Some Pictures!

Yes, she's pretty much the sweetest thing in the world.

All this is mine, as far as the eye can see!

Swazi cattle of the Nguni breed...They're EVERYWHERE!

Just acting cute, no big deal.

 View from my front door before the wet season on a cloudy day.

My house

Inside my house

Story Series

I love stories.  Fairy tales from around the world are my absolute favorite type of story, so I’m rather desperately asking every Swazi I know to tell me the stories they grew up with.  So far I have only gathered a few, but I hope to re-phrase my questioning in such a way that Swazis better understand what kind of story I’m asking for.  I also love life stories, but am having a difficult time learning to be the unobtrusive interviewer….So here’s the first story in what will hopefully be a regular “segment” on this blog- life stories from Swazis.  Names and some events have been changed.

Sibongokaliso

  I grew up in a polygamous family, and realized from a very young age that that was not for me.  It is not good, Zanele.  Everyone is fighting all the time over everything.  It can be something as simple as a bar of soap.  One person would say “It is mine,” and the other would say “No, I bought it!” and then they would pull out receipts to compare to prove who the real owner was.  So much hating and competition…How many wives? Three.  My mother was the last wife.  Dozens of children, but only the ones I shared with my mother did I consider my real brothers and sisters.  So no, I am not taking a second wife.   

I left home when I finished Form 5 and went to Malkerns to be a firefighter.  I didn’t know the right people, though, so I didn’t make it far in the admissions process.  Then, I went to work for a wood company for a while.  I became a master craftsman- I can build beautiful tables and coffins.  But the boss man wasn’t any good- he was cheating the workers.  You know how I know this?  I once made 20 wooden doors for the Swazi Royal Casino.  I went to deliver them with a few of the other boys.  They were all illiterate- had never even been to school- so I was the only one who could sign the check they were writing us.  The check was for 21,000 Emalangeni!  And then I thought- this is not right.  We were doing all the work and getting paid 500 Emalangeni a month.  This is not enough.  So I went to the boss and asked for more- at least 1,000 a month.  But he refused, so I left the firm.  Later, the foreman left, too. 

After that I went to work at Swazican.  It was a nice job.  I was in charge of the slicing machine.  After it sliced the pineapple, I’d stick my hand out and grab a slice.  All the free pineapple you wanted!  Free lunch, too.  It was a good employer that paid well, but there were no benefits.  I worked there for four years before resigning for this job.  It pays less and there’s no free lunch, but there is a government pension. 

I am a prince, so there are certain things I cannot do.  I cannot attend funerals.  I’ll stay all night for the night vigil, but I’ll slip out before they bring out the body for the funeral.  That’s why they always make the announcement that they are bringing the body out- so that the royal Dlaminis can slip away.  I don’t know why this tradition is, but Dlamini’s can’t do anything with burials. 

Sometimes, my grandfather would get very drunk.  I knew that this was the time to ask him things without getting into trouble.  One day he was very drunk and I asked him why it is that we don’t help with funerals.  He told me that it is because, long ago, our family had bossed everyone around.  I think the real reason is that, in the old days, bodies were buried without coffins and would get very smelly.  The Dlaminis didn’t want to touch the smelling bodies, so they used their royalty as an excuse not to help.  I used to ask questions like this- why we do certain things the way we do.  Now, though, I just accept that no one knows why we do certain things.  It is just our way. 

A Reflection on World AIDS Day

“I believe that this could very well be looked back on as the sin of our generation…I believe our children and their children, 40 or 50 years from now, are going to ask me, what did you do while 40 million children became orphans in Africa?” –Rich Stearns, World Vision USA President

Before moving to Swaziland, AIDS meant nothing to me.  It was not an issue I cared about…Gay rights, unjust wars, healthcare, global warming….These felt like the issues that my generation would go down in history fighting our parents about.  A disease transmitted primarily through sex half a world away seemed like an issue for someone else’s world- not mine. 

World AIDS Day meant next to nothing to me.  I might have remembered it every two years, depending on whether or not my calendar for that year came with it pre-marked.  It registered somewhere between International Day of the Girl Child (weird holiday name, UN) and Presidents Day in terms of significance to my life.  I have no idea if I ever met an HIV positive person before leaving the States.  Certainly none of my friends or family was openly HIV positive.

At our World AIDS Day booth at the soccer pitch last December, rowdy boys and young men excitedly grabbed condoms and ribbons.  There was lots of laughing and blushes.  During quieter moments, a few asked to be tested.  One boy said his mother told him never to wear a condom.  Horrified, I asked why.  Apparently, he won’t need a condom if he’s only with one person.  Fair enough, but I’m a pragmatist, so please take some condoms. 

Then another man approached.  His cheekbones jutted out, he was too thin for his height- the all too familiar signs of late stage HIV.  He told his story in SiSwati, but I understood enough.  His wife gave birth to seven children, all of whom quickly wasted away and died.  Then in 2004, she also died.  Upon her death, he went and got tested after someone told him about HIV.  He tested positive, and is the sole surviving member of his family.  He thanked us for holding a day of remembrance. 

I don’t know a single person in Swaziland who hasn’t lost a loved one to AIDS.  There are funerals every weekend.  I’m told that in the dark days before ARVs became widely available in the mid-2000s, some funerals were even held on weekdays, which is unthinkable in Swazi culture unless there are too many people to bury.  Most homesteads take in orphans; mine has 2, sometimes 3.  One ponders what psychological effects this abnormal and traumatic situation has on the population since it has perversely become the norm.      

The mind struggles to comprehend the magnitude of such an epidemic.  It is a disease associated with stigmatized populations- homosexuals, prostitutes, and the impoverished. It kills slowly, over years, so that infection spreads so easily and silently that the unknowing carrier can go ten years feeling perfectly healthy.  Even with the miracle of ARVs, a person’s life span is inevitably shortened.  Economic status, genetics, age, HIV subtype, and country of birth also determine how long one will live with the virus.  All individuals with HIV eventually need to take ARVs, but become drug resistant after a period of time, needing to move on to more expensive second and third line ARVS.   All three lines of drugs are currently available in Western Europe and North America.  Third line drugs are still patented and therefore too expensive for any African country to afford for at least another decade.  While activists and governments badger the pharmaceutical industry to provide a generic at reduced cost to Africa, an entire generation of a continent grows up parentless.   

But the picture isn’t all doom and gloom….My friends on ARVs are just as peppy as I am, and they certainly would argue fiercly that they still have long lives ahead of them.  Recent articles I’ve read argue that, for the first time, the World AIDS Conference this past year was one of hope and breakthroughs, not one of despair and hopelessness.  I’m particularly excited about potential breakthroughs in microbiocides.  These are chemicals that can be inserted into the vagina prior to intercourse which may kill off the HIV in sperm.  (thereby giving the woman some agency in situations where she cannot negotiate for condom use). 

 

The tides are turning, and maybe- just maybe- our grandchildren will look upon AIDS as our generation looked upon polio- a horrific disease almost completely eradicated.