We have a new mailbox closer to our site in Zombodze. You can send letters and packages to this address, but items sent to our old mailing address in Mbabane will still reach us. The old address is located at the Peace Corps HQ. The new address allows us to check our mail more frequently when we make trips into town.
PO Box 236
Nhlangano, S400
Swaziland - Africa
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Saturday, September 20, 2008
Sunday, September 7, 2008
gardening begins
The reason we’re planting in 2 separate gardens is simple: we want a participatory presence in both places. One garden is run by an OVC group (Orphans and Vulnerable Children), and we hope to work with them on various projects. The other garden is the large "bomake," or mothers, garden—a community garden that our own make (pronounced mah-gay) belongs to, along with many others. At both gardens the main challenge is water. Both rely upon open trenches that carry water from a stream 1.5km away, and the trenches are full of sediment and their walls have eroded in a few critical areas (a few rainy season floods). So not much water reaches the garden reservoirs. The bomake garden actually has underground piping to deliver water to spigots in all parts of the garden… but the reservoir that feeds these pipes is all-but dry most of the time. This is an issue that we hope to work on during our time here, and being active members of these gardens marks the beginning of our involvement.When those small reservoirs are dry, everyone must either haul water to their plots by hand or else coax a trickle down the trenches with a shovel or a hoe until enough water gathers in the pit to fill a bucket or two (this second option only applies to the OVC garden). These water difficulties have diminished overall participation in the gardens, thereby keeping affordable and healthy food from many kitchen tables in Zombodze.
As we have recently witnessed first-hand, there is nothing quite so desperate as a family lacking in food and water. Here, the two necessities seem to go hand-in-hand: without an adequate supply of water, how can one grow food? By comparison, washing clothes or dishes or even bathing in clean water seems a luxury: one bucket bath could water perhaps 5 rows of carrots. I’m thankful that our homestead has the means for its own water tap and well—we never go without water or its benefits. But I think that our work in the gardens will give us some real-life appreciation for what water scarcity means for small-scale food production.
As I write this, I keep thinking of the little misters in the produce sections of grocery stores back home. And I cannot help but consider the comparative extravagance of it: our grocery stores continuously water crops after they’re picked, usually with a little thunder-and-rain soundtrack. Why do they do this? Maybe it’s aesthetic-- moist produce does look tastier. Or maybe wet produce doesn’t spoil as quickly… I don’t know. If anyone knows, please tell me. But I was always convinced they did this little misting routine because wet produce weighs more (and therefore sells for more) than dry produce, and the trickery of it always bothered me a little. Now, thinking about it with the Zombodze gardens in mind, it bothers me for other reasons.
Jamie-girl meets a dog
Jamie-girl, here… Well everyone, I’ve done it once again. Why are menacing insects and animals so attracted to me? I sure would like to figure it out. I guess the stories I get to tell because of the attention I receive from them are my compensation (as long as my encounters aren’t too serious). In New Zealand, it was a spider. In Swaziland, it was a dog.
I’ve been able to run as much as I want here in Swaziland, which has been a pleasant surprise. I was expecting to give it up or at least be very restricted in my exercise routine because women don’t really do any recreational sports here—or even wear pants for that matter! In the rural communities, traditional dress for the ladies is long skirts and dresses. However, my training community—and now, my permanent community—has been receptive to my habit of jogging. I have actually met several people rather quickly because I am jogging all over the countryside and people inevitably want me to stop and talk to them. As you can imagine, I am 
quite a strange sight—a white girl in trousers running for no apparent reason other than to "be healthy." The concept is foreign to them—life here is strenuous enough. There is no need for additional activity. The women in particular are tirelessly performing chores as well as shouldering the responsibility of raising their children. Many mothers carry their young child on their back as they walk long distances to fetch 25L containers of water or balance large loads on their heads. I’m in awe of their physical strength.
