Tuesday, July 27, 2010
June 2010
6 June 2010- My bus ride home: A man I’ve never seen before on my bus sat behind me today. He was an mkhulu, an old man, of at least 65. He was carrying a knob carry, a walking stick with a rounded end. When he saw me on the bus, he immediately wanted to talk me. He launched into the typical tirade of ‘you are beautiful’, ‘I love you’ and ‘will you marry me’ I so often hear. I laughed at first because sometimes that’s all you can do, and the easiest way to deflect unwanted attention. He was not so easily deterred. He continued saying how I would be lucky to marry him, he could satisfy me. I continued to chuckle. Then he got raunchy. He told me was a real man, a man capable of really loving me. “I love you quickly”, he said many times and I told him to stop talking to me. Then he pointed to his knob carry to indicate the size of his penis, again declaring how quickly and well he would love me. I asked him, nicely, several times to stop. I told he was being disrespectful. The others around me, mostly women, had been laughing since the exchange began. No one defended me as mkhulu continued to convince me what a man he was. Finally, I’d had enough. I scolded mkhulu, saying it was incredibly disrespectful to speak to a woman the way he was speaking to me. Then I scolded the women around me, saying it was not okay for a man to treat a woman the way he was treating me. I told them they needed to stand up for women who are being mistreated by men. They stopped laughing, looking at me with disbelief on their faces. One of the women did, however, tell mkhulu to stop talking to me, that he was being rude. He complied rather quickly, even apologizing for his behavior. I waved him away. I was too disgusted to respond. I turned me face to the window, put my headphones in my ears, put on my sunglasses and cried silently the rest of my ride home. It was the worst treatment I’d ever received from anyone, and I wasn’t sure how to reconcile it in my soul.
7 June 2010- My friend at the clinic: My friend Andile is a live wire. She’s always laughing, always telling jokes and teasing everyone, especially me. I’ve taken to calling her kuhlupa, or troublesome. She began as the expert client for MSF at my clinic; an expert clinic is one who’s positive, living a healthy life, and willing to share his/her experiences and tips on living healthy with other positive people. She recently moved up the ranks, taking a workshop several weeks ago to be a Pharmacy tech. She was quite proud of her achievements, and could hardly contain herself when she told me.
Today she was a different person. She was sullen, moving slowly between rooms, barely looking at anyone. At first all she would tell me is she wasn’t feeling well. I told her to sit by the heater and drink tea. We chatted about this and that, nothing really engaging. Finally she told me why she was so sick. She’d taken the remaining contents of her ARV bottle (anti-retroviral drugs), 43 pills—each constitute 3 different types of ARV’s in one pill. She was trying to overdose because her boyfriend beat her up the night before. She was trying to leave him since he’d invited his other two girlfriends to his house, and was insisting they all stay together. She told him to shove it, intending to leave his homestead and walk back to her mother’s place where she stays with her sisters, her three children and her sisters’ children. He wouldn’t let her leave; he beat her on her torso so bruises wouldn’t be easy to see. That night she took all her ARV’s, intending to take her life. Instead, the pills made her incredibly nauseas and achy all over. She came to work hoping the nurses would know how to help her. They called MSF; a car came around noon to take her to the MSF clinic in Nhlangano. They pumped her stomach. They started counseling, and insisted she come with one of her sisters every day for counseling and support. She restarted her ARV regime.
We rode together on the bus the following week; I was going to Baylor, she was going to counseling. I told her she was too important to too many people to let go of her life. I said her children needed a strong mother to look up to. I asked her to remain strong. She told me she left her boyfriend, and promised never to see him again. She said she realized how much her children would suffer if she weren’t around. And she loved her job with MSF; she wanted to warn others against what she did.
She was back to work a week later, back to her old tricks and with a radiant smile on her face. She had a new lease on life. She was telling everyone she was alive, and she intended to live. Every day since then, she greets me and then laughs, holding her heart saying, “I’m very happy today. My heart is very happy! I’m alive, sis Thadeka!”
“And you don’t stop. And you don’t quit.” –Michael Franti
10 June 2010- Visiting the NCP’s: During the month of May and throughout June my intension was to finish visiting my NCP’s. A few angels from back home sent me school supplies throughout the year and with the money I received from Holy Family I added to what friends and family sent me. I was able to take loads of school supplies to each of my NCP’s including coloring books, pencils, colors, pencil sharpeners, story books, flash cards, note paper, molding clay, colored pencils, water colors and paint brushes. I distributed the items to two NCP’s in May, and finished the third today. I took my counterpart with me today. The last time I went to the Mthombe NCP was in November, and I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the convoluted route. And last time we encounter some pretty fierce dogs; I didn’t want to cross that homestead alone.
