"What Can We Do Together?"

9.12.09

Word to the wise: If you decide to spend an entire day at your local watering tap in order to observe and introduce yourself to your community. May I suggest FIRST checking to see if there is actually water that day.

What a waste of a day.

The next day... I am to meet at the inkudla. There are 12 inkudlas in the central Manzini region. An inkudla is a meeting place for the area's chiefdoms/villages. My inkudla consists of the most chiefdoms: 13. Mine is Nkiliji. Each village has a bucopho. He is the communicator, the messanger. They report the communitie's problems to the invunda once a week at the inkudla. Yes, the invunda at the inkudla. The invuda of each inkudla takes these problems to the Ministry of Parliament which then goes onto his Royal Highness. And this is how a bill is passed. Or something like that.

I am at the inkudla to meet with the bagcugcutele (RHM's Rural Health Motivators). While I am waiting (which encompasses about 2/3 of my Swazi Life) enduring questions such as, "What will you do for us?!" Bognani (my bucopho) asks me to come meet with the invunda some of the RHM's the social workers the bucophos in the entire inkudla region (thats about 100 people in a tiny room). NERCHA is here to show a video. A documentary on a miner's life.

We sit and watch as the miner finds out he is postive. How he handles it. How he tells his two wives and children. It was quite emotional. When the film is over, the audience begins an amazing discussion. I sit and listen to the arguments in Siswati- understanding only verbs. Bucopho tries to translate as much as possible. They are discussing whether worms are really in condoms. What is a woman to do when she questions her husband's status? She cannot simply demand he uses a condom. He paid a dowry for her- she is his and therefore she has no right to ask. The women are blaming the men- the men are blaming the women. I am smiling. This is great. Swazis have an issue with communicating, especially with the opposite sex. They are discussing/debating how to put a condom on. I am debating whether or not to break out the condoms I carry with me and my how to manual on condom usage. A gogo stands up and demonstrates with a condom they found amongst themselves. Im amazed at how accurate she is doing this.

Then invunda and NERCHA ask my opinion. My heart is racing. I swallow hard and stand. I choose my words carefully to be culturally sensitive and make it easier on my translator. I am nervous. There are a few in this audience who have openly doubted me. I begin my speech that I actually have been preparing in my mind for the past two hours as they debate worms in condoms.

"Swaziland has the world scratching its head. Why is HIV so high in Swaziland? Why is the life expectancy at 32 here? What is going on Swazis ask me." I am ready to catch my pounding heart which is now in my throat- ready to jump out onto the table. Ever since I was little I have had a problem discussing sex, religion, and culture with others. I get so excited so passionate about it that my body physically reacts. I try to calm my passionate heart. Then in the audience I see him. My khombie angel. Moses. Smiling back at me. That's all I needed. I continue on with ease.

"For almost three months I have been living amongst you. I have spoken with doctors, scientists, teachers, swazi youth, swazi old, natural healers and nurses. All explaing/questioning HIV Swaziland. HIV is a sexually transmitted disease. It is mainly passed around in Africa through sexual intercourse. So, we look at the sexuality of Swaziland. The sexuality here is very unbalanced. This leads to a reliance on the other sex. Women need money to take care of themselves. Men need a woman to take care of them. Unfortunatly sex is often power. You've got the young women and the 3 C's. Cash, cell phones, and clothes/cars. It's transactional sex. You've got the elders- the bobabe going off to work in jo berg, the mines, bringing home money and often the virus from sex workers lingering around these mines. The young and the old are relying too much on the opposite sex. Both the young men and the old men are having concurrent relationships. Im not excluding the women either. This disease spreads amongst these clusters of sexual relationships. The bomake and bobabe are getting infected in their 20's, having children then are dying, leaving their children with the gogo's and mkhulus.

So America sees this dispersion of population. The working class is dying and the economy is unable to rebuild itself. So the bobabe get drunk- give up. The youth see this- get drunk- give up. Condoms aren't used, bad decisions are made- AIDS wins. America sees this. So they put someone like me with no money no agricultural experience. Just my motivation, my energy, here to empower the youth, recharge them. I am extremely excited to see all of you here today discussing this. As an outsider, Swazis are surprisingly very comfortable telling me their stories their concerns. But they don't talk to each other- with other Swazis. I am very happy we're talking today. We, as adults, need to be youth's role models. We need to do this together. So instead of asking me, "What are you going to do for us?" Instead ask, "What are we going to do together?"

