"Guardian of the Sea"

10.01.09

(This entry only reflects my Peace Corps experience and my silly opinions. It is not an accurate representation of Peace Corps.)


The Final Straw.

PCMO, Day, is doing site visits. Visiting each volunteer’s homestead asking a serious of routine questions to insure Peace Corps we are adjusting well. And more importantly, to make sure our mosquito net is over our beds- the illusion of safety in a country that really has no malaria. We’ve been warned by group 6, “She’ll ask you about your sex life.”

I tell Day my ideas for my schools and clinic- school newspaper, expanding the support groups in clinics, a big brother big sister project. “I’m starting to see the bigger picture here. What they need. How I can make it happen. Everyday people are coming to me. A dialogue has begun. I’m excited.” I tell her how happy I am with my family. “They’re perfect- we really are a family.” I hesitate. “But…. Well…” I tell her about the harassment. The whole office already knows about crazy drunk naked man (as they refer to him- apparently even in Washington). I hesitate some more. I tell her about the latest incident- the teacher- the attempt at a tongue in mouth greeting. “OK. That’s NOT normal.” She says. Her smile fades. She makes note of it in her notepad. I swallow hard- maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I might have just risked leaving my family. Day shifts in her seat, smile back on- my buddy again.

“So you havin’ sex?” She grins.
I laugh. “Yeah- Swaziland rampant with AIDS and gender inequality- I’m constantly turned on here.”

Next day, I get a call from my favorite Swazi- Mfanafuthi, head of Safety and Security Swaziland Peace Corps (Seriously, I love this man). “Meredith, we’ve heard about your incident with the teacher.” I tell him the story. “But I’m OK.” I try and reassure him. “Yes. But I’m NOT ok.” He responds. Later, country director calls. “Meredith, I heard about your incident with the teacher.” I tell her the story. “But I’m OK.” She tells me to pack for what could be a week. I am to come to Mbabane and stay at a backpackers while Peace Corps “investigates” my site. “We don’t feel you are safe there. Especially with the weekend coming up. They will be drinking and these incidents have all occurred on the weekends.” She continues to tell me I must have done something. There must be a rumor going on about me. I must have done something to cause this harassment. I don’t like her tone or the sound of this. I pack for a week and prepare for the worst. Bongiwe hovers over me as I pack. “I’ll be back in one week- tops Bongiwe.” She’s giving me that doubting look she reserves only for when I tell her things like, “Don’t worry- I can handle it.” I hug her tight- knowing full well they’re probably taking me away, but keeping my concerns to myself.

I stop by Proud African’s home to say goodbye. I tell him I might be leaving for good. He says nothing. He hands my my copy of Constant Gardner.
“Did you hear me? They might be moving me to a different site, a different region, a different family.”
“What do you want me to say Simphiwe? What do you want me to do? Cry?”
“I wouldn’t expect that from Proud African.”
“I’m Swazi. A man. We don’t cry. But know, inside, I am hurting."
I turn to leave. He grabs my arm, pulls me in, and hugs me tight. Mid embrace I tell him, “Go see your baby boy as much as you can. And the walker I had made for Gigi- please deliver it to her ASAP. She’s fallen many times- her arm and head are swollen from injury. And don’t forget to go to the doctor on the 15th to find out your CD4 count and start the ARV’s.” I pull away and look into his eyes. “And Mctosa, you have to take them on time everyday. And they may make you sick at first.” I had him one of my books. Pointing to a page, “If you get any of these symptoms- go see your doctor. AND I’ll know if you are taking your tablets. If you’re doing it right, you’ll start to gain your weight back. Promise me. Promise you’ll.” He interrupts, “I promise Simphiwe.”

Before stepping onto the kombi to town, I look over at my favorite jacurranda. The wind brushing through her purple petals, she sways and waves goodbye.

I arrive at the backpackers. Electricity, toilets, microwave, shower, a pool, oh my god- a pool, tv and movies. Yesterday I spent thirty minutes fetching water and fourty minutes trying to pet a donkey. Now I am microwaving my dinner, clothes are washing themselves while I’m watching 300. In the next room, white Swazi born men drinking and smoking. Born into privledged familes in a shit country. Sporting Swazi flag tattoos- showing them off to traveling confused white girls. They've grown up in a country they know nothing about. I speak more Siswati than them. One evening I was invited to watch them play cricket. The most boring sport in the entire universe. I am surrounded by Swazi born whites. South African accents, fancy cars, and men in short shorts. How did I stumble across this bizarre subculture? This transition is becoming a total mind fuck.

I enter country director’s office. Together we are analyzing MY behavior. My knowledge, skills, and attitudes- Peace Corps’ theme of training. I am given a test with Papa Bear, training manager, Musa. Scenerios are thrown at me and I’m asked, “How would you handle this harassment?” I respond, “Well, is the harasser drunk? How old? Am I in an environment I can easily get out of? Or am I say in a kombi? Am I alone? Does the harasser have a weapon? Is he threatening me? Please be more specific with your scenerios, because my actions would change according to these specifications. How about I tell you what I would do in each scenario, or rather- what I have done in each scenario.” Training manager laughs.

