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-Tristan

I was sitting at home the other day, filling out some paperwork to complete our kitchen project. Tristan was meeting with some community members who recently expressed interest in painting the Gogo Center (the community center where most events and activities are held). When I texted him to ask if they wanted to paint that day, he responded with, “No. Watching an NGO lady give orphans depressing black pilgrim shoes.”

If you accept a job working in a second or third world country, you’re going to witness a lot of aid work. If you spend two years working in a second or third world country, you’re going to become at least a little critical of that aid work.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen some organizations do amazing work in the field of community development. The problem is that a lot of them just swoop into poor communities, build something or throw around some food or money, and swoop back out, without actually communicating with the people in the community or involving them in the project. As a result, you get people (especially kids) who chase around foreigners, asking for money, food, candy, etc, because so many groups of foreigners have just given them these things in response to the guilt they feel over the overwhelming poverty they witness during their visits. This creates a dependency, which is the exact opposite of what needs to happen in order for second and third world countries to progress.

This particular organization gave shoes, which is good because kids need shoes in order to attend school. Most children in our community run around without shoes. If they own shoes, they own one pair that is used for school only, and that one pair is used for many years. When kids show up to school without shoes, they are beaten and belittled by their teachers and their classmates.

When the children were given the shoes, the organization took pictures of them, urging them to smile and look happy. It occurred to us that the attention they were receiving from this NGO woman is probably the most attention those children have received in months. These particular kids have lost both their mothers and their fathers to AIDS. They live either alone, on child headed homesteads, or with neighbors or extended family members who rarely pay attention to them. They are underfed, malnourished, and typically treated like slaves in their new adoptive homes, tasked with doing the majority of the household chores. In the worst cases, they are beaten and insulted on a regular basis due to the stigma associated with their HIV positive parents.

They’ve had rough lives. They’ve witnessed death, loss, hunger, and desperation at an early age. Some are HIV positive. They are ignored, with the exception of the occasional kind community member who barely has enough food to feed her own family, but manages to pull together a bundle of spinach to share; or the NGO worker who comes through, all smiles, yelling “Smile! Look happy! You are blessed!” as she snaps pictures to put on the website so donors can gawk at pictures of the “poor African children.” I imagine it has to be humiliating and dehumanizing. But when we ask these children how they are, they nod, pull a smile, and say, “I. Am. Fine!” in the best English they can muster. They don’t understand the definitions of the words “humiliating” or “dehumanizing.” They, like most rural Swazis, don’t understand the phrase “human rights” or the liberties to which every person on earth should be entitled. They just know they’re sad.

The woman taking the pictures inquired about the ages of each child. Most of them were around 10, 11, or 12. They all looked closer to 4, 5, or 6, and certainly no older than 7. This is due to stunted growth resulting from years of malnutrition. Shoes are fantastic. But food is vital.

Everyone watches the NGO woman drive away in her pristine, white SUV, the red dirt rising around the huge, shiny tires, and covering everyone in a fine coat of filth.

What’s the solution? We keep thinking about it. There are a couple organizations that donate food to orphans and vulnerable children. Unfortunately, the process of getting the food to the communities is often corrupt, mismanaged, and convoluted. Records are outdated and/or incorrect and kitchens (like the one currently under construction) frequently receive food (cereal, maize, and beans or peas) to feed 50 when the kitchen is actually feeding 150. So, children only receive miniscule rations of food and their daily caloric needs are rarely met. People have tried on many occasions to inform the organizations of their errors, but to very limited success. My opinion is that many organizations are willing to receive comments and criticism, but they have to go through several people before reaching someone of “importance.” It’s a telephone effect and comments are lost or misunderstood along the way.

There is so much we can’t touch as volunteers. So many needs we can’t meet. It’s a rough reality because we all so desperately want to meet those needs.

I often think of my first day in our community. Thabsile thrust a whining, gasping baby into my arms. He was about 2. His face was covered in sores.
“Is he…”
“Yes,” she said. “He has AIDS. His parents just died.”
“Is he on ART?”
“Yes, but he started too late. The doctors say he will die soon. All we can do is love him.”

My first experiences with severely ill, HIV positive children were almost surreal. It’s depressing. I know that’s obvious, kids with AIDS are depressing, but it’s true. The pain in their eyes makes you question everything you know. They don’t cry because they’re too exhausted. They don’t play because it hurts to get up. Instead, they watch the other screaming, running, laughing children. They don’t watch with longing. They seem to have no desire to move. It’s similar with malnourished children. You can see it in their eyes…the look of complete and utter exhaustion, of being completely disengaged from their surroundings. Seeing that look in children has been the most painful part of being here.
What do we do, what do we do, what do we do? We all keep asking ourselves that.
What can we do? They are invisible.

I just spent about 10 minutes trying to figure out how to salvage this entry and imbue some optimism into it because right now, I know it’s pretty depressing. But this is the truth of what we do, and I want people to know it. We have hard days. We see horrible things. We cry. We get angry.
But then we push the sadness to the backs of our minds and we hold on like hell to the goodness we know that exists here. We throw ourselves into work: educating people and initiating the tough, awkward conversations that no one else wants to initiate; cultivating hope and strength in ourselves and trying to teach our friends and neighbors to do the same.
And then we wake up and do it all over again the next day.


