things that creep and crawl

Oct06- The other day we were moving brush and making some temporary repairs to a fence around one of the gardens, and Jamie-girl spotted a rain spider crawling along one of the gum tree branches. From leg-tip to leg-tip, this thing was around 8-10cm long, and the only spiders I’ve ever seen bigger were the tarantulas in Arizona. The good news is, it didn’t bite Jamie-girl. The somewhat bad news is, we’ll likely see these things quite often. Our little plant/animal guide to Swaziland says they’re common, widespread, and have “mild venom.” The word “mild” there is really overshadowed by that other word, you know? So I guess from now on we’ll exercise “mild caution” when handling brush.

Coincidentally, I had just been thumbing through the spider section of that book the night before seeing the rain spider (which is the only reason I could identify it), and its description caught my eye not because of the “mild venom” comment but because of two other words: “enter houses.” That’s the last thing I wanted to read; if something’s gonna be big and creepy and venomous, let it stay outdoors-- the last thing I want it to do is “enter houses.” And reading through the rest of the book’s section on local invertebrates further convinced me to step up my efforts (which had already begun) to seal up any little holes and cracks in the walls. We found some ants on the floor a few days back and that launched an effort to find and block their thoroughfares. While doing this I happened upon a modest-sized black spider in the corner behind our food shelving, and as it managed to elude the little wad of toilet paper which I so bravely wielded, it occurred to me (for the thousandth time now) that I’m in Africa—which meant that this was some kind of African spider I was pitting myself against, and perhaps I was outmatched.

It seems to me, if you want to make scarier an animal already kind of scary to begin with, add the locative description of “African” to its name. Example: bees can be kind of dangerous, I guess, but what about Africanized bees? Downright frightening. Or scorpions—they already carry a fair amount of dread with their name, but consider to us North Americans how much more dreadful an African scorpion sounds. Which would you rather face on a dark night with nothing but a flashlight and a flip-flop: a North American scorpion or an African scorpion? Before you answer (and saying “neither” doesn’t count), consider the following description of the (African) buthid scorpion, excerpted from my guidebook: “runs fast with tail straight out, stings readily.” And yes, they too are “widespread.” Or consider the very next entry on my book’s page, the (African) liochelid , a “medium-sized” scorpion whose length—this must be a typo, please let this be a typo—ranges from “9 to 10 cm”. That’s like 3-4 inches, my fellow (metrically-challenged) Americans, And yes, of course it’s widespread—they’re all widespread.

I won’t even get into details on the snake section of our book, other than to say that it lists no less than 19 snakes common to our specific region/climate (so-called “montane grasslands”), 5 of which have a red skull-and-crossbones symbol next to its picture.

So anyway, back in the kitchen… the sudden awareness that I was dealing with an African spider got me thinking that perhaps it could be a more formidable foe than the North American varieties (of which, to be sure, there are downright nasty ones—black widows, brown recluse, Charlotte…). So I did what any sensible young (African) warrior would do: I got myself a bigger wad of toilet paper. And after I killed it I cracked open our Swaziland plants/animals guidebook to see if it was pictured. It wasn’t. But that rain spider was, and so was the sun spider (“medium-sized hairy spider-like creature [huh?] with enormous jaws but lacking venom”}, the banded-legged golden orb spider (“widespread, large spider…mild venom”), the golden-brown baboon spider (“widespread, large robust hairy spider… venom not dangerous to man”) and a few other excellent eight-legged reasons to seal up those cracks and always carry the flashlight to the outhouse after dark.

If you’ve read this far, you probably need a palette-cleansing image to counteract all the unnerving, creepy, itch-inducing descriptions to which I just subjected you. So here’s one, sticking with the African-as-descriptor animal theme: the striking African monarch butterfly, of which our book describes as “widespread, large-winged and brightly colored… flies all year.” They look just like the monarchs back home, except bigger. Picturing it? Feel better now? But wait— here’s my favorite detail about those pretty butterflies: “distasteful to birds because of poisonous chemicals stored in its body.” How cool is that? So, note to self: enjoy looking at the African Monarchs, but try to resist the temptation to pop them in my mouth.

The spiders, on the other hand, are apparently quite edible, and taste like (what else?) chicken.

Past and Present in Zombodze

We aren’t the first Peace Corps Volunteers to live here in Zombodze. The last one was here for about a year back in 2005(ish). But about 25 years ago a young PCV named Dan Webber was placed here, and his influence and projects remain an important part of this community—and an important part of our own PCV experience thus far. What follows is a pretty cool story, folks, and it continues to unfold.

The first time we visited Zombodze we walked into the carpentry workshop and met the carpenters, a young man and an older man. When the older man learned that we were PCVs, he pulled down a framed black-and-white photo from the wall above his workbench and handed it to me. I saw in the photo two men shaking hands in front of a van with the words “Sebenta PC Training” written on its side. One of the men was a Swazi, dressed in traditional Swazi clothes, and the other was a young westerner with a big beard and an even bigger smile. The carpenter told us that the picture was taken back around 1982, and that the westerner in it was Dan Webber, a Peace Corps Volunteer who’d lived and worked here in Zombodze—and whose projects included constructing the very building in which we stood. In fact, all the buildings in that complex of workshops and stores are the result of Dan’s outstanding partnership work with the community.

As I held that picture and listened to our friend translate the carpenter’s account of how much Dan did for him and the community, I felt myself apart of something larger, and I knew, standing there, that I was right where I wanted to be. And though I’d already been in training in Swaziland for a few months, I think that might have been the moment my personal Peace Corps experience began: The gray-bearded carpenter (Mkhulu Twala is his name) returned the picture to its place on his wall, told us he was happy we’d arrived, and invited us to come visit him any time. We have.

It gets better. I told this story to a fellow PCV a week or so later, and she told me that in fact Dan Weber was on Facebook and had contacted some Swaziland PCVs regarding his old community of Zombodze. Later she gave us his email (thanks, S.), and since then we’ve been in direct contact with Dan (I think he even reads this blog—hi Dan!). He’s passed us some photos and an account of his time here back in the day (1981-83), including pics of Mkhulu Twala and other people in the community that he’d befriended and worked with. His experience in Zombodze was incredible—Dan built his own home here and he could speak fluent siSwati upon leaving, and the results of his community development work endure.

So we’ve been able to share those photos Dan sent us with Twala the carpenter as well as others who knew Dan, and we gave them updates about him. And it’s been an amazing thing to share: they are overjoyed. In turn, we’ve been able to send Dan some current photos of his old friends and exchange community info with him… this intercontinental, inter-generational exchange continues to develop, and it’s quite a meaningful experience for us. His longtime friends here in Zombodze are now our newest friends, welcoming us to Zombodze with open arms.

So thank you, Dan—siyabonga kakhulu, umfanfigile!

There are currently about 50 PCVs placed in all 4 regions of Swaziland. If there are any other Swaziland RPCVs out there reading this who’d like to find out if a current PCV is living in your old community, leave us a message and we’ll be happy to check it for you.

Address Update

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

We are enjoying reading all the comments that you're leaving on the blog, even though we can't reply (SLOW connection speeds). Thanks everyone! We miss you! Keep in touch.

gardening begins

Sept03- We have been given space in two community gardens near home and today will begin clearing the plots and turning over the soil in preparation for planting. We plan to plant carrots, lettuce, cabbage, potatoes, beets, maize, sugar peas, and onions. We’re a bit behind in planting, given our late arrival in Zombodze, but as long as we get seeds in the ground before the rains we’ll be fine. If all goes well, we’ll be eating our own veggies in December.

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.

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.

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.