Becalmed & Invaded

   The schools don't know what to do with us, so we still don't have slots for teaching. Makes us crazy.

   The “wealthier” Railway Primary School is now having classes, but the 6^th grade classroom teacher is still out writing her exams for a Masters, she is the senior teacher, and the other teachers will not agree to a schedule for us until she comes back and blesses it. And no progress opening their library.

    The “poorer” school is still pleading with the Ministry of Education for permission to hire the contract teachers, and has no schedule, it seems, until that happens. The principal was in Mbabane, the capital, yesterday trying to make that happen. They have much bigger problems than us, and are not addressing our schedule till they get this figured out. I get the sense this is pretty typical at the beginning of first term.

Its really hard to change the world as much as we'd like when we can't get regular time with our students.

    Swazis value agreement and consensus, and will tend to tell you what they think you want to hear, rarely disagreeing or giving bad news directly. If they wanted us to go away, they'd waste our time this way, never having an answer for us, and just ignoring us. But we think these issues are genuine, and we try not to take it personally. We sense other PCVs are encountering some of the same frustrations at this point, except for the young woman writing in the January SoJo I mentioned in the last post, January 27, who is probably being asked to be in at least 2 places at once all day!

    I'm assisting with a Senior Literature Class at the High School wresting with some Shakespeare Sonnets (“Shall I compare the to a summer day?” and “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment . . .”) and enjoying what I've been able to do of that, with some help from a friend of our son's wife's mother who really knows poetry, and we're helping a debate team with a presentation Saturday at the local government center on the harm from stigmatizing HIV, but we are not using our time as productively as we'd like. Maybe its a metaphor for the problems of “developing” countries. When we were in the US we talked with our son, a professor of development economics at Boston College, about current theories of what promotes and impedes development, and he assigned me some reading, and I sure see here the obstacles created by unreliable institutions, such as these schools wasting the first 2 weeks of the term. Not sure we're going to change that too much while we're here.

   We got back from (an unsuccessful visit to) one school around 10 yesterday morning with a load of heavy groceries (cans, produce, liquid no fat milk (the powdered milk is full cream and heavily processed)) we'd carried 1 ¼ miles and found animal poop on a table inside our hut and in the middle of the floor, things spilled off the table, and a mosquito net screen on the kitchen window loosened from its velcro fastening. A bird? Rodent? Snake? We searched and found no sign of the intruder, and cleaned up. The entry point did not appear to have been used as an exit – the netting was hanging inwards.

   When we got home late in the afternoon from working with the debate team at the High School I heard a stirring in Katherine's cloth US$35 prefab wardrobe, a sort many of us purchased to create some quick cheap shelf and hanging space. She swears she always leaves it zipped up, except not that one morning, but she'd then zipped it before leaving later in the day after we'd cleaned up from the intruder. Now hearing the intruder in her wardrobe, we armed ourselves with dustpans – seemed pretty effective against a rat, black mamba (kind of an unpleasant southern African snake), or other intruder,don't you think? – carried the wardrobe outside, slowly unzipped it . . . and a chicken darted out. I chased it all over the barn/court yard bravely trying to hit it with my dustpan, but it had no trouble keeping away from me. On Katherine's jeans folded at the bottom of the wardrobe we found a fresh egg! We gave it to the family. (This is Katherine and there never was a funnier sight than watching Mark chasing the chicken around the homestead waving a dustpan yelling "I'm going to kill you."  I was very relieved that the intruder was a chicken and not a snake, and that we saw it leave before we went to bed. I don't like the thought of of having uninvited guests in our hut!) (This is Mark: after Wyatt Earp had finished up in the OK Coral, I'm pretty sure some of the folks in Tombstone came out of their cellars and volunteered that they would have been happy to help, if he'd only asked.)

No pictures till I get the battery on my camera straightened out; our electricity switches on and off and surges, we believe, and we suspect that could be tough on a battery being recharged. We carefully unplug everything (except the fridge) during the frequent electrical storms, and never go to sleep or leave the hut with anything charging.

