Marisa in Swaziland

I am taking my last week before "lockdown" up in Mbabane and around Swaziland. For the weekend, my friend Andi and I went to Mkhaya Game Reserve. It is a private reserve and therefore expensive ($120 a night). Built on an old cattle farm that has been allowed to return to the "wild", Mkhaya focuses on the endangered wildlife of Southern Africa. We saw quite a few white rhinos. The guide even allowed us to climb out out the vehicle and approach them on foot... I didn't. Call me a scary cat if you want, but the rhino was large, wild, and had a foot-long horn and a 3 month old infant. Not gonna make mommy nervous. Although we saw black rhino dung, those solitary creatures alluded us. Mkyaha is good for it's close encounters with rhinos and elepants, but the service is amazing too. When we were on our evening game drive, the staff went around lighting the parafin lamps in each of our open air cabins, and then, after dinner, we returned to hot water bottles in the beds! Oh my goodness! It was nice to be spoiled rotten.

I apologize for my long absence from my live journal. Though the only ones to complain are my parents, I know a few of you probably still check to see if I've added anything.
Life goes. It is coming to a major crossroads right now. I am in the throws of a decision of whether to stay for a third year (and if that is even a possibility) or to finish off the grad school applications I started a few months ago. I am becoming inert in my indecidision. But time passes and something will happen and I will let you know what it is. I am only 2 weeks away from our "close of service" conference, where they give you all the forms you must fill out and give you career and emotional advice for the upcoming transition. After that, it is a short 2 1/2 months until I come home, unless I extend, in which case I am not sure when I'll be able to come back (I'd get a month, but should that be Thanksgiving or Christmas?!).
Work is good. We are on school break yet again. No school means no real "work" since I have no classes to teach. We are working on starting a support group in the community since the level of interest has been growing. When the clinic was unable to do testing this week due to a conflicting community meeting, people actually chased down the ambulance with the HIV counselors and asked them why they were leaving! It is very reassuring--I feel like I've helped increase awareness, though I do not take all the blame. In the break, I will be spending a few days in town coming to my decision and visiting a game park. The reed dance is around the weekend, and hopefully I'll be going this year. Going, not dancing! The reed dance is the yearly ceremony where the young maidens in the country dance in very skimpy, but traditional, attire for the Queen Mother and King. As I have no child, I COULD dance, but I don't feel like exposing myself at an internationally attended event.
I am planning on adding more to this after the COS conference, so look for updates in about two weeks. I'll probably send out a mass email too. If anyone wants a final letter from Swaziland, WRITE to me BEFORE OCT 1st! After that, I may not receive it, and will not know that I should reply. Hint hint. I may be almost home, but I still get excited by a mailbox that is not empty. Send decisive vibes too.. I could use those right now.

Well, I'm back in Swaziland after a month away, and I am really happy to be here. I am ready to get back in the saddle and ride this Peace Corps experience to the end. But first I'll fill you in on the last week...

It involved a bunch of nothing really! After Kruger and the Blyde River Canyon in South Africa, we headed over to Mozambique and spent 6 days on the beach! We would wake up, eat some eggs on rolls, head down to the ocean, swim, read, swim, tan, swim, retreat to shade... there is more eating in there but you get the drift. The really exciting part of the week was our "snorkeling safari"--we went out on a pontoon boat, suited up in wetsuits (to protect us from sun and jellyfish), and searched for giant shadows under the water. Those shadows were whale sharks!! Yes, I went snorkeling with whale sharks! It was VERY VERY cool. What I thought was even better, though, was the manta ray! It took my breath away, and quite literally too, as I tried to follow it and eventually got winded from my underwater sprint. They are beautiful. I only wish I could've done the scuba certification so I could've dove with them on the reef (curses to a thick head cold!). But a week on the beach was perfect and fours days of scuba classes would not have been nearly as relaxing.

If any one reads this by googling "Tofo", you ought to check out Turtle Cove as the place to stay in Tofo. It was great. The three of us had a little brick house to ourselves for ~56rand a night. It's a bit of a walk (15 min) into Tofo and the swimming beach, but we found it a pleasant walk. They have backpacker dorms too, but for that price (cheaper than most dorm beds elsewhere) why not have an entire hut with bathroom? And it is good if you want to avoid the rowdy backpacker crowd--fun, funky, good food, good company (Matt and Tiff are the temporary managers, so look out for their Manga Logde in the coming years) it is a place to chill.

Tomorrow I head back to site to see what happened when I was gone. Hopefully the mobile testing day went through and no one has complained of my long absence. It was a school break anyways. I'll show Melissa and Adam around, catch up on local gossip, maybe visit the caves this weekend.. Life is very good.

I've been away from Swaziland for about three weeks now and find myself finally with time to kill at an internet cafe. Melissa, Adam, and I are waiting for the bus that will take us to Maputo, Mozambique this afternoon, and from there onward to Tofo on Tuesday.

So where have I been so far?

