GARY'S TRAINING CENTER

We've scheduled our trip to Cape Town beginning Wednesday, so don't expect any posts for a couple of weeks. To get you through, I'm publishing pictures of Mabuda Farm--site of my training trails, and a recent hike with Mo. I trust you will find them unusual because it is an oasis, or even an apparition, in this area of poverty in the mid-veld. The house is over 100 years old, from the Colonial period, now owned by a white physician who employs many Swazis for operation of the largest dairy farm in the kingdom. It appears to be something from an Agatha Christie novel.

    






 







         
These pictures were taken from the cow trails when we hiked a week ago. Views into the valley...then Mo takes a break from birding, then points to over the ridge where we live.

I expect these pictures to surprise you, but note that they are not typical of any other place we've seen in the kingdom.

Click to enlarge.

Back in two weeks.

THE SWAZI UPRISING

This is a quick post just because the situation here suggests reassurance of our well-being.
The “April 12 uprising” has come and gone. The only sign of anything different in this area was a squad of ‘peacekeepers’ in the middle of the street near our town center, and a strange silence—almost eerie, knowing the facts—which was also noticed by another PCV. Part of the fizzle was because the Prime Minister declared, last week, that any demonstrations would be illegal, and so there were numerous peremptory arrests. Those who did demonstrate were met with water cannon, tear gas, batons, and rubber bullets. …That, and the fact that Swazis operate on APT (African People Time) which means that the Tuesday uprising might still manifest tomorrow. There are continued rumblings that the police action has merely pushed things under the surface and the uprising will erupt again on the King’s birthday anniversary next week. And I’ve just read a lengthy statement by the Swazi Solidarity Network which blames the public for not getting involved, not taking action, and other things—forcefully stated—that I dare not repeat here.
There were hints that other communities might have demonstrated, but we feel that our quiet corner of the kingdom was never in question. We are fortunate (well, unusual) in that we have rapid access to the internet.
Some of you accessed the New York Times article; others know the facts as well as we do. So just briefly:
King Mswati is one of the richest men in the world; 70% of the nation live on less than US$1/day.
The nation is run under “emergency rule”; political parties are banned, appointments are through the absolute monarchy.
Individual rights are determined through the inkhundla system (see above) and corruption is reportedly rampant.
HIV is 26%; unemployment 40%; revenue down 60%;
57% of wealth held by richest 20%; 4% of wealth distributed among poorest 20%
The king supports his 14 wives in an opulent style and is planning an extravagant celebration for his anniversary on the throne.
When approached with complaints from within his kingdom, the New York Times reports that the king responded with these inspiring words to his public, “Work harder and sacrifice more”.

TWO POSTS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE

Woman’s rights, Swaziland Style (by guest writer, Debbie)

We have been in Swaziland about ten months now and it still shocks me how half the population doesn’t have any voice. Our Swazi sisters are a beautiful and stoic group of women. They work hard; digging ditches for new water pipes, plowing the fields, washing the laundry, taking care of the children, cooking the food, and on and on and on. Many of the children are being brought up by the GoGos (grandmothers) as their mothers have died of HIV/TB. A whole population of what would be mothers and fathers have been lost here as treatment for HIV did not find its way to developing African countries until about 6 years ago. But I digress. Gary and I always notice when a male is parenting as it is so unusual here. Gary has caused quite a stir on campus “doing woman’s work”, sweeping and even doing the laundry when I didn’t feel well one day.

Women are not allowed to enter into contract or to have property except for some specific household goods like a cooking pot. So how do women start a small business? If a woman is widowed here, the property goes to the husband’s family, and her father, regardless of her age, makes all the legal/contractual decisions for her. If she divorces her husband for, say, physical abuse, her children are taken from her and given to the father’s family. No wonder the divorce rate is so low; who would want to lose their children? An attorney told us a story regarding a woman who did manage to have a successful business. She dutifully gave her profits to her husband who in turn used it to pay “Lobola” (number of cows given to the father for the right to marry a daughter) so he could take a second wife. She had no legal recourse. If there is not enough money to buy school uniforms or to pay school fees, it is the girls who will stay home. I can go on and on.