“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.” – Mark Jenkins

It looks like we’ll be living in Africa for 2 more years! We were recently offered positions with Peace Corps Rwanda’s newly developed English education program and we’ve decided to accept. We’re very excited about this opportunity and the chance to gain experience working in a post-conflict environment. Additionally, back when we were still in the Peace Corps application process (over 2 years ago), Rwanda was my first choice for placement. :)

We are leaving Swaziland for the US on July 20 (yay, I’ll be home for my birthday!) and we’ll stay with our families in Florida until September 11. On September 12, we’ll have our orientation for Rwanda and fly back to Africa soon after.

I’m not going to talk too much about Rwanda right now, as I still want this journal to be about Swaziland until we finish our service here. So, I’ll just post a few details:
1. Rwanda is safe and stable. They have made very large and impressive strides in the past decade in regard to development, economy, education, and human rights. Rwanda actually has more women in parliament than any other country in the world.
2. Rwanda is in the process of overhauling their education system to make English the official language (in addition to Kinyarwanda), instead of French. Peace Corps Volunteers working with their education sector are assisting them in this process. This change is for a variety of reasons that I’ll talk about later.
3. I’m really hoping to integrate health education into my job, as well as possibly carrying over our health and child development trainings with teachers and community educators.
4. If you’re interested in learning more about Rwanda, I strongly recommend reading We Wish To Inform You That Tomorrow We Will Be Killed With Our Families by Philip Gourevitch.

That’s all for now. We’ll be home in 15 weeks! Can’t wait to see our families and our amazing friends who are making trips across the US to see us.

Also, here is an article about the US Peace Corps, written by Rwanda’s President Paul Kagame for The Huffington Post:

“The United States of America has just sent a small number of its sons and daughters as Peace Corps volunteers to serve as teachers and advisors in Rwanda. They have arrived to assist, and we appreciate that. We are aware that this comes against the backdrop of increasingly scarce resources, of budget discussions and campaign promises, and of tradeoffs between defense and domestic priorities like health care and infrastructure investments. All that said, I believe we need to have a different discussion concerning the potential for bilateral aid.

The Peace Corps have returned to our country after 15 years. They were evacuated in 1994 just a short time before Rwanda collapsed into a genocide that killed over one million people in three months. Things have improved a lot in recent years. There is peace and stability throughout the nation. We have a progressive constitution that is consensus-driven, provides for power sharing, embraces diversity, and promotes the participation of women, who now represent the majority in our parliament. Our economy grew by more than 11% last year, even as the world entered a recession. We have chosen high-end segments of the coffee and tea markets in which to compete, and attract the most demanding world travelers to our tourism experiences. This has enabled us to increase wages by over 20% each year over the last eight years -- sustained by, among other things, investment in education, health and ICT.

We view the return of the Peace Corps as a significant event in Rwanda's recovery. These young men and women represent what is good about America; I have met former volunteers who have run major aid programs here, invested in our businesses, and I even count them among my friends and close advisors.

Peace Corps volunteers are well educated, optimistic, and keen to assist us as we continue to rebuild, but one must also recognize that we have much to offer them as well.

We will, for instance, show them our system of community justice, called Gacaca, where we integrated our need for nationwide reconciliation with our ancient tradition of clemency, and where violators are allowed to reassume their lives by proclaiming their crimes to their neighbors, and asking for forgiveness. We will present to them Rwanda's unique form of absolution, where the individuals who once exacted such harm on their neighbors and ran across national borders to hide from justice are being invited back to resume their farms and homes to live peacefully with those same families.

We will show your sons and daughters our civic tradition of Umuganda, where one day a month, citizens, including myself, congregate in the fields to weed, clean our streets, and build homes for the needy.

We will teach your children to prepare and enjoy our foods and speak our language. We will invite them to our weddings and funerals, and out into the communities to observe our traditions. We will teach them that in Africa, family is a broad and all-encompassing concept, and that an entire generation treats the next as its own children.

And we will have discussions in the restaurants, and debates in our staff rooms and classrooms where we will learn from one another: What is the nature of prosperity? Is it subsoil assets, location and sunshine, or is it based on human initiative, the productivity of our firms, the foresight of our entrepreneurs? What is a cohesive society, and how can we strengthen it? How can we improve tolerance and build a common vision between people who perceive differences in one another, increase civic engagement, interpersonal trust, and self-esteem? How does a nation recognize and develop the leaders of future generations? What is the relationship between humans and the earth? And how are we to meet our needs while revering the earth as the womb of humankind? These are the questions of our time.

While some consider development mostly in terms of infusion of capital, budgets and head counts, we in Rwanda place equal importance to relationships between peoples who have a passion to learn from one another, preparing the next generation of teachers, administrators and CEOs to see the exchange of values and ideas as the way to build the competencies of our people, and to create a prosperous nation.

We will do this because we see that the only investment with the possibility of infinite returns is in our children, and because after a couple of years in Rwanda, working and learning with our people, these Peace Corps volunteers will be our sons and daughters, too.”

