Graduation!

The preschool I work with held its graduation yesterday (that's right: yesterday. CURRENT INFORMATION!). Preschool graduations are a big ol' affair here. The two I attended last year went on for five or six hours. I was worried that mine would be no different. Have you ever sat through five hours of a preschool graduation in a language you don't speak? It can be a bit exhausting. They typically include lots of dancing, speeches and costume changes. Last year, one of the preschools hosted a motivational speaker from Kenya. KENYA.

As luck would have it, my preschool is awesome. Our graduation started only an hour late -- which is pretty impressive for the way things can roll here -- and was finished in a tight two-and-a-half. I shot a few photos with my phone. The girls and boys both did traditional dances. The iPhone shutter speed isn't quite good enough to get the high kicks. But here you are. AND I took a photo of the food because it was delicious and I never post food photos. I was a VIP (and spoke briefly, and handed out diplomas), which meant I got a piece of fried chicken! It was very exciting.

So now the kiddos have graduated, and they'll be off to primary school next year. Milestones, y'all.

Photos!

Here are some photos I've been meaning to upload! This is the support group working on its garden compost pile. We're searching for worms here.

Now we are depositing the worms into the compost pile. (Thanks to Jack for shooting these; I have almost no photos of me working.)

 This is the sunset over the inland salt lake at St. Lucia.

Here is a make (mother/woman) dancing at a celebration at my homestead.

Jack and I went for a walk near his place and found this interesting burned-out old building. This is an atypical structure for rural Swaziland.

My friend Emma and me! I just found this and wanted to post it because she's already back in the U.S., and I miss her.

More photos from the burned-out house ...

Life chugs along. We just had our Peace Corps Thanksgiving celebration, which our country director graciously hosted. Volunteers and staff members cooked for two days before the celebration. In addition to the traditional stuff, it included impala, which was fun. The night before, Jack and I had our Thanksgiving at his place (he wasn't available to come to the PC celebration). We cooked turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, stuffing, mac n cheese, green bean casserole, salad, and apple and chocolate-chip pie. I made the pie crusts from scratch, because that's how I roll. And also because you can't buy ready-made pie crust in the SWZ because no one eats pie.

We shared our dinner with his boss/landlord and her family, as well as a friend of ours. It was a pleasure to explain an American holiday to South Africans and to let them experience and enjoy our traditions. 

It was delicious. In the spirit of the holiday, I'm thankful for how smoothly things have gone for us. My Peace Corps service has its definite ups and downs, but Jack has been able to enter the workforce successfully and create a life of his own in another part of the country. We couldn't have asked for a better situation. Swaziland is a lot easier than other posts in terms of creature comforts and the contact volunteers have with one another. Transport is relatively easy (most of the time), and safety is less of an issue here than at other posts. We are certainly lucky.

---

We'll be spending this New Year's on the beaches of Mozambique, so I plan to have scores of photos from that. I will probably be able to share four or five of these with you here. You're welcome.

Keep fighting the good fight, all, and happy holidays from the Southern Hemisphere!

My friend

Sanibonani.

I’ve been experiencing weird times of late. I haven’t exactly been busy with “work” – a trend that probably will continue into the Christmas season – but life has thrown a few curve balls. One of my closest friends and work partners has been extremely ill. I went to visit her with a volunteer buddy, Walker, and she was almost too weak to get out of bed. She wasn’t too weak to tell us stories, however.

She described how some Swazi women have husbands who invite their mistresses into the family home.

“The women, they must cook for their husband and his girlfriend and even bring them the food,” my friend told me. “Even (someone we know) must cook for her husband and his girlfriend and then she must go sleep in the kitchen while they are in bed together.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “What about you? What about your husband?”

“He had a woman he wanted to have sex with. I would not let them have sex here. Then they went to her home to do it. So I got some matches and some paraffin and went there. I told them I would burn their house down. My husband came home.”

“Wow,” I said, laughing. “You are tough!”

“A Swazi woman must be tough, or her husband will have 10 wives.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon talking and laughing together, and we visited her father-in-law to say hello. When we left, she seemed to be in pretty good spirits.

Over the next few days, her condition worsened. I went to see her again. She had just been to see a sangoma, or traditional healer. The healer had treated her by making an incision in her chest and holding a cow horn up to it. He had pulled something from the horn that he said came from her chest.

“It looked like a piece of meat covered in hair,” she said.