The first week and a half was spent in Madagascar. We traveled from Tulear, on the Southeast coast of the island, to Antananarivo (Tana) over the course of the week. We visited three National Parks, Isalo, Ranomafana, and Perinet, spending a day at each hiking and cooing over the lemurs. Isalo was arid, austere, still, and eroded. It was gorgeous, and unlike anyplace I've ever been before (though it might be similar to the Southwest, I've never visited). There we saw two groups of ring-tailed lemurs. The first were less accustomed to people, so we just watched them bounding over boulders from a distance. The second group lept from tree to tree right over our heads, and came within feet of us... for a banana someone fed them. Not good from a conservation standpoint, however it was the closest we got to them. Apart from the lemurs, we saw a few lizards, insects, and fun pachypodia (or elephant's foot plants). I took a dip in a natural swimming pool (hey, if I've already got schisto, more won't hurt). It was wonderful. We stayed at a series of bungalows just outside the park, I tried crocodile for dinner, and made sure to watch the sun rise over the plains.

Before I mention the next park, I will caution you that it involves blood.

Ranomafana is a rain forest park. We first visited it on a night hike. The trails were very well constructed with stone steps up the hills. Not what I'd expected. We hiked to a small clearing with a picnic table and voila! there was a stripped civet just standing there like a statue! What?! I thought maybe it was drugged. I mean, nocturnal animals usually don't get friendly with people, right? We immediately saw a mouse lemur on a tree and then I realized why these animals came to the clearing: the guides feed them by rubbing banana on the tree trunks! ACH! My environmental ethics meter went beserk. It was neat to see them... but... Well, I can't do anything about it now. (Blood approaching) While looking for another mouse lemur, I got a prick behind my knee. I wondered if I'd run into a nettle bush or gotten a mosquito bite. So I sat down and pulled up my pants... and found... a LEECH!! It was casually sucking away, about 1.5cm long, black and shiny. The guide flicked it off, rather painlessly, but the wound continued to bleed the rest of the hike. This is due to the anticoagulant in their spit, in case you did not know, that prevents the blood from clotting while they are drinking. They also have an anesthetic which is why there was no pain. I thought all leeches were aquatic, but I was wrong. I found another on on my ankle, but it wasn't until the morning that I got to see them in motion...

The next morning we suited up for a day hike in the park. You should have seen our getups! It was rainy and we were all afraid of leeches now, so we all had our pants tucked into our socks and random rain gear so that we wouldn't get wet. We looked like a waterproof 80's aerobics video. Well, all of that didn't stop the leeches. Five minutes into the hike, I chanced to look down and found my shoes and socks covered with thin 1-2cm black whisps crawling like inch-worms upwards! These guys have a sucker on their rear so they can stay attached and shimmy along (quite quickly) toward a warm spot. Panic set in. I mean, it is really gross to see them crawling around and know what they'll do to you if they attach. After about 2 hours, however, they became rather normal. I'd flick them away if they got higher than my knees on the outside of my pants, but I could feel them in my socks and just had to accept defeat. Two hours later than that I realized I'd even forgotten about them! When we returned to the trail head, I rolled down my socks and a suck/blood/crypt (we tried to think of what a group of leeches would be called) of leeches plopped from the divets under my ankle bones. I was relieved to find that none found their way up the inside of my pants! That evening, after showering!, we compared our counts of leech hickeys and I won with a whopping 21 love bites. Word to the wise, if you happen to go to Madagascar and hike around Ranomafana on a rainy day wear cotton or tightly woven socks (maybe try fleece?) because my smart wool socks provided little barrier to these ribbon thin suckers. They just worked their way through the waft. My final decision was that I liked leeches quite a bit more than ticks or mosquitos--they cause no pain and carry no diseases. The bites did not even itch until a week later (which might also be due to my antihistamine perscription running out). I'm actually kind of glad that I had the experience--now I can gross out my grandchildren.

Ranomafana had a number of lemurs and other animals to see as well. In addition to the brown mouse lemur and stripped civet, we saw a leaf-tailed gecko, a red-fronted brown lemur, a forest kingfisher (a bird), two grey bamboo lemurs, three Milne-Edwards sifaka, and three sleeping woolly lemurs. I'd definately go back... with different socks.

Perinet is also a rain forest, actually it is two forests or two parks: Andsirabe and Mantadia. We spent a little time in each. The star of this park was the indri, the largest of the lumurs. It is famous for it's whale-like singing which it does in the mornings. I think they were my favorite, for their song, their spriteness, and their affection for sleeping in (they don't start moving around until a few hours after sunrise). The other beautiful lemur we saw here was the diadem sifaka, another large lemur. They have grey backs, chestnut red arms and legs and curious faces.

I realize that all I have talked about from Madagascar is the animals and a bit of the scenery. We almost all of our time either in the car or hiking, but our time in the car was far from a waste. Our travel planner, main guide, driver, informed person and all around nice guy was Jeff, a native of Tana. He answered all of our questions and told us everything we wanted to know about the very different regions we traveled through. If you ever visit, use Jeff. He's amazing. Maybe in my next update I will talk more about the people.