--Rachel

Today is one of those days where I really don’t want to be here. Not as in, I want to leave and never come back, but as in, I want to magically Harry Potter apparate to a first world country and spend a week clearing my brain before returning back to site. I have days like this rarely (Except for the apparating part. I frequently find myself wishing to be a Hogwarts alumnus), and typically don’t discuss them with anyone except Tristan and other PCVs.

I arrived home last night covered from knee to toe in mud and cow shit. It finally rained (yay!) for the first time in months, and I’m so grateful because the water system is broken, all of the crops are dead, and we were in desperate need of a good shower. During the rainy season, rain tends to fall all around us, but never directly on us. So, it rained and the dirt roads flooded and the ground sucked my feet down like quicksand. Laughing children ran around in the rain, their feet significantly cleaner than mine, despite their lack of shoes.

The storm cracked our window and knocked more holes into our walls, so our house was covered in rain, mud, and dirt. Sleep didn’t come easily because of the intense heat and humidity, which became even stronger when the sun rose again this morning. Tristan described it very well when he said he felt like we were living in hot soup.

So, we got up and left. We’re sitting in the closest climate controlled location with refrigeration and an internet connection because I’m fairly positive if we spent the hottest part of the day in our soup house constructed of rocks and full of mud, we would have turned into crazy people. This is probably the first time I’ve woken up and said, “We need to leave. I can’t be here today.” I think it actually freaked Tristan out a bit because I typically lean toward almost manic optimism during times of stress.

And, yes, it’s times like this where I think long and hard about the fact that my neighbors can’t escape when it’s generally miserable outside and their homes are full of mud and animal poop. They can’t afford the transport fare to get out of the community (especially with the recent increase in transport costs due to the recent increase in gas due to the government’s declining economy), and they just…remain. They deal with it and they don’t complain, except to occasionally exclaim, “EISH, LIYASHISA!” (It’s hot!), as they trudge the many kilometers to collect water from the nearest source (a retention pond, which they refer to as “the dam”). I sit here in the air conditioning, I drink a beer, and I feel a strange combination of gratitude, guilt, and awe over all the luck in my life. Lucky to be born in a country where I have rights. Lucky because I was born to parents who fed me, sent me to school, enrolled me in ballet, spent ridiculous amounts of money on clothes and electronics, and acted as my personal chauffeurs in high school. Lucky because I never dated a man who beat me, talked down to me, or treated me like a child. Lucky because I can leave whenever I want, lucky because I can see the world, and lucky because when I return home, I can go back to school and have a career and a lifespan over 40. Lucky because I have choices and the people (primarily the women and girls) in my community do not.

Peace Corps has altered me in a way that can never be reversed. Altered in a good way, yes, but now I am also saddled with the curse of knowing that in order to be content and fulfilled in my life, I need to have a job that involves constantly learning about, serving, and seeking justice for other people.
So, thanks, Peace Corps. I mean this both sarcastically and sincerely.

We have roughly four months of service left in Swaziland. Four months. 16 weeks. That freaks me out. We spent such a long time in the application phase and such a long time planning and working for this, I can’t believe the experience is almost over. It’s all passed so quickly. There have been some ridiculously long days, yes, but like everyone says, it’s the weeks and months that fly by. Our time with the people of Swaziland and this strange little group of Americans who we met for the first time in a DC hotel conference room is almost over.
Feelings? I’m happy. Happy that we’ve come this far. Sad that we’re leaving people who have grown to be our family, and who have referred to us as sister, brother, daughter, son, and friend for the past several months. Excited to see our family and friends and pets and stuff ourselves with American food and have constant access to flush toilets and running water. Excited for what’s to come.

We have three projects we’re working on for the remainder of our service:

1. The kitchen (obviously). We expect it to be finished by next month. The caregivers are very, very excited about it, and the community has put a lot of time and effort into the construction. While visiting the kitchen the other day, we were thrilled to discover the community had recently built a new latrine directly next it, for use by the children and caregivers. The latrine wasn’t in the original plans, nor was it funded by the generous donors who gave money for the kitchen. The community obtained the materials on their own, dug and constructed the latrine without telling us, and even painted the outside. Yes, I’m excited about a hole to store poop, but I’m more excited about the initiative they demonstrated in getting the supplies and putting it together. During our recent health workshop with the caregivers, I repeatedly stressed the importance of having latrines at every homestead and neighborhood care point. Additionally, we talked a lot about malnutrition in children and I learned that a few weeks later, the caregivers were in the process of planting sorghum to supplement the diets of the kiddos they’re feeding at the kitchens. It’s a wonderful high note on which to close our service.
2. A supplemental first aid training to follow up the previous health education workshop. We’re working with one of our counterparts to write and translate materials on basic first aid (abrasions, burns, recognizing warning signs, etc).
3. Continuing our training with primary school teachers on psychosocial support for vulnerable children, recognizing and reporting abuse, alternatives to corporal punishment, and health education.