Before they had visited the healer, she and her sister had held the Bible to the sick woman’s face and let it fall open. The verse spoke of vanquishing one’s enemies and surviving.

That day, she was feeling much better. She could even eat a bit – wheat cereal with milk. But she was lean. We sat on the brown overstuffed furniture in her living room, and I looked at the 8-by-11 photo of her on the shelf over the TV.

“Look at me, Nonhlanhla, I was so fit!” she said. “Now a man, he told me I am all bones.”

I left after several hours that Thursday. The next Monday, we sent messages back and forth. She had gone to her mother’s home across the country.

“Unjani?” I asked her how she was.

“Ngiyafa.” I am dying.

I stood at my window, staring at that message, unsure how to reply. She told me to call her a few hours later. When we spoke, she seemed to be saying goodbye.

“I am in grave condition,” she said. I asked whether she was going to the hospital later that day, and she said she was. I told her I hoped they would be able to help her.

“My brother, he will give you your camera.” She had borrowed my point-and-shoot.

“Sisi, that’s not important right now. I hope you feel better.”

It was difficult to hear her. Twenty minutes after the call, I called her back.

“I just want to let you know that you have been a great friend to me here.”

I couldn’t hear her response. I wondered if this would be the last time I’d speak to her. How was I supposed to process that? This woman is a few months younger than me, and she was lying among her family members, awaiting death. The tears came. There was nothing to do but wait. I wondered whether anyone would call me if – when – she died.

The next day I was in town. I messaged her in the morning, and I received no response. Was that it? After my meeting, I called her. My heart was pounding. She answered on the sixth ring.

“Sawubona, sisi, unjani?”

“Kuncono.” Better. She was doing better.

By that weekend, she was with her husband (who works in South Africa) and planning to come back home. As she had told me when she first fell ill: “I’m a fighter.” I’m so glad she is.

Tears in the Kingdom

Sanibonani!

I realize I've tapered off considerably in the blogosphere, which is basically a crime against humanity. But it's probably because my life here has become "normal." Everything that seemed interesting at the beginning is a lot less interesting now. So, like many people in the early 2000s, I've put my blog in the back seat.

The difference between me now and 20-something me is that my blog still might be interesting to its readers. Therefore, I'm going to try to do a better job of feeding it.

My conversations at support group often come back to gender roles, as you might have noticed. We often contrast the life of a Swazi woman with the life of an American woman. Whether it's them mocking me because I don't cook meat at home ("Nonhlanhla, you are lazy to cook!") or me telling them I couldn't marry a Swazi man because I don't like to work so hard ("These Swazi women, they are strong!"), a lot of our conversations get at the heart of the women's issues that interest me in public health.

We recently discussed the "teka" concept, or traditional Swazi marriage rites. Stop me if I've already written about this -- oh, you can't? Then here we go.

When a Swazi man wants to marry a Swazi woman, he typically gets approval from his family and the bride's family. Then he has someone (usually a neighborhood boy or relative) throw a hunk of meat on the doorstep of the woman's family. This is an indication that the marriage is on.

The next step is for the man's relatives to come to the bride-to-be at 3 a.m. and take her to their homestead. They put her in the kraal, where cattle are kept, where she remains, topless. The women of her future husband's family then insult her until she cries. I think I've discussed this before. But I'd never figured out why the woman must cry before she's officially married. I asked the support group women, and this is what one said:

"The woman must cry because it is her last chance. After that, her life will be hard, but she cannot cry about it."

That was fascinating. I'm not sure if it's the agreed-upon cultural reason -- I've also heard that she's crying because she's leaving her own family -- but the women said the tears are a sign of a challenging life to come. It's true that women bear the brunt of the work in terms of cleaning, cooking, raising the children and working the fields. The men work as well, some of them extremely hard, but the gender roles are clearly defined.

I've been here 16 months and haven't seen a Swazi adult cry. I haven't been present at any births or funerals, so I can't speak to those, but I've never seen anyone break down at the clinic or when speaking to me about a problem. It's a generalization, of course, but Swazis don't tend to show a lot of emotion in public. That's fair -- I don't either.

I asked the women if they ever cry.

"I cry every day," several said.

