Atlanta with my Host Mother

It’s nice to be back in America. I took my make (host mother, MAH-gay) back for a visit to my hometown. Peace Corps gives a "Readjustment Allowance", so I used some of that to pay for part of her ticket since I'm just living with my parents till school starts. She has worked pretty hard, and she's always wanted to visit the States.

The flight back home was pretty rough, especially since my make had a bit of the flu. It was bitterly cold in Jozi when we left, so Atlanta was a stark contrast. It was her first plane ride, but she took it in stride and we just watched movies and slept. Clearing customs in Atlanta was pretty smooth for my make, thankfully.

I keep forgetting lots of little things that I just take for granted. At O.R. Tambo in Jozi, she was afraid to go to the bathroom because she thought she would get lost coming back. I told her I would wait for her, and she was fine. She has been to Mbabane and Manzini before. While those towns are busy, at least they are familiar.

In Atlanta, the moving sidewalks, escalators, and the train threw her off a bit – I forgot to warn her but she got the hang of it.

Yesterday we took my make to the Farmers’ Market in Chamblee. It was fun to walk up and down the aisles with her, noticing things that I usually just pass by. She asked me about the cactus leaves and yellow tomatoes, which made me curious about who eats that stuff too. Other things were familiar – aloe (inhlaba), onions, etc. The onions and apples are four times the size of Swazi ones. We looked at the fresh fish tanks, and the crabs and crab legs. She said she was scared to eat the crabs (Swaziland is landlocked, plus most Swazis are traditionally very meat-and-pap type of people), but asked me about the kimchee in the Korean section.

She seems quiet, but adjusting well. She has stayed true to her word, that she’ll try everything we eat since she said I did the same when I was staying with her. I like her because she is willing to try novel things. She reminds me of my own mother and my late grandmother.

These past few days we’ve been recovering from jet lack and doing as little as possible. We watch TV a lot. She really likes CNN. When he comes back from work, my dad talks agriculture with her -- about her maize and fruit trees back home in Swaziland. As I’m typing this, make is cooking with my mom now. We’re getting ready for a sort of official welcome for her tonight.

Traffic in Atlanta is a lot worse than when I left two years ago. Otherwise the transition isn’t all that bad for me so far. Next up: catching up with old friends who are still in town, getting ready for school.

Coming Home Again

Close of Service for Peace Corps went well. Just a tad emotional, but that was only because a lot of events seemed to happen all at once. I’m not gonna talk about all that shizz here though.

A lot of people were still in Mbabane the night before I left, so I met up with them at Spur for lunch. It was a good time, hanging out with just the guys at the bar for a while and then saying goodbye to the girls. End of an era, and all that jazz.

Then everyone had to leave to catch their transport home, so it was just Amy and I left at the table. I think we had a good chat. But I’m not 100 percent sure. Mar dropped by too but then she had to go. After a messy Last Meal of nachos and beer, I went with Amy to the office because she had left something there. I asked Mshaka to take us.

As we were leaving, the office was closing and Sipho was walking out. I told him in siSwati that I was leaving and shook his hand. He had tears in his eyes, said he couldn’t bear it and had to keep walking.

I thought my departure from Swaziland would lack poignancy, but poignancy smacked me upside the head everywhere I turned this past month. I wouldn’t trade it for anything though. I feel lucky to have had the opportunity to work in development at multiple levels, from community to regional to national. My Country Director articulated her impressions pretty well; I wish I had a tape recorder so I could just play it back if anyone ever asks me about Peace Corps.

Xenophobic Attacks in SA

I’ve been watching the news on SABC every couple of nights with my host mother. Thousands of Zimbabwean refugees have fled their country to reach South Africa. They have put pressure on the South African natives that are living in poor, informal settlements outside of Joburg. Government services have been lacking for many years, and I think these refugees fleeing Mugabe are merely the tipping point of this long-standing problem. The violence has spread to Capetown.

At first, when they said that “foreigners” were being looted, raped, and mugged, I thought they were attacking the Asians. Indians (which, to black Africans, includes Bangladeshis, Middle Easterners, and anyone else who looks like lindia) and Chinese (same deal), trigger a response of fear and resentment. But I was wrong. They are attacking mostly Zimbabweans, Mozambiqueans, Somalis, Nigerians, black Africans who don’t hold citizenships. They are making them show their ID cards.