With the kitchen almost finished, I’m starting to feel a sense of closure in my service. I know we’re almost done and I feel good about it. But, I also know leaving is going to be hard. Our friends and inner council have started planning a going away braai (think bbq). Thabsile keeps asking what she’s going to do without us and saying things like, “I hope my children are like you,” which would choke me up if she didn’t follow those statements with loudly threatening to beat one of the many children who frequents her home for breaking something/screaming/running into walls/punching each other/throwing chickens. No, she doesn’t beat her kids, but yelling at people that you’re going to beat them is common in Swaziland. The exact phrase is Ngitawukushaya (I will beat you) [pronounced neetawoogooshyah], but has become shortened to sound like “D’ukshaya” [pronounced dockshyah] when they yell it at children, babies, dogs, cows, each other, etc.

Yes, I’m aware Tristan hasn’t updated in a while. I think he needs his parents to bug him about it so he does. :)

--Rachel

Just popping in to say hello. I'm stuck in Mbabane with one of the following: giardia, aboebas, schistosomiasis, or a viral infection. And I have to stay here till they figure it out and it goes away. I was already dewormed (like a dog) as a cautionary measure and I'm currently drugged on some nifty stuff that eliminates my nausea, but knocks me out for about 12 hours.

They put me up at a lovely guest house where I have my own room, running water, and the nicest women who cook 3 meals a day for me, so I'm being very well taken care of.

I'm alternating between reading and having mild panic attacks about closing our service in 4 months and going back to America. We are hoping to continue working overseas, and it's looking like we may end up in Africa again (we just don't feel "done" yet). We have a very exciting possibility in the works, but we're waiting until it's finalized to post about it here. In terms of future plans, I think I've decided I would like to go back to school, and I'm considering graduate programs in international development, public policy, social work, and public health. At this point in time, I'm leaning more toward social work or public health. Tristan is still deciding what he wants to pursue.

OK, I have to go. They want to take me back to the guest house, but I hope to post more soon.

--R

2/27/11
I keep thinking, “Oh hey, we should update the journal.” But, summer makes my brain shut down.

So, let’s see. Kitchen construction is coming along swimmingly. The walls are going up right now. I wish I could supply pictures, but I sort of drowned my camera while we were on vacation in Mozambique. My mother generously purchased another, which is en route as I type, so I should be able to resume documentation soon.

The last time we posted, I mentioned that we were planning a week-long training with 30 community health workers, caregivers, and teachers. This ended up being one of the most stressful and time consuming things I’ve done during my service thus far. But, in my opinion, it has also been the most rewarding. I worked with several of our counterparts to write curriculums on breastfeeding, prevention of mother to child transmission, nutrition, child development, providing counseling and support to vulnerable children, basic first aid, the link between TB and HIV, how ARVs work, breast cancer, malaria, and home-based patient care. We wrote all of the lessons in siSwati and distributed them to everyone at the workshop. They were really excited about this, as most published materials are written in English and not siSwati. There isn't a high level of English in our community, which means most people just don’t read. We’ve found that our lessons are being read quite often, and on a regular basis, because people are so excited to be able to read something in their own language. The total process of assembling the lessons in simple English and then translating them into siSwati with my counterparts took a ridiculous amount of time. And let me tell you, typing in siSwati is PAINFUL. Well, typing in any language that features 4 consonants directly next to each other without any sort of vowel separation is probably painful. Microsoft Word was kind enough to underline every single thing I typed in bright red and green jagged lines, informing me that EVERYTHING in my document was incorrect and made absolutely no sense.

The training ended up extending from 4 days to one week because there were so many questions and a lot of open discussion during the lessons. The section on home-based care was especially important, as the closest hospital is a 76 rand (roughly $12) trip away, which is what most people in our community make in about 2 weeks. The majority of the community relies on the local clinic, which has only 3 nurses, no water, and very few supplies. Because all of the people at the training were service providers, they are able to take the knowledge we provided them and use it to train others in the community. We had an impressive level of participation, and everyone was really engaged. A couple of my favorite topics included:

How ARVs work- Swaziland has a huge problem with ARV adherence, especially in children. I think part of this can be explained by many people not understanding how ARVs work in their bodies or why it is important to take them at the same times every day. Doctors and nurses in this country are severely understaffed and overworked (that’s an understatement, really), so they don’t necessarily have the time to clearly explain things to every patient. When we went over the lesson on how ARVs work, I could almost see the huge, hypothetical light bulbs turn on over everyone’s heads. A huge wave of questions followed, with people openly discussing their HIV statuses, how and when they took their pills, and how and when their family members took their pills. This was truly extraordinary, as HIV in Swaziland is completely drowned in stigma. People just don’t discuss their statuses, and there is technically only one person in our community who is open about being HIV positive. And here were 30 people, sitting in front of me, talking about their statuses and ARVs. It was one of those moments of my service where I felt on top of the world and as high as a kite, one of those moments that I’ll always remember and cherish, and one of those moments where the realization of “THAT’S why I’m here!” slaps me in the face.

Contraception- Many Swazi women are opposed to and/or frightened by contraception, especially in the forms of pills, implants, and shots. It’s seen as unnatural. But, it can be a very positive thing in this country, as numerous families cannot afford to feed their children and the gender inequality makes it so that most women are unable to say “no” or decide when they want to have sex. We discussed the different options available in Swaziland (pills, implants, shots, and IUDs are all available here for free or at low cost), and I was surprised and happy to discover that some women at the training were already using birth control. They talked to the other women about their experiences with it, and several were convinced to make a trip to the local clinic to try it out for themselves.

