transport in the States while going to graduate school. People are bound to the bus’ schedule but I found it enjoyable because I didn’t have to worry about traffic or putting petrol in my car and I could read or study along the way. But I remember people passing along their sympathy to me when they heard I rode the bus. I remember not understanding those comments. I realize, at the time, most people who took the bus were low-income people, students, or elderly persons. I never believed myself below taking the bus, but I’m sure that is why I received sympathy. In Swaziland, throughout Africa and in most developing countries, public transport is the only option, and sadly, not true, for some who walk great distances to get to a clinic or buy groceries. Rarely do people find they have the luxury of owning a car much less the funds to fill it with petrol. Learning to drive for most women here is a grand extravagance, and transpires only because the husband can afford driving school or has the time to teach his wife; few single women learn to drive. Then there’s insurance, licensing, maintenance, oil changes, and border crossing fees to consider.
Never once did I think that learning to drive was not an option for me; I always knew someone would teach me regardless, and gender never entered into it. There was no question about going to college. I think I knew at a young age it was a non-negotiable, which was fine with me because I wanted to go to college. I’m discovering how many things I, and so many others, take for granted every single day. And really, what a luxurious problem to be able to take things for granted. I make decisions and come to things on my own terms, and yet I take it for granted because I often forget how many wonderful things I really do have and how lucky I am to have the station I do.
So I try to appreciate every bus ride home, grateful for the scenery I pass, for the time to read the paper or a letter, interaction with neighbors, peek-a-boo with children, or the carefree lifestyle I’ve begun to embrace as normal; but if for nothing else then for the simple gratitude for what I’ve been given by the universe. Sometimes all the awakening I need is a simple 45-minute bus ride home.
August 12, 2009- The Trainees Come for a Visit: I met two Group 7 volunteers in Nhlangano during their OJT (on-the-job training). The Morgan’s are a married couple from Missouri, and they were eager to learn about their new shopping town. We covered a great deal of the town including the best place to buy a bed, furniture stores, the hardware store, the paint store, the grocery store, the internet café, library, police station, local Ministry offices, NERCHA, and the post office. I also pointed out the really important things: cleanest bathroom in town- KFC—coincidently KFC also plays music videos and has ice cream and moderately tasty chicken; the best chicken place in town- Richfield’s Butchery, which also has great chips and biryani, plus you get to see the butchers in action…if you’re lucky they carry a whole hog or two through the restaurant to the butcher block; the best ice cream bars and moderately clean restrooms- Engen gas station near Builders; the best fresh chips (fries) and fat cakes- kiosk behind shopping mall owned and operated by 2 really friendly Pakistani guys who cook the chips a little longer for PCV’s because they know we like our chips crispy; freshest fruits and veggies: the lower and upper boMake markets…sometimes the upper market sells live chickens and it’s near the public restrooms; and the best bran muffins- Builder’s Supermarket, which also sells grocery items in bulk. (Yes, it is all about getting good food!) They rode back with me to my site, and I introduced them to the clinic staff, my boMake marketers, and my exercise club. They helped me make no-bake cookies with my exercise club; the club has been begging me to teach them since I’d brought them each a cookie the week before. I made them pizza for supper, which they were really excited to eat since they hadn’t had it since before them left America. Both are grand story tellers; the husband especially. He reminds me of a combination of my father and 2 of my uncles—they love to tell a story, pull your leg and make you laugh. They regaled me with stories of their children, their work, and how they met. It was a wonderful evening, and I loved having company, as well as people happy to share a meal. They will be a great addition to the Shiselweni family. Jaclyn believes they were automatically a great couple; any man who wears suspenders with a Garfield shirt and any wife who still chooses to be seen with her husband wearing suspenders with a Garfield shirt have to be cool.
August 18, 2009- Hickory-Dickory Dock, A Mouse Ran Up…..: Something ran in front of my door Sunday morning. Only half paying attention, I thought it was a baby chick and paid it no mind. About 30 minutes later, nature called, and on my way out the door something ran over my foot. It was a baby rat. I screamed. Luckily the church-goers had already passed by on their way to church. No one witnessed my freak-out. The rat ran up the hill toward the rondoval, around the corner of the hut and then out of site. I stood there for a moment, collecting myself. I could still feel his feet on my foot. Gross!
