Moving foward

Six month recap: Two month pre-service training, 3 month integration, 2 weeks technical training….I am set to be a Peace Corps volunteer. It seems so simple and structured, an easy step-by-step process like baking a cake or crocheting (both of which I am mastering during my service). I look back on last spring and wish I would have wrote down all of my expectations of Peace Corps (just like Mom always tells me to do) or drawn a portrait of how I supposed I would be volunteering in a community. Instead, I am stuck in a fluid mental state, constantly questioning my position, influence, and abilities. A daily struggle between cynicism and idealism overcomes me and my knowledge of developmental issues.

A good friend who has already served a year and a half in Swaziland insists that Peace Corps is more about building friendships and relationships than it is about impractical goals like constructing community centers, educating hundreds of people on condom use or abstinence, or building soccer fields. I try to keep this in mind on those difficult days when the cynicism overwhelms me…

So, on that note, the kids are driving me up a wall. But, I do love them. As much as they pester me and misbehave (they know they are trying to take advantage of me!), most of my great moments are having them run down the road when I get off the bus, greeting me with hugs and kisses. The 3 year old boys, Ntsika and Buyisizwe, are such pills and they love to give me lots of kisses and then rub their lips like they are ridding themselves of my girl germs. Ntsika loves to draw lots of scribbles which he insists that I look at for at least 30 seconds before I can turn away. When I ask what he has drawn, he usually says “Inkhomo!” which means cow. Oh…kids. Then, there’s Lindelwa, age 9, who thinks she’s the mother and likes to boss the boys around but then turns to me with a little twinkle in her eye and asks if she can play with my crayons. Typically, I can’t say no and I end up with a nice drawing of flowers or trees. It’s a win-win situation. The hard part is, after 2 hours, when my head hurts from speaking in SiSwati with these kids, and I want them to go home, it’s not so easy. Candy usually does the trick—take a sucker and get outta here!

Gogo and Mkhulu are still doing well, healthy and busy as always. With the rainy season here, so comes the maize. Much to everyone’s surprise, I wanted to help in the fields (boredom does a lot to a person). I ended up with a few harsh sunburns, but was able to learn about planting and am trying to understand the Swazis unfaltering cultural relationship to maize. Interestingly, it was the Portuguese who began this planting trend while colonizing Mozambique. Swazis were historically hunter-gathers but also grew sorghum (a nutrient rich, drought resistant alternative which is indigenous to Southern Africa). I am always telling people they should try to grow sorghum or vegetables, but, to my dismay, it is a futile suggestion. Most people in my community are very concerned about the drought (the rain fall is not what it used to be), so I suggest growing drought resistant crops or building trench gardens. These suggestions, though very practical, are almost offensive. “Get rid of our maize? Build trenches? That is too much work.” So, I ask them what they will do if they are short on crop and don’t have enough to eat (which many people already are). Always the same answer, “The king will bring us food, NERCHA (an AIDS NGO) will bring us food, the whites will bring us food (meaning World Food Programme).” And, thus, my most commonly used 2-word term: aid dependency; it’s a problem that isn’t going anywhere.

On the bright side of everything, I will be flying home next week to spend Christmas with my family. It is an emotional break that is much needed. Physical too, I suppose, in that I will be showering frequently! (What a concept to feel clean!) I think Mkhulu and Gogo are happy that I am going home because they know how much I miss my family. Gogo keeps telling me she will cook chicken to take to my mother; I think she knows I have to take a plane but that must not matter to her logic process. Sorry Mom, I don’t think that chicken will make it.