We've just done Kruger and the Blyde River Canyon here in South Africa, but I must dash away now to catch the bus to Mozambique so you'll have to wait for more updates. Send questions!

I had a GREAT week! Four of us PCVs from Swaziland were sent over to Lesotho to help them start up their Peer Support Network. I'm not on PSN here, but I am on the Diversity Committee, and they were considering having Diversity as a subset of their PSN, so I went to do some workshops with them too. I wasn't about to turn down a free trip to Lesotho! (Actually, I turned it down at first because I've been away from site a lot recently and felt guilty, but when I was offered it a second time, I quickly agreed!) We met with all their PCVs on Saturday, had Sunday off, then had two days of workshops for them on Mon and Tues. What follows all took place on our day off, but that doesn't mean we didn't have a lot of fun with all the PCVs there! I'd like to send a shout out to all the people I met, PCVs and staff of Lesotho, who were all welcoming and often outrageous (in a wonderful way)!

On Sunday, Arlene, the PCMO (doctor) for Peace Corps Lesotho, took us up to a weaving studio about an hour out of Maseru (the capital where the trainings were held) in the morning. It was very similar to the one we went to in Cape Town, but I think it was a lot cheaper... cheap enough for me to pick up another small tapestry, which I am debating saving as a gift for my family or keeping it for myself. Arlene then dropped us off in Maseru and we climbed into a khombi that her husband had arranged to take us to Malealea for a pony trek! It was about an 1.5 hours away, South this time, and I had to fight off sleep the whole way. Lesotho looks different from Swaziland. Their mountains look more like the ones in Hawaii--more pointy with wrinkles and ravines. The homesteads are much more clustered than in Swaziland--you could actually call them villages! The people were different too, at least those who were wearing blankets. Yes, blankets. Men and women, though I saw more on men, wrap them around their shoulders and go out like that. It was interesting. I'd imagine those blankets get pretty stinky after awhile, especially since I hear some are wool. Most of the boys and men I saw tending sheep were wearing them and the basotho hats (pointy woven grass hats that are somewhat reminiscent of Chinese hats). They have sheep, not goats, and more sheep than cows. When the sheep ran by they tinkled because each wore a bell. It was almost a magical sound.

The last 7km of the road to Malealea was dirt and went up and over a pass
that opened up into a valley. It was green and picturesque. We descended to
the lodge, made sure our transport would wait for us, and jumped on some horses. About 10 minutes in, we heard the first rumblings of thunder. Shit. I thought maybe this wasn't a good idea, but we kept going. Twenty minutes later the thunder was overhead, and in another 10 minutes, the sky opened up and dumped rain and hail on us! Lightning was on every side, so we knew we were in the middle of it all. There were no trees, we were completely
exposed. It was very very scary. It got worse when the horses refused to go
forward (they didn't want to face into the rain), and the guide started to run
at Gavin's horse. Oh, and we were right next to a 500ft drop off. Gavin's
horse was forced to run TOWARD the cliff! He didn't make it that far, thank
goodness!, but we were all frightened to death! We eventually got the horses turned and headed back to the stable. And we lived. The last 20 min were gorgeous as the rain stopped and left behind a sodden calm. I can't speak for everyone, but those 20 minutes were euphoric--I think it was the after effect of the panic and fear. It was a moment of intense calm and connectedness.

When we got back to the lodge at Malealea, the owner took pity on us. We
were all soaked through from the rain and hail. He told us to scrounge around
in all the clothing that has been left behind by people staying at the lodge on the condition that we give the clothing to OVCs in our villages when we got
back to Swaziland. Gavin, Jacque, and Julie all left wearing quite stylish
modgepodge outfits. I had brought my rainjacket and decided to suffer the
khombi ride back to Maseru in my dripping jeans, so I didn't add any new items
to my wardrobe. After a quick clothing change, we went out for pizza then
crashed. It was a long day.

"I am very excited to meet people in El Salvador. I told Peggy, in our interview today, that my only real worry was that I might accidentally cross some gender barrier and cause la gente to be uneasy with me. Her response was to read a letter that said "We have finished the community center very quickly, thanks to your influence that caused the parents to send their daughters as well as their sons to help. The girls were eager to do the construction work, and eager to prove their intelligence and strength." And a letter from a girl that simply said, "thank you for teaching my people that we girls can help too." Apparently gringas are separate from the cultural rules, but have the power to influence by example. I hope I can be that kind of influence for someone, even someone who will have so much more to teach me." --Sarah/Orca