This NCP is lucky to have a full-time preschool teacher, and she gladly accepted my hand painted posters of colors, shapes, numbers and songs as the NCP couldn’t afford pre-printed laminated posters. I taught a few lessons with her using the posters, and then I taught them a few songs. They loved the itsy bitsy spider, but had a hard time with the finger motions. They sang me a few songs, including an American Christmas carol which threw me for a minute. As the children ate their meal and my counterpart and I enjoyed tea and biscuits from the teacher, I couldn’t help but observe how happy the children seemed. The structure they were in had a dirt floor; the Council of Churches supported the construction of this new NCP and they were waiting for funds to buy more cement. The walls were finished but the window weren’t fully installed. And there was no electricity. Yet the children had real desks and chairs. They received a daily meal. And they had a teacher educated as a preschool teacher. They were learning. And they smiled. What more is there?
16 June 2010- Items Stolen from Building Materials: Eight of the twelve fascia boards were taken from the clinic grounds. I’m not exactly sure what they are, but I do know fascia boards are essential to finishing the roof. No one at the clinic, including the night watchman, was sure how long the boards were missing. But they waited a week to tell me about the theft, fearing my wrath. They involved local police, who were supposed to interview everyone involved. I’m not sure if that happened. The Clinic Committee assured me that they would find the thief and recover the boards. I shook my head yes, and inside I was thinking the idea of finding the boards was absurd. They are long gone, and so it the thief.
Funny enough, I wasn’t too upset when I found out. I should say, I was galled but this happening seemed like standard practice for Swaziland. I almost expected it.
19 June 2010- World Cup Soccer: I attended the New Zealand vs. Italy game with Jenn, Kathy—former PCV from the 80’s—and her daughter. It ended in a draw, one to one. The Italians fans, albeit passionate from beginning to end, were crestfallen their team didn’t win. The New Zealanders, aka Kiwis, were attending the game for only the second time in the history of World Cup play. Some of their players didn’t play on professional teams. They were ecstatic about the draw. We sat near the goal post in row five, close enough to see faces. The New Zealand victory dance after their first goal happened right in front of us. I am now a soccer fan. I’m not sure if it’s the World Cup fever, seeing a live game or finally understanding the rules of the game. Whatever it is, I got da feevah….and what a fun feevah it is!
25 June 2010- My (2nd to last) Official Function in my Community: I visited the Madulini NCP today. It’s a 20 minute walk through a forest and over a river from the siteshi (bus station). I didn’t mind. The weather was beautiful for a winter day. The sun was shining. The wind was mild. The air crisp. And the landscape spectacular. The forest is mostly evergreens, and seeing the bright green trees contrasting with the dirt-red paths and browning grass is wonderfully and strangely comforting. I noticed the change from summer to fall more prominently this year than last. It felt like a Midwest autumn. As I crossed the river and walked up the hill, forest gave way to gently rolling hills and grasses. Cattle were grazing in a nearby field. The grasses they ate, once close to shoulder height, were now barely coming to my knees.
My friend Jane, the main volunteer at this NCP, and her granddaughter were waiting for me near the entrance of the gate. They were resting on the ground, propped up against the wire fence surrounding the NCP. She was delighted to receive the rest of the school supplies, and I should her how to use each item. Then I gave her an article on how to build school desks and chairs from plastic water and soda bottles, as well as tin cans and aluminum cans. Since they don’t have chairs or tables for the children, she promised to start saving her rubbish and ask neighbors to do the same. Then I told her I was moving the Nhlangano. She didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t plead like so many others. She simply asked me to visit again before I go back to America, to bring her a few books because she loves to read before bed, and to leave her with a picture of me with her. She would put the last thing I say to her on a piece of paper above the picture and look at it daily. The only thing I could think to say to that was okay. And somehow I must manage to do just that. I’ve always been touched by Jane. She’s a rare positive deviant. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a hard worker for her family and her community. I wished so many times I lived closer to Madulini so I could visit her and the NCP more often.
I decided to walk home, a trip that took me close to three hours. But I didn’t mind. I knew it would be difficult to catch a bus, and I’ve always wanted to walk that road. The peaks in and around my community are quite impressive and I wanted to breath them in. Mostly I wanted time to reflect. As I walked I thought about the two years in my community. The people I met. The projects I tackled. The projects I didn’t tackle. The relationships I created and the relationships others created with me. I had a family and friends, and I believe I was as much apart of the community as any foreigner could possibly be after two years.