They asked me if I ever cried. I told them I'm not a big crier. I've cried twice in Swaziland, I think. Once was because of the loss of a loved one back home, and the other was related to personal stuff over here. But I didn't cry during the stressful adjustment period when I first got here. I'm not sure where that comes from. I'll cry at movies sometimes, and I tend to tear up at weddings, but it's not my go-to emotional response. Maybe I fit in better than I think I do.

As they tell me all the time here: "Ah! Now you are a Swazi."

Quick hits

Here are my parents and me with some of my favorite Swazi ladies in the support group with which I work. I see these women at least once a week. They're also helping me in my new plan to become fluent in SiSwati. Ngiyafundza kakhulu! (I'm studying/learning a lot!) I figure this might be a benefit if I'm applying at any agencies that work in southern Africa. Since SiSwati is a Bantu language, it belongs to a larger language family. This makes SiSwati useful outside the borders of this little country. It also gives me something to do since my work at the elementary school and the clinic occurs in fits and starts.

Mama T meets some of the preschoolers. These children attend preschool at the Neighborhood Care Point, the building behind her. Many of them are classified as orphans and vulnerable children. The women in the support group do a lot for these kids.

I am the worst

Sanibonani, bangani bami!
That means hello, my friends!

I'm embarrassed by my lack of blogging lately. You'd think I wasn't doing anything when, in reality, I am doing many of the things. Not all the things, but many.

Deep breath, aaaaaaaaaaaand, here we go:

My primary focus continues to be the women’s support group with which I work in community. I’m now in the process of working with them to try to coordinate permaculture (sustainable gardening) training. We’re being stymied by the government shutdown because we’ll probably need a grant from Peace Corps. The Washington grant office is furloughed, as I understand it, so we can prepare the documents but won’t get an answer until sometime after the shutdown ends.

In the meantime, I’ve worked with them to teach them how to make paper charcoal. It requires paper and water, which aren’t necessarily easy inputs to come by in my dry neck of the woods. They could eventually sell the charcoal if they’re able to get paper donated by local schools. I’m confident that it could bring in at least a little bit of income. We've also built a natural barrier fence for the garden using acacia thorn branches. I've got the scrapes to show it. These women are tough as nails, if you'll forgive the cliche. I know you will. You're on my team.

I continue to get great pleasure from hanging out with these women and talking about life. We had a long discussion about "blue movies" (pornos) the other day. They were under the impression that women went in with their husbands or boyfriends to act in the movies. I explained that, no, these are actors who might never have met each other before. The upshot: Now they've all heard of California, and I've assured them that I won't be getting into the blue movie industry upon my return.

I'm also in discussions with the primary school about improving their library. It's a storage closet right now, full of used workbooks and wasps nests. The challenge is that the school must raise E1,500 (about $150) to transport the books, and they must find a way to get the books to the school from town. The head teacher is going to discuss the possibility with the school committee. I'd love to see these children have access to books (the program is called Books For Africa if you want to get involved) besides what they're getting in class. There are some UNICEF-produced books around, and they've been immensely popular.

Some other volunteers have decided to organize a national spelling bee. I hope to get a spelling club started at the primary school to feed into that. Y'all might know that I do love me some spelling.

I might try to get an event together for World AIDS Day (Dec. 1) at my local clinic, but it's going to depend on how much buy-in there is from community counterparts. There isn't much time to put it all together.

I also ran a half-marathon on Sept. 28! I'd been training for it since about June, though I was nervous because of some hip flexor pain. Still, I finished unscathed and haven't had aches and pains related to it. We lucked out with a cloudy, cool day with no rain. The weather could not have been better. My goal was to finish the race in less than 3 hours and to run the entire time. I did it! I think my time was 2:37:05. Mission accomplished, and I might never do that again. Jack did the 5K and finished strong as well.

In other news, I've been allowing myself to get stressed out about my future in the job market. This could be related to the grace period on my student loans coming to an end. Eithe

NOW on to some photos!

A man in a nearby community uses donkeys to haul firewood home.

I made this condom distribution box for my local shop. It's from a wine box. Perfect size! 

Jack and me after our running victory.

I did it! And also I have a medal! Greatest day ever! Not really, but I was surprised that I didn't hate everything by the time I was finished. And I repped the Rams and the StL, which is never a bad thing.

 Me with Mama and Papa T at the Mountain Inn near Mbabane. I love getting to stay at this hotel.

Mantenga Falls! This was something else we saw with my parents. It's near the lovely cultural village.

Elections were in September. This is a wall at the entrance to my clinic. This was mostly how people campaigned. See, America? You can do it on the cheap!