    The camera is a major concern, because in a week we go to Kruger National Park, north of Swaziland, in South Africa, for the weekend. Back in September we were invitedalong by the people who own the B&B 20 km away that we like – the husband is a bird enthusiast, and eye surgeon at the local hospital, and they like PCVs. It's principally a birding expedition, and my camera doesn't do birds well, but the place we're staying (Satara Camp) is one of the best places to see lions, elephants, water buffalo, rhinos, hippos, crocodiles and even leopards, as well as lots of cool birds. Being camera-less in Kruger would be, in a phrase I first encountered describing the plight of the non-voting District of Columbia “Representative” to Congress, like being a eunuch at an orgy.

    I'm practicing patience, going with the flow. Not my strong suit. The Swazis would ask God to provide and trust to Him. Not sure my camera should take priority over too many other pleas appearing on His list from around here.

Ups and downs revised - photos added

We got back from the US Sunday, Jan 19, a week ago. Last Tuesday was the first day of school. We knew time would be tight and we'd be tired and jet-lagged, so all through Christmas we'd been thinking about and drafting lesson plans for the first week of school. Hah!

Monday we went by our 3 schools. The High School was thronged – with parents! Lined up to pay school fees – in cash. Or to plead for more time. And a pick-up truck full of kids from the Refugee Camp applying for admission. The “poor” primary school was nearly empty – no one there was doing anything until the first day for which they were paid. The more wealthy primary school. partly subsidized by the railroad, was orderly, with hardly any parents showing up to deal with school fees. But the library on which we'd worked so hard before Christmas (not the one that got the Books For Africa Grant in December, but the one that got books last year but still hasn't made them available to the students) was now packed with boxes of school texts, as well as the construction equipment stored there at the end of last term.

We knew the first day at the Railway school would start with a faculty meeting for much of the morning with the students just sitting in their classrooms – no books, no work, no lessons. Grrr. But many of the teachers were away, either because they were taking tests for certification all week (!) or because they'd just been paid and they'd gone into town. Of course.

No one knew when, or even whether, we would have a slot for our teaching. Initially we were a little put off by this, but then we got a different perspective. We saw that at the “poorer” primary school there were some openings they were hoping to fill with “contract” (not permanent) teachers, some of whom were there, waiting to be signed up. But permission to hire these “contract” teachers had not been received from the Education Ministry. And at the other schools, teachers were just beginning to learn their assignments. Maybe we saw 4 or 5 30-minute classes taught, the whole week! So it wasn't a reflection on us that they couldn't commit to a place for us in their curriculum(we think!); the schools were just trying to get organized to start the term.

At the “poorer” primary school, a dozen or 15 Refugee Camp students interviewed and none were accepted because of inadequate English, which is a pretty low standard at that school. In their countries of origin, mostly troubled countries in central Africa, the second language they learned was Swahili or French, not English. We don't know what they will do.

We opened this week in the 5^th grade at the affluent Railway school (new students for us, last year's 4^th grade) a Christmas package my sister had sent us for our students, that we hadn't had chance to share with them before Christmas because the students were not in class much as the term wound down in November. The “Christmas” gift from my sister was an inflatable globe. Fantastic hit. All wanted to help blow it up. Then we showed them the path of our trip to the US, and tried to explain time zones and jet lag. Got the first mostly, not the second. Then passed the globe around to each student, finding Africa and Swazi, and then some other places they'd heard of. Really intrigued.

A ½ dozen students came to us asking to take books out of the library (this was the one that received the books last May, that we worked on over Christmas). The next steps on that library (staffing, procedures for checking out and returning books) have to be taken by the school, not us (The PC is big on local involvement and responsibility, hoping to promote new sustainable skills) so we had to say no to the students, but we really wanted to “seize the moment” so we proposed that they pick a book and we'd take it to their classroom and read it to them. They chose Disney's Lion King.

Turned out more than ½ had seen the movie (this is the wealthier “Railway” school). Now, I have to say in all sincerity, my voicing of Mafusa (the Father Lion King) and Scar (the evil uncle) is thought by many to be really, really good. I used to inflict my reading voices on our children, but not for the last, oh, say 25 years. (sob!) So this was really fun for me.

and I think the children were OK with it too.

