New Year's Reflections

The end of a year is always a time I, like so many of us, take time to reflect on what has passed. After countless hours of quiet meditation in my hut (interrupted only occasionally by bugs I had to remove), I have come to realize that 2013 was really an outstanding year for me. To say the least, it was eventful for so many of my peers as well. For those of you that care to read, here’s the recap, starting last January.

• I began my last semester at Butler University.
• I began an assistantship with the Indiana Minority Health Coalition as a research assistant, and was able to gain a better understanding of health opportunities and challenges right in my own community.
• The joint IU-BU research team I was a part of got a few papers published in some journals about rapid HIV testing in community pharmacies.
• The BU basketball band attended the rounds of 64 and 32 with the basketball team in Lexington, KY. Although the Sweet 16 didn’t happen for us this year, it was still a great basketball season. Beating IU on my birthday certainly didn’t hurt (sorry mom and dad)!
• I received an invitation to serve in the Peace Corps in Swaziland, which I accepted.
• Kappa Kappa Psi’s seniors went through the ritual of the third degree a final time, and became alumni members shortly afterwards. This was the first of the hardest goodbyes to say in college. The bond of brotherhood I had and have with KKY was something I really treasure, and I can’t imagine my college experience without the influence of this fraternity.
• I was able to present the HIV testing in pharmacies research at the Undergraduate Research Conference. The Principle Investigator, Dr. Beth Meyerson, was able to present the research at the World HIV and STI conference in Vienna.
• With the help of Dr. Priscilla Ryder and Dr. Jason Range, I wrote a thesis.
• With 717 others, I graduated. Hearing John Green’s commencement speech and Dr. Catherine Pangan’s interactive stories really made the ceremony special. Waiting for 717 people to walk across the stage was a little bit lengthy, and the fact that I was one of them still feels surreal. Is college really over?
• I watched my friend and roommate Sara Waters become Sara Miskin as she married the love of her life.
• I said goodbye to apartment H103, where Lindsey, Sara, Kelli, and I had shared so many incredible memories.
• I drank far too many McDonald’s Cokes with my mom, AC blasting in the car to combat the early summer heat. We always swore each Coke would be our last. Until June 26, it never was.
• I had a graduation/farewell party for my extended family. This was when leaving started to feel really real.
• I shopped and packed and said goodbye to my family, friends, and everything I had ever known and shipped off to Swaziland with 34 strangers. I cried most of the plane ride to Philadelphia and was so scared for what I was doing. Being 22 and leaving for such a long time is a hard thing to do, which I did not realize until I was already doing it.
• I got pretty much every disease known to mankind during the 9 weeks of PST, but I survived the hard work, the loneliness, the homesickness, the freezing cold, and the incredible mental challenges of learning a new language and all new skills.
• I moved to my permanent site and went through the process of loneliness all over again. This move, though, was not coordinated with 34 strangers; it happened with 32 members of my brand new family (2 people quit). The other PCVs have seen each other at our best, our worst, and our weirdest.
• I made Swazi friends and prepared to start projects.
• My baby brother turned 18 (though I still think this is a lie and he’s secretly a whole lot younger than this).
• I survived an infestation of baboon spiders and earwigs. The fumigation fixed the spiders, but we’re still working on the earwigs and all the slugs, snails, centipedes, and scorpions that the summer heat pushes into my hut.
• Through a lot of quiet reflection, meditation, and growing up, I became the most mentally healthy I have ever been.
• I learned how to be appreciative of what we as Americans take for granted, as well as how humbling it is to have the opportunity to be highly educated. If I was suffering from malnutrition or starvation, having to raise my siblings at the age of 8 with no parents, fighting through the sickness that ARV side effects cause, trying to get treatment for TB or malaria, or having to grow my own food, I would not have been able to get where I have so far. If adults such as my parents, teachers, and professors had not encouraged and supported me, I would not have been so successful. I say a thank you every day in my head to those who have raised me up to be able to think for myself, chase my dreams, and challenge the injustices of the world. I thank my teachers for empowering me with critical thinking skills (those aren’t taught here – I have seen what a difference they make). I thank my parents for being my cheerleading team and allowing me to make my own mistakes, even when it hurt them to know that I was hurting myself. I thank my professors for helping me to grow from a student to a colleague, which gave me a professional confidence that I value. I thank my friends for accepting me for who I am and staying always by my side without question or condition. The youth here have so few of those thank yous to say, and that just breaks my heart.
• Somewhere along the last 6 months, my mindset has changed. When I was in high school, I was highly focused on becoming someone. I wanted to go to a university that was recognized for its prestige. At the reassurances of Mr. Shoup and my parents, I attended Butler University, which was without question the right fit for me. I then focused my attentions on getting into the most prestigious graduate school I could while chasing what I perceived to be what mattered: greatness and recognition. Now, I focus on making the next 1.5 years as important and beneficial to my community as I can. I went from “which journal will publish my research?” to “how can I help orphans and vulnerable children build winter food security so they can stay in school and fight malnutrition?” Peace Corps was exactly what I needed to put the world in perspective. Now, the most important question to me as I consider graduate schools is not: Which name looks best on my diploma? Rather, it is: Which program will give me the best tools to inspire the most positive change for my community? Maybe that’s Harvard, but maybe it’s not; the name matters less than the toolbox I’m trying to build to inspire the change and fulfill the vision of my community, wherever it may be.