This is a story from a friend's website about the role outsiders play in changing gender roles, among other issues. I have been thinking about it a lot recently, and when I checked her website, I thought it was time to share some thoughts. I have found that my role here in Swaziland, as an HIV educator, might be a bit more difficult for a Swazi to do--not because of their ability but because of culture. Talking about sex is almost common place for me. I am allowed to in my culture. And they allow me to talk about it because I am an outsider. I can talk about anal sex, masturbation, negotiation of condom use, what is rape, oral sex... the list goes on. My messages are tolerated because I am not Swazi, but I can also start to convince them because I have become familiar. And the women encourage me! They tell me to play soccer, to wear shorts when I run, to wear pants, allow me to wear pants and sit on chairs in the chief's presence (women are supposed to have their hair covered, wear skirts, and sit on the ground at community meetings). They want me to break the rules. The teachers like it when I berate the boys for their attitudes toward marital rape--though they will also defend it as Swazi culture. This may be because they cannot do much to change it themselves yet. Maybe the change is coming though. Some women I have met in town do not tolerate the idea of women as second class citizens. And many men as well! Is this a good thing, outsiders bringing change? I don't want to step on the toes of culture, but equality between the sexes seems pretty vital to me. It could make a huge difference in the fight against HIV here, where gender inequality leads to inability to negotiate condom use. Sarah's story made me happier to be here, to know this umlungu might be sending out even more ripples of change of a good sort.

... also known as Bilharzia... they are blood flukes, and they have invaded my body apparently. The life cycle of this lovely parasite is snail host, river water, human host, urine into river water, and back into snails. I think I may have acquired mine the one time I did my wash down in the river. However, that was during training, over a year ago. It is possible that crossing streams on stones in my chacos did not protect me from little droplets of schisto-pregnant water from splashing on my feet. Subsequently the little worms would have penetrated through my skin, "worming" their way into my blood stream, and taking residence near my urinary tract. Yummy. Good news? No pain. Early and easy treatment. No permanent liver damage. They've come and now they are going. Unfortunately, I can't stop crossing streams. I'll just be even more careful to not slip into the water. My mother can now say "I told you so"--she had said "anywhere but Africa" when I told her about applying to the Peace Corps. She was more afraid of strange diseases than I. Swaziland, however, is much much safer than many other African countries for tropical diseases. Much less Malaria than Mozambique, no dengue, tsetse flies, or other strange wasting or sleeping illnesses. Luckily, my schisto was mild. Another volunteer had it worse last year--they found it in his spine! He's fine now, but wasn't then. He had to go back to the States. You, my friends, will not get me back home so easily. I'm up in Mbabane for the weekend, but I don't even have to go to Pretoria, let alone the U.S. I made chicken noodle soup (from scratch!) for myself, cinnamon toast and hot cocoa, so all your comfort foods are with me. It's raining, and I'm going to watch movies for the rest of the afternoon! So don't pity me.

Yes, the other day there was a German film crew shooting at Babe's OVC school! They were from a German development group who had assisted Babe in building a classroom at the school and were making a documentary of the OVC situation in Swaziland. Presumably, this will be used to reel in new donors or to instill pride in those who have already helped this group contribute to Swazi peoples. It was quite surreal to have the school overrun by seven bomlungu (white people) with cameras and microphones. There have been others before who played with the children and gave them gifts of small toys, candy, or balloons, but this was the first full scale filming. They worked on preformances of traditional dancing for two weeks ahead of time, and put on a show that almost brought tears to my eyes. They don't do this sort of thing every day, and the pride and excitement that they showed made my jaw drop. I almost did not recognize them! Shy girls turned into vocal and confident young women. The men got inspiration from some young men in my community and had the right mix of precision and playfullness. I've got some recordings on my digital camera that they crowd around to see themselves dancing over and over again, which means the rest of you will be able to see them too someday. That was the best part of the day.

The other parts confused me... they were contrived and obviously showy. I was caught between pride for the students and sullenness that someone was coming in from outside with a preplanned story of an orphan that our students had to act out. I would have been much more comfortable if they'd done interviews and then cut them as they pleased. It would still be edited to their personal viewpoint, but at least it would be based on truths that the students shared. It was the other side of development that I haven't seen much of as a volunteer. I don't have to ply for outside support of my work. (Even if I have been known to beg for York Peppermint Patties.) There are good and less good sides of this. At least we have got another school building and the students had an opportunity to show off. Does that make it worth a little extra preforming from them? And my last take home message--having seen this sort of thing in action, I warn people outside Swaziland to take a look at any documentary or film or book or story from this region to question whether they think the author or director is showing you the whole picture. Starving orphans get a lot of attention, but look closely, and you won't find an empty belly in any scene.

Two days ago I finally began using the String Game board with the students at the OVC school. This was the resource that I was trained in with other volunteers at a UNICEF sponsored workshop last November. It has taken awhile to get started--we did not get our boards until Jan, and I've been rather busy this past month with other projects. But the kids and the teachers loved it! I have never seen them debate issues so much!

The story is about how HIV comes into a place called "Nobody's Village" through a man who works in the city (Joburg is commonly used). HIV then spreads to his wife, her unborn child, his high school sweetheart and a teenage girl who he rapes. And from there, it will continue to spread in the next few installments. The story takes ~3 hours to tell in entirety, so I only told the first bit. The students are eagerly awaiting the next one!