Then the next day we tried an exercise Katherine had done with great success in training, where each of the students writes a nice thing about each of their fellow students on separate sheets of paper for each student posted around the room; this was part of an activity to develop self-esteem. We did this with the 7^th grade, whom we'd taught and related well with, we thought, as 6^th graders the previous term. But despite repeated instruction and admonition, ¼ or so of the comments were mean (“Your body is huge.” “You're a bully.”) We had to stop the activity. They were also terribly rowdy (despite repeated renditions of Katherine's piercing whistle), and we saw several “real” teachers peering through the windows, concerned for the ruckus. I told the class the next day that they were mean, and had made Katherine very angry, and that was a big mistake. One of them came up to me later and apologized.

We've been trying to teach at the “poorer” primary school, although they can't tell us that they will have a place for us in their curriculum. To expose the students to spoken English, we tried reading to them, books we “borrowed” from the “richer” school's library (there is no library at the “poorer” school.) The 5^th grade we chose was packed, as all their classrooms are. The 15 to 18-year-old (or older) boys (they keep failing; not sure why they keep coming back) were clustered in the back, barricaded behind rows of 2 or 3 younger students all seated together at a desk. The older boys would make jokes to the class in siSwati. The first step PC taught us in “positive discipline” classroom management is to go stand beside the disruptive student, but there was no way we were getting to these boys, as they well knew. We had the same problem at this school last term – I threw one of the older boys out of class and he flipped the lights off on his way out.

If we are going to teach something serious in that school, we're going to need to have a Swazi teacher in the room. They carry sticks. Hardly ever have to use them, because the students know they will if they need to. Hmmm.

We have a lot to learn.

In the January, 2014 SZ PCV newsletter SoJo on p. 3http://swaziland.peacecorps.gov/newsletters.php is an article I liked from one of my favorites in our group, One fish, two fish . . . . Her situation is the opposite of ours, in some ways: it sounds as if her living situation is quite comfortable (we haven't visited her site – it's quite remote.) but every minute of her day is scheduled and busy, especially during vacations when the regular staff leaves, but the orphans still need attention. When we visited with her over Thanksgiving she was exhausted.

This coming Sunday we assemble at one of our favorite “backpackers” hostels for some pool time in the afternoon, braii (SA for barbecue) in the evening, and then catch the Broncos in the Super Bowl! But that's not starting here till 3 a.m. I can't last that long! So I've booked a private room for K and me (instead of US $12/ person, I think it will be 15!), we'll catch a little snooze, and the 2^nd ½ should be starting about the time we usually wake up anyway. They are planning guacamole and jelly shots during the game – always my favorite breakfast! We really like the other PCVs, who are interesting and fun people, and it will be fun to get together with them.

Sorry this post is so long. My little camera won't take a charge, so lacking pix, I'm resorting to words. I checked with the pretty good photo shop in Manzini – the best I've found in the country - and they don't have the battery I need, but the owners will be going back home to Korea in a week, and will add that to their stocking list! Till then, no more pix. Sorry. (And these pix we got as it died are converted to the highest compression possible. Better? And I've tried to increase the print size – I got to look at the blog the way you see it in the US, and got access to the blog author design dashboard. Unlimited fast WiFi – such a luxury!)

GO BRONCOS!

½ way around the world and back, in 2 weeks

Since our last post we have traveled to the US for the services for Katherine’s Dad and then returned to SZ and started school.

The night before we left we had over for dinner a student who has become very special to us. He is a refugee from the strife-torn Democratic Republic of Congo, where 2 of his brothers were killed. He has lived for 2 years at the nearby Refugee Camp with his parents and 4 remaining siblings, and was in Malawi for 5 years before that. He is now starting his last year at the local High School, where he was selected by the faculty as “Head Boy.” He is described by some teachers we know as “brilliant.” He is only 16 – most Swazis in his class are 18, or older, some up to 22 and I think a few even older than that. We were exploring scholarships and other opportunities he might want to consider for after high school graduation this coming December. This is the kind of opportunity that Nomphumelelo has a great ability to see and pursue. (I’ve been reminded on our visit with family that this blog has some occasional readers who may not know that Nomphumelelo is Katherine’s Swazi name; translates “success.”)