Today Make greeted me by saying she had trapped something in the 100 gallon rain barrel. She was drowning them. She was talking so excitedly about capturing 20, it took a few minutes to figure out she was talking about rats. She said she was determined to kill all the rats on the homestead because they were getting into her corn bin. She parted me by saying I must take a look before going to the clinic. She counted 20 and I must count them. Only half believing her method of disposal and the high trespasser count, I asked my bhuti if there were rats in the barrel. He said there were 20 rats in the barrel, drowning in boiling water. I peeked in enough to see two; one struggling to swim, the other succumbed to his demise. I’m assuming the one I saw on Sunday was among the non-survivors because I don’t want to think about more than 20 rats living on the homestead. I’m hoping the rest got the message about Make’s mass execution, packed their bags and vacated the premises.
August 19, 2009- Delivering First Aid Kits: World Vision finally came through with four first aid kits for my NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points). With a little help from an anonymous donor, I was able to buy more first aid supplies to add to the basic kits. Emily Thebo, a nurse from my clinic, and I visited the Mhlaba NCP today. I explained the contents of the kits and how to use each item; Emily translated what I said into siSwati, as well as elaborating each item’s use. I also assessed other needs of this particular NCP. They have been in operation for a year; MicroProjects helped them build the structure. However they have not been able to secure funding from their inter-council. Every chiefdom within the inkhunhla (group of chiefdoms) has an inter-council working to identify and solve problems in each community within that particular chiefdom. They are supposed to give aid to NCP’s. I’m not sure where the breakdown happened, so the boMake at this NCP were asking me for help with incoming generating projects, food, clothes, shoes, toys and teaching materials. I gave them ideas for food—start a garden to supplement the rations they receive —and for income generating projects—ask the Rural Development Association to teach them to make Vaseline. I told them to talk to their inter-council again since they are the ones responsible for supplying money for these kinds of projects. Emily and I offered to put a box at the clinic asking people to drop off unwanted items like clothes, shoes and toys. I also told them to ask for donations from their church members. I began looking for basic teaching materials through the Peace Corps office’s resources. My sister, Sharon, brought me kindergarten-level flash cards, and I will give each NCP a set. So far, no one has dropped off unwanted items at the clinic but it’s a new concept so I’m trying to be patient. If all else fails, I can apply for funds from Peace Corps. A new funding source has opened up that is specifically for aiding NCP’s. I’d rather the communities pulled together and helped each other because I won’t be here forever and I don’t want to add to the dependency they have on outside aid organizations.
August 24, 2009- Sharing Orange Marmalade: The really good jams in the store are too expensive for me to buy, and even if I had the extra money, I can only purchase them in Mbabane. So I made orange marmalade over the weekend. Having made extra entirely on accident, I shared a jar with Make. She asked me why I was sharing with her; I said because I wanted to. She thanked me profusely, kissing my hand, and uttering comments about how happy her daughter makes her. Then she said she was going to buy me a baboon to have for my very own; I could ride it anytime I wanted, and no one else would be able to ride it. A baboon?! I have no idea what that means or the implications of riding a baboon. I’m going to assume that it’s a grand gesture, and leave it at that.
August 28, 2009- 1 year in my hut: A year ago today I arrived at my permanent site with my belongings to an empty hut and an eerily silent homestead. I remember my abhorrence at the state of filth and amount of bugs around my room. Now only the really large spiders bother me. I remember after cleaning up what I could with a broom, I rolled out my yoga mat and took a nap, feeling unable to do much else. I still love naps, and take them when I can but not because I feel unable to do anything else. I just enjoy while I can. I remember making a list of all the things I thought I needed to establish my home. Now I try to get by on as little as possible. It’s quite possible, simply easy to accomplish and very satisfying.