I was hoping that this would work out this well, but I was not certain that it would really get through to them. I was happy, then, when they reported some of the things that they had learned. There was not much new information about HIV, since I'd taught them most of it last year, but they said that they knew more about STIs and one boy even answered that he'd learned that "when a girl is raped, she can have pain". It was shocking that that was an insight for him, but I'm glad he has learned it! I'm looking forward to continuing this in the weeks to come and then starting with the community! Hopefully other social factors surrounding HIV will be brought to light for them.

Last weekend I had the most AMAZING experience! I went to see a South African group called Freshly Ground play in Swaziland, and it was euphoric. Maybe it was from my lack of live music (Mount Holyoke spoils its students with a capella jams and cheap concerts) in a long time, or maybe it was standing in the FRONT ROW, but all I could do was giggle when I wasn't singing along. Apparently they now have a website, so if you are interested you can check them out. They have lots of energy, makes you want to dance or sing (which is sometimes difficult because it is in a few different languages) and if you like to be happy, you'll love them. The lead singer is super short with a super huge voice, the bassist looks like my choir teacher from junior high, and they have a flutist whose style reminds me a bit of the music of Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull). They have a electric violinist, a saxaphone/flute/harmonica-ist, and a keyboardist in addition to the "normal" instruments. They played until 1am, and their last song was a highly amusing version of Britney Spear's "Hit me baby one more time"... it kinda sounded like the polka or some sort of Godfather-esqe music. Fabulous!

Something very strange (or strange to me) happened to me the other day. One of the teachers I work with ASKED me for a Christmas present. That doesn't usually happen in the States. From what I recall, you usually give you co-workers gifts and hope they remember you too--something small like homemade jam or chocolates or some craft you were able to make in bulk so you can give it to lots of your acquaintances. But never (outside of family life, beyond the age of 6) do I remember asking or being asked for a present. I was stumped. Part of me raged at the audacity of it--how rude!--and part of me was baffled and curious--'Is this NORMAL?' I thought. So I asked her, "Is it common to ask for a Christmas present?" "Of course." Of course. It never hurts to ask, eh? It turns out that Swazis have their own version of trick-or-treating, except that it does not occur on Halloween, it happens on Christmas day. They wander around to different homesteads, sample their neighbors' food, and ask "Ngicela Khisimusi" (roughly translated as "Please Christmas"). The people on the homestead might give a box of matches, a piece of fruit, some oats... whatever they have on hand... but it is still considered a present. Since I wasn't around last Christmas (remember the elephant encounter at Hlane?) I had no idea this fantastic tradition took place. Hopefully this year I'll get to go trick or treating myself! As for the teacher, I gave her and the two others beaded necklaces I'd made and they were a smash hit! No money (at least here in Swaziland--the beads were from home) and lots of pleasure. Excellent! But it was a uni-directional gift giving. Oh well. Maybe I should have asked?

I finally, finally, got the local VCT (Voluntary Counseling and Testing center) to come do testing in my community! Bongane, the counselor, was 2 hours late, but then, so were all but two of the people coming to test! Fourteen people from my community were brave (12 women and 2 men) and found out their HIV status. I wish I could impart how scary that is for anyone who has 1) never done it and 2) is not living in a country where 40% of the population is positive. For the women who are 25-29 years old, the statistic is 56%. Can you imagine yourself into that situation? I sat with a girl about my age who was afraid she’d have a stroke. I tried to distract her with other things until it was time for her to go into the hut to get her results. Mbali, the Chief’s daughter, was even more terrified. She refused to come into the hut to listen as Bongane was giving a talk to the people who had come to test. She is probably about 16, but maybe as old as 21, with an infant son. An infant son, but no boyfriend or husband. Maybe by the next VCT visit, she will have the courage. But I hope she waits until she has more than courage. Maturity is needed as well to deal with the results, and having a child does not equal wisdom.

I had an interesting conversation with my family the other night. We came to the topic of funerals and burial, via the subject of Nati’s widow. She has moved to Manzini, so the family was debating whether she would be buried in kaMbhoke (where her husband had lived, and I reside), at her birth home, or in the public cemetery in Manzini. Not that we were predicting her death—it was more like wondering how they could recover a lost sister. Swazis are typically buried on their homestead after death, in a family plot as it were. A person buried in Manzini, according to Babe, would lose connection to their ancestors and would be unable to contribute spiritually to future generations.

Cremation, then, is also problematic. I announced that I’d like to be cremated instead of buried, and my ashes scattered in at least one place back home (Elwha River Valley, Olympic National Park). Phumie agreed that cremation will soon become common here as the cemeteries fill up and arable land becomes threatened by coffin accumulation. Babe seemed mixed on this. My impression is that it might be spiritually okay to be cremated as long as the ashes are kept on the homestead. However, ashes scattered result in lost ancestors who might cause mayhem.