I felt a little low about being finished with things in my community, and at the same time I felt quite content. My proudest accomplishments were ones involving relationships, creating and working to sustain friendships. In my estimation, there is nothing more significant than connecting with another human being on a level that is pure and true.
26 June 2010- Umphakatsi Meeting: I intended to say good-bye to the inner-council at their meeting today. My counterpart told me two weeks in advance. Pretty good planning for Swaziland. I should have known it was too good to be true. The meeting never happened. By the time the Indvuna (liaison to chief) and Buchopo (liaison b/w inner-council & community) arrived I’d been waiting an hour and 30 minutes. They decided after another 30 minutes of waiting that not enough members were present to conduct a meeting so they postponed it. I asked my counterpart what I should do since I was leaving the community the following week; I wanted to follow protocol. He told Indvuna and Buchopo that I had news. He said I could address them, so I relayed my plans and departure date. Both were very surprised I was leaving. I reminded them my contract was for two years, as well as telling them I would visit frequently since I needed to finish the clinic housing. After several siyabonga kakhulu (thank you’s), they continued the conversation they were having before like I wasn’t there.
28 June 2010- Packing Up: Two years ago today, I arrived in country. Since then, it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, with many unexpected twists and turns. As I take letters, cards and pictures off my walls and pack them away, I think back two years ago when I was packing, preparing to leave family and friends for the unknown, exciting and anxiety producing adventure awaiting me with Peace Corps. I am transported there again as I pack; I’m leaving my Swazi family and friends for Pasture Valley where I’ll be joining a new family unit but with a completely different definition of family. This new adventure is somewhat unknown, anxiety-provoking and riddled with special challenges. What strikes me is how upsetting it is leaving my Swazi family; how similar it was to leaving my real family, and how I have a feeling of not wanting to go. Quite an unexpected turn of events! I’m struggling with how to reconcile all these feelings in a constructive way, so I may move forward and transition more smoothly than I did two years ago.
What I’ve learned since that first day in country is this: You can find family anywhere. New relationships may flourish if you make an effort with people willing to make an effort with you. Acquaintances are easy to come by; true friendship takes time and some toil, and with friends who will soon be old friends, it is also effortless.
30 June 2010: My Last Day in the Community: As usual, I went to the clinic this morning. When I got there everyone was abuzz, rushing to finish their clients on time. I assumed it was due to having tea break with me. I told a few people I was bringing treats to have with tea time. As it turns out, they had a braii planned for me. As soon as the last client had received his medication, the nurses were preparing the chicken and lipalishi and the ward clerk and registrar were sweeping and mopping the floors. Chicken pieces were loaded with seasonings and grilled outside on a braii stand. Nurse Phiri brought a cabbage salad and chocolate cake. Before we ate, she gave a speech of thanks that had me tearing up in seconds. It suddenly dawned on me that the clinic staff was my second family during my service. I told them they keep me here when I wanted to leave. When I first arrived, I started the joke, “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” in response to a question one of them asked me. We often used the phrase throughout my time here. I mentioned it again today, thanking them for making me laugh when I really wanted to cry.
I rushed home to my second party of the day. I promised to cook Nomy and Phindile lunch. They were impressed with the potato soup with avocado garnish, and mentally took down the recipe. Then we ate apple cake, drank tea and chatted about visiting each other in town. As Phindile stood to leave, she embraced me with a hug reminiscent of the hug my mom gave me when I left. I took my breath away. After I walked them to the gate, I went back to my house, sat in my camp chair and cried.
7 June 2010- My friend at the clinic: My friend Andile is a live wire. She’s always laughing, always telling jokes and teasing everyone, especially me. I’ve taken to calling her kuhlupa, or troublesome. She began as the expert client for MSF at my clinic; an expert clinic is one who’s positive, living a healthy life, and willing to share his/her experiences and tips on living healthy with other positive people. She recently moved up the ranks, taking a workshop several weeks ago to be a Pharmacy tech. She was quite proud of her achievements, and could hardly contain herself when she told me.
