Behind the Scenes: The making of “Bus Twister”

Today (Note: This entry was written on September 27th) was exceptional. A leading indicator of this was the presence of a marching band that casually strolled through the Matata Bus Rank, in full ensemble, brass instruments braying, trotting to the beat of the giant bass drum. Peacefully watching this scene from the bus windows, I could not have imagined that an hour or so from then, I would be uncontrollably laughing at a stesh in Zinhle’s community (which I shall henceforth refer to as “Candyland”).

We had entered the big bus destined for Candyland well over half an hour before it’s scheduled departure time. All seats were already taken. No big deal, we’d just stand in the aisle, and cling to railing for dear life, just as PST trained us to do.

Soon we were packed in like sardines, so much so that there actually wasn’t any space left on the floor to move my feet. I was trying to position myself so that my backpack, or shopping bag wouldn’t knock anyone unconscious.  Then the umholeli decided we could fit more people.  Already there were probably 60 or so people on the bus… not including the various packed in between the seats.  At this point I’ve been pushed maybe 8 or so rows towards the back of the bus, a way from Zinhle and Futhi.  There I stood crammed between some increasingly irritated passengers, trying to smooth talk my way with “Ncesi, Make, ncesi”.  I thought there was no way we could possibly human tetris ourselves into a more condensed space. Woof, was I wrong.  And the umholeli was being craftily strategic. Soon I was back-to-back with Futhi, with Zinhle chillin’ on my right. We were our own Bermuda triangle of Peace Corps Volunteers.  I was also growing increasingly irritated, as I truly appreciate and value personal space, of which there was none, and snarked, “Look, here we are together, it’s like herding cats.” By this time there was probably an additional fifty or so people sandwiched in the aisle.

By the time the bus finally inched its way out of the busy plaza in Matata (home to a Super Spar… that had a plethora of drool-worthy groceries…), we had already navigated through a string of seriously redundant conversations (the kind that would normally be found amusing, but do to the unnecessarily close quarters, were now rather irritating…)  “Why are you here?” “What are your names?” “I want you to marry me”, “Oh, you speak siSwati!” “You don’t know enough siSwati! I will teach you.” Not to mention the fact that I spent five minutes tolerating a baby kicking my butt (literally), and Futhi almost lost an eye as a glass panel nearly made contact with her face.  By this time, barely a km into our journey, we were all reaching a breaking point.  (I may or may not have ranted in German for a couple of minutes… much to the enjoyment of Futhi and Zinhle).

Zinhle reassured us kakhulu that the bus was never ever that crowded and that it was usually a pleasant ride. Sure. Of course, mmhmm.  We concluded that life is just crazier at the end of the month. I mean people did just get paid.  And marching bands always draw crowds of people… Right?

Then it dawned on me… How were we going to get OFF of the bus… Well… I mean, it was obvious, we just needed to climb over like fifty people in time to scream stesh at the top of our lungs and hope that the bus stopped… Easy as pie.

So fifteen minutes-ish into our journey, Zinhle and I said our goodbyes to Futhi… as much as we could given the movement restrictions, and began the trek to the front of the bus. (We had roughly 20 minutes until her stesh).  Thus, “Bus Twister” was born… Right foot lunged over a toddler, left hand clutching bags, bags also held up by another passenger, right hand  on seat in front of you, left leg pirouetting.  Seriously.

By the time we rolled off the bus, all we could do was laugh. Uncontrollably.  Another umholeli decided we still needed to pay 10 rand… false. Despite showing him the ticket stub, he was not convinced, but our un-amused faces changed his mind.  The icing on this tumultuous cake was the visual experience of seeing a man peeing in front of the bus, before the bus continued on its merry way.

We stopped for a second, so I could get a drink of water, and I lost it. I full-on snapped a garter (that’s for you Katie D, and Jack!) In other words, I entered a state of laughing hysteria, at the stesh, in a community I’d never been to. I felt bad for the people standing nearby, whom I later was introduced to… they were Zinhle’s host family… I LOLed for a solid ten minutes. I calmed down, but only briefly, when we paused to ask how long the bus took to reach Nhlangano… and burst into laughter again when we were told Futhi was going to be on the bus an additional 3 hours.  3 hours.