One more thing you should know before the punch line: Swazis believe the little dust cyclones in the roads are angry spirits and the children run from them.

So… scattered ashes leads to lost spirits, and cyclones are the embodiment of lost spirits... Thus, said Babe, Hurricane Katrina was the result of peoples’ ashes thrown into the sea that were now seeking to return home, to land.

So this short week between my trip to Hawane and returning to town to say goodbye to the departing Group 1 PCVs (the group that was a year ahead of my group), was a run-around the community sort of week. (Literally too since I've been going on runs in addition to all my hiking.) I had a class canceled on Tuesday and then when I walked 45 minutes to Babe Hlahlamba's house to do a community workshop on HIV neither he nor the community was not there... for the second time. The first time that I arrived with one of the teachers, we found him asleep on a mat in his yard. In this job, I strike out on attendance about half the time. Sometimes it is miscommunication and often it is forgetfulness. And I just have to roll with it. However, Make LaNkhosi* forced a brilliant plan on me--to do a workshop at the dip tank after dipping next Wednesday**. Not that I haven't had this idea before, but she made it seem so easy. I like this woman. Good thing too, since she is my other Make, and lives at kaGogo***. I talked to the chief, and then to a friend who works at the dip to ask him to hold people back once their cows have gone through. This will work! And I can reschedule with Babe Hlahlamba there as well. :P

*Make LaNhkosi is my Babe's first wife who has returned to live in the community after a few months away. Women here can continue to use their maiden names, especially when there are many people with the same surname in the area (such as "Mamba" being a very common last name where I live--it is within the Mamba kindom). The place "La" in front to signify that she is married. Make LaNkhosi is a Dlamini, and the Dlaminis are related to the king. "Nkhosi" means "king", and is a respectful term to call anyone with "Dlamini" as a surname.

**Dipping: To make cows jump in a long canal of water and anti-parasite chemicals. Done every other week in winter when there are less ticks et cetera and every week in summer. Sometimes they throw their dogs in.

***kaGogo: Literally "home of grandmother", it refers to the place your Babe (father) grew up. This is where my Babe has started a school for orphans in the community, so we refer to the school as "kaGogo".

Got a trio of new animals to tell you about. Don't read if you tend to get fearful for my health or that of my chickens.

The first, a snake... either a grass snake... or a cobra... (my family leans toward the latter, but if what you read scares you--it gave me my first nightmare in about 10 years! then just think 'oh, it was only a friendly grass snake'). I was hiking toward a far-off part of my community--far off for me, it was actually closer to civilization by about 90 minutes of walking--and using a shortcut. This trail followed a ridge dotted with low shrubs and heavily decorated with rocks. I try to avoid it because rocks make it slow going, but since I had so far to go... Well, this time of year (spring), the days are hot (except this last week) and I got very nervous. 'This is perfect snake territory.' I started peering into bushes and taking the most open parts of the trail. No good. Suddenly a two foot green-brown snake is figure-eighting around my ankles and I am sounding uncannily like a turkey! It was gone in a flash. I think my dancing on top of it was intimidating. But my heart rate stayed high and I have vowed NEVER to walk that trail alone on a hot day in my normal "uniform" of skirt and chacos... it'll be jeans and hiking boots or an extra twenty minutes of hiking.

Second story.. same day.. woke up from that, yup, nightmare, to hear scratching from beneath my bed! RAT! What eats rats? Snakes. And Magi had seen a green mamba (even more dangerous that my friendly cobra) on their verandah that afternoon. So I'm scared shitless to get off my bed to cross the room to my flashlight in case a snake has followed that rat into my room. After the scratching relocated itself, and a few edited moments, it was discovered that the rat was in fact a bat! For whatever reason (perhaps bats cannot fly from floor level) it was scampering around on the floor! Newly armed with a blue plastic collander, and buck naked, I chased the trespasser back and forth, finally imprisioning it between the collander and my rainjacket. I pulled on some clothes to put it outside (why, when it was the middle of the night and I guarantee you there was no one up?). Hopefully it made it's way back to it's normal roost in my roof.

Third animal, next week, again night-time... I was lying in bed, 9pm-ish, when I heard noises near my house, like metal rattling. I opened the window facing the chicken coop and peered out with the help of my now-bedside flashlight. Seeing no movement, I closed the window and laid back down. Within two minutes, I heard sqwaking! Something was in the chicken coop! I alerted Phumie then hung back while he entered the coop. 'Get Mugs, there's a meercat in the coop.' (It was not a meer-cat, but we'll get back to that.) By the time Magi came out of the house, it had disappeared, leaving three dead chickens behind, and the rooster missing. At this point, we should have done something to help the two remaining hens in the coop. But after arguing about it not likely being a meer-cat, as they are small ground-hog like creatures and finally identifying it as a genet in the South Africa travel book my parents left me, I returned to bed to read. About 30 minutes later, maybe an hour, I heard sqwaking again! Rushing out there (still clothed this time), I caught a cat-like creature in the light from my flash-light. It was dragging the larger hen across the ground by the neck. The animal was about two feet long, including it's tail, and was tan with dark brown spots. I chased it off and went to wake Phum to let him know. I found him sleeping and when he didn't wake to my whispers, I left him. When returning to my room, I AGAIN heard sqwaking! This part has good news though. The hen was still alive and very very shaken up. Chickens, it seems, are blind at night, and as I shone my light around, she peered anxiously ("chicken paranoia" is a good description) around. She ran off into the night after I'd increased her confidence. Well, letting her out of the coop was a good, but I forgot about the last little hen. She was not there in the morning. The genet came back a third time that night and I was not awake to hear. Sad for the chickens. Fun for me--how often do YOU get to see a wild nocturnal African animal?