Today she was a different person. She was sullen, moving slowly between rooms, barely looking at anyone. At first all she would tell me is she wasn’t feeling well. I told her to sit by the heater and drink tea. We chatted about this and that, nothing really engaging. Finally she told me why she was so sick. She’d taken the remaining contents of her ARV bottle (anti-retroviral drugs), 43 pills—each constitute 3 different types of ARV’s in one pill. She was trying to overdose because her boyfriend beat her up the night before. She was trying to leave him since he’d invited his other two girlfriends to his house, and was insisting they all stay together. She told him to shove it, intending to leave his homestead and walk back to her mother’s place where she stays with her sisters, her three children and her sisters’ children. He wouldn’t let her leave; he beat her on her torso so bruises wouldn’t be easy to see. That night she took all her ARV’s, intending to take her life. Instead, the pills made her incredibly nauseas and achy all over. She came to work hoping the nurses would know how to help her. They called MSF; a car came around noon to take her to the MSF clinic in Nhlangano. They pumped her stomach. They started counseling, and insisted she come with one of her sisters every day for counseling and support. She restarted her ARV regime.
We rode together on the bus the following week; I was going to Baylor, she was going to counseling. I told her she was too important to too many people to let go of her life. I said her children needed a strong mother to look up to. I asked her to remain strong. She told me she left her boyfriend, and promised never to see him again. She said she realized how much her children would suffer if she weren’t around. And she loved her job with MSF; she wanted to warn others against what she did.
She was back to work a week later, back to her old tricks and with a radiant smile on her face. She had a new lease on life. She was telling everyone she was alive, and she intended to live. Every day since then, she greets me and then laughs, holding her heart saying, “I’m very happy today. My heart is very happy! I’m alive, sis Thadeka!”
“And you don’t stop. And you don’t quit.” –Michael Franti
10 June 2010- Visiting the NCP’s: During the month of May and throughout June my intension was to finish visiting my NCP’s. A few angels from back home sent me school supplies throughout the year and with the money I received from Holy Family I added to what friends and family sent me. I was able to take loads of school supplies to each of my NCP’s including coloring books, pencils, colors, pencil sharpeners, story books, flash cards, note paper, molding clay, colored pencils, water colors and paint brushes. I distributed the items to two NCP’s in May, and finished the third today. I took my counterpart with me today. The last time I went to the Mthombe NCP was in November, and I wasn’t sure if I’d remember the convoluted route. And last time we encounter some pretty fierce dogs; I didn’t want to cross that homestead alone.
This NCP is lucky to have a full-time preschool teacher, and she gladly accepted my hand painted posters of colors, shapes, numbers and songs as the NCP couldn’t afford pre-printed laminated posters. I taught a few lessons with her using the posters, and then I taught them a few songs. They loved the itsy bitsy spider, but had a hard time with the finger motions. They sang me a few songs, including an American Christmas carol which threw me for a minute. As the children ate their meal and my counterpart and I enjoyed tea and biscuits from the teacher, I couldn’t help but observe how happy the children seemed. The structure they were in had a dirt floor; the Council of Churches supported the construction of this new NCP and they were waiting for funds to buy more cement. The walls were finished but the window weren’t fully installed. And there was no electricity. Yet the children had real desks and chairs. They received a daily meal. And they had a teacher educated as a preschool teacher. They were learning. And they smiled. What more is there?
16 June 2010- Items Stolen from Building Materials: Eight of the twelve fascia boards were taken from the clinic grounds. I’m not exactly sure what they are, but I do know fascia boards are essential to finishing the roof. No one at the clinic, including the night watchman, was sure how long the boards were missing. But they waited a week to tell me about the theft, fearing my wrath. They involved local police, who were supposed to interview everyone involved. I’m not sure if that happened. The Clinic Committee assured me that they would find the thief and recover the boards. I shook my head yes, and inside I was thinking the idea of finding the boards was absurd. They are long gone, and so it the thief.
Funny enough, I wasn’t too upset when I found out. I should say, I was galled but this happening seemed like standard practice for Swaziland. I almost expected it.
19 June 2010- World Cup Soccer: I attended the New Zealand vs. Italy game with Jenn, Kathy—former PCV from the 80’s—and her daughter. It ended in a draw, one to one. The Italians fans, albeit passionate from beginning to end, were crestfallen their team didn’t win. The New Zealanders, aka Kiwis, were attending the game for only the second time in the history of World Cup play. Some of their players didn’t play on professional teams. They were ecstatic about the draw. We sat near the goal post in row five, close enough to see faces. The New Zealand victory dance after their first goal happened right in front of us. I am now a soccer fan. I’m not sure if it’s the World Cup fever, seeing a live game or finally understanding the rules of the game. Whatever it is, I got da feevah….and what a fun feevah it is!