It’s been an eventful year, to say the least. Happy New Year to all my friends and family back home. I miss you all tremendously, but if the next 1.5 years pass as quickly as the last 6 months have, then I’ll be seeing you all again before I even have time to blink.

Here’s to 2014!

A Birthday/Christmas Wish

Family and Friends,

Many of you have asked what to send over here for my birthday and for Christmas. While items from America would make me very happy, and I would appreciate it very much, I have but one Christmas wish.

Living in Southern Africa is something I will never do again. It allows me to take a myriad of trips to many nearby countries, and every trip is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Below, you will find detailed itineraries for the big trip I have planned at present. If you’re interested, sponsoring an activity would be much appreciated, and would be a whole lot cheaper than shipping anything over here anyway. If you are interested, checks can be mailed to my mom, who is kindly taking care of all my banking while I am away and unable to do it.

You’ll get the coolest thank you cards ever, by the way!

Cape Town and the Wild Coast, South Africa                                      April 18-28

Date	Activity	Cost (USD)
Friday, April 18	Fly to Johannesburg	$160
	Ride up to the top of Table Mountain	$20.50
	Check into Bohemian Loft Backpackers (A former museum of contemporary art!)	4 nights at $12 each = $48
Saturday, April 19	Visit the Lion’s Head	Free!
	Shop!	Depends
Sunday, April 20	Visit Robben Island to see the prison where Nelson Mandela was held during Apartheid	$23
	Visit Boulder’s Beach to see wild penguins	$4
Monday, April 21	Cheetah petting
	District 6 Museum
Tuesday, April 22	Head to the Winelands for a wine tour – this is in Stellenbosch	$45
	Stay at Stumble Inn Backpackers	$10
Wednesday, April 23	Begin road trip down the coast – First stop is The Crags
	Dyer Island	$140
	Shark Cage Diving	$170
	Check in to Wild Spirit Grassroots Backpackers	2 nights at $10 each = $20
Thursday, April 24	Birds of Eden	$10
	Monkeyland	$10
	Elephant Sanctuary	$2.90
	Riding an elephant	$67
	Bloukrans bungee jump	$75
	(Or, if bungee jumping is too scary, hike to the top just to look down)	$10
Friday, April 25	Check into Aardvark Guest House and Backpackers in Addo	$10
Saturday, April 26	Check into the Coffee Shack on Coffee Bay (Wanna know the address? It is, and I kid you not: On The Beach, Coffee Bay, Wild Coast. For real.)	$12
Sunday, April 27	Check into Happy Hippo Backpackers in Durban	$13
	uShaka Marine World	$13
	Victoria St. Market	Depends
	Roma revolving restaurant	Depends
Monday, April 28	Return to Swaziland
	Total Budget, including car rental, gas, and other not previously listed expenses	$1100

I have tentative other trips planned for my second year in Swaziland. I’d love to go sand surfing in Namibia, ring in the New Year in Mozambique, take a safari in Kruger National Park in South Africa, visit beautiful Botswana, attend a malaria conference in Senegal, and play around Swaziland (natural hot springs, caving, climbing the steepest rock face in the world, doing a 5K, attending incwala/umhlanga, and many other cultural experiences). As you can see from the prices above, traveling here is pretty affordable on the US dollar, but as I am a volunteer, I have a very modest stipend in Emalangeni, not US dollars.