This lovely purple tree is in Malkerns in central Swaziland. We saw it when we stayed at Malandela's, an excellent B&B, for Jack's birthday last month. I think it's a jacaranda?

These are most of the other PCVs who ran the half-marathon (pre-race). The three around me finished in less than 2 hours because they are robots.

This lovely view is the sunset from the porch to Jack's place. Beautiful? Beautiful. This country is gorgeous.

Photos of animals AND people!

(This is a post I put together on Sept. 11 and was unable to publish till now.)

Photos! From the top: Elephants blocking the way for cars on our way out of Kruger National Park. Dad and me nerded up for ziplining at Malolotja in Swaziland. A Cape buffalo with bird friends eating the junk off its face at Notten's. Jack and me riding high in the backseat on one of our chilly game drives. Below: Mom and Dad in the Land Rover on our first drive.

Writing a letter to me

On Aug. 22 of last year, Peace Corps had me write a letter to myself. They planned to return that letter to me in a year's time. Here, my friends, is the content of that letter:

"Hey, future Blythe,

I hope you have left your hut every day since you moved in. Keep in mind that you're here to DO SOMETHING but that you won't always know or see what you've done. I bet you've read 50 books by now, at least. Remember that you wanted to keep reading public health journal articles? How's that working out for you? No time like the present to start, am I right?

Give my best to Jack. Remember that he's here for you -- he rearranged his whole life around your plans. That's pretty special.

Think of who your friends are. Who's your best friend in (your village)? How did you meet him or her? What goals do you still have that you haven't met?

Keep in mind that 20 years from now, you won't remember the days you spent alone in your hut. You'll remember the days you spent out and about in (your village), meeting people and working with them. I hope the clinic staff is supportive, and I hope you've been able to work with the schools.

When you're having a hard time, remember "A League of Their Own": "It's supposed to be hard. If it were easy, everyone would do it." That is 100 percent true of Peace Corps. One hundred percent.

Keep fighting the good fight, girl.

XO,
B"

This letter made me smile. A lot of volunteers said their letters made them sad or disappointed. Many had listed accomplishments they'd hoped to achieve by the time a year came to pass. I don't think I had any special insight at the time, but I remember trying to keep in mind the advice I received about expectations: Try to avoid having any. A year in, I can name my best friend in town and how I met her. The clinic staff HAS been supportive. It IS awesome that Jack's here. And, yes, I've slacked off in reading public health journal articles.

Do I know myself, or what?

I will note that my "A League of Their Own" quote is slightly off, but I was working from memory. Sue me.

That said, I think the letter was all right. And I suppose it's even better that it didn't make me feel like a schlub -- at least not any more than usual.

---

It's come to my attention that maybe I should write a bit more about my parents' visit.

Highlights:

- They stayed at a hotel near the Joburg airport and had no problems (aside from an expected wake-up call that never came). No one was kidnapped or stabbed. Success from the beginning! AND they had to leave their luggage at the aiport overnight, and it was safe! No one could believe that. H/T to Delta on that one, I think.

- We stayed at a place called Notten's Bush Camp outside Kruger in the Sabi Sand Reserve. It's not *technically* Kruger, but it had come highly recommended. It was expensive but worth it. The food was absolutely amazing, and the staff was top-notch. The overall experience was just incredible. It doesn't hurt that all drinks were included. First and only time I'll see Papa T with a fancy Scotch? Only time will tell.

- The place we stayed in St. Lucia, Parker Cottages, also was amazing. We knew this from experience. It's run by a fantastic guy, and every room they have is lovely. Totally recommend it if you ever find your way to the eastern coast of South Africa.

- On my homestead, Babe again went through a couple of costume changes to show the fam different traditional Swazi apparel. He and my parents were able to talk cows and corn. We shot a lot of photos, and my parents were able to see how I live. I think they walked away feeling more comfortable about my safety.

- We went to the Swazi cultural village, which was a real hit. Jack was called up to learn the dance with the ladies, which was awesome. Mama T has threatened to send the footage to the KU alumni magazine. I, of course, fully support this plan.

I wouldn't say there were any lowlights, if that's a thing, but I did almost get charged by a warthog. It was outside my parents' room at Notten's, and I was trying to sneak around it to call them to come outside and look. The hog knew I was there the whole time. This was apparently not enough reassurance, though, so at one point it turned and took a few fast and scary steps my way. Jack caught it on video, so I'm hoping he can post it soon. You will also note that he backs away quickly. Oh, my knight in shining armor.