25 June 2010- My (2nd to last) Official Function in my Community: I visited the Madulini NCP today. It’s a 20 minute walk through a forest and over a river from the siteshi (bus station). I didn’t mind. The weather was beautiful for a winter day. The sun was shining. The wind was mild. The air crisp. And the landscape spectacular. The forest is mostly evergreens, and seeing the bright green trees contrasting with the dirt-red paths and browning grass is wonderfully and strangely comforting. I noticed the change from summer to fall more prominently this year than last. It felt like a Midwest autumn. As I crossed the river and walked up the hill, forest gave way to gently rolling hills and grasses. Cattle were grazing in a nearby field. The grasses they ate, once close to shoulder height, were now barely coming to my knees.
My friend Jane, the main volunteer at this NCP, and her granddaughter were waiting for me near the entrance of the gate. They were resting on the ground, propped up against the wire fence surrounding the NCP. She was delighted to receive the rest of the school supplies, and I should her how to use each item. Then I gave her an article on how to build school desks and chairs from plastic water and soda bottles, as well as tin cans and aluminum cans. Since they don’t have chairs or tables for the children, she promised to start saving her rubbish and ask neighbors to do the same. Then I told her I was moving the Nhlangano. She didn’t want me to leave, but didn’t plead like so many others. She simply asked me to visit again before I go back to America, to bring her a few books because she loves to read before bed, and to leave her with a picture of me with her. She would put the last thing I say to her on a piece of paper above the picture and look at it daily. The only thing I could think to say to that was okay. And somehow I must manage to do just that. I’ve always been touched by Jane. She’s a rare positive deviant. She’s not afraid to speak her mind. She’s a hard worker for her family and her community. I wished so many times I lived closer to Madulini so I could visit her and the NCP more often.
I decided to walk home, a trip that took me close to three hours. But I didn’t mind. I knew it would be difficult to catch a bus, and I’ve always wanted to walk that road. The peaks in and around my community are quite impressive and I wanted to breath them in. Mostly I wanted time to reflect. As I walked I thought about the two years in my community. The people I met. The projects I tackled. The projects I didn’t tackle. The relationships I created and the relationships others created with me. I had a family and friends, and I believe I was as much apart of the community as any foreigner could possibly be after two years.
I felt a little low about being finished with things in my community, and at the same time I felt quite content. My proudest accomplishments were ones involving relationships, creating and working to sustain friendships. In my estimation, there is nothing more significant than connecting with another human being on a level that is pure and true.
26 June 2010- Umphakatsi Meeting: I intended to say good-bye to the inner-council at their meeting today. My counterpart told me two weeks in advance. Pretty good planning for Swaziland. I should have known it was too good to be true. The meeting never happened. By the time the Indvuna (liaison to chief) and Buchopo (liaison b/w inner-council & community) arrived I’d been waiting an hour and 30 minutes. They decided after another 30 minutes of waiting that not enough members were present to conduct a meeting so they postponed it. I asked my counterpart what I should do since I was leaving the community the following week; I wanted to follow protocol. He told Indvuna and Buchopo that I had news. He said I could address them, so I relayed my plans and departure date. Both were very surprised I was leaving. I reminded them my contract was for two years, as well as telling them I would visit frequently since I needed to finish the clinic housing. After several siyabonga kakhulu (thank you’s), they continued the conversation they were having before like I wasn’t there.
28 June 2010- Packing Up: Two years ago today, I arrived in country. Since then, it’s been one hell of a rollercoaster ride, with many unexpected twists and turns. As I take letters, cards and pictures off my walls and pack them away, I think back two years ago when I was packing, preparing to leave family and friends for the unknown, exciting and anxiety producing adventure awaiting me with Peace Corps. I am transported there again as I pack; I’m leaving my Swazi family and friends for Pasture Valley where I’ll be joining a new family unit but with a completely different definition of family. This new adventure is somewhat unknown, anxiety-provoking and riddled with special challenges. What strikes me is how upsetting it is leaving my Swazi family; how similar it was to leaving my real family, and how I have a feeling of not wanting to go. Quite an unexpected turn of events! I’m struggling with how to reconcile all these feelings in a constructive way, so I may move forward and transition more smoothly than I did two years ago.
What I’ve learned since that first day in country is this: You can find family anywhere. New relationships may flourish if you make an effort with people willing to make an effort with you. Acquaintances are easy to come by; true friendship takes time and some toil, and with friends who will soon be old friends, it is also effortless.