We walked out of our village Monday, roughed it one night at our favorite “backpackers” hostel in Mbabane

and arrived in snowy, dark and cold Boston Wednesday. The contrast was necksnappingly surreal. Suddenly clean water flowing out of taps, both hot and cold. Unlimited and fast internet access! Wide varieties of fresh, healthy food. Temperature control (mostly). Not being stared at as inexplicable oddities. Not stepping around dog/chicken/cow poop. Among Katherine’s loving, supportive family.

The services for KUF’s Dad were beautiful, a celebration of a long life, well-lived. This Blog is not supposed to be about as, as such, but instead about our African adventure, so I spare you more details of our visit, except that it was really, really nice being with our children and their spouses. Really hard to leave, but they have to get on with their lives. As do we. I guess.

Because I paid for my flight but the PC paid for Katherine’s and the PC can only pay to cross the Atlantic on an American-flag carrier, we returned Friday on different flights, so Katherine flew overnight to London, spent the day at Heathrow, then overnight to Jo’Burg, but she caught the early van Sunday morrning and got to Mbabane in time to get to site Sunday afternoon. School starts Tuesday.

Malolotja: hills, hikes, blue swallows, and ticks

        First, we are delighted to announce that we were awarded a grant from Books for Africa for our local High School.  Our great thanks to all of you who have donated.   We may get a list eventually, but now we do not know who donated unless you have told us.  But for all, we are extremely grateful, and we can assure you that some African children will be too, when they find these books available.  That will take some more time, until April or even May.  And then the books need to be listed and labeled and a library organized; we hope the Swazis do this themselves.  We will keep prodding, as necessary.   This is important.

     We were away for Christmas, but when we got back we gave little presents to our homestead family, some prints of pictures we had taken of them, and some TP roll “binoculars” Katherine had made so they could imitate our wandering off at the end of the afternoon with our binoculars.

They were torn apart within minutes.

     Monday we went into PC headquarters to continue the seemingly endless struggle to get the details of our travel back to the US to match up. The PC is staffed with caring people who love Nomphumelelo, but the details of travel is not something the PC does well. On our way out we stocked up, as we usually do when we have some additional carrying capacity, on more free condoms (only the male kind, having trouble finding female; there's some demand, we believe. Maybe just curiosity.) Got sort of separated on a crowded khumbi coming home, to find Nomphumelelo had given out 3 dozen in the back of the van. I dozed through it. (We visited the Refugee Camp clinic Friday and found they must have 10 dozen or more female condoms, all expiring this month, so we stocked up and will distribute as many as we can – better get busy, ladies!)

    Thursday night a week ago at 7:45 there was a massive hatch of tiny black bugs. They got through our screening made of mosquito nets turned in by departing PCVs, which have some inevitable gaps, crawled into our clothes and around our bodies. Fortunately, they did not bite, because they could have chewed on anything they wanted. But when crushed, they smelled like really fresh poop from a dog that had been feeding on over-ripe roadkill. The hatch was all over the homestead, and as we walked to the latrine through the mud – it was really wet last week – we ground them into the mud. The homestead developed a strong odor of . . . you know. Now it's dried out and the little black bugs seem to have diminished, and the odor has dissipated.

     Tuesday we took several khumbis to Malolotja, a nature preserve in the NW of Swaziland, the “high veldt”, rolling hills with cliffs and jutting rocks, far cooler than our “low veldt” steamy heat. We rented there a self-catering cabin for New Years Eve and the night of the 1^st.

     As we came in we saw blesbok, (pictured here down from our cabin New Years morning)

The first afternoon we saw one of their rare birds, a blue swallow with long forked tail and shiny iridescent blue back and head; on our first hike a black-backed jackal stared at us from 30 yards, then skulked away, and vervet monkey hid in the rocks.

      As we moved in the maids warned us that in the master bedroom ants dropped from the ceiling onto the beds and we should instead sleep in the bunk room. We didn't see any ants. Turns out the maids were right. We moved.