I reread my blog entry from last year at this time; I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into, and why I came. I questioned myself for nine months. Clarity seems only to come after seeking patience and being open to receive the messages one needs to hear. I have a better understanding of why I came, even though some days it doesn’t make sense, and some days I feel I came for the wrong reasons. What I know for sure is that I’m glad I came. No regrets. I can honestly say I am happy, and I’ve been happy for several months. Yes, there are frustrations, and road blocks, and things that just do not make sense. And at times, I still feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions for days on end. But I can only control my own actions, thoughts, and feelings. So I am the one who decides when to be happy. And I’ve decided it’s better to be happy with who I am today, and to do what I can with each day, whatever that may be. It’s better than the alternative.
The new volunteers took to their permanent sites today. There are seven Group 7’s in the Shiselweni region. Amen! We needed more bodies down south.
August 31, 2009- Umhlanga Dance: About half my group attended the Umhlanga or Reed Dance festival, an annual event held to honor coming-of-age maidens. In the eight-day ceremony, girls cut reeds and present them to the Queen Mother who uses the reeds to reinforce her traditional homestead; in recent times, it’s done more to honor ceremony. Only childless, unmarried, chaste girls may take part. The aims of the ceremony are to preserve girls’ chastity, provide tribute labor for the Queen Mother, and produce solidarity by working together. After presenting the reeds, the girls dance for two day. Traditionally, during the second day of dancing, the King chooses a wife among the dancers but he has not taken a wife since 2006. There was quite a bit on controversy after he took his wife in 2006. Apparently, the year before he put a law into place making it illegal for any man to take a wife under the age of 18. He temporarily lifted the law in order to take his wife in 2006; she was 16 at the time. Then he reinstated the law. Needless to say, there were many angry people, and his actions caught the attention of many overseas officials and newspapers.
My sisi, Zandele danced for the first time at the Royal Kraal. She usually dances at the Shiselweni regional Umhlanga which is held at the region’s kraal. I wanted to see her dance, but 80,000 girls were registered to dance and she was lost in the sea of color. Nonetheless, it’s an interesting event to witness. Girls of each chiefdom try to distinguish themselves from other chiefdoms by wearing similar regalia and dancing a little differently than the group before them. The girls are honored among the nation, their communities and families. It’s an immense compliment for them, and a memorable experience, I’m told.
The weather is following suit. Nights are less cold. Days are gradually warming. The sun is rising earlier and slowly setting later and later, which makes me happy because night isn’t so long. The landscape is a juxtaposition of colors and cyclical changes. The evergreens are mingling among coppery red deciduous trees (not all deciduous trees here completely loose their leaves). Greens sprouts of grass are shooting up through tufts of brown. Frogs began croaking last week along both rivers that embrace my community.
A support group formed at my clinic a few weeks ago. It’s led by an expert client trained by MSF (Doctors w/out Borders) in supporting people living with HIV who take ARV’s (anti-retrovirals). Wanting to help with this group, I offered my services to the expert client. Since most of the group’s English is limited, I decided leading exercises after their meeting would be my contribution. They love it. One of the older ladies, a traditional dancer, really gets into the side-stepping. She shakes her hips, almost putting me to shame. Even the oldest Mkhulu (a.k.a. grandfather/old man) stands up to move. On the first day, I told them whatever movement they were able to do is okay. I explained that any movement they do that gets blood and oxygen flowing to the muscles is healthier than no movement. Last week I was sick, but I stopped by the clinic to greet the nurses and ask the expert client to lead exercises. She was apprehensive. I tried to quell her fears by saying she could copy what I did, something simple like raising arms overhead several times and slowing lowering them or marching in place. She promised to try.
Today she informed me that she led the group in several of the exercises I taught her. She was proud that she remembered. I suddenly had an awe moment. This was my first glimpse of sustainable development work in action in my community! Since my arrival, I’ve been thinking sustainable work was something of a myth or at best rarely attainable and only in extreme circumstances. I am proved wrong by my own actions! I taught someone something they remembered, and they felt motivated and confident enough to share with others. I did something sustainable! One small step for Mahlalini. One giant leap for me and my faith in what I’m doing here. Making true connections by forging relationships with others has always been part of my philosophy, and I am more acutely aware than ever that I cannot be an occupant of this earth without being an active participant. I cannot just exist, I must dynamically be.