Just kidding. I probably would not jump in front of a charging warthog for him, either.

The whole thing was kind of amazing.

---

In hut news, my bats have breached the perimeter and actually entered the hut. We're trying to figure out a solution to this problem, but it turns out it's not easy to humanely remove bats. And when they're in the ceiling, you don't just want to kill 'em and let 'em rot up there. So ... we'll see how we go. They might outlast me in the hut.

Salani kahle!

Parents' visit!

Hey, team America,

My parents visited, and it was lovely! We went to Kruger in South Africa and to St. Lucia, where weather foiled us in our attempt to see whales. BUT we saw some awesome animals and had a grand time.

We stayed three nights in Kruger, two of which we spent at an amazing all-inclusive spot. We went on four game drives. On the last one, we saw a leopard (which my dad spotted down the road) and a male lion. We also saw a fair number of baby animals, including two baby rhinos. Check out the mad photo action below.

Work photos!

Hey again, everyone. Here are some photos from the work part of my service. I know -- it probably surprises you to learn that I don't just travel to exotic locales and look at beautiful mountains.

These three are from the accounting class that I taught. It consisted of five sessions, drawn from a text on accounting for cooperatives produced by Oxfam. Our classroom was a little open-air attachment to the local preschool for orphans and vulnerable children. These cement block buildings, also used for community meetings, were built by the government and are called Neighborhood Care Points.

This is one of my counterparts, Ncobile, and her dog Spider. Remember him? She helped the little runt survive with antibiotics.

After Ncobile and I attended a permaculture training, we brought a compost video back to the support group. The women made their own compost heap last week. They plan to use it for a garden they're starting to grow fruits and vegetables for orphans and vulnerable children in the community.

Final compost product! We put thorn branches around it to try to keep cows and donkeys from eating it. We do appreciate the cows, though, because they provided dung a-plenty for the compost heap. We'll turn the heap this weekend, and it should be ready for use in six to eight weeks. Here's hoping we've figured out how to fence in the garden area by then. 

The women also created a composting song. I'll attempt to post the video at some point, but I'm not optimistic. I rarely have Internet good enough to do such things.

Things to remember

Sanibonani, all!

I was feeling sentimental the other night, so I started listing in my journal sensory impressions I want to remember about Swaziland. (With this blog, my journal and letters to various folks at home, there will be a COMPLETE record of my time with PC. You're welcome, future.) Here are a few:

- The amazing colors of the sunset over the mountains behind our back maize field. This time of year is really hazy because Swaziland is on fire, and it makes for gorgeous sunsets. (Around me, the fires occur mostly in the sugar cane fields. They have to burn the dry outside part of the cane before they can harvest it. The fires also chase out the snakes. Other fires burn across the country because people light the grass on fire. I'm still not sure if this is for agriculture purposes or what.)

- The sound of the chickens' wings flapping as they fly up to roost at dusk. This is the only Blythe-approved sound that chickens make. I guess the peeps of the little ones are OK.

- The sound of my bosisi or make (sisters or mother) scraping the old pap out of the big three-legged pots they cook with. This thick corn porridge, called pap or liphalishi, is the staple of Swazis' diets. It's also why you can find bucket enema devices for sale along many a roadside.

- The smell of the far-off fires. I feel like I shouldn't like this, but I do.

- The feel of ripping apart a fresh, spongy fat cake.

- The cacophony of the Manzini bus rank. Young men run back and forth, yelling out the destination of their bus or khumbi. Vendors sell fruits, vegetables, sunglasses, hats, peanuts, fabric, clothes, shoes -- all kinds of stuff. But they aren't yelling about it, typically. The main sound is definitely the transport conductors.

- The feel of cool concrete floors on the soles of my feet.

- The warm orange glow that filters through my curtains after sunrise almost every morning. It really is beautiful, and I don't at all mind getting up with the sun.

- Watching the phases of the moon change as I go to my family's living room each night to watch our favorite South African soap. I appreciate the fact that I've lived in more than one place where the Milky Way is visible in the night sky.

I'm sure I'll think of more, but there's a start.

---

I've been trying to learn about raising chickens lately because the support group I work with wants to raise them. So far I've "learned" that roosters crow at all times of day, not just in the morning. No kidding. Roosters are a-holes.