If I had a personal bubble here in Swaziland, it’s been burst beyond repair. 

I apologize whole-heartedly for all the feet I stepped on today.

Sweet mother of a tortellini sauce-wad.

--B

The Rules of Bus Twister

Players: there is a minimum requirement of 100 players. Any less and it doesn't count.

The goal of the game: to get off the bus at your stesh.

Bonus points awarded when:

-you get insulted

-if you stand on one leg for more than 5 minutes

if you don't hit anyone in the head with your bag before the end of the ride

-you get more than 3 marriage proposals

Trump card: if you were transporting eggs and they make it out whole by the end of the journey you become the default champion of Bus Twister

Sample Situations you might find yourself in while playing:

-right hand on bar above, left hand on baby's head, left foot two rows down, right foot hanging aimlessly in the air, bag on top of gogo

-right arm holding baby, left hand holding eggs, right foot in between someone elses', left knee up against seat, with the guy next to you proposing

-both hands on railing, left food wedged under a seat, right foot trapped behind someone else, butt kicked by baby, head positioned awkwardly, close to someone's armpit

*Some PCVs were mentally harmed in the making of this game.

Warning! Playing bus twister may result in hysterical laughter

Life on the Plateau

I'm currently enjoying a hybrid swazi and american meal. It's a hybrid because instead of lipalishi (or 'Pap' ... porridge of the corn variety) or rice on the side, i've thrown in some spaghetti mixed with the chicken stew I just cooked for my counterpart, Sebe. What's amusing to me is how used to customs I am (dare I say finally?) becoming. The language here is pretty direct, and often requests come as orders or demands. So at 3pm this afternoon when Sebe declared 'tonight you will cook for me' it was easy to just smile, and say 'sure thing, I'd love to'. Sebe, along with the other bothishela (teachers) have been an amazing support system for me over the last few weeks. And I feel much more at home here than when I was timidly peeking around my door, trying to figure out how I'd make any friends. I broke the ice pretty easily through sharing some chocolate muffins and no bakes with my neighbors. I've been both exhaustingly busy and bored out of my mind. Vive la Integration (I probably used that phrase wrong) but so is life.

I've been helping Ruth with computer lessons, teaching her the fine art of googling, and the magic and wonder of copy and paste. I also enjoyed a 2 hour hike with the computer, agriculture, and PE teachers. I am also pretty impressed with how I've been handling the heat. Although I'm on a plateau that experiences a 5 or 10 degree difference than hotter parts of the country (and offers an INCREDIBLE view when I take a kumbi out of town) it is still sweltering. Today, I was about to head into town when I was intercepted by the head teacher. Being the noob that I am, I was not carrying an umbrella to protect myself from the sun. It was rather sweet, she asked kindly, 'as a mother' for me to wait to go to town until it gets cooler.  What made this action all the more justified was the fact that someone had died of heat stroke in town earlier in the day.

I'm also slowly beginning to find my place here. This was super challenging in the beginning, there's so much already at the school, so on the one hand I wasn't sure what I could bring to the table, on the other hand, it didn't take long for me to feel like two years is way too short. In one of the meetings held before school started the bothishela mentioned their interest for providing *we interrupt this message with a breaking news update-- I now am more frequently eating with my hands...* facilities for mental health. I began thinking about how helpful the 'wellness wednesdays' were that my sorority sisters wrote while I was in undergrad. One thing led to another and now I'm doing 'wellness workshops' every morning before class starts. The goal/hope is that the bothishela will begin introducing these topics to their students, and that after they get an idea about it, they'll co-facilitate with me. But for now it's been a pretty awesome experience. I've started on 'time management' and this morning was a huge success. It was all about organization,   and as a take away, I said, 'remember, the world's universal currency is time. Like money, we can borrow, lend, spend and save it. How is yours best used?' ... And a hush fell over the crowd. It's funny to be talking about things that now feel so second nature, that many of the bothishela    have never considered before.