August 8 - 31, 2009- Painting a Preschool: Justine, Jaclyn and I met the couple, Michelle and Peter McCubbin, who run Pasture Valley Children’s Home on the edge of Nhlangano through Make Simelane. We sometimes stay with Make when we’re in town for the youth support group; she works at NATICC—an AIDS testing and counseling center—where Michelle is on the Board of Directors. A completely self-sustaining orphanage, the McCubbin’s grow fruits and vegetables, operate a tree nursery, and raise dairy cows and pigs, allowing the 20 children who reside at Pasture Valley home-grown foods each day. The older children go to school nearby while the preschool-aged children are taught at a preschool on site. Two Swazi mothers live between two houses, each caring for half the children; they honor traditional Swazi living while teaching the children how to cook, clean, wash clothes and play together. The children range in age from two months to 16 years. Considering the trauma each child brings, living in this new home is life-saving for them. As terrible as it is to separate them from family, sometimes a home away from biological family is better for their well-being than being in an unhealthy environment. And this new family wants them.
Eager to help, we offered out services with whatever needed to be done. Michelle needed the inside of the preschool painted. We set to painting the 3 main walls and the storage cabinet doors. One wall was dedicated to the alphabet and an object associated with each letter. The second wall turned into an apple tree with numbers 1 – 20 painted on each apple. The other wall had shapes around the window. On the cabinet doors we created flowers. We finished the room with grass growing up out of the floor. The children gladly helped us each time we came to paint by dancing with us to music, handing us paint brushes, posing in pictures and eating our snacks. We frequently took breaks to play with them, getting to know names and personalities.
Wanting to know their stories, Michelle told us heart-wrenching stories about how some children came to live at Pasture Valley. One child, who just celebrated his sixth birthday, looks like he’s two. His mother, too sick to work, barely had enough food to feed him much less herself. Once Michelle was alerted to the situation she took him to the hospital where he spent several weeks recuperating due to severe dehydration and malnutrition. While in the hospital his mother died, and Michelle was allowed to take him to Pasture Valley. He’s the sweetest boy; smart, very polite and always with a smile on his face. I want to take him with me every time I go. Him, and a little girl who’s name means beautiful, whose mother was too young to care for her; she told Michelle the child was a mistake which made Michelle livid. The girl didn’t smile for a long time, nor did she talk, only staring listlessly when someone talked her. The first day we met her, my heart went to her immediately and I tried to engage her as much as possible, talking directly to her, smiling, looking her in the eye. When we went back two weeks later, she was beginning to smile and interact with other children but she was still guarded. She became my shadow, though; each time I left the room she followed me. The last time we were there, she was laughing and playing with the other children. She let me tickle her, hold her, and play with her. She’s beginning to allow herself to be a child, to have fun, to open up. There are two other darling girls that also tug at my heart strings. I have to say I’ve honestly considered adoption. One things for sure; I plan to spend more time at Pasture Valley, especially after the new year since I won’t be teaching in the new term. I feel working there would definitely be sustainable, but more importantly beneficial to those wonderful little persons and personally rewarding.
August 11, 2009- Bus Rides Home: I got on the 2 o’clock bus, which primarily transports elementary students home. It gets crowded, really quickly, with 30 + children whirring around, not to mention the throng of adults heading back home with their weekly supplies and things to sell. The children are consistently a buzz of activity, and I frequently watch them since they are entertaining; although, admittedly, I try to avoid this bus. I generally get asked for sweets or money and/or get laughed at by one child which leads to all the children in the vicinity laughing at me. Being laughed at is my own fault, in all honesty; I tend to smile at them a lot, make funny faces, wave, stare or try to translate what they are saying, which I don’t consider eaves dropping since they usually talk too quickly for me to make out more than a word or two. Today a primary school girl was knitting a scarf for school. I learned from my sisi knitting is taught in Home Economics class, along with how to cook, how to wash clothes and how to clean the homestead. My sisi is lucky enough to use Make’s knitting needles. The girl on the bus was knitting with a plastic sucker handle and the ink cartridge from a disposable pen. The stitches were small, but she was making a scarf, and it was taking shape quite nicely. She seemed very proud of herself, and kept checking to make sure I continued to watch her so I gave into her vanity and told her the scarf was buhle, beautiful.
