A couple of weeks after training began, the Peace Corps drove us into Piggs Peak so we could replenish our provisions, and then drove us home. The census being the same both before and after, they announced that, in the future, we would be allowed to venture out on our own, as long as we went no farther than Piggs Peak to the South and never turn North out of the training center driveway. (This is the PeaceCorps: We are reminded to bathe, eat our veggies, and act nice in public. Many of us do.) Thence began our intimate knowledge of the Khumbi.
The Khumbi is simply a van or mini-bus used by everyone for public transportation, privately owned. We soon became adept at using them in our limited area. A ride to the training center was about ten minutes and cost E4; to Piggs Peak, 30-45 minutes, E13. The driver collected the fare after stopping for us to exit. We even got used to having everyone chuckle at our SiSwati when we called for our stop. (Our LCF insists that it is because they are surprised and pleased at our pronunciation, but it never fails to bring a smile. For us, we call out, “’stash’ eMpompini”.) The difficult part was learning the Swazi culture or etiquette of riding. Swazis have a very limited idea of personal space. In a check-out line, this means that if you leave enough space to hold your groceries between you and the person ahead of you, someone will jump into line there wondering why you’re dallying. In a Khumbi, it means that a vehicle designed to hold 14 will haul 19, or perhaps 14 plus a couple of 200 kg bags of rice and a couple of cages of chickens (which boMake are bringing home from market and have been carrying on their heads). And the consistency in all khumbis is the music! It is limited to two genres, gospel or rap, (both in SiSwati), and it comes to you at full volume. This is assured by placing a speaker above each row of seats.
There you have the basics. Jump ahead to the end of our OJT experience. The two of us and two other trainees who will be our neighbors got up early to get the first Khumbi out of Siteki. The one hour ride to Manzini was tolerable because I inserted ear plugs—deep. The bus ranks in Manzini resemble a bazaar except made up of hundreds of khumbis and buses at all angles, and the spaces between them filled with mingling people, salesmen selling airtime, and variations of marketers. We found our transfer Khumbi and the four of us took the three seats in the row behind the driver holding our book bags and backpacks on our laps. The music was loud enough to sterilize the interior of the cabin so I inserted my earplugs—deeper. We were introduced to a new position in the Manzini ranks, a ‘loader’ who stood inches away from my seat and shouted unintelligible sounds in my ear every few seconds. I think he was announcing the destination, but his other duty seemed to be to fill any space not already occupied. He especially took pride in finding places under the seats and above the driver. I never determined the number of passengers because I was so packed in, I couldn’t turn my head. We sat, suffering, for so long that some passengers got off (requiring anybody seated in front of them to reposition), but they were immediately replaced by another. Meanwhile, the exhaust fumes were filling any otherwise unoccupied spaces. Finally, the driver appeared again and then another personage, the ‘conductor’, who had no place to sit, so he assumed a position in the door-well adjacent to my seat. His duty was to collect fares while en route, so he was constantly bumping me and rubbing various body parts against me in order to tend to his chores. Finally, the ‘loader’ closed the door causing the ‘conductor’ to squeeze into my space, and we inched our way out of the ranks, the populace slowly parting before us much as the Red Sea did before Moses. On occasion, the conductor would position himself so that I could see that the door had not sealed and road dirt was blowing in on me. I assume the sound waves from the speakers had burst the seals so the door never shut. The remainder of the body was held together by chewing gum and baling wire. The four of us rode without speaking for the full 98 minute ride because any utterances were swallowed by the sound system. Finally, we got to our transfer point in Buhleni, peeled out of our seats like taking sardines from the tin, swaggered to the Khumbi destined for Piggs Peak and took our seats for the remaining 35 minutes of our journey—along with a dozen other passengers. To get around Swaziland, add many passengers and repeat.
Never ask when the Khumbi is leaving. The Khumbi is leaving when it is full.
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