I think I love board games more than most people

And that’s what compelled me to melt into a puddle in Shopprite when I spotted a South African version of “Monopoly”.  I was roaming around Siteki with Futhi, another volunteer, and having failed to retrieve money from the ATM (ohh that’s right…  it was the end of the month), so I had very limited dolla dolla bills. I turned to Futhi and blurted out “would it be stupid if I bought this?” Without a hint of judgment, she said “go for it” (or something along those lines… this was in October… and hey! This is my reality!) so I picked a box off the shelf, paused momentarily to smile appreciatively at the giant teddy bears strategically placed next to the “monopoly” boards, and bounced my way to the check-out line. Now. Would the card machine work? AND IT DID. And it hasn’t worked since. But that’s beside the point. I proceeded to prance around Siteki hugging the game like it was my most prized possession much to the amusement of random passersby.  As I strolled through the bomake market I bumped into my friend Mavis, and this was when I promised, one Saturday during the break to play monopoly with her… fast forward a few weeks. 

It was hot, and it took a lot of energy to drag myself out of the strangely climate-controlled house that I currently reside in, but the guilt of putting off playing monopoly overcame my survival instincts to remain in doors. So I packed up the game, wrapped myself in a lihiya, and ventured out into the great unknown (the amount of roosters dotting the path makes it a perilous journey).  As I strolled through the market, greeting the various bomake (oh, the art of schmoozing), I approached Mavis’ stall only to find her a little frazzled. “Oh Bongiwe! I was late coming back from Manzini, I am still very busy”. Two thoughts ran through my head simultaneously. Well… that’s not the end of the world and “Maybe I could help?” is what blurted from my lips. She hesitated… “but you don’t know how…” My mind was made up, so I persisted… “but Mavis, you could teach me” and that was that. She moved a stool next to her chair where she was packaging green peppers. She gave me a brief tutorial and then presented me with a box of apples.  How hard could this be? Well, it wasn’t necessarily difficult, but I had certain standards to uphold… the apples had to be stacked a certain way, the plastic baggies functioning more like cling-wrap, and I had to fit between 4 and 6 apples in the same size bag. Magic. After a little while it became much easier, and it was really fun to be sitting behind the stall with Mavis packaging up emaveg and emafruits.  Mavis is well known in the market, and several people came up asking her what she was doing “Wentani lapho Mavis” and she would proudly respond “Ngipakgisha na Bongiwe” (I am packaging with Bongiwe).

Something that’s changed in the past month or so is the fact that acquaintances are becoming friends, and I feel like I can trust more people that previously made me wary. I sort of left PST feeling like I’d never make any Swazi friends, or that I’d always be seen as someone who has things of material value, rather than as a person. It was easy to feel guarded when those assumptions were supported by strangers frequently stating “give me money” or “please support”.  I think that’s why sometimes I feel short of patience when I go into town, because I know that those are conversations I am going to have to navigate. However, sitting in the bomake market with Mavis made me feel like I belonged, like I was a part of the community, and that I had more value than whatever items I squished into a suitcase and overly large backpack when I came here. Often, that bubble bursts when I least expect it.  Sometimes I’ll be having really nice conversations with someone on a kombi, or walking through town. Just when I’m feeling like I am being seen as myself, I get the kiss of death “can you give me 5 rand?”  I hate that that is always at the back of my mind… why often I feel like “why bother greeting this person” because I feel like we’re a hop skip and a jump from the real goal of any conversation… But that’s not fair. And that’s what Mavis’ friendship reminds me. That people can be friendly and supportive, and mean it, not with some hope of gaining something other than a good laugh and a pleasant conversation. It’s important to know that, because I think when I lose that understanding I feel lonely here.  I think that was one of the nicest things about that hot afternoon in the market, I decided to let my guard down, and I wasn’t disappointed.  And I was able to transcend the surface-level communication that I really loathe… and that easily frustrates me. I learned more about Mavis, how important Monopoly actually is to her… (she used to play it with her sister who has passed away), that she’s a hard worker, and I felt like a person. So I came out of this experience with some restored faith in my experience here, a new skill in packaging fruit, and feeling like I had a friend.  Not a bad afternoon at all. 

