A thing that happened

I was on a walk one Sunday afternoon in my community when I passed a child walking the opposite direction. He was lean and wearing worn clothes, not unusual for the weekends here. He carried a bulging plastic bag. I figured him for 8 or 9.

"Ngicela umsebenta," he said. "I'm asking for a job."
"Ncesi, ngilivolontiya. Ngite umsebenta," I said. "I'm sorry, I'm a volunteer. I don't have a job."

We walked our separate ways. I overtook him again on my way back, after I'd hit my turnaround point. I didn't have a whole lot more I could say in SiSwati.

I asked if he could speak English.

"I am asking for a job," he said.

I explained again that I didn't have one to offer him. I wished I had.

I asked if he went to school. He said he did not.

I asked if he had brothers and sisters. None, he told me. I asked if he lived with his mother.

"She has died," he said in English.

I asked if he lived with his father.

"He has died," he said.

We went through the grandparents, and I asked who he lived with at home.

I am alone, he told me in SiSwati.

I asked how old he was, "unangakhi iminyaka?"

"Fourteen years," he said.

This silenced me. We walked quietly together. After this long in Swaziland, I figured I'd be immune to feeling sad in these situations. I've met many children who have lost their parents. It's rare, however, to find a child who doesn't live with another adult relative. I felt myself starting to tear up, which is approximately the least useful reaction.

After a few minutes, I thought of a question.

"Uthandaza kuphi?" I asked. "Where do you worship?"

He told me the name of his church, and it was a church that I knew. I asked what his name was, and he told me.

Normally, I wouldn't give money to anyone in my community. If I'd been carrying money, I almost certainly would have given some to this child or bought him bread. But I didn't. I wasn't even sure where he lived, exactly. But I had a name and a church.

Since that conversation, I've spoken with a friend who lives near his church. She's talked to the head of the youth committee there and confirmed that the child attends. I intend to find out more about his living situation. But it gives me great relief to know there's a community helping him. Although I don't go to church, I know that sometimes it's the only support system an orphan has here in the SWZ. I'm thankful for it.

Holidays in the Southern Hemisphere

Sanibonani and umnyaka lomusha! (Hello and happy new year, sort of. Umnyaka lomusha just means "new year," but it seems to be the common thing to say to wish someone the best.)

I wrote a chunk of a post and then tried to add a photo, but Google is now doing something really dumb where it requires you to sign in to get photos from some imaginary online space, so ... I might be looking for new blog options in the future. Regardless, the holidays were lovely.

Highlights:

We enjoyed some Christmas hiking and potluck at Ngonini in northern Swaziland. We stayed with our friend Kathy, who was a PCV in the 1980s and has lived in Swaziland since. It was a lovely time.

We headed to Tofo, Mozambique, on Dec. 28. It's a 12-hour drive from Swaziland, and we were lucky enough to have friends to organize the transport. Otherwise, you have to take a khumbi about three hours to Maputo and then stay the night before getting additional transport to Tofo. No, thank you. Our driver was stopped by cops a few times, and he was always able to talk them down on the fine/bribe.

TOFO is glorious. It has amazing white sand beaches on the Indian Ocean, and a spot called Fatima's hosts a days-long New Year's party. We spent the first three nights camping at a hotel called Mozambeat. This was grand, except Jack sustained a bite that we think led to African tick bite fever. He saw a doctor immediately upon our return to Swaziland, so it never developed into full-blown illness (thank goodness). He's basically a Peace Corps volunteer now, though, as ATBF is a bit of a rite of passage. I haven't gotten it, probably because I'm too tough for ticks to bite.

The food in Tofo was ah-mazing. I ate barracuda with coconut curry, a fish with a face, and a traditional dish called matapa (pureed spinach with coconut milk and peanuts). There are also natural and spicy cashews available from dudes on the roadside. Surprisingly, we found amazing Italian food there as well. Everything we ate was fabulous, and they make amazing bread there. We also drank all kinds of tasty Mozambican beers. Sorry, Swaziland and South Africa: Your beers are terrible.

We went snorkeling with whale sharks one day. As it turns out, I do not enjoy snorkeling on choppy open ocean. I hopped out of the boat once, and that was enough for me. Luckily, it was whale shark central that day. We had five sightings, and I saw at least two on the surface of the water. I felt like I definitely got my money's worth. It was amazing. Jack has better stories to tell from swimming alongside the big guys. I was in the water with a shark, which is apparently enough for me. What can I say? I'm an air sign, and I hate choking on saltwater.

We did a pretty good job of avoiding sunburns and still getting in great beach time. The water was gorgeous, and Tofo remains surprisingly low-key and un-built-up (that is an awful hyphenate. What's the word I'm not using here?) The street market turned into a big party on New Year's Day, and that was fun to see. You can also buy plastic 500-mL bottles of Tipo Tinto rum for 50 meticals, which is less than $2 U.S. You might be getting what you pay for. The favored way to drink it is mixed with raspberry soda, which is just weird. Coca-Cola did us just fine.

We spent New Year's Eve day in the nearby town of Inhambane. It poured on us, which was unfortunate. We tried out the local public transportation, called choppas (shoppas?). These are like the minibuses in Swaziland, but WAY MORE people pack onto them. Cops in Swaziland will give tickets for overloading. It appears that this isn't a thing in the Moz. There were 30 people on a 16-seater on our way back to Tofo. We were speeding through driving rain when the vehicle slowed to a stop on the roadside. There were few English speakers on board, but the man next to me managed to communicate that it was broken.

After a few minutes of waiting, I desperately wanted out. I figured we could hitch a ride the rest of the way to Tofo, and the steamy inside of a van full of people was the opposite of where I wanted to be.

"Can we get out?" I asked the man next to me.
"Sorry," he said. "I don't speak English. I speak Portuguese."
"Sorry," I said. "Umm ... out?" I gestured toward the door.
"You want to run?"
"Yes."

Heated discussion followed among passengers. I have no idea what they were saying, but the gist was clear: No one wanted to get out into the rain to let us crawl out of the back seat.

We asked again a few minutes later.
"Another car is coming," the man told me.

I writhed in frustration, feeling claustrophobic. About 10 minutes later, another vehicle showed up. This choppa turned off the road into the sand, promptly getting its back wheels stuck. As men left our choppa to help, I saw the opportunity and squeezed out past an old (and grumpy) grandmother. The rain was still pouring, and I pulled open our umbrellas. But once we were out, Jack felt obligated to help with the unsticking of the other vehicle. Men rolled it up to one side and jammed palm tree bark beneath the back wheels.

Jack and I tried halfheartedly to flag down a ride, but it wasn't happening. No one wanted to stop for two people next to a broken-down van. By this point, Jack was sopping wet, and the people on the bus were ready to punch us. Several minutes later, the rescue choppa popped free onto the road. Cue mad dash by the 30 people on the broken choppa. We mashed onto the new choppa and were on our way.

Lesson: transport is waaaaay easier in the SWZ than in this particular part of Mozambique.

We spent New Year's Eve dancing to DJs at Fatima's and chatting with new friends. The place is right on the beach, and it was lovely (if not the greatest service I've ever encountered).

After six days in Tofo, we were sad to leave but happy to get back to our comfort zone. Overall, it was glorious. I'd highly recommend it.

Since our return, Jack has started year two of teaching, and I've participated in a training of trainers for the Girls Leading Our World program. A counterpart in my community and I attended so she could learn how to be a camp counselor for GLOW. That was an inspirational week. The counselors were amazing (though someone might have walked away with my male condom model), and we capped it off with a phenomenal talent show.

This is, ladies and gents, the home stretch. Things are fixin' to get interesting.