The week before, I barely caught my half-past three bus. I struggled to get on the first step with 3 bags, a yoga bag and my purse; Jaclyn, Justine and I joke that we are really pack mules. I try to travel lighter and lighter each time I go to Mbabane but inevitably I bring something back from the office and load down the bus. Today I wasn’t the only thing loading the bus down. The official capacity for most standard-sized buses (think big yellow school bus) in Swaziland is 65 seated and 18 standing. I stood on the first step, barely inside the door, for the first 5 minutes until the bus conductor shifted enough children to allow me to step up to the landing. There were at least 100 people on bus. The PC Safety and Security Officer’s warning about the link between overcrowded buses and high accident rates briefly ran through my head, and I should have taken the next bus. But it wouldn’t come for another hour and that would get me home at 5:30. I just wanted to be home, and before dark. So I stood on the landing, with my bags wondering how to balance myself against the lurching starts and stops of the bus. The bus conductor, noticing my inability to hold onto the railing, grabbed my bags and stowed them near the driver and on the dash board. I stood for the better part of an hour holding onto one bag and my purse, having to exit each time the bus stopped to let patrons off. A seat finally opened on the last 10 minutes of the ride, and I gladly took it since my arms and legs were tired of bracing. I’ve been on buses that crowded before but I’ve always gotten on soon enough that I had a seat, and inevitably felt pity for the smooched people in the aisle.
My transportation woes are much improved from those riding public transport in Mocambique. Bus conductors will force 3 times the recommended limit of people onto a khombi (passenger van). People are literally hanging out the windows and sitting three-deep with the side door wide open because it cannot be closed.
It makes me think about the short time I took public transport in the States while going to graduate school. People are bound to the bus’ schedule but I found it enjoyable because I didn’t have to worry about traffic or putting petrol in my car and I could read or study along the way. But I remember people passing along their sympathy to me when they heard I rode the bus. I remember not understanding those comments. I realize, at the time, most people who took the bus were low-income people, students, or elderly persons. I never believed myself below taking the bus, but I’m sure that is why I received sympathy. In Swaziland, throughout Africa and in most developing countries, public transport is the only option, and sadly, not true, for some who walk great distances to get to a clinic or buy groceries. Rarely do people find they have the luxury of owning a car much less the funds to fill it with petrol. Learning to drive for most women here is a grand extravagance, and transpires only because the husband can afford driving school or has the time to teach his wife; few single women learn to drive. Then there’s insurance, licensing, maintenance, oil changes, and border crossing fees to consider.
Never once did I think that learning to drive was not an option for me; I always knew someone would teach me regardless, and gender never entered into it. There was no question about going to college. I think I knew at a young age it was a non-negotiable, which was fine with me because I wanted to go to college. I’m discovering how many things I, and so many others, take for granted every single day. And really, what a luxurious problem to be able to take things for granted. I make decisions and come to things on my own terms, and yet I take it for granted because I often forget how many wonderful things I really do have and how lucky I am to have the station I do.
So I try to appreciate every bus ride home, grateful for the scenery I pass, for the time to read the paper or a letter, interaction with neighbors, peek-a-boo with children, or the carefree lifestyle I’ve begun to embrace as normal; but if for nothing else then for the simple gratitude for what I’ve been given by the universe. Sometimes all the awakening I need is a simple 45-minute bus ride home.