On a completely unrelated note… Sanelesiwe’s homestead has a mango tree(s?) and she promised to bring me back mangoes after she visited home… What I didn’t realize is that that meant I would receive a 10 liter-bucket full… So with great internal amusement… and personal pride (or something…) I’d like to announce that I successfully ate (with a little help from my friends) 79 mangoes in a week. Yep. 79 mangoes.  I didn’t quite pull a bubba-gump shrimp… (Mango curry, mango custard, fried mango, steamed mango, frozen mango, mango smoothies…) but I definitely made good use of them, and didn’t turn orange. So I’d say that’s a success.

In other news I am super excited that my friend Sarah will be visiting me in March… which is… I have no words. I am also not sure if I should be terrified because it’ll be interesting to see two worlds collide… nah. It’s going to be awesome! I cannot wait to troll the countryside with her.  And eat mangoes. Obviously.

Well, I’m going to leave it at that.

Sala Kahle.

I re-discovered the beauty of this book, and how much it applies to my life here. My life in a fishbowl...

Wishing you could help dreams come true?

I wouldn't normally use this as a means of advertising so explicitly... but this is a really important project that many of my fellow PCVs are working extremely hard on, so I thought it would be nice to support their efforts... especially since you all know how much I love the library at my school...hehehe... But in all seriousness, our pal Arthur (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JlCm7-Y1wtk) knows that having fun isn't hard when you've got a library card... So, if you're not hating me for getting that song stuck in your head, help bring the fun to Swaziland by donating to our "Books for Swaziland Project". PCVs will be collaborating with schools in their communities to start up and bring books to 30 libraries in 2014!

Just follow this link, and the rest is easy!  https://donate.peacecorps.gov/index.cfm?shell=donate.contribute.projDetail&projdesc=14-645-001

Eating Mangos in Hhohho

You can really squeeze a lot in a week here.  

The adventure started last Thursday when Lomaswazi and I departed from my school to catch a khumbi to Mbabane. Our destination? The country director’s house. What was guiding us there? The aroma of delicious food.  Although we weren’t gathering strictly for our homeland’s festivities… the following day would also sponsor an “AllVol” event where it would be the first time that all G10 and G11 volunteers would sit in the same room together for professional reasons.  It was interesting to see how our two group dynamics intermeshed…and they didn’t clash like I thought they would.  The main point for this gathering was to discuss the new format for the VRF (Vacuous Rabble Forum)… er… I mean… Volunteer Reporting Form.  You know you’re an MI student when… you get really excited to partake in Monitoring and Evaluation, followed by a statistical analysis of the data you’ve collected… But in all seriousness, the new VRF mechanism is super cool, and I am actually *nerd alert* super excited to begin filling it out. But we’ll see when I actually sit down in January and begin scrutinizing my past six months here. 

I ventured home on Friday (after walking through an amazingly well-stocked grocery store… with cream cheese, curry paste, and many other magical things) with Thandolewethu the volunteer at the High School for the Deaf.  It was a nice trip home, and we got to talk about our experiences at the schools, and brainstorm a little bit about uniting our communities.  Although there are many aspects that are similar between our schools, we are living very different experiences.  For one thing, she has ¼ the number of students at her school than mine.  So it’s just nice to exchange stories and see what else is going on.  I won’t really go into the history of the schools, but it would be amazing if by the time we both fly home to ‘Murica they were working together. 

On Saturday, I attended Sanelisiwe’s daugther’s Pre-School Graduation. It was probably one of the top ten most adorable things I have ever seen AND there was cake.  It was fun to go and support her and act as a photographer for the afternoon.  It was pretty much a little showcase where the students read poems, sang songs, and there were even costumes.  Also, attending something like that made me feel like I was actually part of a family, and of the community, which was a really nice feeling. 