Your support makes all this possible. I’m not just talking about the traveling – I’m talking about surviving each and every day in a culture where women are subservient to men, sexual harassment is the norm, people speak a different language, my culture is misunderstood, I work hard for people who have a different definition of working hard, and I see a lot of children struggling with the challenges of being orphans and extreme poverty. Without support, staying here and continuing to work to develop sustainable projects to make Swaziland a better place would not be possible. This is one tough job, and I appreciate everything you do for me from that side.

A Difference in Disparity

One of the things that was very striking to me about living here I could not put my finger on until today. I was traveling to a much-needed break from site in Manzini with another volunteer. She lives and works at a school in Siteki, and has a modern flat complete with a hot shower, multiple rooms, running water, and reasonably reliable electricity. As she was laughing and sharing stories of all the Swazi friends she has made, I started to feel a little down. I have struggled to make friends in my community, and I was feeling that the struggle must be my fault.

After more thought, the difference became apparent.

I have worked with Americans who were incredibly poor. I taught English to Spanish-speaking adults for 2 years when I was in college, and we met at a food pantry. I have seen the homeless, and I have done other volunteer work to serve those who may not be homeless but live in poverty. I now realize that poverty does not have one universal manifestation.

Poverty in America is very different from poverty in Swaziland. Poor Americans probably still have access to flush toilets, safe drinking water, electricity, and food. Many of them had access (by law, anyway) to education. Looking at the relative poverty line instead of the absolute poverty line, many of them have televisions, computers, internet access, and microwaves. Poor Swazis, by contrast, have often never set foot in a school, as school fees here are very high. They may live in mud and thatch huts, have no pit latrine (they poop in the bush), have no electricity, have no access to water other than a dirty and likely polluted river, have no access to medicine, and rarely leave the homestead.

The middle class in America is not all that different from wealth in Swaziland. I have met Swazis who have internet access, love to read, are highly educated, and maintain strict standards of hygiene. These are the Swazis that I find it easier to identify with. In America, I found wealthy people harder to identify with, because their culture was so different from my own. I found people living in poverty much easier to identify with because they seemed to hold many of the same values my parents instilled in us: love, family, memories, and experiences are more important than things, money, shopping, and fancy cars.

The disparity between rich and poor in America does not have an educational gap of 0 years to university graduation; it has a gap of 10^th grade to university grad if the law was followed. I have never met an American who had to haul water, bathe in a bucket, and cook over a fire. I have never met an American who had a pit latrine or no toilet at all. The disparity in Swaziland is very significant, and it does have an impact on the cultures here.

Rural Swaziland, where I live, has its own culture. Most of the people I have met were born in this village and will die in this village. They may or may not have gone to the village schools. Their whole family lives in this village. They are all unemployed. They are largely uneducated. They have all been hurt by HIV, TB, or cow theft from the Mozambicans (which, though funny to our ears, is financially devastating). They lead lives of agriculture. They are exposed to their neighbors and maybe to people they see in the shopping town. They know very little of what lies past the tar road. There is a sense of hopelessness and a lack of control; this is the life that their parents led, they will lead, and their children will lead. There is no change.

Urban Swaziland, where my friend lives, has a different culture. Young Swazis are rebelling against so many ideas that are embraced by the rural people: women are second to men, women must always wear skirts, you must have as many babies as possible, polygamy, respect being earned by age alone, monarchical rule, and many others. They are critical thinkers, hard workers, and have visions for their futures.

I know that I will make friends in my community, but knowing urban Swazis is so much easier because they are more like me. Overcoming the differences in disparities and understanding the struggles of people who have never before had hope will be one of the most frustrating and rewarding Peace Corps experiences.

The Epic Tale of my First Scorpion Kill

In September, I saw a baboon spider and hid under a mosquito net while I waited for my family to come home and kill it for me. I hid under there for 7 hours and left all my friends really dramatic WhatsApp voice recordings filled with panic and sadness.

In October, I got my hut fumigated to solve the earwig and spider infestations, which I handled with about as much grace as I had in September. I didn’t sleep for 2 nights, I called Safety and Security and cried a lot, and right away I found myself staying somewhere comfortable while my hut was fixed.