Oh, I should briefly explain the role of dogs in Swaziland. Rural families keep dogs for protection and security, not as pets. The concept of an animal owned for companionship is not part of a Swazi’s relationship with their animals; they are food or safety or money. Dogs are raised to guard valuable assets, like maize, or keep strangers away. Anyway, early in our pre-service training, I was on one of my afternoon jogs. In the past, curious dogs followed me along their fence for a short distance, but ultimately returned to their naps in the sun. This time, as I was passing a couple of dogs from a homestead, they barked and paralleled me along their fence as usual, but instead of losing interest, they found a hole in their fence and continued to pursue me. One of them nipped at my feet and bit my leg. The damage wasn’t very bad—a couple of teeth broke the skin and a swollen bruise surrounded the area. It was bleeding, but didn’t require stitches. However minor the assault was, this was a problem. I was worried about rabies. It is not uncommon to encounter dogs in the rural areas that have not received their shots. I tried to ask the family if their dog had gotten its treatment, but it was unclear, most likely no.
As luck would have it, we were scheduled to begin our series of rabies immunizations the next day. Ugh! Even if we had already started the series, an actual bite from an animal suspected of having rabies requires an additional immuno-globulin injection directly into the wound within 24 hours. Like I said, lucky me. I spoke with our medical officer and a Peace Corps vehicle was sent immediately to pick me up and take me to Mbabane for treatment. Jamie tagged along for support and the possibility of spending the night in a nice B & B called Gloria’s that we had already heard wonderful things about from the group ahead of us (some rumors about hot showers and TV).
Upon arriving at the hospital, we learned that apparently the immuno-globulin injection is scarce in Swaziland. In fact, a vial of it couldn’t readily be located. Our medical officer used all her connections to track down the elusive serum. At one point there was even talk of crossing the border into South Africa if circumstances didn’t materialize in Swaziland. This would have been a bit complicated since our government-issued passports were still being processed for work visas and my personal passport didn’t have an entry stamp for Swaziland. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that worst-case scenario. A couple of vials were discovered and I was scheduled to get treatment the next day. Let me just say, I have been poked a number of times for different immunizations—several in the few weeks prior to this incident—but nothing compares to receiving an injection directly into an open wound. The doctor had to massage it into the area too. I didn’t look, but I could feel my leg twitching even though the doctor was trying to be as gentle as possible. In addition to the immuno-globulin shot, I had to go for 5 or 6 more rabies injections over the next several weeks. I can honestly say I don’t flinch anymore when a needle is being pointed into my arm. I learned one of my earliest Swazi lessons: it is a good idea to carry rocks or a big stick when running to scare the dogs. I have a scar to prove it.
I’ve been able to run as much as I want here in Swaziland, which has been a pleasant surprise. I was expecting to give it up or at least be very restricted in my exercise routine because women don’t really do any recreational sports here—or even wear pants for that matter! In the rural communities, traditional dress for the ladies is long skirts and dresses. However, my training community—and now, my permanent community—has been receptive to my habit of jogging. I have actually met several people rather quickly because I am jogging all over the countryside and people inevitably want me to stop and talk to them. As you can imagine, I am 
quite a strange sight—a white girl in trousers running for no apparent reason other than to "be healthy." The concept is foreign to them—life here is strenuous enough. There is no need for additional activity. The women in particular are tirelessly performing chores as well as shouldering the responsibility of raising their children. Many mothers carry their young child on their back as they walk long distances to fetch 25L containers of water or balance large loads on their heads. I’m in awe of their physical strength.Oh, I should briefly explain the role of dogs in Swaziland. Rural families keep dogs for protection and security, not as pets. The concept of an animal owned for companionship is not part of a Swazi’s relationship with their animals; they are food or safety or money. Dogs are raised to guard valuable assets, like maize, or keep strangers away. Anyway, early in our pre-service training, I was on one of my afternoon jogs. In the past, curious dogs followed me along their fence for a short distance, but ultimately returned to their naps in the sun. This time, as I was passing a couple of dogs from a homestead, they barked and paralleled me along their fence as usual, but instead of losing interest, they found a hole in their fence and continued to pursue me. One of them nipped at my feet and bit my leg. The damage wasn’t very bad—a couple of teeth broke the skin and a swollen bruise surrounded the area. It was bleeding, but didn’t require stitches. However minor the assault was, this was a problem. I was worried about rabies. It is not uncommon to encounter dogs in the rural areas that have not received their shots. I tried to ask the family if their dog had gotten its treatment, but it was unclear, most likely no.
