Christmastime in Swaziland

It is decidedly not beginning to look a lot like Christmas in Swaziland — that is, if your Christmas typically occurs in the Northern Hemisphere. The sunny days and high temperatures take the sting away from not being home for the holidays, I think. It’s easy for me to forget ‘tis the season at all.

“Ube ngakhisimusi lomuhle” is have a nice Christmas in siSwati, when speaking to one person. Plural, it’s “nibe ngakhisimusi lomuhle.” That “kh” is a hard “k” sound, so it’s easy to see the parallel with the English word.

It is nice because more of make and babe's children are home. That means grandkids, and I like having the small ones around. I haven't been playing with them much yet, but I'm thinking of either getting out my crayons or having them help me decorate a "Christmas tree." Maybe the mango tree? Oh, and there's a super tiny one. My host sister had a baby four days ago (!). Very cute.

Jack is settled into his new place and seems to be adjusting well to the Kingdom. His biggest challenge, I think, is Swazi time. You sort of just have to get used to that. It sounds like he’s going to be able to do a lot of excellent work for the organization he volunteers with. I’m excited for him, though he’ll have a lot of downtime during the office’s monthlong holiday break …

I had a week of training and then spent two days teaching journalism to kids at a children's home near Manzini. I'll have to write more about that soon. Then I was in Mbabane for three days working on the Swazi Sojournal, PC Swaziland's newsletter. I was elected to it at training, along with two others. It's a monthly newsletter written by PCVs and PC staff. It goes to all volunteers but also to the embassy, and it requires quite a bit of work. I just couldn't stay away, naturally.

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Today was an interesting exercise in the flexibility of being a PCV. As I was walking to the clinic in the morning, I passed what is called a kagogo center. These were established to serve as meeting places in communities where health information could be shared. They’re also meant to meet the needs of OVCs, orphans and vulnerable children. The one in my community has been less active because there hasn’t been food available to feed the children. Today, I saw three bomake there with a fire going.

“What’s happening today?” I asked.

“A white man is coming,” the center manager told me. “I want you to talk to him.”

She thought he was from South Africa and wasn’t sure if he was with an NGO or what. I asked the manager I the OVCs would be coming to eat, and she said yes. I texted my counterpart at the clinic to let her know I was going to hang around the center to see what transpired.

Pretty soon, a local woman who works with the NGO World Vision arrived. She’s excellent, and I love working with her. She started getting things ready inside the kagogo center, a cinderblock building with a concrete floor and a tin roof. Children started arriving and unstacked preschooler-size plastic chairs in lime green, blue and red. They sat clutching the dolls that live at the center.

The woman from WV led the children in songs. I joined when they were in English and went on long enough for me to catch the words. Suddenly, she stopped everyone. I had been engrossed and hadn’t noticed the crew of NGO folks arriving outside. It turned out that the group was from the World Food Program and USAID. The WFP provided food for the children for the day. I chatted with the NGO people for a while, and they were lovely.

“What were you doing in there? Were you teaching?” one asked me.

“No, I mostly was just hanging out,” I said. I explained that I’ll eventually be doing projects but am still figuring out the lay of the land. On a related note, I can’t believe I’ve been at site almost four months. I don’t have a lot of tangible work to show for it. Intentional relationship building, y’all.

I knew WFP worked with my local clinic. They’re part of a program called Food as Prescription, through which people who are sick and malnourished receive food parcels at clinics. I think the participants must have HIV, TB or both to qualify. A challenge, the WFP folks noted, is that people are put on the program until they reach a certain BMI and then are discharged. They’re finding that people often return a couple of months later because they can’t acquire adequate nutrition on their own. To combat this, they said, WFP is working with livelihood NGOs that teach people gardening and agriculture to promote self-sufficiency. Makes sense to me.

The NGO peeps stayed for a bit, talking to the community members and photographing the children as they ate. After they had gone, the children received two bars of soap each and a pair of Toms shoes before leaving. I probably contributed to the chaos of this affair, tickling children and throwing them into the air. I realized I should be more careful — I didn’t want any kiddos vomiting up their WFP meal. We cleaned up (“You are a real woman,” I was told as I swept the floor), and I moved onward toward the clinic. It was noon.

I had received some ambiguous information about a health event planned for my community today. I didn’t have a lick of detail about it and was unsure that whatever it was would come off. All I knew was where it was supposed to be held. As I headed in that direction, I heard people speaking into microphones. A crowd was gathering as children performed a drama.

From a couple of women I knew, I learned that the Clinton Health Access Initiative was in town to kick off the creation of youth clubs focused on health. This event included the drama, a lesson about hygiene and sanitation, food and a performance from an adorable 8-year-old gospel singer. I met a gentleman from CHAI and a woman from an organization that promotes male circumcision (have I discussed the benefits of that for HIV prevention? Yes? No? We’ll get there). I enthusiastically offered my services to the youth club, and I hope to get involved in whatever they have going in my village.

Finally, I headed to the clinic to finish out the day. I’d left home at 8:30 a.m., and it was after 2 p.m. I stayed at the clinic until we shut down the HIV Testing and Counseling side around 3 and then headed home with my counterpart. We stopped by her father’s nursery on the way, and he gave me more red onions, garlic and maize than I’ll be able to eat all alone.

All in all, it was one of the more rewarding days I’ve had as a PCV of late. It’s great to just make connections with people in the community and with members of other groups who are doing work here.

On an unrelated note, I received a wonderful packet of letters from a first-grade class at my former elementary school. I look forward to responding to each one, painstakingly addressed to “Mr. Terrell.” I would say that’s my father’s name, but he prefers to go by “doctor.”

Salani kahle, everyone, and nibe ngakhisimusi lomuhle!