30 June 2010: My Last Day in the Community: As usual, I went to the clinic this morning. When I got there everyone was abuzz, rushing to finish their clients on time. I assumed it was due to having tea break with me. I told a few people I was bringing treats to have with tea time. As it turns out, they had a braii planned for me. As soon as the last client had received his medication, the nurses were preparing the chicken and lipalishi and the ward clerk and registrar were sweeping and mopping the floors. Chicken pieces were loaded with seasonings and grilled outside on a braii stand. Nurse Phiri brought a cabbage salad and chocolate cake. Before we ate, she gave a speech of thanks that had me tearing up in seconds. It suddenly dawned on me that the clinic staff was my second family during my service. I told them they keep me here when I wanted to leave. When I first arrived, I started the joke, “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry” in response to a question one of them asked me. We often used the phrase throughout my time here. I mentioned it again today, thanking them for making me laugh when I really wanted to cry.
I rushed home to my second party of the day. I promised to cook Nomy and Phindile lunch. They were impressed with the potato soup with avocado garnish, and mentally took down the recipe. Then we ate apple cake, drank tea and chatted about visiting each other in town. As Phindile stood to leave, she embraced me with a hug reminiscent of the hug my mom gave me when I left. I took my breath away. After I walked them to the gate, I went back to my house, sat in my camp chair and cried.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
May happenings
1 May 2010- A very important piece of information: I neglected to tell you a very exciting development in my life. It happened last month. When I returned from the COS conference there was a change on my homestead. A water tap! What does that mean? It means underground pipes from the main tap were connected to the ones running to my homestead. It means I no longer have to take the wheelbarrow and two 25-liter jugs to the water tap near the store to fetch water (a ten minute walk). I merely walk 20 feet to fill my kettle or one 25-liter jug and happily walk 20 feet back to my hut. Make’s son, who’s been staying with us since February, reconnected the pipes. And I’ve been in heaven since. I did joke with them that now I would need to find an exercise as good as for my arms as hauling two full 25 liter jugs once a week. But I’m not complaining very loudly! (Update: 10 June- water tap isn’t working at home. The river is running low, so water running to the main tap near the sitolo is running slowly. Hence, water is not making it to the homestead. Water is such a problem here, and I wish I knew the solution.)
3 May 2010- Adoption Woes: My PC Admin Officer and her husband are in the process of adopting a 3 year old girl name Siphelile; they took custody of her shortly before Christmas. They are doing a local adoption since International adoptions are currently suspended due to possible human trafficking violations. The Ministry was ordered (by the UN, I believe but don’t quote me) to restructure their processes for adoption if they wanted to reopen International adoptions. A local adoption means the adoptees are currently living in Swaziland and plan to stay one to two years after the adoption is official to ensure legalization of the process: one year if you plan to pay an adoption agency in the US to process paperwork on the US side to make the adoption legal there; and two years if you don’t want to pay the fees—after two years of custody in the child’s country of origin, the US will recognize adoptees as legal guardians and the only fees you pay are for passport processing. I’ve been following their struggle, talking to Nicole often about the crazy road of adopting and the hoops they had to jump because I was also considering adopting a little girl. She lives at Pasture Valley, the children’s home where I’ve been volunteering. Her name is Buhle, which means beautiful. Her mother was young when she became pregnant, 17 I think. Believing Buhle was a mistake, the mother neglected her for the better part of 2 years, sometimes feeding her sleeping pills so she’d sleep for days and days. Since I began volunteering at Pasture Valley in August, I’ve felt a connection to Buhle, one I didn’t feel I could ignore.
And so I contemplated the idea at length before talking to my Admin Officer or Michelle and Peter, the owners of Pasture Valley. The first step was determining her HIV status. We took her to the Baylor clinic were I volunteer. She’s negative. Unfortunately, that’s where I stopped. Local adoptions have just recently been suspended; the Ministry decided to restructure both local and International adoption processes at the same time. Because of this, I’m not allowed to begin any paperwork while the processes are being reorganized. There is no indication as to when adoption processes, local or international, will be sorted out, and chances of it being a quick process is not likely.
I guess I’m thankful for the chance to examine my feelings about adoption and the possibility of taking care of a child on my own. I know that I’m capable, and it’s good to know that one is able. I must confess, though, I’m a bit crestfallen. Nonetheless, things happen the way they need to happen. So I am grateful to the universe for its answer.
10 May 2010- My adoring fan says: A young guy was trying to get my attention today. Here’s what he said: Hey Obama! Hey Obama! Hey Obama! (Pause) Hey Barak! Hey Barack! (Pause) Hey Miss… Miss America! After chatting me up, asking who I was and what I was doing here, he parted by saying, “Could I have E2? I said, “No. “Okay, well I love you.”
It’s possible to hear this or something quite similar several times a week. Could I have money? No. Well, I love you anyway.