What makes you want to weep is the loss to the country of all the talent and creativity that is wasted by keeping half of the population as second class citizens. It is the women in most countries that fight for social issues such as good schools, healthcare and a future for the kids. To a large measure their voices are silent here as I expect it is in many African countries.

We women who live in the United States are blessed, indeed. I am most grateful that our daughters and granddaughters will have opportunities that women in many parts of the world only dream about. My daughter and I used to jokingly tease my son by singing Helen Reddy’s “I am woman” to him in the car. I only now really understand the significance of the lyrics. It is my dream that as I continue my volunteer “career” here and in the states that I can somehow volunteer in such a way that perhaps just one woman in a developing country can sing this song loudly and proudly. Anyone want to join me? Watch me grow, I am strong, I am invincible, I am woman.

And now, for something totally different: (by Chief blogger, Gary)

This is a primary school campus so there is probably enough material each day to create a post if I had the time. Attending to Very Important Work, however, prevents that. But let me tell you a little about an event last week:

Friday was the final day of this term; exams were the previous week and much sports activity last week. Being a residence school, the kids were excited and keyed up in anticipation of leaving for home. The schedule was unstructured and the library is a comfortable, secure and interesting place to visit, thanks to the supervision of the kindly librarian. Being primary students in this situation, I was constantly going around pouring cold water on volatile situations as they arose, my attention being called by hearing screams in various sections of the library. After responding to one such “emergency”, I heard a scream from clear across the room. This one was different: sustained and meaningful. Investigating the source, I found one of my “favorites” on the hard wood benches with her head—up to and including her ears—firmly wedged between seat and back-rest. My first instinct was, of course, to push her head back out. It wouldn’t budge and I felt her pain. Next, I attempted to lift the back slat while pushing down on the seat. It is heavy material and nothing gave; but while in that position, I looked around and realized that everyone around me was deaf. They couldn’t hear my frantic voice requesting help, and my hands were occupied so I couldn’t sign. Making no progress, I reverted to the original plan and forcefully pushed her head out, perhaps using her ears as a spacing mechanism. Talk about a painful delivery. As soon as she was extricated, three mothering, older students led her away before I had the opportunity to check her out. So I convened court on the spot and interrogated the most likely suspect who, of course, pleaded innocence. The case was dropped for lack of evidence. A short while later, I found the victim (a genuine cutie) on the floor of the pre-reader section, in the fetal position, sucking her thumb. I signed, “How are you?” and only got a morose look from her. Later in the day, she was up and about with ears attached and as cute and happy as before.

AWAY FROM SITEKI--INTO THE 21st CENTURY

The Mbabane bus ranks; sunset on our arrival home; PCVs comparing Teva tans (I'm right foreground).

The first goal of the Peace Corps is to help people of interested countries meet their needs for trained manpower…strengthen capacity, etc. So our meeting last week was with our counterparts working on project management, capacity building, and achieving sustainability. With my background in microbiology, I have often joked that the Peace Corps would probably use me to dig latrines. Last week, with my counterpart, I learned that Siteki has suffered from drought in the winter—not enough water to flush, so she gave highest priority to digging pit latrines on the campus. We’ll see if it remains a joke. Besides the drought, she thinks it would stop the kids from ‘watering’ the row of banana trees. (Doubtful: A day doesn’t go by that I don’t see at least one guy relieving himself by the side of the road when I go out for a run.) So I’ll now be researching the construction of pit latrines.

The other highlight of the conference was a guest speaker who presented for about two hours. She was a Swazi, woman attorney, who was dynamic, articulate, enthusiastic and not afraid to speak out and say things that we are not allowed to say. She was passionate when discussing women’s rights in Swaziland (they don’t have any), and constitutional law (usurped by tradition).