I had spent the morning hanging out with the ten or so students who had yet to be picked up by a responsible adult.  It reminded me yet again of being a camp counselor… waiting with the campers who’s parents had spaced about the pick-up time. I broke out the checkerboard and tried to keep them amused while they waited hopefully, not entirely sure if anyone was even on their way.  I think that’s been one of the hardest things to adjust to… the different role of the parents, or the absence of parents (for one of many reasons… the country has a saddening percentage of Orphans and Vulnerable Children… OVCs).  The supervision is also something that always catches me off guard.  Save for the kitchen staff who remained to feed the students breakfast and lunch, none of the teachers were there to ensure that the students were collected, or even picked up by the right people. I am still unsure if I should feel encouraged by this, or anxious. 

Sunday meant it was time to head back towards Matsapha. I was happy to learn that Sanelesiwe was also traveling to Manzini, so we got to ride a kombi together.  I then met up with Thandolewethu in Manzini. We had planned to go to the bomake market and buy some crafty holiday presents. Although not all of the stands were open (it was afterall Sunday), but it was actually quite pleasant. We were the only shoppers strolling through, and the usual hustle-and-bustle was not present, so I felt like I could take my time to walk around and not have to simultaneously navigate through hoards of people. I spoke with a few of the craftspeople in hopes that they would be willing to come to my school to teach some of the students their trade. One man who made drums, and incredible paintings offered, so hopefully that’s something that can be solidified in the future. 

Thandolewethu and I then set off for Matsapha, in a sense our home-away-from-site.  This time, as mentioned before, our training would include program design and project management with a counterpart from our community… This meant that we anxiously paced around the corridors of IDM as we waited for them to arrive… we all had a not-so-secret fear that we would be jilted and have to go back home. Fortunately, only two PCVs got stood up, but have the opportunity to attend the training again in February. (See… our fears were totally real). This was by far my favorite training since being here. It was incredible to be able to sit down with our counterparts, brainstorm a vision for our community, and address the challenges we think our community faces, and then work to devise a plan of how to overcome those challenges. It was just amazing to have the time to go through that process, and in relative detail.  I had brought Nosipho, a teacher I have been working on the Sign Language Book with.  It was neat to see that we both felt that in order to help our community grow, we needed to address the lack of sign fluency amongst teachers and students, and develop a “staff development plan”.  I am very excited to begin working on this new project (one, interestingly, that I had hoped would happen… but had kind of given up on the idea… look how life works some times!).  The workshop really rejuvenated me after a busy and stressful end of the term, and rekindled my hope and faith in those I am working with that we can truly achieve a common goal.  Things are magical falling into place, and it is beautiful… now we just have to wait and see. 

At the end of the workshop I traveled with Zinhle back to Manzini, where we met Tambile, a volunteer who will be attending the same workshop only in February.  We were going to spend the night at her homestead.  The drive to her site was incredible. We passed the biggest lake in Swaziland, it the landscape was a 1,000 shades of green.  I always get a twinge of sadness when I visit another volunteer and see their homesteads and observe their interactions with their families. While I sort of do have my own kind of homestead here, it’s crazy how different their experiences are from mine. It makes me feel like I live in a city… (which is not entirely false…), but I’ve always been a country mouse, so it’s strange.  Tambile lives in the foothills of some mountains in the Hhohho region of Swaziland.  The walk to her site was stunning, and her homestead was cozy.  A sisi offered to get us some mangos so we meandered over to the tree and gathered at least 30 mangoza.  We then went to the “little kitchen”, a roundevel (…spelling?) with a thatched roof, seated ourselves on grassmats and forgot to worry about juice dripping down our chins or the uncomfortable feeling of mango-strings in-between our teeth.  We then got to keep a ton of mangos, which was awesome… I’ve been eating like 3 a day… so satisfying.  It was a really nice visit, and we had delicious grilled cheese for lunch. Tambile’s hut is super comfy, and I enjoyed swinging in a hammock for a good chunk of time.  I think I know where I am going to spend some of my break… haha

Although kombis and public transport in general tend to be an exhausting experience… I really love having the opportunity to see how this country transforms from winter to summer… from desert to tropical oasis.  It’s even more exhilarating when for a second I comprehend the fact that this is my home. This, coupled with the fact that I feel like I have finally found my footing in terms of transitioning from being a clumsy mlungu to a volunteer/professional is pretty empowering. 