On 15 November, I made a new step. The day was hot, and my hut was hotter. The sun beating down on the tin roof and the lack of a breeze drove the temperature inside to 90^oF by 9:00am, and the day just stayed hot. I sat around in a tank top and shorts and moved as little as possible, yet still sweated buckets. A thunderstorm the night before had knocked the power out, so I couldn’t even enjoy cold water. I was bored, hot, and more than a little bit pissed off. Lizards were all over my walls, earwigs were falling in from my ceiling, and I could not cool down. The lizards are cute, until you remember that the spiders eat them, so lizards mean spiders, which was stressing me out.

I was sitting near my door, reading the third book in the Game of Thrones series, and George R. R. Martin had just finished killing everyone I loved and ruining the lives of everyone I liked. After too many emotional blows, I set the book down in frustration and looked up at my wall. There was a scorpion on it.

This scorpion was very tiny. I couldn’t tell if it was a giant earwig, a giant ant, or a small centipede. When I realized what it was and that it was crawling down towards me, I shouted some unprintable words and leapt from my seat. No one from my Swazi family was home to save me. I would have to do this battle on my own, or retreat to the mosquito net, away from the open door and breeze.

I grabbed a can of Raid spray, which is pretty lethal stuff. I knew that I would only have one shot before my enemy knew what I was doing, so I had to hit him to avoid a counterattack or a retreat on his part. I stood in wait, finger poised on the nozzle, as he approached me.

When he was close enough, I let out a battle cry (or, more truthfully, battle shriek) and depressed the nozzle. The spray of Raid burst forth and hit my target. I refused to let up the spray until he fell from the wall. When he landed on the floor, I continued to spray him until it was past clear he was dead. Then, just for good measure, I added in a few smacks of the broom and swept his corpse outside.

I felt very accomplished. Make no mistake, though, if I see another one and it’s bigger than that small one, I will be retreating and screaming until some fearless Swazi comes to kill it for me.

Incwala – AKA Swaziland Gets Fratty

Incwala is a ceremony that goes back as far as Swazi culture does, which Swazis say is a long time (although I have no dates). It is very complicated and makes me feel like I’m pledging a stereotypical social fraternity, so I’ll explain everything as best as I can.

Incwala does not have a translation, but it is the first fruits festival. Kind of. Once the moon gets to a certain stage in its cycle, the ceremony is announced. It’s never announced in advance because it’s impossible to know the cycles of the moon in advance (I know – try explaining astronomy to Swazis and tell me how that works for you). Once it’s announced, the king goes into seclusion, the government shuts down, and the country goes nuts. The ceremony typically goes from October to February, which, if you’ll note, is several months of shutdown.

Swaziland does not have clans; they have surnames. There are like 12 surnames for the whole country, but they do not represent clans. Don’t say that they do. Seriously. It’s not a good thing to say. One of the surnames has a crucial role in incwala. When the ceremony is announced, they have a group of men from that surname set out on foot for Mozambique to fetch a pail of water from the Indian Ocean. Again, I’m not sure why. You also shouldn’t ask – it’s a secret. Some of the ceremony’s secrets are kept from non-Swazis, while others are kept from everyone not inside the surname or royal family. Basically, it’s a ritual that you can’t know about if you’re a nonmember. FRAT.

The men that get the water are called bemanti, which translates loosely to water committee (emanti is water, be- is the prefix for third person plural nouns). They wear traditional attire, though the loincloth is different and they wear headbands of baboon fur to differentiate them from other Swazis. The bemanti go around and basically haze everyone.

How do they haze? They fine you. The king said it’s illegal to ask for money, but money is the expected fine, so you have to throw it on the ground so it’s not a bribe. If you don’t, they may get violent. Women get fined for wearing pants, so I’m in a skirt nonstop for the next several months. They will come onto your homestead and demand food, and you have to feed them. If they ask to walk past you, you’re being fined and you have to give them something. There is no set financial amount. There is no limit to the number of people who can fine you within the bemanti. Apparently this is acceptable to many Swazis because it repays the bemanti for the great service they do for Swaziland, which they can’t tell you about. Hazing. FRAT.

The women of that surname spend all incwala cooking for the men in the surname who are not bemanti. It’s unclear what these men do. Sounds like little sisters. FRAT.

Incwala ends with a dance. You are forbidden to watch. Dancing is mandatory. If you do not dance, you get kicked out or they may get violent with you. Hazing. FRAT. The king eats the first fruits of the harvest, and then he drinks the traditional beer made from the marula fruit. Then everyone gets super drunk because home brews are strong, and dances all night. Seriously, Swaziland, FRAT.