August 12, 2009- The Trainees Come for a Visit: I met two Group 7 volunteers in Nhlangano during their OJT (on-the-job training). The Morgan’s are a married couple from Missouri, and they were eager to learn about their new shopping town. We covered a great deal of the town including the best place to buy a bed, furniture stores, the hardware store, the paint store, the grocery store, the internet café, library, police station, local Ministry offices, NERCHA, and the post office. I also pointed out the really important things: cleanest bathroom in town- KFC—coincidently KFC also plays music videos and has ice cream and moderately tasty chicken; the best chicken place in town- Richfield’s Butchery, which also has great chips and biryani, plus you get to see the butchers in action…if you’re lucky they carry a whole hog or two through the restaurant to the butcher block; the best ice cream bars and moderately clean restrooms- Engen gas station near Builders; the best fresh chips (fries) and fat cakes- kiosk behind shopping mall owned and operated by 2 really friendly Pakistani guys who cook the chips a little longer for PCV’s because they know we like our chips crispy; freshest fruits and veggies: the lower and upper boMake markets…sometimes the upper market sells live chickens and it’s near the public restrooms; and the best bran muffins- Builder’s Supermarket, which also sells grocery items in bulk. (Yes, it is all about getting good food!) They rode back with me to my site, and I introduced them to the clinic staff, my boMake marketers, and my exercise club. They helped me make no-bake cookies with my exercise club; the club has been begging me to teach them since I’d brought them each a cookie the week before. I made them pizza for supper, which they were really excited to eat since they hadn’t had it since before them left America. Both are grand story tellers; the husband especially. He reminds me of a combination of my father and 2 of my uncles—they love to tell a story, pull your leg and make you laugh. They regaled me with stories of their children, their work, and how they met. It was a wonderful evening, and I loved having company, as well as people happy to share a meal. They will be a great addition to the Shiselweni family. Jaclyn believes they were automatically a great couple; any man who wears suspenders with a Garfield shirt and any wife who still chooses to be seen with her husband wearing suspenders with a Garfield shirt have to be cool.
August 18, 2009- Hickory-Dickory Dock, A Mouse Ran Up…..: Something ran in front of my door Sunday morning. Only half paying attention, I thought it was a baby chick and paid it no mind. About 30 minutes later, nature called, and on my way out the door something ran over my foot. It was a baby rat. I screamed. Luckily the church-goers had already passed by on their way to church. No one witnessed my freak-out. The rat ran up the hill toward the rondoval, around the corner of the hut and then out of site. I stood there for a moment, collecting myself. I could still feel his feet on my foot. Gross!
Today Make greeted me by saying she had trapped something in the 100 gallon rain barrel. She was drowning them. She was talking so excitedly about capturing 20, it took a few minutes to figure out she was talking about rats. She said she was determined to kill all the rats on the homestead because they were getting into her corn bin. She parted me by saying I must take a look before going to the clinic. She counted 20 and I must count them. Only half believing her method of disposal and the high trespasser count, I asked my bhuti if there were rats in the barrel. He said there were 20 rats in the barrel, drowning in boiling water. I peeked in enough to see two; one struggling to swim, the other succumbed to his demise. I’m assuming the one I saw on Sunday was among the non-survivors because I don’t want to think about more than 20 rats living on the homestead. I’m hoping the rest got the message about Make’s mass execution, packed their bags and vacated the premises.
August 19, 2009- Delivering First Aid Kits: World Vision finally came through with four first aid kits for my NCP’s (Neighborhood Care Points). With a little help from an anonymous donor, I was able to buy more first aid supplies to add to the basic kits. Emily Thebo, a nurse from my clinic, and I visited the Mhlaba NCP today. I explained the contents of the kits and how to use each item; Emily translated what I said into siSwati, as well as elaborating each item’s use. I also assessed other needs of this particular NCP. They have been in operation for a year; MicroProjects helped them build the structure. However they have not been able to secure funding from their inter-council. Every chiefdom within the inkhunhla (group of chiefdoms) has an inter-council working to identify and solve problems in each community within that particular chiefdom. They are supposed to give aid to NCP’s. I’m not sure where the breakdown happened, so the boMake at this NCP were asking me for help with incoming generating projects, food, clothes, shoes, toys and teaching materials. I gave them ideas for food—start a garden to supplement the rations they receive —and for income generating projects—ask the Rural Development Association to teach them to make Vaseline. I told them to talk to their inter-council again since they are the ones responsible for supplying money for these kinds of projects. Emily and I offered to put a box at the clinic asking people to drop off unwanted items like clothes, shoes and toys. I also told them to ask for donations from their church members. I began looking for basic teaching materials through the Peace Corps office’s resources. My sister, Sharon, brought me kindergarten-level flash cards, and I will give each NCP a set. So far, no one has dropped off unwanted items at the clinic but it’s a new concept so I’m trying to be patient. If all else fails, I can apply for funds from Peace Corps. A new funding source has opened up that is specifically for aiding NCP’s. I’d rather the communities pulled together and helped each other because I won’t be here forever and I don’t want to add to the dependency they have on outside aid organizations.