As luck would have it, we were scheduled to begin our series of rabies immunizations the next day. Ugh! Even if we had already started the series, an actual bite from an animal suspected of having rabies requires an additional immuno-globulin injection directly into the wound within 24 hours. Like I said, lucky me. I spoke with our medical officer and a Peace Corps vehicle was sent immediately to pick me up and take me to Mbabane for treatment. Jamie tagged along for support and the possibility of spending the night in a nice B & B called Gloria’s that we had already heard wonderful things about from the group ahead of us (some rumors about hot showers and TV).
Upon arriving at the hospital, we learned that apparently the immuno-globulin injection is scarce in Swaziland. In fact, a vial of it couldn’t readily be located. Our medical officer used all her connections to track down the elusive serum. At one point there was even talk of crossing the border into South Africa if circumstances didn’t materialize in Swaziland. This would have been a bit complicated since our government-issued passports were still being processed for work visas and my personal passport didn’t have an entry stamp for Swaziland. Fortunately, it didn’t come to that worst-case scenario. A couple of vials were discovered and I was scheduled to get treatment the next day. Let me just say, I have been poked a number of times for different immunizations—several in the few weeks prior to this incident—but nothing compares to receiving an injection directly into an open wound. The doctor had to massage it into the area too. I didn’t look, but I could feel my leg twitching even though the doctor was trying to be as gentle as possible. In addition to the immuno-globulin shot, I had to go for 5 or 6 more rabies injections over the next several weeks. I can honestly say I don’t flinch anymore when a needle is being pointed into my arm. I learned one of my earliest Swazi lessons: it is a good idea to carry rocks or a big stick when running to scare the dogs. I have a scar to prove it.
Wind
Aug31- The first two days at our new home in Zombodze have been marked by strong southwesterly winds, dry and warm and full of dust. Yesterday our latrine’s (outhouse) tin roof was peeled off like a sardine can, collapsing part of its mud-and-brick back wall. We actually didn’t mind losing the roof: good ventilation and a view of the stars. But this morning, as the wind picked up again, the latrine’s doorframe buckled and fell from its brick supports. So now it’s condemned, we all agree, until repairs can be made, and we’re using the other latrine across the little cornfield, about fifty meters away.
The wind makes things hard for chickens and geese. They find low-lying, leeward spots in shrubs and corners and hunker down. But occasionally a chicken attempts to walk, and the result is pretty entertaining; not quite tumbleweed, but a feathery cousin, with claws grasping at the ground. The geese seem to manage better, perhaps because (unlike chickens) they’re actually designed for wind. And for us humans it’s the dust that makes this wind intolerable. The sky is brown today, and there’s smoke from fires on all horizons. Everyone is waiting for the rains.
We’ve begun the process of turning our little home into a comfortable living space. We have plans for making a kitchen area along one wall, a sitting area in another corner, a desk and reading chair over by the bed, and a bathing area behind a little curtain that we’ll soon hang from the roof beams. And we’re now using a solar shower bag in combination with a bigger washbasin, which is a small but luxurious change for us.
When it comes to quality of life, small things can make big differences.
