A Week's Blogs

More observations, of things I like (this seems to be mostly Mark, so far), and some not so much:

The previous blog was sent in a hurry, when a turn in line to use the internet at our training facility arose unexpectedly (recognizing that we were bumping each other off line, they've organized a system for 1 at a time.) One of the trainees, a young woman with whom I'd had little contact so far, saw we were getting repeatedly bounced off the net and offered to help us download our entry to her flash drive, and then get it on her Mac, which was holding the net link better; she spent almost ½ an hour of precious communications time doing that with us. So getting to know these splendid young folks is really fun. Several call me “Dad,” one in a Tennessee accent (that can be done) who asked a few days ago “are those dimples or wrinkles?” (The khumbi (bus) row agreed my middle finger response was appropriately eloquent.) I've heard one or 2 call Katherine Mom. And when we stumbled out of an especially frustrating language class yesterday afternoon and got excited by a good-looking new bird with a brilliant blue-green back and orange-red throat (probably a white-fronted sunbird) they said we were “so cute.” Oh, well.

We are making progress speaking with our host family, as we learn more siSwati words and some grammar. They are very protective of us. I wonder what they think of us? Within the first hours we were here I'd made 2 big blunders, hanging my water pail from the bore hole tap – could have snapped it off – Make Olpa pleasantly showed me to set it on the stone below the tap. And walking in our street shoes all over the floor of our hut. Those shoes had walked through the road and dooryard – they had poop and dust on them, and the hut floor had been carefully cleaned. They never wear street shoes inside.

Friday night as I made my last latrine visit I heard the most wonderful singing from down the valley, that distinctive southern African style of harmonized chorus, punctuated by solo intervals, a style that I first recall from Paul Simon's Graceland album, and that is in the background of every movie about South Africa. In fact, there were at least 2 separate choruses. Practicing for church? On Friday night? They were still at it when I repeated my visit around 2 a.m., although the singing was noticeably less precise. Ah ha! Saturday is burying day (that's the literal translation – tells you something about what's happening here). They keep a vigil, singing through the night, and bury the body at dawn.

Other things I like:

Nailing a word in language class learned way back last week;

The food. Lots of rice, some meat, tasty gravy.

We got out of class early Friday PM, so I fit in my first run from my training homestead, across a ridge, in the golden twilight (lots of wood fires?) Hilly – a challenge. As I neared our homestead some women stopped me, asking where I stayed, my siSwati name, more I couldn't follow. Everything I tried in siSwati prompted gales of laughter, especially when I closed with my carefully memorized 10 syllables intended to say “I'm happy to meet you.” On my run Tuesday afternoon someone asked my name and I gave my siSwati name – Sipho (means “gift”, so they say) as I headed out, and on my way back at least 3 groups of people greeted me by that name. Not too many skinny old white guys running around the dusty roads here.

Night skies. Still working on my new constellations.

Great new birds everywhere. A striped kingfisher Sunday morning, and others we haven't had chance to identify yet.

Some things that will require getting used to:

During training (until September!), having nearly every moment directed by others, directed by people ½ my age (or less) who can be focused more on completing their requirements than what may be on my agenda just now. This is compounded by having quite a few people managing different portions of this operation, so we frequently get caught in the middle and end up in a big hurry, only to wait, or not have the right things with us . . . .

Getting on without the things that make life at home smooth: hot water by turning a knob, hot showers, plentiful table space (our propane burner takes up ½ our single table – no bureau, no shelves or hooks – just floor and our luggage), washing machine, buildings in which you can regulate the temperature (its winter, and cool at night; we hold a 2 hour language class most mornings in the village church (not in use) where I have measured the temperature at 58 F.

The PC's repeated insistence that we “look smart” in “business casual,” in a dusty environment where we wash our clothes ourselves in cold water from a bore hole, and it takes most of a dry to dry – on a good day. The women wear skirts below the knee. Curiously, this need to dress up comes more from the Swazi than PC – the Swazi instructors all dress quite nicely – shoes polished on a dusty road waiting for the bus. And Swazis are upset, it seems, by the sight of women's thighs. No short dresses, no pants, and certainly no shorts for women. Left to their own way, I suspect our group would quickly settle for a low standard and then, we are told, the Swazis wouldn't respect us. Many in our group are trying to keep their tats covered, and have removed their piercings, till they get to “permanent” sites and have a time to let the village get to know them; tats and piercings are said to identify “gangsters.”

There's one thing I doubt I'll ever adjust to: those damn roosters, right outside our door it seems, all through the night (don't they know?) but tuning up especially starting around 4:30 a.m. or so. And my sense is that the night we take our Mefloquine each week, those roosters are right in here with us.

If we get enough signal to send pix, we'll show Katherine learning from our Make (the Mom of the household) how to wash clothes from the water tap on Sunday, maybe us in front of the church where we meet for language class, and Katherine reading in bed. It gets into the low 50s at night, maybe a little colder, and the houses are unheated and drafty.

OK, couldn't get enough bandwidth when we were at the training facility to send this Wednesday. Been out in the village since then, with no signal; back to the training town tomorrow – maybe we'll have better luck.

Yesterday we continued our hands-on learning of PC approach to gardening, intensive organically improved small plots, intended to deal with food insecurity among the many child-headed households. Then in the afternoon we planned and bought locally a lunch to be cooked and eaten with our host families. All of it was more instructive and fun than it may sound. I've come to give the PC a lot of credibility; things I think can't work tend to be pretty sound once we get into them. The PC runs around 2k trainees through this every year, and they are rigorous and determined to justify what they do. I have frequently in mind our economist son Scott's references to inefficiency in this approach. I keep reminding myself to wait and see. The cooking with Katherine and 2 young trainees, and the 26 year old who does all the cooking for our host family, was interesting and fun. The Swazis wanted way more mayo in the slaw, and were a little disappointed that there was no meat – one of the trainee cooks is a vegetarian.

KUF is really getting the language quickly – converses with the ladies in our homestead, sometimes catches what they say to each other, or to the kids.! Mark finds it a struggle.

Whoopee – on a shopping trip we've paused at an internet cafe! Here goes!