So those are my stories. Really.. I apologize for so many about the animals around here, but you should probably be expecting that by now. Maybe I'll catch site of the local porcupine or the bush pigs before I leave!

We just finished a weeklong workshop at Hawane hosted by UNICEF for us and our counterparts. Hawane is just North of Mbabane near a game reserve called Malalotja. It is a lodge and backpackers with a restaurant facility and confrence room and horseback riding. Oh, and flies... the stable is between the backpackers (a converted stable itself) and the confrence room so we had the little buggers flitting about our arms and heads occasionally throughout the meetings. It was scenic, reminding me a bit of the green rolling hills around Mount Holyoke. Morning runs were misty, with horses and cows and antelope appearing out the the fog. We had our meals covered, and although I rarely got a hot shower, it was fabulous. On our mid-week afternoon off, a few of us dodged lightning bolts to go on an hour-long horseback ride. Well... we waited for the regular afternoon thunderstorm to abate then went out. It is scary trying to stay on a trotting horse in an English-style saddle! Especially when my horse was kicked by another one... she wasn't a very populare one amongst the group... Thanks, Mom and Dad, for letting me go to horse camp when I was young so that I know what reins are for! Just wish I'd learned to post.

Now that I've described the boring stuff, here's the fun! UNICEF was teaching us their "string game"--a facilitating tool that uses a story (a 3 hour story!) to pass on messages about HIV and AIDS. It utilizes a display board with characters clumped by families and occupations and red string representing HIV to connect them. I went in with a lot of doubts, and was pleasantly surprised with the quality and fondness I developed for the story. What made the whole week even better were everyone's counterparts and the workshop facilitators. We had so much fun during breaks and during our numerous role plays and practice storytelling sessions that some of us PCVs are wondering how to get us all together again. I will try to use this teaching tool in my community when I get my own board from UNICEF. In the meantime they've given us some fun stories to share with our communities and snazzy new large bright blue dufflebags with "UNICEF" written across them. They are also holding a "Children and AIDS" day later this month to coincide with an international effort in raising global awareness on how HIV has effected children--orphans are obvious, as is mother-to-child transmission, but the HIGH incidence of child rape here has left many children HIV positive as well. I am hoping to go to Manzini for their launching... to help paint faces! Look for another posting next month if I make it.

I've back dated this entry to when I wrote the following in my journal...

"I wish I'd had my camera with me, or at least a way with words, some way to capture the boys' familiar figures sillouetted black against the flames. A photo, though, would be unable to catch the sounds--the near and far crackles of fire, the trees snapping, of the wet "thwack" of dripping cloth hitting the ground. Could a photo capture the shower of sparks, the arc as the rag stick descends? A photo would not capture the fear, the awe, the exhilaration, the anger. Even an action sequence trailing the tongue that leapt across the field would not let you feel the breeze pushing it. We have to guess where that line of orange really is in the now black night landscape. Only the occasional familiar form of an old tree lit first from the fore and then in relief reminds us of the distance in the dark. Tomorrow we will see the damage, the blackened fields. Our fields, that someone set alight. Perhaps they wanted to route out the bushbuck that find solace in our grass, or perhaps my brother is right in it being deliberate jealous sabotage. I stood watching it dance in the night until the breeze soaked through my shirt and the boys had put out two or three of the firey snakes. I beat them back to the house and had hot boiled water waiting for them for coffee, tea, and hot baths to wash the smoke from their eyes."

It's been only five days since my sister and parents left me at my bus stop. They were heading back to the States and I was headed back to site. But those five days have seen me busier than ever! After arriving home on Wednesday, I woke up at 6am on Thursday to head out to a remote region of my community to give the third of six or seven workshops on HIV to the people of my chiefdom. And it was the best one yet! Two weeks of vacation did not dull my edge. It probably helped that I got to sit on a grass mat in the shade in the rural health motivators yard, because it felt more casual and intimate. The 30 or so men and women asked questions and seemed to learn a lot. The next two days had me running around my community doing errands, seeing people (or at least trying to), and then I came back into Mbabane for a meeting of PC volunteers. We are working on developing a lifeskills workbook for teachers in Swaziland. (Again, "lifeskills" is the term used to describe a variety of topics such as communication, relationship skills, self esteem, career choices, and goal setting.) This is a rather large undertaking for us and we hope to have a solid workbook in time for a pilot study next year (jan/feb). On top of my classes themselves, community workshops, and trying to bring HIV testing to my community... well... Dad will be proud. I'll be proud when it's all accomplished and I haven't gone insane. But I love developing programs, especially "lifeskills" ones, so this should be a few months of happy dedication, not hair pulling. Hopefully it means a few more frequent updates for all of you since this workbook means coming into town to type. Keep an eye peeled.