But seriously, the manual one of my PC bosses gave me is pretty interesting. It talks all about how to tell a chicken's sex, how to tell a healthy chicken from an unhealthy chicken, how to build a proper chicken house and the phases of chicken growth. It turns out the process is complicated. It also turns out to be expensive. A visit to the Ministry of Agriculture revealed that it could cost more than E21,000 (about $2,000) for the first batch of chickens alone. And that's if you raise and sell 950 (starting with 1,000 and expecting a 5 percent loss). When we priced the chicken house materials, it came to probably $7,000 U.S.

The moral of the story is that I'll have some interesting and perhaps discouraging information to share with the support group. They certainly don't have this kind of money, and I'd almost rather have us start with a different (cheaper) income-generating project. Maybe if they can establish their coffers, they can move into chickens later. Or maybe they'll decide to go a different direction altogether.

But of course the project is all about the women, so it will be up to them. It's just daunting.

On the positive side, the ministry does provide free training on how to raise poultry. So we can bring in experts, which is huge.

That's the main thing on my plate, amigos. The parents come next week. I'm extremely excited to show them the Kingdom! It's going to be fantastic. I just hope they're not too nervous about the trans-Atlantic journey. I'm proud of them for making it happen.

Swazi words of the day:
Siyavakasha. - We are visiting.
Sibuya emmelika. - We come from America.
Ngiyabonga kakhulu. - I thank you very much.

Where my girls at?

Sanibonani, bangani!

One of the many things they tell you in PC is that service is more about the relationships you build than the bricks-and-mortar projects you do. At first I laughed at the Intentional Relationship Building concept (remember?). I've since found that nothing could be better than the relationships that have grown between members of my community and me.

The women in the support group I work with are by far my favorites. My best counterpart there never fails to make me laugh. She has a tiny dog named Spider and a larger puppy named Scorpion (Bulembu and Fecela, respectively, in siSwati). When Spider arrived at her place, he was near death. She nursed him with crushed cotrimoxazole -- an antibiotic given to all people with HIV -- mixed with water and milk. The puppy seems pretty strong now.

"This one is sick, you must not beat him," she explained. "He must take his ARVs."

I taught the support group accounting using a book I found at the PC office in the capital. I invented a five-session course and gave them a test. It went pretty well. The women often operated on Swazi time, arriving at least half an hour late. I'm at the point where that doesn't bother me unless I have somewhere else to be. This is one thing I've learned: I try to avoid planning more than one activity per day. You just don't know how long things will take.

After class, if I had time, I'd often stay and shoot the breeze with the ladies. They'd ask me about America, and we'd talk about the differences between our countries.

"Here, the man is treated like a king," they told me. They also said I would get into trouble with the local tribal leaders if they found out that sometimes Jack cooks. Traditional Swazi culture is strict in terms of gender norms. A woman is punished if she doesn't do the work that is expected of her.

One amazing conversation we had involved two of the support group women explaining how they think Americans talk.

"Americans don't say 'hello,' they say 'helloooooooo,'" ND told me, saying it in a high-pitched singsong. I couldn't stop laughing. I told her I want to take video of her so I can show you guys. It's difficult to put into words how glorious it was.

The women also told me they couldn't understand me on the phone when I first arrived, but now I speak Swazi English. PC volunteers always joke about our "Swazi voice." We all have to slow down our speech and enunciate, otherwise our Swazi friends have a tough time understanding what we're saying. Some volunteers end up with a weird British accent happening. We mock those volunteers.

The bottom line is that I'd like to issue a formal apology to the concept of intentional relationship building. I never should have made light of you, sir or madam. You're going to make or break this whole experience.

---

The Next Big Thing will be the arrival of Mama and Papa T on Aug. 20. We're going to hit up Kruger National Park again, as well as St. Lucia for some whale watching and beach time. I'm pretty psyched. If you see them, give them a high-five and tell them they'll have an ah-mazing time.

Now I'm in town going through my mid-service medical checkup. This is also known as poop in a cup time. Here's hoping everything comes out OK (see what I did there?).

Keep fighting the good fight, team!

Salani kahle!

The swing of things

 Sanibonani! Here are two posts in one. The first I wrote yesterday; the second I wrote today. The division should be clear.