12 May 2010- Spitting Cobra: I was visiting my friend Phindile this afternoon. On my way home, I noticed my neighbor Babe Sibandze throwing rocks at something on the road; others lingered slightly away while Babe’s dogs yelped and ran around fitfully. I know this Babe well, and I couldn’t help but think he’d jumped off the deep end—throwing rocks at nothing. Approaching the scene, I noticed the dead animal he was stoning. And I wondered again, what’s his deal?—throwing rocks at something already dead. But then I took a closer look. He was killing a snake. I greeted Babe Sibandze, and wondered in amazement at his killing abilities; the snake had a gapping hole in its middle. I asked what kind it was. He said the kind that, and then using his fingers as tongues at his mouth, made a spitting motion with his fingers. Then he pointed at both of his eyes to indicate they spit in your eyes to blind you. I said, “How?!” which is the expression used to indicate surprise, shock or amazement. I looked a little closer, wishing I’d had my camera. The snake was a silvery grey and its head was small. So I’m not sure if it was a spitting cobra because I couldn’t see the telltale sign of a cobra—it’s hood. Either way, the snake looked menacing, even dead. I’m glad Babe Sibandze was on the road ahead of me and that I left Phindile’s house 5 minutes later than I planned.
14 May – 16 May, 2010- Getting robbed and eating zebra: The cabin that I will be moving to in July was vandalized. The day started with Justine and I teaching crafts at Pasture Valley; once the sun began to set, we decided to make our way to the cabin for the evening. While walking from the orphanage to the cabin, we heard noises in the forest. Neither of us thought anything about it; mostly likely a cow or dogs. The door was harder to unlock than normal; I couldn’t get the key to turn. Justine tried and the door popped open. Once inside, I sensed something strange, out of the ordinary, had happened. There were blankets haphazardly strewn outside one of the bedroom. I said to Justine, “This is strange. Something’s not right here. It seems as if someone was trying to rob us but left in a big hurry. Or maybe the children came to get some of our bedding to wash. But why would they leave things like this?” I was half-joking, but then we noticed all the blankets had been taken off both beds, including the ones we bought in Lesotho. Bizarre. That’s when we noticed all the cupboard doors in the kitchen were open, and matches were scattered all over the kitchen. I’m not sure why we gravitated toward the door, but we checked it. The lock had been jammed into the locking area, which is why I couldn’t unlock it. Justine and I starred out each other, thinking the same thing: we’d been robbed, and they must have come near dark, using matches to see. We heard more noise in the forest; they were still out there! Justine called Peter and Michelle; I called our Safety & Security Officer. While Michelle called the police, Peter searched the forest and their roads with the help of a neighbor. Peter scared the perpetrators with gun fire into the air; we heard them running away, and saw flashlights cutting through the trees. Alas they were never found. The police came about 2 hours later to take our statements. The chief came into the cabin with his semi-automatic machine gun, towering over both of us as if we were children. He set his gun on the couch, looked briefly into the rooms, ordered his deputies to take statements, and then walked outside to talk to the children and one housemother who came to observe the drama. The officer taking Justine’s statement flirted with her the entire time, saying she was of marrying age so why wasn’t she married. Mine didn’t; he must have either been very professional, or judging by my age, thought I was too old or already married. They commented on the cake on the dining table, so we gave them the last slice. Justine sat on the couch while they finished writing, forgetting the gun was there. Suddenly realizing it was there, she looked at it, mouth gaping, and then turned to me and mouthed ‘oh my God!” I mouthed, ‘I want a picture of you next to the gun!” and tried to not laugh at the madness of the situation we found ourselves in. If only a picture were possible. As they started to leave, they gave us their numbers in case we needed to call again. I asked if they wanted to take their machine gun with them once they reached the porch. They laughed, saying they were about to forget it. I told them I would keep it if I knew how to use it. They laughed again. Justine and I slept in the same room that night and the following night. We tied the front door shut with plastic Spar bags, and locked our bedroom door. Neither of us had a peaceful sleep; every noise seemed to wake us. The following morning, our Safety and Security Officer visited to take our statement as well as pictures of the damage. We promised to begin using the padlock on the burglar door.
Thinking about it now, weeks later, I can admit I was scared the first night, freaked out that a group of inconsiderate people violated my space. Then I was angry, ready to kick some burglar arse for coming into my space. My anger subsided quickly, though. I realize it was a crime of necessity. They took blankets to keep warm. Perhaps they would have used them to wrap other items in to make a quick get-away and maybe that’s why they were on their way back to the cabin that night. I am still upset about my blanket since it was my beautiful maize-themed Lesotho blanket. But what can I do? Mostly I feel I need to remain confidence in my ability to handle myself, stay aware of my surroundings and lock the burglar door every time I leave.