My host mother lamented, “The Boers… they are laughing at us.” She meant that South Africa just got out of the apartheid era where the white Afrikaners made nonwhites carry pass cards, but now the black South Africans were implementing similar practices and discrimination. A few days ago on the news, two black South Africans were “accidentally” killed because the rioters thought they were foreigners.

Some rioters are saying “they take our jobs, our money, and our girlfriends”. Ok, wow. I told my host family that some Americans unfortunately have similar sentiments about Mexicans.

I just finished reading Malcom X’s autobiography. Particularly interesting is his commentary on the visit to Africa, and his glowing description of pan-Africanism. I don't know if it will work (but there's a time and a place for ideals). It’s human nature. People need a common enemy. If it’s not the whites keeping us down, it’s the Asians. If it’s not the Asians, it’s the Nigerians or Mocambiquans. The only way we can unite as humans is if aliens attack. Like “Independence Day.” I hope the people in the informal settlements are doing ok by now. (Plus, if the attacks spread I might have trouble getting back to Jozi airport. I'm not too worried about that though -- the settlements aren't on the route). They have probably suffered enough already without having to be attacked. Some of the refugees have gone back to their home countries. As of today, President Thabo Mbeki hasn’t said a word about this national embarrassment. His rival, Zuma, has made a few comments.

Capetown Races: Two Oceans Marathon

Kaapstaad, eKapa, iKapa, Capetown. The English version of this city sounds the best, fitting in a way, because this seems a very un-African city. And yet, for all the fine shopping, tasty restaurants, broad pedestrian walkways, quaint cafes, and other sundry material delights, it still left me with a shade of uneasiness. Part of it was the rudeness of the local whites and the obvious income disparities. Perhaps it is because it is so soon after the apartheid era. America has had a few more generations than South Africa to deal with its race issues.

We climbed Table Mountain, visited the District Six museum, saw an art exhibit, visited the Slave Lodge, attended a concert in Company Gardens, visited some vineyards, and did other things in addition to the Two Oceans Marathon. Victoria Wharf is reminiscent of Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco. There are a lot of things to do here. Service at the restaurants we ate at was impeccable. It is more metropolitan than any place in Swaziland. I met interesting people from Prague, Sweden, U.K., and even America.

I also talked to a few local beggars. A lot of them were Coloureds (I’m not being politically incorrect; that’s the term they use around here for people of mixed descent). One of them, at Green Market, told me that people like me usually didn’t stop to talk to people like them. I figure that now I was in a point in my life where I have the time to stop for a chat and hear about their life stories. I know that sometimes they are lying when they tell me their stories but usually it is interesting. I advised them to organize themselves and march on their parliament to advocate for their own causes. “Stanley” told me they lacked “resources and smart people”. In a way, I saw his point and didn’t know if and how the South Africans were ever going to make things right. One of the few advantages Swaziland has over SA is its race relations. In the end, the beggar and his friends ended up giving me part of a croissant with jam and cream cheese and told me about a free concert with Freshly Ground at a nearby park. These people did not have much, but what they had between themselves they shared. Sometimes people are asking for money just to be asking, and what they really would like is some human interaction.

I returned from talking to the Green Market beggars and went back to join the girls at the art exhibition. On my way in, the black receptionist lady said, “Unjani” to me (“how are you?”). I was surprised but responded appropriately. How did she know I knew to speak African? Capetown has three official languages – English, Afrikaans and Xhosa. English is the lingua franca, but Afrikaans and Xhosa speakers seem to be divided among racial lines. From her insouciant tone, I think she was bored and had just been trying to be funny and was testing me. They do that sometimes in Swaziland with me too. I came back to chat with her. Then it was her turn to be surprised when I spoke to her in siSwati (siSwati and Xhosa are closely related, although not as closely as with siZulu). She ended up being very nice and taught me how to click my tongue properly as the Xhosa language has a few different kinds of clicks from siSwati.

For the Two Oceans Marathon, we ran the 5km Fun Run on Friday. For some reason, all they gave the runners at the end was Coke. One would think they knew better, as it is one of the biggest races in this part of the world. At least they had Powerade and water in addition to the Coca-cola for the half-marathoners and ultra-marathoners on Saturday. The fun run was a lot of fun. I watched Robert and Sophie finish. My new European friends were just traveling around and had found out about the race a few days before. That kind of traveling appealed to me. Sometimes, I like being able to get to a place and do random things spontaneously instead of structured itineraries.