Providing counseling and support to vulnerable children- Over 40% of children in our community have lost at least one parent (usually to AIDS.) Some of these children are cared for by the remaining parent, other children who have lost both parents are taken by aunts, uncles, grandparents, or neighbors, and a few end up caring for their siblings and heading their own homesteads. The majority of kids who have lost a parent rely on neighborhood care points for at least one, normally 2 meals per day. All of the caregivers who cook at these care points were present at the training, and expressed a special interest in providing support and counseling to the children they feed almost every day. We went over basic things they could do to give these kids some stabilization, love, and confidence in their lives, such as active listening, how to be a mentor, self-esteem building activities, helping to set achievable goals, and knowing how to recognize and report abuse. Yes, it's extremely simple, but also extremely important in the life of a child who has already lived through a great deal of pain and suffering, and doesn't have any role models or guidance in his/her life.

The community was buzzing about the training for weeks after it was completed, and I still have women coming up to thank me and tell me exactly how they've used what they learned. They were so excited to learn, and even more excited to have lessons they helped plan, based on what they told me they wanted to learn, and also what was important to the community. We're planning a follow up first aid workshop in the coming months.

OK, that's it for now. Expect another post in a couple days (we'll be at a restaurant with internet to meet a good friend's mother who is visiting from the US) from Tristan, about our lovely Mozambique adventure.

Thanks for the FANTASTIC packages, Mom and Nicole! You both are so wonderful. And congrats to one of my BFFs, Sarah, on her med school acceptance. So proud of you.

--R

October 9, 2010

We haven’t written in a while. I keep meaning to, but something else will come up, or we’re busy, or just not in the mood. But, I’ve been keeping a list of things I want to write about, so I’ll try to get it all down now.

We flew back to Africa from our leave in the US around the beginning of August. We landed in Johannesburg, and stayed overnight in the same place we stayed when we arrived in Johannesburg last year, at the very beginning of training. It felt completely bizarre. We flew into Swaziland the next day, and Peace Corps picked us up.

As we were leaving the airport, we received a phone call from our host brother. He said our little sister had died while we were away. I think that moment was probably the lowest point of my entire life. To return from emergency leave after the death of my father, only to find out my first day back in country that my 6-year-old sister had died was….really, really hard, for lack of a better way to describe it. We got back to site, and our host mother approached us, with tears in her eyes. The driver spoke to her about the situation. When he returned, he was also crying. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Your sister is dead. I can’t tell you how…it’s too horrible to say. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
I held our host mother and apologized, over and over again. I didn’t know what else to do. It’s still a raw subject, and I still can’t talk about it without crying. The death was so unexpected. Siko (our sister) wasn’t sick. She wasn’t HIV positive. She was healthy and happy. She was in her first year of school. On her way home one day, she was hit and killed by a truck. Our brother said she died instantly. The chief’s wife identified the body, and she told us it was the worst thing she’s ever had to do.
Shortly after we arrived back at site, our brother had a conversation with Tristan about the funeral. I remember Tristan telling me that he was going to have to struggle not to cry, because men don’t often cry here, and he wanted to stay composed in front of our brother. While they were talking, our brother started to cry.

Things on the homestead were difficult for a while. It is so much quieter without Siko running around, laughing and screaming, and yelling at our older sister “EY, NOMFUNDOOOOOOOOOOO!”
I remember unpacking our things, finding some sparkly pencils I’d brought home for Siko, and bursting into tears. Our mother was very sad and listless for a while. She spent a lot of time away from home, with her pastor and at church functions. Nomfundo, seemed to be taking it the hardest. She used to tease and torture Siko, the way older siblings always do with younger siblings. There was a long period of silence.

Things have gradually started to heal and get back to “normal.” The girls laugh and sing while they cook dinner. Our mother spends more time at home. She smiles when she sees us, and chuckles whenever the dogs jump on us, and try to follow us into our house. Our brother found a spitting cobra curled up in the family’s cooking area. Tristan helped him kill it while everyone laughed hysterically. Nomfundo spends a lot of time with Khetselo, our brother’s baby, strapped to her back. Whenever she’s not at school, she’s with him. The puppy is getting huge, and still tries to jump into my lap. It’s getting hot again.
Death is such a frequent thing here. There are funerals every weekend, and people are always sick. I think PCVs in Swaziland probably have more experience with death than PCVs in many other posts because of the impact HIV/AIDS has on this country. I’ve noticed that people get upset over death, but I think a lot of people are getting numb to it because it happens so often.
Siko was a different story. She was so young, and so unexpected, and the mourning period was long. I always knew that Siko was lucky. She was a double orphan, adopted by my host mother. Many orphans in Swaziland end up with abusive families, or in child headed homesteads, struggling to find food. Our sister was treated so well, that I didn’t know she was adopted until someone told me. She went to school, and she always had enough to eat. She was allowed to run around and be a kid. She followed our mother around like a little shadow. They had a special bond. Her death showed me how much the family truly loved her. And if nothing else, I’m grateful that she was able to spend part of her life in a nurturing environment, with people who appreciated her.
We miss her a lot.