I hinted in my last post that we would feel some relief from the heat and humidity while in Mbabane. Not so. We saw the thermometer hit 36. Those of you with metric experience will remember that 37=98.6. One night, we experienced one of those Swazi storms when the thunder never abated and shook our innards. The next morning we awoke to a cloudless, blue sky, with the sun poised to broil us again.

So when the conference ended, we found a kombi to take us to Ezulwini valley (tourist alley) and treated ourselves to a movie and a good meal in air conditioning. Air conditioning is very rare here. The Gables is a somewhat American style shopping mall, so new that it isn’t fully occupied, and we found a four-screen cineplex with lights, speakers, screen and chairs similar to what you might find in an American suburb. I was assigned the most comfortable chair I have sat in for nine months, had a cup holder to put my drink in, and we watched The Tourist. –in air conditioning. For E56 for the two of us (the equivalent of about $4 each). (A reminder here that 70% of this country lives on less than $1/day.) It is a good movie and we appreciated watching it on a full screen, especially when compared to watching on our 14” laptop.

After the movie, we ate at a restaurant which seemed to have been moved from the heartland of America, decorated with tipis, American bison, ‘Indian’ chiefs. Go figure. But it was good American fare finished with an “American style” brownie with soft ice cream. In air conditioning. None of which we can find in Siteki. The clientele were all mlungu. If we see another white in Siteki, we know them personally. And topping it off, we had time to shop at what must be the kingdoms’ best grocery store. We could have been in Fairwood because we found good cheeses, sauces, and spices, and even a bakery where we got a hearty multi-grain, and a calamata olive Italian bread. It was good to enjoy a day that could have taken place in America, perhaps Atlanta taking into account the heat.

So there is a brief synopsis of our week. We boarded a broken-down bus and headed for home with the Swazi noise they call ‘music’ shaking our eardrums for two hours (even with earplugs deeply implanted) completely drenched in sweat. It was good to be back.

LIFE IN SWAZILAND

Many of you know we have been on standfast this week because of political unrest and civil protests in Mbabane and Manzini. Civil servants, especially teachers and nurses, are upset because they haven’t been paid, and the college students want more allowance, and all are facing the threat of cutbacks; hence the call for a general strike. We have been limited to our community and restricted by no commercial travel, although we don’t feel particularly limited because we have a refrigerator and can walk into town and to our work sites. We are ‘posh corps’, but we feel for our friends who are more rural and are stuck at their homesteads. We don’t worry about our safety because the Peace Corps takes that responsibility seriously. The fiscal year ends with this month, so April is an unknown, and another demonstration is scheduled for April 12, which is the anniversary of when political parties were banned in 1973. That date comes after civil servants have missed a pay day, so it could be even more exciting. On the other hand, rest assured that nothing will happen at 10:00 a.m., any day, when everyone drops everything for tea break.

Sunday is the equinox, when day is equal to night everywhere. I remember writing that line in a previous post, which is an indication that we have been here at least six months—but who’s counting? We have noticed that the days are getting shorter and we thought they should be getting cooler, but in the past couple of weeks we have suffered from some of the hottest and most humid days we’ve known. And after the rains stopped, the clay has been baked until there is no water in it leaving over an inch of dust on top of the ground. After the work-day, we come home and strip off our sweaty clothes for something more comfortable. Our friends in the low veld tell us they go home, strip, and then lie on the concrete floor of their huts; higher is hotter.

Next week, we will be in Mbabane for Peace Corps training. We should be a little cooler because it is a little higher. And at the end of the week, we plan on dallying a bit because there is now a theatre in the kingdom! Rumor has it that it has movies—in color— with sound—and perhaps popcorn! I’ll report on that once I’ve seen it. We’ll also visit the best grocery store in the kingdom so we hope to bring home cream cheese, ‘real’ parmesan cheese, and bread that is neither simply white or wheat. Life is good!

After a quick review, I think I’ve done it! I have written a post without a single parenthetical! (But now I see the exclamation points are growing in number. Damn!)