And with that, here are some parting words of wisdom from my counterpart, Nosipho. “Dig deep into your brain box… it can’t be empty.”

“Angifuni”: A How-to Guide for those persistent marriage proposals

This is going to be a several part series...
 
Sometimes it takes a lot for me to muster up the energy to meander into town…only a few things really push my need to go more than twice a week… those being the acknowledgement of having not enough of the right ingredients for “no bakes” and having no food in general once I’ve exhausted all of my leftovers and ate a meal that could have been a prize winner in “Chopped” for creatively throwing ingredients together.  This isn’t because town is miles away. Comparatively, I probably walk less than most other volunteers, nor do I have the task of hulling water from a borehole or a river. It’s not even the extreme heat… living on a plateau still means that summer is blazing hot… but it also means that I am graced with the soft breezes of the Moz. Ocean.  No, it’s the fact that I never know what conversations I’ll have, or people I’ll meet in my hour or so in town.  This isn’t so much a reflection on the characters of men (or people) in this country so much as it is merely a narration of some of the more trying experiences I’ve had here in terms of testing my patience, or requiring me to be good-humored more than is humanly possible.  For the most part, I honestly think the comments are the basis of a joke… “I wonder how she’ll react” sort of provocation. There’s only been a couple instances where I felt like it was really harassment.  But I thought it would be funny to compile a list of responses I’ve come up with, or have heard from other volunteers when “angifuni” (I don’t want) just isn’t enough. 

1.     Make them laugh.  Scenario: I was walking back from town toting some groceries (why I always manage to buy milk AND eggs at the same time, I’ll never really understand), and I was feeling good about making it through the busrank without any scarring experiences… when I noticed a cluster of guys communicating, briefly looking over their shoulder and pointing in my direction.  Well this should be interesting… nevertheless, I trudged on.  As could be expected, just as I passed them one began to frolic towards me, with the most ineffective, yet most-used pick-up line in all of Swaziland…”Mlungu, iyahpi? Ngiyatsandza” Which roughly translates to “Where are you going foreigner, I love you.” I know, I know, I’m crazy for wanting to run away.  Meanwhile, his friends were moving significantly slower, and were a good few feet behind him, watching this scene unfold as though it were from an episode of Generations. I was anticipating them to reach into their bags and start munching on some popcorn. All-the-while, it appeared as though they were doing the best they could to sustain any great bursts of laughter. I smiled knowingly at them, and questioned “ninjani?” How are you? Thus, letting on that I new ample enough SiSwati to entertain their hopefully brief conversation. As I trudged onward, the man persisted to tell me that we were going to get married and live in one of those houses conveniently sitting on my left, as I persisted to contrast everything he said… then a few school girls approached us, and they too were taking in the scene with relative looks of amusement plastered on their faces. I realized then that I could let myself in on the joke with a little help from some unexpected studio audience members. As they got within “whispering” distance I cupped my hand around my mouth like I was letting them in on a secret and lightly said “Inyanzelayo!” which in dire situations could amass an army, but for this particular purpose just simply means “help”.  The girls began to giggle, and then my man friend, caught so off-guard by the fact that I knew even that word actually stopped, and LOLed in a way I’d never seen anyone laugh like here before.  I continued on my merry way, and once he’d caught his breathe matched his strides with mine, but this time just left it at “Well, if you change your mind, I live over there”, I said “Hambani kahle” (go well), waved, and we went our separate ways. End scene.