The wind makes things hard for chickens and geese. They find low-lying, leeward spots in shrubs and corners and hunker down. But occasionally a chicken attempts to walk, and the result is pretty entertaining; not quite tumbleweed, but a feathery cousin, with claws grasping at the ground. The geese seem to manage better, perhaps because (unlike chickens) they’re actually designed for wind. And for us humans it’s the dust that makes this wind intolerable. The sky is brown today, and there’s smoke from fires on all horizons. Everyone is waiting for the rains.
We’ve begun the process of turning our little home into a comfortable living space. We have plans for making a kitchen area along one wall, a sitting area in another corner, a desk and reading chair over by the bed, and a bathing area behind a little curtain that we’ll soon hang from the roof beams. And we’re now using a solar shower bag in combination with a bigger washbasin, which is a small but luxurious change for us.
When it comes to quality of life, small things can make big differences.
favorite appliance
The appliance I miss the most is a washing machine. Even more than a refrigerator, but of course it’s not yet summertime. I reserve the right to change my mind when it’s hot. But what a great invention is the modern washing machine—especially the new ones, which use far less water than our hand-washing methods (especially rinsing) and they actually get the clothes cleaner. I’ve thought a lot about washing machines these past few months, usually while hunched over a sudsy basin of dirty clothes, and I’m convinced that they’re one of the things I most took for granted back in the States. How do they get our clothes so clean by simply “agitating” them around and around in churning soapy water? It’s a marvel. And the spin cycle—oh unappreciated spin cycle, I’m sorry for having ignored your usefulness all these years. Wringing out a big pile of wet clothes is very tedious and hard on clothes—I once ripped a pair of pants by wringing them too hard (thanks for stitching them back together, Aiesha). And laundry detergents are really hard on the hands—makes them feel weird for a few full days after wash day. How nice it was, never to have to handle the stuff.
I’ve got my eye on this really nice plastic wash basin at the One Price store in Nhlangano: it has a built-in washboard, descending from the basin’s rim to its bottom like a miniature staircase. And I’ve sketched up plans to make a rudimentary clothes-wringing machine, using two rolling pins, a few springs, a vacuum-cleaner belt, and a hand-crank (I cannot find a similar contraption here). We have a little washing brush now, and that helps get the clothes clean, but we find that using it too vigorously fades colors quickly. Good thing new clothes are cheap in Swaziland (new jeans for about $12, collared shirts for about $6).
So anyway, next time you throw your clothes in the washer and dump in a small cup of soap and then shut the door, think of the ease of the task, the sheer efficiency of the invention before you, and smile. Hand-washing a full load takes me well over one hour, sitting in the yard by the water spout and surrounded by 2 or 3 basins—and many liters of water. By the time everything’s hung up to dry, it will have been about two straight hours of uninterrupted labor. Ah, dearest Maytag washing machine, shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? And Kenmore: so much depends upon / your agitator / glazed with soapy water / beside the white tube socks.
I’ve got my eye on this really nice plastic wash basin at the One Price store in Nhlangano: it has a built-in washboard, descending from the basin’s rim to its bottom like a miniature staircase. And I’ve sketched up plans to make a rudimentary clothes-wringing machine, using two rolling pins, a few springs, a vacuum-cleaner belt, and a hand-crank (I cannot find a similar contraption here). We have a little washing brush now, and that helps get the clothes clean, but we find that using it too vigorously fades colors quickly. Good thing new clothes are cheap in Swaziland (new jeans for about $12, collared shirts for about $6).
So anyway, next time you throw your clothes in the washer and dump in a small cup of soap and then shut the door, think of the ease of the task, the sheer efficiency of the invention before you, and smile. Hand-washing a full load takes me well over one hour, sitting in the yard by the water spout and surrounded by 2 or 3 basins—and many liters of water. By the time everything’s hung up to dry, it will have been about two straight hours of uninterrupted labor. Ah, dearest Maytag washing machine, shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? And Kenmore: so much depends upon / your agitator / glazed with soapy water / beside the white tube socks.
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