LIFE IN AFRICA

"Oh NO! Not another hot day in Swaziland!"

GOOD MORNING! HOW. ARE. YEW?

Several weeks ago, we completed plans for a trip to Cape Town, RSA, at the end of April. For reasons I won’t go into here, we will be more than ready to take a break from our Very Important Work, take off our Peace Corps hats, and be tourists. Everyone tells us Cape Town is a great place to visit and we look forward to new scenery, good food and wine, pastries and cheese; Debbie says she will have seafood at every meal. Our ‘excuse’ for this trip is a run for me on April 23 and an international fun run on the 22th we’ve each entered. The fun run is only 5k, is not chipped, and entrants wear their national colors (i.e. ‘colours’, here) and carry flags, etc. A couple other PCVs are entered in my race. The trip might not be affordable to a PCV, but when I enter my bank card to the ATM, it greets me with, “Good morning, Gary Johnson”. How easy to draw funds from over 10,000 miles away.
I didn’t run at all during Pre-service training. But soon after moving to Siteki, I began looking for good running routes. The first thing I learned was how much I stood out in both actions and appearance. Even though I got the usual Swazi greetings, I got a lot of quizzical stares and I was never totally comfortable and wanted a longer route.
I soon began using a road we had wanted to explore half way to the hospital. It is a rough, dirt road that has three or four challenging hills and a good distance. It runs behind the Good Shepherd schools so I was frequently challenged for short distances by laughing students going home and I felt like the Pied Piper. It was a different experience for me, though, because these kids could hear. There are many homesteads along this route and every time I pass one, little voices call out in English, “How. Are. Yeww?” This is occasionally preceded by, “Good morning” in clear and precise English, even though I run in the late afternoon. I’m never sure whether to answer in English or siSwati. When I answer in siSwati, sometimes I get the same “How. Are. Yew?” until I answer in English. The interesting part of this route is a neighborhood center where local maidens would gather to practice native dances wearing the (lack of) native costumes. I was always greeted with waves, big smiles, and shouts, and on a couple of occasions, proposals. I would reply in my limited siSwati that I was a tired, old, white grandpa which got a lot of laughs. I gave up this route during the rainy season (recently ended) when the creek over-flowed and the mud became too much for me, even though the locals still waded through it, dispersed the herds of goats and the occasional cow, to collect water from the pools.
So I transferred my efforts to the “tar road” that climbs the hill behind Good Shepherd Hospital. The “tar” ends at the hospital but the dirt road continues to climb for an elevation gain of over 500 feet, I estimate. It is too steep to run and I end up walking too much. But I crest in about 27 minutes and continue over the top so I can make my turn-about at the 30 minute mark and return in a total of about 55 minutes. A very rough estimation would make it about 10k and that’s the best I can do without an odometer. I get views of the hillside where we live, Mabuda Farm, and New Market.
Now, with an invitation from acquaintances at Mabuda Farm, I have begun using cow trails through the bush that allow longer distances without such severe inclines. My last run was 45 minutes down to a point overlooking the valley in a field of brown sandstone boulders almost the size of Volkswagens. The uphill return took me to a total of 96 minutes. I’ll continue stretching the distance, perhaps eventually adding on ‘hospital hill’. With the rainy season behind us, the slippery clay has baked to powdery kaolin and each footfall is in over an inch of dust. It remains hot but the days are becoming noticeably shorter. Eventually I’ll need to adjust my schedule. The good news is, my speed seems to be about the same as it was when I ran “Peachtree”, 40 years ago. The bad news is, shouldn’t I have improved in all that time?
Finally, Katie has been mentioned in this blog before; you’ve even seen pictures of her. She is a Frequent Visitor to our palace which has won her a “K” on the door (cut out from a Kellog cereal box). Katie knows how to write a blog without using parentheses; (how she does that, I don’t know, although I only see a couple of parentheticals in this post). So if you have some time and would like to see a viewpoint from a different PCV, I’ve added a link to her blog at the bottom of the left hand column.
Good running.