A Day in the Life...

A Day in the Life…

I wake up at 5:30…Whether it was the roosters, the dogs, or the booming bass of bhuti’s African house music, I don’t know.  I’m up by 6 most days anyway, but I lay in bed trying to steal back some sleep before I really need to get up.  It’s still before 6 when my bobhuti and their friends start cementing the walls of the construction site next to my hut- so I’m up for good this time. 

I am unfortunately gripped by (pardon my SiSwati)- explosive Umsheko.  Whether it is from the clinic, yesterday’s beef carry-out, or the expired eggs I’ve been boiling, I couldn’t tell you.  Whatever it is, it sends me running back and forth from my bed to the latrine for the next few hours.  Having to walk past a gaggle of teenage boys each time is not the most confidence-boosting way to start your morning, let me tell you. 

I am just entering the “kill me now” phase of the Umsheko around 8:30, ready to resign myself to a day of counting ceiling cracks and steps to the latrine, when my host mother calls from out of town.  I am needed at a meeting, apparently.  She tells me the name of the place, and I quickly rouse myself out of my one woman pity parade.  My community needs me! 

I quickly dress (no time for a bucket bath), make myself a to-go bottle of Oral Rehydration Solution, and head off to unknown meeting at location unknown.   I take what might be the fast route if I knew what I was doing or where I was going, but I’m still pretty weak and walk slowly.  I pass countless homesteads where I’m called out to by everyone.  I feel great- my community knows my name!  One homestead asks me to drink some of the beloved Swazi maize drink.  My stomach cramps at the very thought.  “No thanks, I’m full!”  I decline politely and quickly continue towards the meeting, getting directions every few homesteads. 

I am pleased to run into my friend the old security guard at the school on the way- it always brightens my day to see him (especially now that he doesn’t propose every time he sees me). 

When I finally arrive at the meeting, my tardiness seems to be excused by my whiteness, and the whole room bursts into applause when I enter.  I am embarrassed and apologize profusely, and take my spot next to the other 20 women on the grass mats along the wall. 

Women in Swaziland must sit with their legs straight out in front of them or tucked daintily to the side.  Ouch.  Needless to say, I last about half an hour before my legs are positively numb and I am biting the inside of my cheek to keep from rustling.  I think I’m doing an awesome job at pretending like this is the most natural position in the world for me, but I get told during the break by one of the presenters to take the lone chair in the room.  I stubbornly don’t.  Boy would I regret that 6 hours later….

I have arrived on the 4^th and final day of a community counselor training being conducted by two no-nonsense Swazi women from the Adventist Development Relief Agency.  The trainings consist of the typical HIV/STI/TB/nutrition talks, but my ears perk up at a particularly interesting session about the importance of wills and involving children in the process of writing the will.  As in many developing countries, land and property grabbing by relatives of the deceased tragically deprives the rightful heirs (usually still children) of their desperately needed inheritance.  The presenters talk about how to make a simple will, where to put it, the role of the courts if there is a dispute, and the important role fencing can play in preventing the wrongful allocation of land.  It is definitely new and important information to many people in the room. 

During the break, I network with the presenters, who have dollar signs in their eyes at the sight of me.  Great ladies and quality presenters, but I beg off any financial commitment until I know for sure what is being accomplished here.  I chat with other community members I know from various community groups about ideas for projects, too.  Another young lady approaches me during the break.  She is a classic beauty, her modest Swazi housewife dress not capable of concealing that she could be a model.  She wants to work with me on the support group the counseling trainees are forming.  I am thrilled at having another active counterpart.  I can sense that this woman is a natural leader as she gently but firmly guides the girls in her charge through the preparing and serving of the food.  The young girls instantly like me as I offer repeatedly to help them with the dishes, but they still give me the easy tasks. 

Come lunchtime, I am given the heart of the chicken.  I’m not sure if this is considered a quality piece or not, but I discretely try sliding it back into the pot when I’ve eaten the rice.  I’m caught, though, and there are some laughs and looks of astonishment- I hope I haven’t offended. 

The meeting finally winds down around 4, and offices are voted on for the new organization.  My counterpart nominates me to be a board member, but I successfully protest and withdraw from the race.  This needs to be their organization and there are many capable Swazi women in the room.  Another half hour is spent arranging a date for the next meeting, and I check out my SiSwati mentally after I get that bit down.  Apparently, the women are concerned and want to confirm that I will be there next week.  Whoops- shouldn’t have checked out so soon.  Yes, I reassure them, I will be there.  A prayer and a song, and I’m on my way home at 5.  There is a storm brewing and the sky looks like a fantastic Illinois skyline during tornado season.  There is a pleasant calm-before-the-storm on the homestead when I arrive. 

I start cooking, feeling much recovered from my illness in the morning.  Thanks to the spices mom and dad spent, I made the best curry I’ve ever made!  I soon have a 15 year old bhuti at my door, wanting to play the memory game.  We play as I eat, and I give him a little to taste as always.  He refuses to quit playing until he’s beaten me, which takes a few rounds, but he does.  Normally, the seven year old would join us, and I would have the two draw or practice their writing for an hour or so, but he’s away visiting his mother at the moment.  I give brief greetings to the older bobhuti who are in charge while make is away with the little one.  Normally we’d go and practice with the soccer team until it gets dark (I’d beg off before it actually gets dark), but there’s a storm a-brewing tonight.  They know I’m feeling like more of a quiet night following my illness, too, and so it’s good night after a few pleasantries.

Tomorrow I will spend the day at the clinic, helping at reception and counting pills and socializing and planning grand projects.  Sometimes the nursery group meets on Fridays, so maybe there will be another surprise meeting.  Yesterday there was a surprise meeting of Rural Health Motivators (well- I was the only one surprised) at the clinic, so you never know what exciting adventures await in the village! 

So that’s what my days are like.  I can’t imagine spending whole days without leaving my homestead or holing up in my hut.  Scruff and I are busy bees all day, every day, thanks to our very active civil society.  (Yeah, yeah, I had to read a lot of Putnam last year…)  I’m DYING to get out of this integration phase so I can start really doing my job and start working with all these groups that want me to work with them.