I am also beginning the task of tackling the library, and have enjoyed working with Nomcebo for that... We're going to start up some literacy programs, and integrate the library more into the school' curriculum. Terrifyingly... I was handed the key to the library and informed that I was in charge. I guess previously volunteers have always been in the library. It's nice to be promoted to head librarian, buuut I am working on changing that. I have been opening up the library as an experiment to see how it is being used. The first day was chaos. Peace corps Pam... Er Bongiwe didn't mind the running, pushing, shoving and need for 'disaster tape' to be strung everywhere once I finally shooed everyone out of the library (thanks entirely to an older student that many are actually afraid of...) Today it was a very different scene. And what I really admire, is how much the kids want to hang out in the library, while not all are reading, today many spent an hour working on puzzles and memory games, and even reading news from the ancient stacks of The Swazi Times or National Observer.

The kids also enjoy leading me around and pointing out pictures, and I celebrated with them after they completed the puzzles. I am going to need to figure out times when I'll have the library supervised (hopefully by other people than just me) because I noted quickly that they really like it, and rather than fighting in the school yard, and tooling around would rather spend time looking through books. I saw that the past volunteer also offered study hall hours, so that's something I might start as well.

I'm also excited because tomorrow a group of students is performing a... Dance? At the hotel in town, promoting HIV/AIDS and family planning programs and education. It was incredibly to watch them practice so far. One of the young gentlemen is a phenomenal drummer, I'm going to try to film it tomorrow. It was really neat.

While the past week honestly made me a walking billboard for the importance of deep breathing (to put it simply... School started three weeks ago... Classes, on the other hand...) This week, so far is starting to feel like a breath of fresh air.

On Friday, I had a dinner of sorts, and enjoyed the company of several of my fellow pcvs... I made pizza, and even went all out and made pancakes for breakfast. I'm pumped because i'm going to be descending the plateau on Saturday, heading towards Matata, near Big Bend (cue the kumbi drivers 'Biggie Bendie') to visit my closest friend here, Robbin. It'll be nice to be back in village life for a weekend.

Because of my location to town, I tend to trudge on over nearly once a day.  My frequent visits have led me to make some friends with the bomake (mothers/women) at the market. Additionally, two waiters at a restaurant I've eaten at a couple of time, with ridiculous good food, have asked me to help them with learning English. I joked that I'd come in, order a milkshake and provide lessons, and before I knew it they offered to give me free milkshakes. So I'm hoping to find time now to tutor them once or twice a week. It's hard now though, as I'm trying to get a handle on my schedule, and where, when, how I should be spending my time.

But it's hard not to make time for milkshakes, hehe.

I think this entry does a far better job of summing up my life here, no matter how true my last one also was. Disgustingly, I probably ate like 50 'no bakes' last week. It was probably a sign from the weightloss and healthy eating spirits that I wasn't able to go into town to buy more butter today... Haha. Until next time, salani kahle.

A Lazy Blogger's Post

For everyone who thinks my life is somehow more exciting than yours...

Here's some things that I can't suppress from sharing because I feel I deserve some sort of bragging rights:

1. I treated myself to some non-stick cooking pans, and sweet crumbly muffins, they work like a dream. If ever you need something to brighten your day, I guarantee a non-stick pan will do the trick.

2. The sink outside my house for laundry has a built in washboard. Now I am actually looking forward to doing my laundry... In fact, on Sunday I had to tell myself to stop! I kept going back and looking for new things to wash. I know for the fact that I am the envy of many other PCVs because of this. But how can you resist when your clothes look and feel so clean--and for the first time in months!

3. I made the most bomb tomato sauce the other night with dinner. Huzzah. Then I even went and made salsa to have alongside the homemade tortillas I had for lunch. Yup... that's right.
In all seriousness, these things genuinely made my day. Along with having really awesome conversations where I dabble into my siswati.

Live, from under the mosquito net

*This post brought to you my amazing friend, Sarah.  Without her, I would still be pushing "refresh" angrily, eyes glazing over in agony as the message "connection unavailable" messed with my level of patience. All I can say is, thank... Siyabonga kakhulu!!!* 

Anybody still out there?