Yesterday I got to look Death in the eye... well... Death in the form of a Great White Shark... and there were bars between us so I was pretty much guaranteed to continue living after the staring contest. Early in the morning, my family and I were picked up and taken to Gansbaai, the launching site for Great White Projects' shark tour. After brief safety instructions, we launced from an itty-bitty jetty and hurled over waves that were quite high (thank goodness for dramamine, though I'm not sure I would have actually gotten sick without it) headed for Dyer Island--the famous hunting ground for Great Whites. Apparently 95% of all G.W. shark footage is shot there, and they call the neighboring island the "White Shark Supermarket" for its impressive fur seal population. We were lucky to see a "predation" when we gained sight of the island--a fur seal becoming dinner in a flurry of white and red. "Predation, predation!" and we all hurried to the side of the boat to see the shark's fin waving above the water. After that we found a spot, dropped anchor, and released chum into the water in the form of shark liver (not G.W. Shark, but a smaller shark that it preys on and is not endangered--nothing from a G.W. may be sold for use or profit). After about 45 min of waiting, we decided to move to another site. This one had been recently vacated by another shark tour boat who had seen much shark activity. As soon as we put down anchor, we got one! It was massive, maybe 8-10 feet long, which is not all that large for a Great White but long enough to be scary. We quickly yanked on wet suits, dropped the cage over the side and Liz and I were the first ones in! Unfortunately, the shark had gotten bored by that time and we had to wait for the next one. Fortunately, the four of us (two gents from Scotland and Ireland joined us) in the cage were the only ones who wanted to get in the water that day. That meant that we got to stay in there while the next four sharks visited us! The lure was a large tuna and they would drag it toward the cage to get the shark to come closer. My sister said it was smelly and accidentally got some of the taste of it in her mouth because it was dragged over her head a few times. But it brought the sharks right up to the cage! You could, if you were insane, reach out and touch them. Seeing the way they can turn on a dime, you'd be sacrificing your hand to stupidity. They weren't too interested in us in the cage. I'm not sure they even realized we were there. Because they really only came for the lure. The only fears we had were for a foot accidentally sliding out from between the bars or the few times the cage dipped forward, being pushed by the boat's rocking on the waves. The minutes flew by. As I said, were were incredibly lucky--I think we spent 45-75 minutes in the cage. We got out due to cold and high waves, not because we were forced to. After a quick trip down "Shark Alley" between Dyer Island and another small one to see seals, we headed home. The ride back was great as well: the waves made it seem like a 1/2 hour rollar coaster! Not good for the man who was desperatly sea sick, but producing a lot of giggles from the rest of us. I got a certificate saying I faced a White Shark and lived, but the memories are worth more than the paper.

Yesterday my family and I headed off to South Africa's wine region, hitting the towns of Stellensbosch, Franschhoek, and Paarl. We visited four wineries in total and tasted some very yummy wines. Spier and Rust en Vrede were the two wineries we tried in Stellensbosch. Spier was more exciting for it's cheetahs than the taste of it's wines. Liz and I actually got to pet a cheetah named "Joseph". One of the more interesting things about that was his purr! It sounded like the rapid tapping on wood blocks, much higher pitched than any noise I've heard from a house-cat. He was friendly (hence the purring) but they still only pet you while his is lying down. That's alright. It would be fun to volunteer there, to be able to see them all the time, but that would involve living in Cape Town and I don't think my parents would like that too much. The wines at Rust en Vrede were exquisite, it it is allowed to call wines such. I only wish I had the R270 for a bottle! Ouch! (It would be about $41 USD, which is steep though possibly affordable, but not on a Peace Corps budget!) If you ever find it in the States, know that it is probably worth the price you're paying.

The other two wineries we visited were excellent as well. I picked up a bottle of unwooded chardonay from Dieu Donne in Franschhoek. I'm not a white wine person but it was good! And Liz and I picked up shirts from Fairview in Paarl. They make a wine called "Goats do Roam", which is a play on words from a wine region in France... unfortunately I can't remember the real name.. "Coates du R---"? Any real wine conessiuer is shaking their head at me right now. All the wines at Fairview were scrumptious as well. If we can find some here in Cape Town, Liz and I will pick some up. I would recommend a visit to any of these four wineries if you do the wine routes here. I'm sure there are many more great ones out there... and it might be less stressful to a) take a tour or b) close your eyes and point out a few. But we enjoyed it. Cheers!