Things are settling back into normalcy for me at site after the whirlwind Weinstein visit and some time in the big city for our PC Swaziland newsletter. While a fellow volunteer/newsletter editor and I worked on this edition, we spent some time discussing challenges at our sites. Both of us have experienced delays with our girls empowerment clubs because of school scheduling (this has been a busy term for sports). Likewise, we both have had challenges teaching life skills at our schools. For me, this was the same scheduling issue. I also hit a snag in working with the women's support group on their chicken project. It felt for both of us as if we were at a lull in our service. Not much seemed to be working the way we expected.

This, bangani (friends), is Peace Corps. We're about a year into our time here, and we've spent that year trying to get various projects off the ground. For myriad reasons, this is not the easiest thing in the world to do. We both expressed frustration and discussed the disappointment that came with these setbacks.

And then something strange happened.

While I was in the city, I received a call from a teacher asking if I was coming for life skills and the girls club that day. I told her no, but I said I'd be there the next week. I called the support group leader, and we arranged a time to meet to discuss how to move ahead with their income-generating chicken project. I attended a results dissemination meeting for a study on the integration of HIV and family-planning services. I discussed the possibility of a meeting with an NGO (nongovernment organization) to work on a mural with the children's support group at my clinic. Suddenly, my dance card was filling up. And you know what? It felt AWESOME.

This was possible because I, like all volunteers, have spent the past year building relationships and working through trial and error. We all experience disappointment and frustration during our service. In this case, it's not because the community doesn't want to work with me -- the people in my village have been great. Sometimes things just happen differently or happen more slowly than I expect. And, it's important for me to remind myself, life here doesn't revolve around me. This community was here long before I got here, and it will remain after I leave. All I can do is try to figure out where I fit into it and do my best to lend a hand.

That said, the year mark is where many volunteers experience a low point. I hope that was mine.

Swazi word of the day: umndeni = family. Umndeni wami = my family.

----

I just finished two books that, coincidentally, dovetailed quite nicely and could have an interesting impact on my service. The first was “The Invisible Cure” by Helen Epstein, and the second was “The Tipping Point” by Malcolm Gladwell. On the second, at least, I’m very late to the party. (This isn’t unusual. I am not what is known as an Early Adopter of trends. See also: Dave Matthews Band, Harry Potter, leggings, “Arrested Development.”)

Epstein’s book discusses how HIV and AIDS have progressed in different African countries. She focuses on Uganda, which has seen the most dramatic decrease in HIV infection rates since the emergence of the virus. Epstein attributes this largely to the “Zero Grazing” campaign. This encouraged Ugandans to decrease their number of sexual partners. Her research suggests that this decrease in partner numbers probably had more of an effect on Uganda’s HIV situation than the use of condoms or encouragement of abstinence.

It is widely acknowledged now that concurrent sexual partnerships are a big contributor to the spread of HIV. Swazis, for example, are much more likely than Americans to have more than one sexual partner at a time. They are not likely to have MORE lifetime partners than an American, but while Americans tend to have serial monogamous relationships, Swazis are likelier to have long-term relationships with more than one partner simultaneously. This is a huge concern when it comes to HIV.

People who contract HIV have large amounts of the virus in their blood – and are much more likely to transmit it – very soon after infection. This often is a period when people are unaware of their HIV status. This means that if you have two partners at the same time and one passes HIV to you, you are much likelier to transmit the virus to your other partner long before you show symptoms. If your second partner has multiple partners as well, she or he could spread it to them without knowing it, and so on and so on until you have a huge ripple effect in a complex network of partnerships. In a situation of serial monogamy, you’re likelier to be with just one partner when you’re infected and then to stay with that partner through that early period of acute infectiousness. By the time you change partners, you’re probably less infectious (or maybe you know your status). This makes for a much slower spread of disease. That was where Zero Grazing came in. The campaign encouraged people to decrease the size of their sexual networks, and this had a huge impact on HIV in Uganda.

Epstein also looks at southern Africa (with a tiny foray into Swaziland). She sees a difference in how HIV and AIDS are discussed. In Uganda, people recognize that family members, friends and neighbors have HIV. In South Africa, in particular, it appears to Epstein that people are much less likely to put a personal face on HIV. Few acknowledge their status openly, and there is less discussion of the realities of living with HIV. Even if people know the facts about HIV, Epstein suggests, they are far less likely to change their behavior if they don’t have a personal story about it. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I have seen this in my community. I have asked people whether there are nationally known spokespeople who are HIV-positive and willing to discuss it. I’ve been told that there were some at the outset of the epidemic, but they seem to be less visible now. Stigma is still an enormous problem. People don’t talk openly about what people die from. Thus HIV remains more of an abstract idea.