//

We’ve been here for a year. It’s been one of the hardest and most memorable years of my life. I still love what I’m doing here, and I still maintain that joining the Peace Corps is one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.

When we first saw where we were going to spend two years of our lives, we were a little hesitant and very freaked out. It was toward the end of training, and we were spending 4 days in our community for OJT (on the job training), which I think is Peace Corps’ way of saying, “Hey…this is what we picked out for you. If you don’t like it, tough crap, and please leave now, before we spend lots more money on you.” We left the beautiful, lush, green, hilly training location in Northern Swaziland for the harsh, arid, flat, and brown community Peace Corps selected as our home. We knew it was one of the more impoverished areas of the country, but we didn’t actually realize what we had signed up for until Thabsile led us off public transport, and we stepped into the community. My first thought: Oh my God…what have I done. Also, it’s flat and…brown. Everything is dead. Tristan looks equally terrified. Oh….shit….

We met with the inner council. We were terrified, I think they sensed it, and I think they probably wondered, “What the heck is the matter with these kids?” and “Um…can we get some new ones that aren’t broken?” Our family wasn’t really sure how to act around us. They brought food to our door, wouldn’t look us in the eye, the girls held up their hands to Tristan every time they saw him (in the traditional way of greeting an elder), and it was all very…quiet. We would bring the food back out, sit on the family’s porch to eat, ask nine million questions in bad siSwati about the weather, everyone’s names, everyone’s ages, and so on, and they would shyly answer, with downcast eyes. It was a very different experience from our exuberant training host family, who wanted to spend as much time with us as possible, and the kids, who were constantly hanging off of me, and running in and out of our house at all times.

We left our community to finish training, not really sure what to think. We knew we were in it for the long run, and we weren’t going anywhere. We knew we wanted to see what this community had in store for us. So, we swore in as volunteers, and returned to our site shortly after. And I’m really glad we did. Our community is hot and dry. It rains for maybe 10 days out of the entire year. Food insecurity is a huge issue, there are terrifying bugs that look like aliens, and I’m always covered in red dirt. I got swine flu, I lost my toenail to swelling induced by a spider bite, kids have given me ringworm, and I spend a lot of time feeling dirty and uncomfortable. Swazis in Mbabane and Manzini hear where we live and respond in shocked laughter or say things like, “It is not possible to live there,” “How…I lived there once and I will never return,” “Why would you live there,” and (my favorite), “People are not meant to live there.” When our training host father found out about our permanent placement, he approached the Peace Corps training manager and said, “My children can’t live there. You must find somewhere else for them.”

But, I wouldn’t trade my experience here for anything. Living here has completely changed me as a person. I’ve met people who inspire me, and who I love dearly. I’ve had my attitudes change. I’ve been touched, challenged, amazed, frustrated, angry, on top of the world, and sad. I’ve had my highest highs and lowest lows. I’ve learned so much. I’ve worked with the community to produce plans for development, and workshops, dialogues, and meetings about HIV/AIDS, youth development, care for orphans and vulnerable children, human rights, gender inequality, abuse, food insecurity, and STI prevention. I often think that right now…this is the best I’m ever going to be. This is it. I’m having the time of my life. I look at my community and see beauty. It’s still a desert set in front of a lovely green mountain (guess which part gets the rain). But, I’ve fallen in love with the acacia trees and the dark red color of everything. We have the best sunset I’ve ever seen. Whenever we walk around the community, our neighbors call after us and demand to know when we’re coming to visit them. And when it does rain, we’ll get some green, and the cows look like cows instead of walking bags of bones.

The 1-year mark is nice, because we’re to the point of where our community, family, and counterparts are completely comfortable with us. We’re not really as much of a novelty anymore (expect for the 2, 3, and 4-year-olds that still parade behind us, yelling, “HOW ARE YOU? HOW ARE YOU? I AM FINE. I. AM. FINE!!!”).
When we first got here, many of our counterparts were more reserved and quiet during meetings, and hesitant to speak in front of us. I thought about this the other day, as we arrived to our weekly meeting with our community’s peer facilitators to be greeted with “HEY. YOU ARE LATE,” by Make Ndlovu, with a huge grin on her face. Most of the meetings now consist of 40% community gossip, 40% raucous laughter, and 20% getting things done, where-as when we first arrived, the meetings consisted of about 60% awkward silence, 30% staring at Tristan and Rachel, and 10% talking.

I’m really impressed with the facilitators’ improvements in English. They’re usually more interested in speaking English with us, which we’re willing to do, as most decent jobs in Swaziland require a certain level of English proficiency. Most of what we do is grammar and writing. A few months ago, we were working with them to compose a proposal to fund a youth event. Thabsile was glaring at Ncobani, as usual, for not doing something she was demanding of him (as usual).
He lets out a laugh, poses, and says in perfect English, “What? Do you think I’m ssssssssssexyyyyyyyyy?”.
“WHAT?! NO. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!” Thabsile yells, kicking at him, and glaring at me.
“….I didn’t teach him that,” I try to say, but I’m laughing so hard, I’m choking, and all of the facilitators are laughing so hard, they’re crying.