So that’s incwala. You probably understand it as well as I do. If I were Swazi, maybe I’d know more. Unless I choose to pledge this frat, however, the rituals will remain a secret. Too bad I can’t opt out of the hazing.

DISCLAIMER: The fraternity I was a member of in college does not and will never participate in hazing. This is talking about stereotypical social fraternities that we read about in the paper when they mess up or that we see in American media. Chill, bro: no harm intended.

Peace Corps Timeline

In case any of you were wondering what I’m doing and when I’m doing it, I figured I should post a timeline.

June 26, 2013 – Staging in Philadelphia, PA

June 27, 2013 – Arrival in Swaziland and the start of training

August 29, 2013 – Swearing in and the end of training

August 30, 2013 – Move to sites and the start of integration

October 27-November 8, 2013 – In-service training

November 25-27, 2013 – Community Health training

November 28, 2013 – Thanksgiving and the end of integration

November 29, 2013 – More training

July 2014 – Mid-service physicals

August 2014 – Mid-service training

April 2015 – Close of service conference

July-August 2015 – G11 starts going home

Some definitions might be helpful.

Staging is where all the new volunteers meet and go over Peace Corps basics. It is the first day of being trainees. From staging, we all depart together to the Kingdom.

Training is absolutely grueling. We got only every other Sunday off – that’s one day off for 13 days on. It was language intensive, and we also focused on learning medical information and skills. The days were long. We lived with host families in nearby villages.

Integration is a period of 3 months where Volunteers are expected to integrate into their communities. We cannot do any projects, and we can only sleep away from our sites one night a month. It is really restrictive, but the point is to become members of our communities. We cannot do any projects except fill out the application for Books for Africa. We focus on relationship building and language improvement.

All the random trainings we have are to build more skills that we can take back to our communities.

Mid-service physicals are the standard yearly checkups we need to stay healthy. It includes all the checks we’d need to stay healthy in the US, as well as some extra checks to make sure we haven’t picked up any parasites or worms or anything. It’s 3 days of medical testing.

The close of service conference begins the final three months of service. The rules are similar to the rules in integration. You can leave site more than one night a month, but you cannot take vacations and you cannot leave the country. This is the time to finish up projects, say goodbyes, and finalize plans to return to the US.

Right before close of service is when Volunteers have the choice to extend. We can choose to stay for another year and work for an NGO or similar organization. Third-year volunteers tend to stay in more Westernized urban apartments. They are not, however, interns – the focus is still on building the capacity of host country nationals.

Racism and Prejudice in a Racially Homogenous Country

I’d like to start this off by stating up front that some of my statements are going to be broad generalizations because that is the easiest way to say them. I do not believe that the entire country of Swaziland only thinks one thing or one way, nor do I believe all Swazis are the same. That being said, adding that at the end of every sentence would get tedious for me to write and you to read, so take it as implied, please.

Swaziland is a very homogenous country. It is 97% Swazi, which is pretty remarkable. It is a peaceful country surrounded by countries with higher rates of violence, histories of revolution and civil war, and completely different cultures. Swazis have a lot of pride in being Swazi and in their well-preserved and peaceful culture, and sometimes that comes out in the form of a prejudice against anyone who is not Swazi. The prejudices seem to vary depending on the race of the person in question, so I’ll cover what I have personally observed in my 4 months here.

Asians

All Asians are Chinamen. All of them. The word “Asian” is not even a word here. One of our volunteers, who is of Vietnamese descent, faced a harsh comment during training. A child walked up to her and said, and I quote, “Are you a human being?” I’m serious. She was not even seen as a person because of her race.

Another volunteer, who has been here a year and is of Chinese descent, gets some comments in Siteki. People tell him that they have seen his friends at the Smile Supermarket. The Smile Supermarket is run by Asians, but they are not people he knows or has even met. They are not friends, let alone acquaintances.

Non-Swazi black people

My family has asked me before why all black Americans are so ghetto. They say that they are uncivilized and not smart. Much of the media that makes it over here that they have been exposed to is slapstick black humor (we watched Big Momma the other night). These movies, to someone with no understanding of American culture, are being misinterpreted. I tried to clear things up, but my words are hard to believe over movies they have seen.

One of our black volunteers tries very hard to integrate into the culture. His Siswati is wonderful, he rocks the traditional wear, and he has even learned some of the dances. Swazis are fond of saying that he is not American, he is Swazi; when he says otherwise, they say he is lying.