I can’t say for sure what impact this reluctance to talk has in Swaziland, but I do think it’s doing some harm. Factors such as gender relations, limited economic opportunities and a false sense of security because of treatment options might also come into play.

From here, we go to Gladwell. “The Tipping Point” is a study of how trends spread in society. These can be trends such as teen smoking or suicide, or they can be trends like a popular pair of shoes. Gladwell argues that word of mouth is perpetuated by a few people, those he calls Connectors, Mavens and Salesmen. If you haven’t read the book, I recommend checking it out. Basically, Gladwell suggests that getting ideas or goods into the hands of the right people is what drives change.

I pondered this in conjunction with Epstein’s book and started to wonder: What is the tipping point for HIV in Swaziland? What can be done to get the idea of prevention, testing and treatment into the hands of the right people? Gladwell mentions hairdressers as useful outlets for spreading breast cancer information in the U.S. Some programs in the developing world have successfully used hair salons to promote female condoms. Could the hairdressers in my community be advocates for condom use or shrinking of partner networks? It’s hard to say, and it’s a bigger question than I can answer. But the two books together opened my mind as far as what I could be doing here. In the coming weeks, I’m going to visit some of the hair salons in my community. Maybe I’ll start by asking if I can put boxes of free condoms – female and male – into the salons. Perhaps I’ll broach the subject of condom demonstrations. And I’ll definitely start asking the women I know where they get their information about sexual health. I might be overlooking some key difference makers in my village.

Will I find any new answers? Will anything really change? I have no idea. It’s an interesting prospect, at any rate. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Salani kahle.

Vacation fun!

Sanibonani, all!

Jack and I just finished a lovely vacation with his family.

Our first stop was Cape Town, where we visited Robben Island. It's a bumpy boat ride out to where the South African government held Nelson Mandela (and many others who fought to end Apartheid) for the bulk of his 27-year prison term.

We lucked out with fabulous weather the first two days. It was too windy for shark diving, unfortunately, but we were able to take the cable car up Table Mountain. The first two photos below are views from that. It's stunning. We also saw the penguins at Boulder Beach and took a beautiful drive down the Cape. It was fabulous.

Our third day brought rain and chill, but we spent it on a winery tour with an excellent guide. That was the perfect icky-day activity (though we missed out on some of the beauty of the area).

From Cape Town, we flew back to Johannesburg and drove to Swaziland. We found time to zipline at Malolotja, where Jack and I camped a few months back. We spent only a night in the Kingdom, however, and were on the road early the next day to head for Kruger National Park. The game reserve is bigger than Swaziland (which, if you recall, is about the size of New Jersey). We stayed at a lovely place called Imbali Safari Lodge. The rooms were beautiful, and hte staff was great. The price included all meals as well as high tea and drinks and snacks on game drives. An early morning and evening game drive were included each day as well.

We saw giraffes, lions (male and female), cheetahs, an ostrich, rhinos, elephants, and all kinds of antelope-type things. Cheetahs are extremely rare; there are only 200  in the whole park. Male lions also are rare. We got very lucky and had a fantastic time.

The end of the trip included more Swaziland time. The Weinsteins met my family. My host dad remembered their name by repeating "wein plus stein" several times. He was welcoming, and he even did a fashion show in different types of traditional Swazi attire. He's quite the showman, lemme tell ya. It was great. The visit also gave the Weinsteins a chance to practice their siSwati. They also got to try chicken dust. The reviews were excellent. We hit up plenty of craft markets, as well as Swazi Candle and Ngwenya Glass.

At Jack's sister Kendra's request, here's the siSwati phrase of the day: "Umuhle namuhla," meaning "You are beautiful today." 

The new Group 11 volunteers are here! I haven't met them yet, but I will have a chance to do so at the Fourth of July party this week. You know what that means: PCVs toting tupperware will descend on the country director's house to eat ALL THE HOT DOGS AND HAMBURGERS. It will be glorious. Yea, America! Happy birthday to you.

The next move will be planning the Mama and Papa T trip, now officially slated for late August. I'm excited to show them the SWZ!

Enjoy these photos (I took none of them), and salani kahle.