I pull tootsie pops out of my bag during one meeting. I place them on the table, and the facilitators practically leap on the table, grabbing at them, laughing, and shouting. For some reason, no one wants the purple one, and Ncobani gets stuck with it. I tell him it’s my favorite flavor, and two of the facilitators tackle him for it.
I always leave our meetings feeling good.

Lately, there have been more moments that make me feel like we’ve been here for a while. During a recent community workshop, all of the forks and spoons were gone. Instead of a flurry of women searching frantically for other utensils or ripping utensils out of the hands of someone else mid-bite (which happens often), we are told we’re allowed to eat with our hands like everyone else.
“Are you sure you can eat with your hands, Sihle?”
“Yes. Do it all the time. I’m REALLY GOOD at it.” Everyone thinks this is hilarious.
Babe Gina walks casually past Tristan, who has miraculously obtained a fork, takes a sip of Tristan’s drink, steals his fork, and immediately starts eating with it.

Other moments make me realize just how short a year is. We’re constantly learning new things about the community, and I’m often surprised by some of the conversations we have with the facilitators, and the questions they ask us (What? How could we not have talked about that yet?). During a walk to one of the neighborhood care points, Thabsile asked me if the United States had communities and regions like Swaziland. We explained states and she was in awe of the size of the US, and I was completely floored that we hadn’t talked about that before. So, we just discussed states for the first time yesterday, yet I remember having previous conversations with her about the civil rights movement, bubonic plague, and 9 bajillion other random things. We’re bringing one of our inflatable globes to our meeting this week, so the facilitators can see it, as they expressed an interest in knowing exactly where England and the US are (both countries provide a great deal of funding to Swaziland). We’re pretty sure the states of Alaska and Hawaii are going to rock their world, since one is barely physically attached to the US, and the other isn’t continental.

//

October 25, 2010

Ncobani, Dumisa, and Thabsile asked me the other day if we have black people in the United States.
“Of course we do. Two Peace Corps Volunteers in my group are black. Our president is black.”
“No. He’s colored.” (This is how Swazis typically describe lighter skinned people who appear to have a parent of a different race)
“Oh. Well, yes, his mother was white. But, his father was Kenyan.”
“So…you think he is black?”
“Yes. In the United States, he is black.”
“But, when he speaks, he sounds white.”
“…What do you mean?”
“When he speaks, he speaks like you speak. He’s not black.”
“…um…I think he probably speaks much better than I speak. He spent a while speaking for a living, so he’s really good at it. We’re both Americans and we both went to college, so that might be why we both sound alike. But, he spent a lot more time in college than I did. And there are other black people in the United States who speak as well as he speaks.”
“You said he was Kenyan.”
“No. His father was Kenyan. He is American.”
“If his father is Kenyan, then he is Kenyan.”
“There were actually several people working for the US government who kept trying to say that too.”
“What?”
“…nevermind.”
“Ok. So, you think he is black?”
“Yes.”
“Whatever you say, Sihle.”

We talked about the civil rights movement and slavery after that, which moved into talking about the women’s rights movement. They listened very attentively, and seemed very surprised. I think a lot of Swazis believe that America is a perfect place, where everyone is healthy, employed, and happy. At first, I didn’t want to skew that view for them. But, then I decided that helping them get to know me and my culture meant letting them get to know a bigger picture of the United States; not just the good parts. I think they need to understand that America isn’t perfect. We did some horrible things, we went through adversity, and we’re still going through some adversity.
They asked how much it cost to go to school in the United States (students in Swaziland have to pay fees to attend school).
“We have public school and private school. Public school is free, and that’s where kids like me went. If you want to go to private school, you have to pay for it. So, families with money will sometimes send their kids to private school.”
“You can go to school for free? That is so good. I wish we could have that here.”
“Yes, but you have to pay for college. I owe my government over 70,000 rand ($10,000).”
“HOW. They let you go to school for free and then charge you that much for college?! How does anyone go to college?!”
“You take out loans, go into debt, and hopefully get a good job so you can pay off the debt. Or you have a rich family member who will pay for your college. I’m lucky. A lot of people my age have a lot more debt than that.”
“What about clinics? How much does it cost you to see a clinic?”
“…well…in America, we have this thing called health insurance. It costs a lot of money, and you must have it in order to get medical treatment. A lot of Americans can’t afford insurance, so they can’t go to a clinic or a hospital when they’re sick.”
“But, what do they do?”
“They have to hope they can get better by themselves. If they can’t, they have to pay thousands of rand to see a doctor.”
“But why?”
“It’s about money. Healthcare and insurance became sort of like a business in the United States. There’s a lot of money in it. And if you don’t have that money, you can’t have medical treatment.”
“…so your government will send money to other countries like Swaziland to help other people. But, it won’t help its own people? Sihle, we don’t understand.”
“Neither do I.”