It's kind of unfathomable that it's already September. PST was a complete whirlwind. While the days felt sometimes unendless (waking up between 5:30/6am---before the sun, I might add), and returning to our host families sometimes as late as 5:30pm (oh the mad scramble to get water, and cook before the sunset... 30 minutes... ready, set... GO!). This was also lengthened by the probability of having to wait for the bus for 1-2 hours.  The bus was a good "get your feet wet" moment for transportation in general... as you often things leave when they leave... whether or not you're on the bus... but the rides were amusing, filled with house music, and encoures of Celine Dion (My fellow G11s... you're the strength when I was weak... the words when I can't speak...) Weeks were over before I even realized it was no longer Monday.

By the last two weeks, I was both extremely excited, and sad to be leaving for my permanent site.  Excited because I had a really incredible visit over On the Job Training or OJT for all you acronym fanatics.  Peace Corps even arranged for me and Megan to have additional sign-language lessons (for the folks at home, I am going to be working with deaf youth--and that's all the details I'll disclose, because you can't be officially badass if everyone in the world knows your exact location). 

I was really stressed about our final LPI (Language Proficiency Interview)--we had to get at least intermediate low to pass--, and then learning sign on top of it... my bucupo (brain) was on the verge of exploding.  But here we are.  All 33 of us had an awesome time at Swearing In.  there were speeches from the American Ambassador, and two regional administrators, as well as the acting Prime Minister.  And hey, my face even made it into the paper.  We all joked though, that we obviously hadn't learned that much in training because none of us brought tupperware with us to bring back some of the delicious food we, perhaps a little overzealously, scarfed down as if we hadn't eaten in weeks (embarrassingly SO not true).  A few volunteers got crafty with water bottle and quickly turned those into to-go containers... eish... I have so much left to learn. 

The last weekend with my host family was amazing.  The kids wanted to make videos, my bhuti (brother) is hilarious... and then the group of them wanted to greet my mom, so they made two videos, one in English and one in Siswati.  it was super cute (I'll get it to you sometime between now and 2015, mom!) Then another family member decided he wanted his picture taken too... so he goes into gogo's house, and carries out a 20 foot ladder... and then rests it up against a papaya tree... him and my bhuti climb up, and pose. (I've included some pictures... hehe) This was definitely one of my favorite afternoons since I've been here.  

I really liked living in the "training village". On Sundays I had a lot of fun going for walks or attending community meetings at the Umphakatsi.  It was also fun to walk to the store and chat with the people hanging out there... and of course treat myself to some niknaks. 

Now I'm living on a school compound, which is really nice--My house is a teacher's apartment--but I no longer have a host family* My Make (mother) was excited, because that meant I get to keep the Swazi name she gave me--which I've also grown quite attached to... Bongiwe-- roughly meaning "praise".  It was strange leaving right when I felt like I was settling in. I"m really going to miss my host family, and I can't wait to visit them in a few months. My Make was so good to me, always checking in, and always ready to laugh if I got a little too serious. She joked that my hut will be mine, and that I can just move my family from the states here, and build more rooms on it... (what do you think, fam?)

*Although I am not living with a family... the other teachers have been so welcoming, and I feel as though I might actually 20ish families, which is nice, I really don't feel isolated. 

Here, because phone calls are so expensive, people buzz each other (let the phone ring once or twice, and then hang up), just to let you know they are thinking of you. I promised Make I wouldn't be lazy and I would buzz her often. As a going away present I gave her a handmade market basket--and I was so excited that she really loved it--her reaction was priceless. She is really good at making emafehti and buns, so it's the perfect thing to carry them around in. In return she gave me a beautiful wooden bowl. It is currently housing bobanane and oranges.

I really like the town that I live near. It's neat to only be a few minutes walk from the bus rank, and there's a really big Bomake market right next to it... so yay fresh produce!  In town, there's pretty much everything I need. It always cracks me up when I speak Siswati, because the reactions people give are also worth the effort, it's funny how surprised they are that I can speak even just a few words. 

The best way to sum up my feelings right now is to say that the past few days have been days where two years feels too short, and I think that's a good thing.  I've moved past the initial anxieties of being surrounded by so much difference and now I know better how to communicate and even joke, as I navigate through what previously might have been frustrating moments.  I'm really looking forward to the next few months of Integration, and the next two years of service. 