I had a man tell me today that he hates the Mozambicans. He said he would never let one stay with him because he or she would rob him of everything while he slept. He called them uncivilized and thieves. There is a bit of history here. When Mozambique was having a civil war in the 1970s, the Swazis of my village snuck over and stole their cattle. Today, the Mozambicans of the nearest village steal our cattle, but they say that are merely stealing them back. You know, 30 years later. Being on the border does lead to some tension.

I have also heard negative comments made about the Zulus, Kenyans, and Rwandans, but only positive things have been said about the people of Botswana. I have no idea why.

White people

This one is loaded. Most of the white people that come into Swaziland come as part of aid organizations that hand out money or resources. One of the perceptions I have faced is people’s joy at seeing me, and then anger when they are told that I have no money to give them, only trainings. They say that they want money and food, not to be taught. They see me as someone who can save them singlehandedly with donations, not someone who is trying to live and work here. This is frustrating, because the joyful reaction is built entirely on me being a walking ATM. It is dehumanizing.

A weird sort of possessiveness and control is something else I have experienced. People I have never met before will stop me on my way around to ask “Uyaphi?” (Where are you going?). I get asked by every stranger. They need to know where I am going, how long I will be there, what I am doing there, and then all the personal information about me (marital status, age, number of children, how my parents feel about me being here). A walk that would take 20 minutes in silence takes an hour. I also get told how to act, which, I’m sure my parents would confirm, bothers me to no end. Actual examples include, but are not limited to:

·      It is good that you are single – now you must date a Swazi man.

·      You must come to my homestead and cook for me.

·      You must teach my child English.

·      Tomorrow, you must wear earrings.

·      You must marry my son and take us all to America.

·      You must learn to cook the beetroot.

·      You must eat only Swazi food.

·      You must jog so that you will be beautiful again and a Swazi will marry you.

·      Please give me 5 rand.

·      You must bath by filling the tub and splashing yourself. You must not wash your hair in a separate tub. That is your way. Our way is better.

Most of these were said by complete strangers. I have no idea why they feel that they must control my life this way, but they do.

Children need to each ask “How are you?” when I pass by. This means that in a group of 10 children, I get asked the question 10 consecutive times, each of which is followed by a group giggle. I have no idea why they do this, but when I start ignoring them after the 5^th or 6^th child, they chase me and shout louder. Kids are persistent here.

I frequently get told that I am wrong or that I am a liar when I try to correct misperceptions about America. I showed someone a map, but he still insisted that New York was the biggest state and my map was wrong. I was told that I made up that people are homeless and poor, because every single person in America is rich. I’m not sure if this is a racial prejudice, but it drives me nuts. It’s certainly a cultural prejudice – Swazis know more about America than the resident American.

The final type of prejudice I have experienced is that of men proposing. I tell them they must fly to America and ask my father. That usually gets a laugh. When it’s the fifth one of the day and he insists that he really loves me, he’s not like those other guys, I tend to just say angifuni (I don’t want) and storm away. Sometimes that makes them angry. They do not treat women of other races this way.

Pakistanis

There are a lot of Pakistanis here. I do not know why, but many of the ones I see weekly own shops. Swazis call these shops Indali shops, meaning shops owned by Indians. I have heard it said that they will cheat you out of money, that they are lazy, that they are criminals, and that they are only here to own shops. Personally, I think the shops are great, and so do most Swazis.

Other races

A Hispanic volunteer has been told that he is not from America because he is not white. That happens to other minorities here more often than you’d expect.

Further disclaimers

I do not intend to belittle or ignore racism and prejudice experienced by minorities in America. I, however, do not currently live in America. Being a racial minority is a different experience in every country and every culture, and it’s different for people of every race.

Swazis do not see people of other races very often, and so that lack of exposure leads to this ignorance. We do it too – have you ever seen Mean Girls? Cady is from Africa, and she talks about jungle madness. Africa is a pretty massive continent, and it’s not all covered by jungle. Americans still talk about the genocide in Rwanda, and I’m pretty sure that most of Rwanda has been fine for some time now. We have our misperceptions about people and places we are not exposed to as well, so do not think ill of the Swazis based on what I have said.

I hope I have illustrated an interesting cultural facet of life here. Overall, I have felt welcomed and loved by umndeni wahmi (my new family). This is a period of adjustment – for all of us.