     We bought some of the delicious local beer, Sibebe, at the restaurant near the cabins and climbed up on a rock with some Brie (to get here we'd come through Mbabane, the capital which is far more sophisticated than the rest of the country, and we did our shopping there, and got a little crazy – real cheese with flavor!) and crackers, catching the evening light.

    They had no shower, but the first tub in ½ year felt good. The water was a light brown, but plenty of hot water, and you could see the bottom of the tub, even when it was full. Before I got in.

     We went for a long hike New Years day. It was long in part because we had to walk 4 km to the trailhead, and also because we got a little turned around in the gorges, cliffs, streams. Some of the most beautiful country I've ever seen; just great walking terrain. The only people we met were a white man heading the opposite way and his son. We visited for a while and he took this picture.

He could probably tell we were a little uncertain of our route. Exchanged phone numbers. When he got back to his car, he called us. We couldn't get the call in the deep gorge we were in, but we called him when we got on a ridge. He'd also alerted another family still parked at the view point to watch for us. He'd already left the trailhead but he drove back to meet us at the road. People put themselves out for PCVs. Interesting man: 3^rd generation in SZ, but got an engineering degree from AZ State and holds a US, Zimbabwe and SZ passport. Raising his son by his now-divorced Swazi former wife and her older son of another father. They were with him, and were a little unsure of the hiking.

     New Years night we had over for dinner with us the young Brit -actually 2^nd generation in Swaziland, but carefully preserves her British passport – in the next cabin. She will work with some PCVs here. She's traveled all over Africa and around the world. We are meeting a lot of really interesting people, of whom we hope to see more, PC is a very good “brand.” People meeting us think they have a feel for what we are about. Probably mostly right, I think.

      PC takes good care of us. (When I write that, I think of Katherine's Dad, as we do many times a day. He was worried about our safety, so I sprinkled this blog with that kind of remark, knowing he would read it and be reassured – if it's in this blog, it must be both Official, and Incontrovertibly True, I'm sure you'll agree.)

     Anyway, Tuesday I'd had sort of a fever, which I thought was a resurgence of a slight cold I had last week. New Years morning I woke up chilled and found on my calf a round black scab smaller than a dime in a reddish circular lump maybe 1 1/2” across, and my groin where the lymph gland on that leg is was swollen and tender. [The following image is kind of icky – you've been warned!]

Within 2 hours on New Years morning I was in touch with the new PC Medical Officer in SZ, a clever pleasant young women who has admirably overcome the handicap of being a double Harvard (college and MD), who confirmed over the phone my suspicion of infected tick bite. Hitched a ride first thing the next morning

765

to the PC Office and now I'm back at site, full of doxycycline and paracelanol (a little stronger than aspirin, I understand), and feeling much better, at least at the beginnings of the cycle when the meds kick in; still a little rocky as they wear off.

     Next week we travel to the US for Katherine's Dad's services, and we get to see our children! Back Jan. 20, and school starts the 22^nd. We've really enjoyed the travel and free time during this very long break (really since the beginning of November, officially since Dec. 5) but we'll be very glad to get on with what we came here to do. We've got lots of plans for lessons, and maybe some projects – a workshop on diabetes, which is hammering this country? And a new library to guide setting up at the High School, and continuing to nudge the Swazis to get the Railway Primary School library functioning so the kids can finally get to the books.

      The door of our latrine doesn't latch from the inside, which is OK because it's quite a pleasant seat, looking out across some fencerows and pastures. While we were gone some southern masked weavers started building a nest in the tree r beside our latrine – the males are brilliant yellow, with black faces. The male builds the hanging globular nest with a curved entrance out the bottom; the female comes and inspects and, if she disapproves, the male tears it apart and starts again. Reminds me a little of some of my friends, but these male weavers are not displaying what those of us in the Life Skills biz call good modeling behavior.

     We're sending this from a country club 40 clicks East of site where we go for free internet, pizza, and to escape the heat. On our way here I saw 2 giraffes on my side of the car, and Nomphumelelo saw a huge unidentified eagle on hers; we passed through Hlane game preserve to get here.