"Preparing for the Stillness"

Our training days are nearing an end. They have packed our PCT minds full of information, stats, facts, books, articles, manuals, charts and graphs, interviews, panels, surveys, on the job training. If we forget every single lecture- we've got the how to manual on it.

Our last class- no lecture this time. Instead our assistant country director- Chad- shows us a film a PCV serving in South America had made. It begins with a 15 minute shot of just rain falling onto a creek. What follows is a series of long long looooooong shots of two people's dialogue in a foreign language, a man hand carving a piece of wood for another 15 minutes. Finally last scene there is build up to a magnificient dance performance. The camera pans across the audience making its way to the stage. PCT's and I are no longer fidgeting and whispering "What the hell is Chad making us watch?!" We're now on the edge of our seats. But then the camera stops short just before reaching the stage. It lingers a while on the backs of heads in the audience. We can her the dancing- just an inch to the left- but all we see our backs of heads speaking a forgein language. What a tease. Scene ends- movie over. PCT's mouths open with wonder.

Chad wants us to reflect our thoughts, our reactions, our emotions. Frustration! Curiosity! What?! "This is the Peace Corps life- I'm preparing you for the stillness. You're going from the most highly structured staff directed eight weeks, of possibly your lives, to isolation. I want you to be comfortable in the stillness. Because in less than a week Peace Corps will be dropping you and your bags off at your permanent site- for the next two years. You'll watch us pull away and it will be hard. I'm preparing you for the stillness."

Before the stillness though, we throw an appreciation ceremony for our training families at our training site. PCT's and I cook for around 100 people- not I of course- I lead the dishwashing committee.

After the ceremony we are to return home and pack- it's our last 2 days with our families. From there we are being shipped to Mbabane- the capitol- for our swearing in ceremony- to bee announced officially to the public as- Peace Corps VOLUNTEERS! I spend the next two days walking the same roads, the same paths i've walked for the past nine weeks. Tyring hard to hold onto these little but significant moments as they quickly pass. I walk up my favorite hill, touching the tall dead grass. The breeze is blowing stronger now which means the sun is about to set. The wind passes through my long skirt, up my body, and weaves its way around my braids. It pushes through my dangling earrings and around my scarf. I close my eyes and feel the wind push into my skin- into my face. Like a house cat whose found that perfect square of sunlight on the floor- this is my favorite spot- on top of this hill, sun setting, wind blowing. I am a cat closing its eyes enjoying this tiny but significant moment.

I return home to spend my last night with my family. The sun is almost asleep and I am sitting on my stoop wondering where is Gagash- to tuck in his cows. They must of heard my thoughts- the large beasts walk up to the crall- their leader in front. They are looking around just as I am, for Gagash. The leader looks at me. I look at the opened gate to the crall- I ask the leader, "Cant you walk yourself to bed without Gagash?" They give up, start to eat on the lingering grass below them. Nelly walks past, I ask, "Nelly- where is Gagash?" The cows look up. I repeat his name. The cows look up again. "Nelly do these cows know his name?" She answers, "Oh yes- of course. They love Gagash." She begins to shout his name. The cows become restless- looking around frantically. But soon they are relieved- Gagash runs up and tucks the sweet beasts in.

It's dark now. While cooking in my but I hear the beep beep of a large vehicle backing up right outside my door. I walk outside and see a large flat bed backing up. Next to it are five men holding strong onto a rope tied around one of our biggest cows, already on the flat bed is her teenage baby. The men are trying desperatly to beat this cow into submission and onto the truck. My heart a bit stronger now- I don't mind the wackings she is enduring. Instead I lean onto the walls of my hut- still full of sun from the hot day, warming my back- I nibble on my applecore and watch. This cow is not going to listen to these men- no matter how many beatings. They stop to catch their breath. Gagash walks up. He takes the rope from their hands- he places his hand on the beasts back, he leans in close- he talks to her. Gagash's voice calm and steady- he pulls the rope gently- she gets up. She follows. He swats her once- she kneels. The men astonished, quickly get up and jump into the truck to lead her in. Gagash tucks her and her baby into the back of the truck. I watch as they drive away, Gagash retires to the main house. I ask Nelly where they're going. "They're a bride price. They will be slaughtered at the wedding." I ask if Gagash is sad to say goodbye. She laughs shaking her head and saying my name as she walks back to the kitchen.

I follow. It's my last time sitting amongst these women in our little club house. I will miss this routine the most. They keep reminding me tomorrow they will cry when I am gone. "Nami futsi" (Me also). They tell me after seeing all the other PCT's at the ceremony I am for certain the "loud runt"- the smallest and loudest. Like most of our discussions, Thabeela, Nelly, Gogo, and I are discussing marriage and relationships. Nelly want to marry one of our oldest volunteers. I laugh and explain that that may be difficult if she still wants to have more children. Confusion in her eyes. Without words I explain by pointing my index finger up to the sky. "This is a young man- ok to have children." Index finger pointing down now. "This is mkhulu- no children anymore."They laugh hysterically. "No no Simphiwe- in Swaziland mkhulus with many wives are still having babies." Nelly says. I look past her at Gogo shaking her head. She says, "Simphiwe." She points at the house where Mkhulu is sitting. "Mkhulu...no!" She points her index finger down and bursts out laughing. I shake my head and like so many Swazi women I say, "Shame..." How I can get 70 year old women to talk about their husband's penises- I'll never understand. But I had them rolling on the ground with laughter. Shame- I will miss my Shongwe women.

Early the next day I drag my bags outside my hut- Peace Corps will come to colect my things but I must fetch a kombie back to the training site. As Im carrying out my bags, Fati approaches me. In the past two months she has said maybe a handful of words to me but only in response. Nothing more than a simple yes or no. She understands English but is too scared to speak it. She stares at my bags, then up at me. "Simphiwe- you are leaving us?" I grab her little hand and pull her in. "Ngitawubuya sisi." I will be back sisi.

All ready to go now- I thank Mkhulu and Gogo- I give them a tea kettle. The boys I force to hug me goodbye- giving them playing cards. Then there's Nelly. My sweet Nelly. The one who fetched me two months ago at the training site, the one who made me Siswati tests, who looked out for me in town, who teased me about marrying me off- our relationship so strong now. "Today is a sad day Simphiwe." She says as she walks up to me. I tell her I'll be back. "They all say that- but they don't ever come back." "We're family now- I am a Shongwe- You named me. I WILL be back Nelly." I give her and the other girls some beaded necklaces and tell them when I come back I have another gift I am making them.

Thabeela and Fati insist on walking me and my bags to the kombie stop. One bag clearly heavier than the other- I go to grab it. "Ah ah Simphiwe- remember- I am stronger than you." I let Thabeela carry it for me. The kombie is about to arrive, I grab Fati's hand. I tell her how beautiful she is. I tell her her dancing moves me- inspires my dancing soul. I grab Thabeela's head, I hold her face in my hands and I tell her, "Thabeela, don't ever forget your are stronger than me- stronger than most- you've got so much pushing against you as a Swazi woman- but I know you can do it. Call me if you ever need anything at all." We embrace.

I wait until the khombie door shuts and I am out of sight from my sisi's. The tears collect. I turn to look out the back window and I see Thabeela, strong Swazi woman, wipe a tear from her face.