Along the race route during the half-marathon the next day, there was an African drum group to keep morale high. As I ran by, one of the drummers said to me “Ching Chong” – that universal catchphrase for people who mockingly pretend to speak Chinese. It’s different if people are actually trying to speak Chinese – the difference is like when we Peace Corps Volunteers are actually trying to make an effort to speak siSwati instead of pretending. It doesn’t bother me, but makes me think that there for all its cosmopolitan trappings, Capetown still has a lot of ignorant people, both black and white. I don’t even think the guy was trying to be mocking, he just didn’t know any better.

I think if black Africans want to make racial progress and keep the moral high ground, they need to be a bit more careful and solve some things within themselves first. But it’s not just Africa. Even when I went home for Christmas a year and a half ago, a drunk black guy said the same words, “Ching Chong” to me and my grandmother as we walked through downtown Atlanta. For a second I thought I was back in Southern Africa.

I finished the gorgeous half-marathon and hung out with my friends at the International tent – free food, drinks and beer. I would definitely do it again (and not just for the food).

Saturday night, we went out to Long Street, starting out with an Irish car bomb at an Irish pub, and then capping off our Capetown trip with tequila shots at a Cuban place early Sunday morning. I slept it off on the plane trip and kombi ride home.

In conclusion, Capetown was a nice break after Walk the Nation. We needed it to help let the dust settle after the Walk, put everything in perspective, and get a change of scenery. And what beautiful scenery. It's ocean and mountain, something for everyone, all in one place. I'm going to enjoy it when I return to Capetown next month for Adam's thing, a sort of last hurrah for Group 4 PCVs before we finish our service and go our separate ways in America.

Refutation

Contrary to currently fashionable soundbites about Darfur, the Middle East, etc. there CAN be peace without justice. The kingdom of Swaziland is a good example.

All is Quiet, on New Year's Day

2008 is here, the year I return to America. For New Year's, those of us volunteers who were in town stayed at a game reserve, played some football, hung out, and just tried to be really American, for a change (we don't need that much encouragement). It was my first holiday season away from family in Atlanta, as I went home last year.

Joe was the one who said it first, but we noted how great it was that our group wasn't a bunch of neo-hippies. He said he had come here expecting quite a few people wearing loose-fitting clothing and packing patchouli, or whatever the stereotypical hippie does. As it was, we were all pleasantly surprised by each other.

Everyone has their tensions and disagreements at some point, but we've become pretty good friends. I think all of us KNOW we can't change the world. But in the back of our minds we all wish that we COULD, and that we're all gonna keep trying to change at least our small part of it.

That, and herald our new years' with Nik-Naks and champagne.

That's what i like about Sundays

This weekend Celimphilo and her brother Andile came to their grandmother’s (my host mother) house to visit. Cel is 9, and Andile is 7. We played Crazy 8’s and watched a bootleg version of “Mr. Bean”. Mr. Bean is ok, but not that funny. He’s like a poor man’s Monty Python. The next morning we were supposed to go to a neighbor’s funeral just before dawn, but Musa and Colisile overslept so I just did my wash, cleaned a bit and read.

After everyone came home from church in the afternoon, Coli cooked us a delicious lunch of pap with beef and carrots in gravy. Then I walked the two kids home to their mother’s, about 3k away. It should have taken around 45 minutes at normal walking speed, but it took twice that. As kids will, they stopped to play, rest, look at a bug, climb through a drainage pipe, eat a peach (from the bag that we were supposed to give to their mother), jump rope, etc.

Celimphilo is hilarious. She picked up a small tree that was twice as tall as she was. She carried the portable shade with her for some time while singing the Umbrella song by Rihanna (not sure where she heard that).

When we passed by the shop, they told me to wait outside with the bags while they went inside. Cel bought chips, while Andile bought bubbles. He also gave me two candies as a thank you for walking them back. In addition, Cel gave me two more peaches. I was surprised and touched by their thoughtfulness. Then, 800m and a few more road games later, she asked for one of the candies. I cracked up at this and gave one each to them.

I enjoyed that weekend, especially since I’ve only been home about half of this month due to Programming in Mbabane. UNICEF just came on board for the walk, which we’re excited about. They also agreed to my proposal for an HIV and AIDS educational calendar. We are in town this week to discuss the future of the Peace Corps Swaziland program with a lady from Washington DC headquarters. Ugh, a full day of conference. At least it’s catered, and at least I’ve got leave days in Durban this weekend.