They rest of the weekend consisted of teaching more crafts, attending my friend Phindile’s graduation party and having Sunday lunch with Michelle, Peter, and their church friends. Peter grilled zebra and nyala (like an antelope), a gift from Michelle’s cousin that runs a game reserve in SA. It was my first time eating either. Zebra, I must confess, is quite good. I helped myself to a second piece.
19 May 2010- Conversation with my Sisi: Make thinks my bosisi are having sex. Apparently a neighbor saw a boy visiting over the Christmas holidays when Make was visiting Babe and I was in Cape Town. Make was livid. But I cannot figure out whether she is more upset about them possibly having had sex or that they are possibly having sex in her house. She doesn’t believe their side of the story, so I thought I would have a little chat with each about boyfriends and sexual activity. Sexual debut happens at an unbelievably young age for girls, sometimes as young as twelve. Most girls are forced into it; in other words they are raped or the man/boy convinces them it will be beneficial since the will receive money or gifts. They are told they will be “taken care of.” I wanted to make sure nothing like that was happening. Plus, a chance of the girls using condoms is unlikely, so I wanted to assess the situation in that area too. Zandele was adamant that she didn’t have a boyfriend. Nomdumiso insisted it was all a misunderstanding. The boy who visited was a friend of Machawe. She said she was too young to have a boyfriend. I asked that she tell me when she is serious about a boy, because then we needed to chat about being safe. She promised. I want to believe her. I think she’s quite a flirt. But I really want to believe her and Zandele haven’t had sex. I just know they wouldn’t use condoms if they were having sex; people don’t use condoms here no matter how much literature is thrown their way. And without condom use or proper condom use, they would face with either pregnancy or HIV or perhaps both. I don’t wish those circumstances on either sisi or any young girl. It’s the way I feel about my nieces; I want them to be young and untainted for as long as possible.
20 May 2010- Gauging my Ears: In November I bought an earring a size larger than a normal post in order to begin gauging my second earring hole. I want to take something physical from Swazi culture with me back to America. Victoria is also gauging her ears, and gave me plugs she can no longer use. So I have a plug in one earring hole and the size larger post in the other, which I need to replace with a plug soon. I plan to get a larger plug or spiral earring to replace the first plug when I go to Nelspruit in a few weeks. I’ll be there to watch the New Zealand vs. Italy World Cup Soccer game. Are you jealous?!
25 May – 30 May 2010- Preparing for Bushfire and Bushfire 2010: The Bambanani Project, an income-generating project I began working with in March, sold products at Bushfire 2010. Bushfire is a 3-day music festival held at House on Fire; this is the third year. Not only a music festival and international arts festival, it’s also a fundraising event. Proceeds from the event go to Young Heroes, an NGO that pays school fees and buys school uniforms for orphaned children in Swaziland. Justine, Michelle and I have been working with the boMake and boBabe group at Dwaleni to make recycled jewelry; namely paper beads that we string into necklaces or earrings. We’ve also been teaching the girls at the children’s home to make the necklaces and earrings as well as sewing handbags. We sold necklaces and earrings by the girls and boMake & boBabe, handbags and canned preserves made by the older girls, and cards made by the younger children. Considering this was our first debut, we did well. We didn’t make enough to recoup expenses but we made many contacts and got good ideas from other marketers, as well as positive feedback from buyers. I was quite stressed about the event; I wanted to participate and show off my group’s hard work. But I didn’t anticipate the amount of time and work that would go into getting ready for such an event. However we pulled it off, and with a nicely displayed booth of products too.
This same weekend, 11 volunteers from my groups said good-bye; they COS’ed or closed their service. This weekend was the last time Group 6 would be together in Swaziland. We danced and sang to the Parlitones on Friday night and to Freshly Ground Saturday night. Then we hugged and I said, “See you later” but not good-bye as I will be seeing those precious faces again, some time soon.
31 May 2010- Celebrity Sighting: I met Chris Lowell, the actor who places Dell Parker on Private Practice at Bushfire. He said he was there visiting a friend. He also told me he’d just finished jamming with his band, Two Shots for Poe. I didn’t believe it was him at first. I asked him if people think he looks like Dell from Private Practice, and he said, “Well, I am that character. We just finished shooting session three.” I still wasn’t sure if I could believe him; after all, I can be pretty gullible. But I asked to take a picture with him anyway, just in case. Turns out, the Mozambican PCVs that were dancing with him confirmed that it was indeed ‘Dell’ from Private Practice. Lucky for me, I had my camera. And I have a picture.
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
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