FUCK

9.9.09 9:oo PM

Umgcugcuteli: Rural Health Motivator (bomake who go to homesteads to care for the sick). Probably one of the hardest Siswati words I've come across so far. Two clicks and about a thousand constanents. I am preparing for the umgcugcuteli meeting tomorrow. NGO- World Vision- is coming to hand out clothes to the OVC's in the area. It is a chance for me to meet the umgcugcuteli and OVC's. Tonight I practice out loud as I look in my mirror trying on different scarfs. My two little shadows dancing around my hut in the candlelight to "Beirut" playing from my speakers. Andisaw and Alikey laugh as I struggle with this word. I'm still uncertain if they understand I don't speak or understand much Siswati. Andiswa, three years old, keeps repeating "umgcugcuteli" perfectly to me as I spin her around dressed in my hat, scarfs, and jewelry. What I her in my head sounds identical to what they are saying, but to them I sound ridiculous. It's all about the kind of click and the rhythm and flow of the word. Anytime you are speaking of another you put a u in front of the verb and tense. Uyahamba. You are going. She/he is going. You emphasize the U much more and drop your voice. UUUUUUUUyahamba. Siswati is low and slow. Simphiwe is loud and fast.

The next morning I hear the put put of Babe Shongwe's little red jetta. I have asked him to accompany me to this meeting- as my translator. "No sisi. I spoke with the buchopo and we do not think you should go to this meeting- there will be people there outside of Nkiliji that will ask for your help and you cannot give it to them." I explain to Babe that I am not restricted to Nkiligi. Doesn't matter. He has decided today he is taking me to the umphagatsi. Where the inner council and chief meet. I go to change into a long skirt as Mkhulu and Shongwe converse. When I return to the car, drunken old harrassing fool is outside- opened button up shirt flapping in the wind. His hand resting on his hip, his pregnant booze belly bursting out. He interrupts the conversation when he spots me- I throw my guard up. "Asambe!" (lets go) I say to Shongwe. I get in the front seat of his car- Shongwe in the drivers seat. Drunken man jumps in the back seat proposing to me and grabbing the back of my shoulder. Shongwe looks surprised. "You see what I have to deal with..DAILY." I say to Babe as I throw off drunken old man's hand. "This will not do Sisi." Shongwe gets out of the car and opens up the back door. Drunken man shouts to laughing Mkhulu, "You are going to have to open a butchery with all the cows I am going to give you for her!" In Siswati of course. As Shongwe is literally pulling this man out of his car Andiswa approaches the car- I roll down my window. Amongst the low grumblings of Shongwe trying to pull out drunken man from the backseat, I hear Andiswa say, "umgcugcutile."

Shongwe climbs back behind the wheel- and we are off. I explain my daily endurance of proposals and drunken harrasments. "Sisi I am going to make you a stick- one of our wacking sticks. And you will raise it up high and say, 'Don't FUCK with me!'." "Babe Shongwe! That is not a good word to be saying." "Yes sisi, but it gets the point across. You need to start telling me if people are fucking with you. I'll fuck them so hard." I laugh. He still needs practice on how to properly throw down the f bomb.

When we arrive to the umphagatsi, Babe slaps me on the arm. "Sisi, that hair is FUCKING with you!" "All right Babe, tone it down...Are you going to comment on my acne again too?" Pointing to my ever constant pimple on the right side of my chin. "Yes sisi, that peanut butter is fucking with you!" Shongwe and I have gotten into many arguments over the cause of my acne. And by acne I mean one zit that every Swazi likes to point out. "OK Babe. For the next two weeks I will NOT eat my peanut butter and we will see who is right." "I don't believe you sisi. You must bring me the bottle- you love peanut butter TOO MUCH."

Shongwe leaves me with the bomake while discussing community disputes among the bobabe. The women are weaving together a straw roof of a traditional Swazi hut. Bamake knowing very little English stare at me in silence once we have gone through the series of greetings and introductions. Now what? As I'm standing there watching Shongwe discuss a world I know nothing about while the bomake try try scratch off the freckles on my arms, pulling me into the shade fearing I will turn black like them, I am thinking, "What the fuck am I doing here?" I need to be with the OVC's, the RHM's, the NGO's, all the acrnoyms of Swaziworld. NOT here at the umphagatsi as Shongwe's little white trophy. Watching him giggle as the others joke that I am his second wife. The overwhelmingness begins to take hold as I am approached once again with the, "We need water, we need jobs!" I KNOW I KNOW.

I'm not angry that they're askng me for these things- they're right. As one man put it best. "Water is life." How can I motivate a village that has no money, no water, no sanitation, to lead a healthy life and take care of each other. To care about their children's future. They are lacking an essential foundation. The overwhlemingness takes hold. What the fuck am I doing here? I know nothing about business or agriculture. "You can give a man a fish or you can teach him how to fish." I don't know how to fish- people!

Some days you're full of energy and ideas and other days all you want to do is despair and turn into a rondeval hobbit. Your white PCV chariot has left you in rural Swaziland with a few guide books and a few weeks of training. You now have this enormous task of tackling HIV/AIDS in your community. People are asking you about watering holes as they are struggling to scratch off the freckles on your arms.

"OUCH! That's a freckle! Please stop. Mani. Mani." I've had it with these gogo's. I've had it with Shongwe. As I'm about to tell Babe i'm walking home he asks me to come sit with the inner council of men. In Siswati they discuss who they are going to get as my counterpart. They want a boy just out of school- fluent in English. Then they actually ask me what I want. I clear my throat, " I need to conduct a census. There are around 400 homesteads in Nkiliji and I want to atleast hit half of these homes. I need them to fill out some questionnaries. I want them to be able to ask me any questions they might have about me. It's important the people know and trust me. I need to give out questionnaries to the primary and secondary students as well. Once I know where their general knowledge on HIV/AIDS lies- I can then work on school curriculums for the next school year. I want to start in the classroom with the youth then work my way out of the classroom with youth groups. I want to start a peer group for HIV positive people at the Nazereth clinic in Bekankhosi. I need someone along my side equally as motivated as I."

Silence.

"Good Sisi." Shongwe whispers. He translates for the rest. As he talks for me, I look around at the old weathered African men seated by my side. Rubbing their foreheads, adjusting their balls as they sit and think in silence. Bomake outside- always hard at work- making Swazi homes. And me, androgynous as usual, somewhere in between the long skirts and ball scratching.

It is decided Saturday we will choose my counterpart. I can finally get started and the overwhelmingness may subside for a bit.

Shongwe and I get into the little red jetta and put put back home. I'm feeling much better now. I turn and say to him, "That hat is FUCKING with you Babe." We laugh. When he drops me off, I run into my hut and bring back my bottle of "Yum Yum" peanut butter.

"No more fucking peanut butter sisi."
"No more fucking peanut butter babe."