//

In work related news:
-Our kitchen is fully funded. Yay! We recently got the donor list, and as I already suspected, our friends are some of the most amazing people in the world. Over half of our donor list consisted of friends who are in the middle of paying off their college loans. Holy cow. Additionally, there were parents of friends we’re currently serving with, and parents of friends from high school and college. To everyone who donated- THANK YOU!!! The community is so excited, and we all appreciate your generosity and words of encouragement. The construction area was already cleared before the project was funded, and the actual building should start very soon. We’ll post pictures, updates, and send out personalized thank you messages once the project is underway. Thanks again!

-We just finished up a 2-day youth camp with our peer facilitators and 100 kids from the community. The camp focused on puberty and development, reporting abuse, human rights and gender equality, HIV and STD prevention and abstinence, condom use, HIV and stigma, male circumcision, peer pressure, and setting goals. It ended up going really well, and we were all very happy with it. ☺
( Here are some pictures. )

-Tristan and I have spent the past few months working on planning a 4-day training with 30 community health workers and caregivers on home based care and first aid. The training begins next week (unfortunately, Tristan will miss it because he is in Pretoria recovering from hernia surgery), and will cover breastfeeding, prevention of mother to child transmission, nutrition, child development, basic first aid, the link between TB and HIV, how ARVs work, breast cancer, malaria, and patient care.

-Several people in our community have asked us to teach them how to type and use the internet, so we'll be getting more involved with that soon. I brought my computer over to Thabsile's last night to work on some of our translations for the training I just mentioned. I was surrounded by about 10 people the entire time, and when I turned the computer on and the apple logo lit up, they all said, "Oooooooooooooooh. Aaaaaaaaahhhhhple!" at the same time.

-We’ve also made the decision to apply for a third year extension of service with the Peace Corps.
We’re hoping to transfer to another country and work in health, youth development, or community development. It will probably be a while before we know anything for certain, but we’ll let you know when we do.

--Rachel

ps- Miss everyone. :)

It's been a while. Sorry. Rachel has a really long and detailed post that I'm sure she'll update with when she gets to internet at the end of the month. As for me, I guess I'll update about the wonders of being med-evac-ed to South Africa.

During mid-service medical exams last month, it was confirmed that I had a hernia. I've been up in Pretoria since Oct. 18, had my surgery the 22nd, and am now hobbling around like an old man. But I am getting better.

Pretoria is a beautiful city. Jacaranda trees line the streets, and they're in bloom, so everything is purple. Staying here is completely jarring with live back in lowveld Swaz. I am within walking distance of two malls and countless movie theaters. That just shouldn't happen. Even so, it gets boring pretty quick. I miss Rachel, and now I can't much leave the guest house. The best comparison I've been able to come up with is that it's like being stuck in the exposition of a Fitzgerald novel.

When I first arrived, the Vice President of Zimbabwe was staying at the same guest house. Myself and another volunteer tried to set up a meeting, but she never got back to us.

I'm set to get my stitches out the 2nd so hopefully I'll be back at site around then. And then we can finally start on the NCP.

Yes, we are funded, have been for a while. Thank you to everyone who donated/spread the word/wrote newspaper articles. The community is very excited to get started. The architect is back in community. Now I just need to get back, and we can get this building up.

I'll post more later, since I will be around stable internet for a few weeks.

&

African Studies Give Women Hope in H.I.V. Fight
"Two new studies found different ways to sharply cut H.I.V. infections among women: a vaginal gel and a system of cash payments."
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/20/world/africa/20safrica.html

This is an excellent article. Especially the following section, as it provides a tangible link between poverty and HIV/AIDS. There are so many people who blame promiscuity for the high rates of HIV infection in Africa, when poverty, food insecurity, and gender inequality are actually the driving forces:

"In another piece of progress against AIDS, a separate, large study in Malawi sponsored by the World Bank, and made public on Sunday, found that if poor schoolgirls and their families received small monthly cash payments, the girls had sex later, less often and with fewer partners.

A year and a half after the program started, the girls were less than half as likely to be infected with the AIDS or herpes viruses than were girls whose families got no payments. The likelihood that the girls would agree to sex in return for gifts and cash declined as the size of the payments from the program rose, suggesting the central role of extreme poverty in sexual choices.

“Maybe we can combine these behavioral and biomedical interventions,” said Dr. Tim Farley, a scientist with the World Health Organization involved in H.I.V. prevention research. “We need to pursue both avenues.”

At a time of intensifying competition for global health dollars, when the number of people who contract H.I.V. is outstripping those put on treatment each year, pressure is mounting on African countries and donors to focus more heavily on prevention. Male circumcision is one method proven to at least halve a man’s chances of H.I.V. infection.

Scientists say the success of the $18 million microbicide trial, largely paid for by the United States Agency for International Development, and the study on cash payments offer hope to girls and women in Africa, who have higher rates of H.I.V. infection than their male counterparts and often less power in relationships to protect themselves.

...In the $400,000 trial in Malawi, 3,800 teenage girls and young women, ages 13 to 22, were randomly assigned to two groups. Half the girls received no cash payments. The parents of the other half were paid $4 to $10 a month while the girls themselves received $1 to $5 a month if they attended school regularly.

After 18 months, the H.I.V. prevalence among the girls who got the cash was 1.2 percent, compared with 3 percent for the others. “The program empowered these girls to make better choices,” said Berk Ozler, a senior economist with the World Bank’s Development Research Group."