Turning 30 in Swaziland

Look forward to my memoir, titled after this post.

J/k.

Greetings from Swaziland, one and all!

I turned 30 today, and naturally I've been thinking about what that "means." I'm delighted to have this milestone birthday in an interesting place, and I'm lucky I can spend it with Jack and some friends. Shenanigans will ensure, I assure you. They will be limited in scope, but they WILL happen.

As I reported to Jack this morning, this is the first birthday I've had where I do feel different. My 20s are over. It's time to get serious.

Or is it?

Peace Corps affords a lot of time to think. Volunteers are frequently alone (or feel alone) and can ponder their futures. I was making a list of goals before 40 -- I can't believe that's my next decade -- and they included some serious things and some fun things. I want to have a satisfying job that allows for some semblance of work life/home life balance. I want to be financially secure.

There are some fun goals as well. I want to learn to juggle. Jack has tried to teach me, but this is one of many coordination-focused activities that do not come naturally to your narrator. I want to learn to sail, and I want to sky dive. I want to have visited six of seven continents. I almost added goals that included activities we have planned for next month in Cape Town, but I thought that would be cheap. Let's make these goals mean something, right?

I also graduated from public health school this month. I am now a MASTER of something, which is exciting. I also now owe the government an uncomfortably large sum of money. There better be some payoff in that Hopkins name (and education). But I'm lucky enough to not have additional debt, so I think I can handle it. Or, I should say, we can handle it. That's right, Jack -- I hope you enjoyed our highfalutin' education.

I was actually a little bit sad not to be able to walk for graduation. I didn't think I would care. It seems like so long ago, but I worked pretty hard last year, and no one called my name or gave me a gold star. I got into an honor society that I think would have allowed me to wear a special thingy over my robe! But that's OK. I'm doing Bono's work in Africa, after all.

The support group I work with is about to go forward with its grant request for funding. They want to start a chicken business to generate income for themselves and their families. I plan to make a video to show y'all what it's all about, and we'll be asking for your financial support. Stay tuned!

Jack's family is visiting in June, and my parents have officially booked tickets for August. We're extremely excited to show off our corner of the continent, and I hope to have some photos for you soon.

Jack and I also are planning our trip for when I COS (close of service) in 2014. We're thinking Victoria Falls, the Serengeti in Tanzania, Madagascar and Mozambique. It gives us a lot to look forward to, though there's still plenty of work to be done.

I'll leave you with a story.

I was waiting for a lift last week from two women. They're working on a study of the integration of family planning and HIV services, and I was going to watch them conduct interviews. We were to meet at a crossroads in a town called Hhelehhele (yes, it might be the greatest town name in the SWZ). They were running late after being caught at a roadblock, and I was tired of sitting in the sun. I wandered over to a stand where a woman was selling fruit. I bought a banana. This woman was large and smiling. She was missing most of her bottom teeth and spoke excellent English.

"Can I give you another?" she asked "Just for being my friend?"

This is not uncommon. Many of the women who sell fruits and vegetables at stands here are outgoing and lovely. She was no exception.

"Of course, thank you," I told her.

We started talking about Obama's upcoming visit to South Africa, and I told her what I was doing in the country. I asked if she had children.

"Yes, I have four," she said. "My one son, he had eight children, from many women. Now he is dead from HIV, and his wife is dead too."

She told me how she cared for three of the grandchildren at home. They go to school, she told me, but they aren't brilliant. I thought about these children with their seven siblings and missing parents. I wondered if their grandmother made enough money to support them. She was selling homemade dish soap. I bought some of that, too.

I stood in the shade of her rickety tin shed and we talked more, about our lives, my parents' upcoming visit and things such as Swazi names. I told her I love that Swazi names mean something. Mine, Nonhlanhla, means lucky. Phindile (I think) means "another girl." Sibusiso means blessing. My favorite is Velaphi, or "where did you come from?"

After an hour, my ride pulled up in the gas station across the street. I told the woman I had to go and thanked her for talking with me.

"I hope you come back and greet me," she said. "You were such a blessing. You made my day."

"You made my day, make (mother)," I told her. I meant it.

I describe this encounter to give you a sense of a typical exchange here. So many people in the Kingdom are outspoken and kind. They talk of their troubles, but most choose not to dwell on them. The vast majority of people I have met are eager to engage in conversation. It really makes me feel at home here.

Now, onward into my 30s.

Salani kahle.