Here's to being an official Peace Corps Volunteer!

Peace Corps Moldova:The End

Well, I am sitting here on my final night, in this high-rise block apartment in the middle of this tiny Eastern European country for my very last night. It definitely hasn't sunk in yet that I will be leaving in a few short hours and boarding a plane that will, after a bit of much anticipated travel, bring me home to my family, my friends, my love, and my America. It has been more than two years since I have called the US my home, and I have learned so many lessons about what it is to be a American abroad but also, a more concious citizen of the world.

The past couple of weeks I have spent in the village I have grown to know as home. After finishing my projects within the community I spent my days going for long walks and getting lost on narrow muddy roads full of colorful flowers and heavy fruit trees. I tried to take in everything, the sights, the sounds, the flavors. I spent evenings with my host mom in her expansive garden sitting on a metal post bed sipping black tea and talking about what life had in store for me after this chapter closes. Her advice was always the same: Be strong, the hard times will pass you must stay happy. She saw me at my best, coming home from simple weekends spent with the man I love. She saw me at my worst, in the darkness of winter. She knows me and loves me, for better or worse. She was a mother to me these two years. Protecting me from dangers, caring for me when I was ill, cheering me up when I was down, sharing with me in the joys, and pouring some house wine when that was the only thing that was going to do the trick. I could never begin to express my gratitude and thanks for her. She is one of the special ones.

Reflecting on my time here in Moldova I realize my proudest moments are not accomplishments at work, but rather the relationships and bonds I have made with Moldovans. For me learning Romanian was a huge challenge, I have never considered myself a linguist. Being able to now converse in this language at not just a superficial but deep and meaningful level has allowed me to expereince a culture in a unique and special way.

One of my fellow volunteers was talking with us about how we can best relay our expereience on to friends and family back home. She said something that radiated deep within me: sometimes we have to recognize that all of our stories and all of our experiences really won't translate when we return home. But, she said, that's ok those are the moments that are just for you. Those are the unique gifts that Peace Corps service gives to you. I found that this little piece of advice has helped me as I close my service and reflect on my life for the past two years.

It's easy to share the funny stories; of needing to use the restroom my first day at site and ending up in the outdoor shower confused because there is supposed to be a hole, isn't there? Or the wild stories, like stepping onto a public bus in the middle of winter to see that it was being heated by an open flame, sitting in the isle. Or the cultural stories, like the time I blew-off the mayor because I didn't realize who he was and thought he was just arrogant, and later went to the office to meet with him, but when there were two men with the same name I referred to him as 'the fat one' because that isn't seen as culturally unacceptable (oh, and they knew to whom I was referring). Those are just a few of the stories that never get old. Those aren't the stories that are Peace Corps gifts. Peace Corps gifts are when you walk by that stubborn old woman on the block and she finally says 'good day'. The day you walk through the entire community and none of the dogs bark because they have finally gotten used to you, or the neighbors no longer stare at the American as you pass their fence. The day you come back from a trip and you feel like you are coming home and a flood of relief  washes over you when you get on the bus back to site. When your host mom refers to you as family and the dinner conversations get a little more meaningful. These are Peace Corps gifts that only PCVs can truly appreciate. We, PCVs know how a goat looking at us the wrong way can ruin a perfectly fine day, or the dog not barking at us when we go to the outhouse brings a goofy smile to our face the rest of day. Sound slightly crazy? Well, that's Peace Corps. It's crazy and wonderful and life changing and sometimes super icky and other times simply the best.

And so, I am sitting up in this high-rise Eastern-block apartment on my very last night in Moldova, my very last night as a Peace Corps volunteer, and all I can say is my life will be forever changed. Somedays I woke up hating Peace Corps, other days I woke up knowing I owed my life to Peace Corps. Peace Corps is a wild beast and to have lived it for more than two years, seen it through, and grown from it I can honsetly say: Peace Corps, thank you.

Tomorrow I will leave Moldova as a returned Peace Corps volunteer (RPCV) and I can honestly say that, that will be the proudest moment of my life.

Peace