"God MUST not be crazy- after all"

09.25.09

“Simphiwe! We’ll be boozing like nobody’s business! You MUST come!” Kukucayenne teaching staff shouts to me from their car- literally filled with 40’s of Castle and Amstel. “Ah, maybe another time.” I reply. I want to make nice with the staff- I soon will be staff, but I know I must remain a role model for the students and now- the boozing staff. I will have to find a balance between teaching the staff and not insulting them. What I really want to ask them is, “So about how many children’s lives have you negatively affected because of your ‘boozing like nobody’s business’ with them? The students continue to drink which leads to stupid decisions, such as sex without a condom, and then HIV and then death. About how many would you say you’ve influenced now?

No. I’ll save the insults for the end of the two years when I realize you can’t REALLY change anyone. For now- I must try though.

Next day. Six in the morning. I walk to the umphagatsi. A familiar car drives past. Stops. Reverses. Rolls down the window. It’s my teaching staff again, beers in hand, the men wearing dangly earrings laughing. Loud music. “Uyaphi?” They ask me. “Im going to the umphagatis,” I respond. “Uyaphi?” I ask back. “To get more BEEEEEEEEER!” They laugh. Still boozing like nobody’s business.

When I arrive to the chief’s home, umphagatsi, men are butchering a freshly killed goat. A man sits next to me asking how he can get to America- VEGAS! He says with a smile as I watch a goat’s head, eyes rolled back, tongue sticking out, flop around on a piece of metal as the men try to chop off the horns. Opening the mouth, they cut the head in half. Everything but the horns- teeth, ears, eyes, and all, goes into a kettle to be eaten. For someone who enjoys watching the surgery channel- surprisingly- I may vomit.

Behind me, the chief’s soon to be wife is being walked around the homestead by elder women singing. She’s topless. They are to put her in a crull (where the cows sleep at night) and insult her until she cries. She must cry for marriage. To signify that marriage for a woman is hard and you will cry many more times while married.

I am meeting with the bucopho to kind of give him an overview of what I’m seeing here in Nkiliji.Bucopho, Bongani, unlike most Swazis, is good at seeing the bigger picture and recognizing the gaps in his community. I go over the strengths and the weaknesses in Nkiliji. “Which brings me to the schools. Unfortunatly, the biggest problem I’m seeing so far is the staff, not the students. They are drinking and sleeping with the youth. When I ask the students when do they not use condoms- they tell me it’s when they are too drunk. They are drinking with the staff. Girls are sleeping with male teachers for cell phones and clothes.” Bongani interrupts. “Yes. Yes I know. I am a product of that school. I know what goes on there. Ten years ago, the old staff eventually retired and new young teachers were hired. Last year, rumors spread about the staff. The staff impregnated three girls at the school. The headmaster hired SWAGA to come in and investigate. As a result, one teacher hung himself and three fled. So you can see why the headmaster is reluctant to intervene again.”

Yesterday’s paper read “Professors Giving Good Grades to Female Students for Sexual Favors.” This is Swaziland. Sex is power. Bongani says to me, “I guarantee, your sisi will pass and graduate. And it has nothing to do with how well she’s actually doing in school.” I explain to him in one month I am to write an assessment on Nkiliji. I am to give it to Peace Corps and the umphagatsi. I want to put this information in this report. I believe the staff’s behavior is indirectly contributing to HIV.

He agrees.

Today, back to the clinic to fill bottles with tablets and count pills while I continue to ask these nurses the ever nagging question they hate, “But ….why?” Mctosa accompanies me. Today he will give blood to test his CD4 count and see if it’s low enough to start on the ARV’s. More importantly, today is the first time he will see his newborn son- who with his mother- is at the clinic. Proud African these days, has become- Sad African. “I’m a dead man walking.” Still refusing to tell anyone. Remember, he’s Swazi after all.

I was not there the moment he first saw his son. But I was with him on our walk home from the clinic after seeing his son. Greeting and shouting to anyone that passed us. Smiling and beaming. Proud African again- turns to me and says, “I am not a victim, but an ambassador of AIDS…..Nelson Mandela.” Mctosa stops walking- looks up at me, “Simphiwe I have been testing you. I doubted your for a long time and I’m sorry. You see, nothing is for free and nothing good can come from getting something for free. You know, few years back, World Vision decided to bring to our small village bags of milley mill, oil, rice and maize. Free for all that just signed a piece of paper. But I never signed. I never took when everyone else did. We have to help ourselves Simphiwe. We learn nothing by getting things for free. No. I’d rather suffer than take. Then you came along. You find out my status- and you’re still here? Why? Are you using me for information? I don’t understand why. What is going on I ask myself. Nothing is free and nothing good can come from something that is free. But you- you proved me wrong. I can see now, you’re genuine and thank you for that.”

I smile. “So, my Proud African, I am Simphiwe- Gift from God- Do you STILL think God MUST be crazy?” He laughs. “No. I don’t think so anymore.”

Walking home, another graceful African sun set, car drives past. Stops. Reverses. A car full of new faces. A man steps out. He shakes my hand. “Unjani?” He asks. We exchange greetings. The shake continues, continues, continues. I go to pull away. He pulls me into his arms and well- attemptes to shove his tongue down my throat. I push him off. “I’m a teacher at Nkiliji schools.” He says grinning.

“Of course you are.” I respond.