I sit. Invunda with his nub for a hand rubs his chin. Crazy man with one eye stares hard at me with it. "Siyabonga sisi." They applaud. Im amazed that all of that just came out of me.

Outside the bomake bagcugcutele sit under a tree. UNAID is here to pass out a handful of tablets, condoms, gloves, and a tiny tiny stipend for the bagcugcutele. It's never enough here in Swaziland. I pass around pen and paper asking the bomake to write their names and villages down. I need to memorize. Today they are being lectured on people living with disabilities and their rights as individuals. I'm intrigued. I am thinking of gigi. UNAIDS asks me to staple some forms together for the bagcugcutele.

Today I stapled papers together- Brillant.

In the evening, babe and make leave for the night asking me to "take care of the home and Gigi sisi." While sitting in the living room with my bobhuti reading the ridiculous Swazi Times, Bongiwe bursts in with one of her "friends". Her 35 year old agriculture teacher- drunk. He shakes my hand and has a seat.
"Did you drive here?" I ask.
"Yeah- my BMW."
"Awesome." Unfortunatly Swazis don't pick up no sarcasm that well.
Bongiwe has told me how much she "boozes" with her teachers on the weekends and they've all been dying to meet me. He and I discuss why I'm here and HIV. He asks me if AIDS is a death sentence. He wants specifics on how long one can live with it. I can always tell who's worried about their status when they ask me these questions. I hear the fear in their voice. He stares at the ground. He stares at Bongiwe's ass in her tight tight jeans. I stare hard back at him waiting for him to notice me noticing him. He notices me noticing him.
"So what do you plan on doing with the youth here Simphiwe?" He asks.
"Challenge them."
"You think you can do that huh?"
"Yes. I can even challenge you." I glare at the beer in his hand.
"Maybe." He says. "Maybe."

Next day World Vision is coming to the inkudla to hand out free clothing to needy families and those living with disabilities. I have described Gigi and Sipho to the bucopho many times. Asking where I can purchase her a walker. Bognani (bucopho) asks me to bring them to this meeting. We agree it is good for the public to see them as well as World Vision.
I make sure Gigi is dressed her best. The family never takes her out- embarassed. They don't even allow her to sit near the path by our home- afraid others will see her.

Babe drives me, Gigi, and Bongiwe to the Inkudla. Bongiwe and I hop out the back of the truck to stop at the shop for some food. We'll meet babe and Gigi there. When Bongiwe and I arrive at the Inkudla, sweating from the hot hot sun, in front of us about 500 people and babe's truck. Inside the truck is Gigi with the windows rolled up. Babe talking to some friends under the shade of a tree. I run over to pull gigi out of the hot car. Bongiwe runs to stop me. She's afraid to show them Gigi. I ignore her. I pull Gigi out, she leans hard on me, drooling. I place my arm around her, right hand in her right armpit. 500 pairs of eyes now on the mhlungu (me) carrying Swazi disabled. Sipho shuffling close behind Gigi and I. We are quite the pair. Silence amongst 500 people (strange) I whisper to Gigi, " Suku ma mudze Gigi. Khombisa yena umhule." Stand up tall Gigi. Show them your beauty. She cowers inside my arms as we walk on. The more laughter I hear, the higher I raise my chin. We make our way to the line (a walk that seemed to take hours but really only minutes)- to recieve our clothing. My family remains under a shady tree. I introduce Gigi to the bucophos and explain the benefits of a walker for her. Still no answers on where to purchase one.

We return home. While I am cooking the usual- potatoe, rice, veggie stew- listening to Paul Simon by candlelight and sipping on my glass of red wine (my little romance alone)- I hear Gigi's whimpering outside. I run out to find her tangled in the barbed wire leading to the pit latrine outside. My cell rings. It is the bucopho. He wants to speak to my make. I hand the phone to my make inside and run back out. Gigi is now crawling on the ground crying. she's shit herself a bit. I carry her to the toilet, sit her down, shut the door for her privacy. I sit on the ground, lean up against the door. I hear her explosive shit. God she must have tried so hard to keep that in. I cannot hold back anymore. I weep into my arms as she shits. Swazi male youth shouts my name as they walk past up a hill looking down on me. It's important the boys don't see me cry- ever. I suck it in and wave back. Gigis finished. I'm finished.

I walk her back to her sitting spot inside. Babe and Make resting on their comfy couches, chewing on the bones of an animal.

It's culture. Moses would say. It's culture.

"It is only through disruptions and confusion that we grow. Jarred out of ourselves by the collision of someone else's private world with our own." Joyce Coates.

I am trying to see all this- their way.