August 24, 2009- Sharing Orange Marmalade: The really good jams in the store are too expensive for me to buy, and even if I had the extra money, I can only purchase them in Mbabane. So I made orange marmalade over the weekend. Having made extra entirely on accident, I shared a jar with Make. She asked me why I was sharing with her; I said because I wanted to. She thanked me profusely, kissing my hand, and uttering comments about how happy her daughter makes her. Then she said she was going to buy me a baboon to have for my very own; I could ride it anytime I wanted, and no one else would be able to ride it. A baboon?! I have no idea what that means or the implications of riding a baboon. I’m going to assume that it’s a grand gesture, and leave it at that.
August 28, 2009- 1 year in my hut: A year ago today I arrived at my permanent site with my belongings to an empty hut and an eerily silent homestead. I remember my abhorrence at the state of filth and amount of bugs around my room. Now only the really large spiders bother me. I remember after cleaning up what I could with a broom, I rolled out my yoga mat and took a nap, feeling unable to do much else. I still love naps, and take them when I can but not because I feel unable to do anything else. I just enjoy while I can. I remember making a list of all the things I thought I needed to establish my home. Now I try to get by on as little as possible. It’s quite possible, simply easy to accomplish and very satisfying.
I reread my blog entry from last year at this time; I was wondering what I’d gotten myself into, and why I came. I questioned myself for nine months. Clarity seems only to come after seeking patience and being open to receive the messages one needs to hear. I have a better understanding of why I came, even though some days it doesn’t make sense, and some days I feel I came for the wrong reasons. What I know for sure is that I’m glad I came. No regrets. I can honestly say I am happy, and I’ve been happy for several months. Yes, there are frustrations, and road blocks, and things that just do not make sense. And at times, I still feel like I’m on a rollercoaster of emotions for days on end. But I can only control my own actions, thoughts, and feelings. So I am the one who decides when to be happy. And I’ve decided it’s better to be happy with who I am today, and to do what I can with each day, whatever that may be. It’s better than the alternative.
The new volunteers took to their permanent sites today. There are seven Group 7’s in the Shiselweni region. Amen! We needed more bodies down south.
August 31, 2009- Umhlanga Dance: About half my group attended the Umhlanga or Reed Dance festival, an annual event held to honor coming-of-age maidens. In the eight-day ceremony, girls cut reeds and present them to the Queen Mother who uses the reeds to reinforce her traditional homestead; in recent times, it’s done more to honor ceremony. Only childless, unmarried, chaste girls may take part. The aims of the ceremony are to preserve girls’ chastity, provide tribute labor for the Queen Mother, and produce solidarity by working together. After presenting the reeds, the girls dance for two day. Traditionally, during the second day of dancing, the King chooses a wife among the dancers but he has not taken a wife since 2006. There was quite a bit on controversy after he took his wife in 2006. Apparently, the year before he put a law into place making it illegal for any man to take a wife under the age of 18. He temporarily lifted the law in order to take his wife in 2006; she was 16 at the time. Then he reinstated the law. Needless to say, there were many angry people, and his actions caught the attention of many overseas officials and newspapers.
My sisi, Zandele danced for the first time at the Royal Kraal. She usually dances at the Shiselweni regional Umhlanga which is held at the region’s kraal. I wanted to see her dance, but 80,000 girls were registered to dance and she was lost in the sea of color. Nonetheless, it’s an interesting event to witness. Girls of each chiefdom try to distinguish themselves from other chiefdoms by wearing similar regalia and dancing a little differently than the group before them. The girls are honored among the nation, their communities and families. It’s an immense compliment for them, and a memorable experience, I’m told.
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