Back in Country Director’s office- she tells me, “You need tougher skin.” I laugh. I’m remembering a recent incident in a small town- with two other PCV’s. In a restaurant, I’m expressing to them the on going harassment I’ve been enduring. During this discussion, two men approach me and ask me to be their wives. They continue to linger and persist. “I want to taeke you!” One PCV starts yelling, “WHY DON’T YOU GO SEXUALLY PLEASE YOUR OTHER WIVES! IM SURE YOU AREN’T.” I ignore. I ignore until I absolutely cannot no more. We finish eating and go outside. Outside, two different men circle around me. One is glassy eyed with drunk. This will require a different reaction from me. PCV starts yelling at him in English. I ignore and walk away. Man goes to touch me. Drunk and touching me gets this reaction: I push his hand away, raise my finger and point in his face yelling, “Fuseki! Hamba! Suka! Ahhhhhhh…wena. Ngitakushaya!” Bomake (women selling fruits) in the background start laughing hysterically. And as usual, drunken man gets the most confused look in his eyes, steps back- dumbfounded. Walks away- trying to shake the shock off.

But apparently, Mbabane Peace Corps- sipping their lattes and mochas-thinks I need “tougher skin”.

Country director asks me, “Do you want to be here Meredith?” Do I want to be here? “WHAT?!” I exclaim? How did it go from questioning why I’m being harassed to questioning if I want to be here. I want to just rip my skin off- the audacity of such a question. “I don’t want you to answer now. I want you to think about this. Re-integrating is an incredibly hard task. You don’t have to stay here. It’s ok if you want to go home. It’s not a failure if you decide to go. Just think about…” I interrupt, “I’m not going anywhere.” “I want you to sleep on it and tell me tomorrow.” CD says. “Today Stella (Swazi Peace Corps cross cultural integration staff) is talking with your chief, village, and family. I’ll discuss with Musa about the test you took with him and see if you are able to go to another community, another country, or home.” “WHAT?!” I exclaim again. “Swazi staff is convinced that you’ve somehow brought this on yourself. Washington is asking me why I am allowing you to stay. We need to know you can integrate Meredith.”

Fuck. I’m crying. “Why are you crying?” CD asks me. “You just told me Peace Corps is basically against me. I need you to have confidence in me. I need you on my side.” I explain. “You need to prove to us first. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I shut the door. Lesson Four: Don’t report harassment- It is your fault.

Next day, country director’s office. “So did you think about what I asked you yesterday? Do you want to go…” “I’m not going anywhere.” I interrupt.

Stella comes in. Stella, my Swazi Savior, tells country director and I- everyone in my community liked me. I was a hard worker she says. “At all the meetings. You met a lot of people despite not having a counterpart like everyone else. They said you were incredibly friendly..” CD interrupts, “Too friendly.” Stella continues, “ You have to be careful not to be too friendly Meredith. People, especially Swazi men, take advantage of this.” She is making a very valid point. “You need to FIRST make close relationships with those in your community who have the most respect. You cannot start with the youth.” Then, I make a very valid point.

“You put me in a community with no counterpart- no gogo clerk manager. No one to plug me in to help me to connect with the elder respected members of this community. So. I make my own connections. I find my own counterparts. I worked with what I had. Regardless of who I worked with, you put me in a community that has no respect for their chief. I was harassed at the umphagatsi- IN FRONT OF the chief. While being threatened by drunken naked man on my own homestead, shouting I will shoot you both, two men just walked by and did nothing. No counterpart. No respect. I agree I need to be a bit more hesitant who I am friendly to. But I came here to make connections- to start a dialogue. Already I have gone with three people to get tested. Everyday strangers confide in me their stories. Just having someone to talk to alleviates so much pain for them. Other volunteers are hearing my stories and asking me how do you start these conversations. I'm just walking down the street smiling and greeting. And if someone wants to talk- i'll hold their hand and talk. If it means I get harrassed more- then I get harrassed more."

Stella nods.“There were a lot of factors in this. Your community is ashamed and very sad to loose you.” I begin to cry again. “I let my community down.” “No. They let you down.” Stella adds. CD explains they are putting me in a community, a homestead that has housed a group 5 female volunteer. “This community will know how to handle a white outsider female.”

I leave to speak with other PC staff- all incredibly supportive. I speak with Musa. "Musa, I hope you remember that now I am a month and a half behind all the other volunteers. Our assessment is due in one month. I will try my best to gather as much information as possible in such a short period of time." Musa smiles. "Meredith, you're always moving, shaking hands, greeting people, and eating- I know you'll catch up just fine."

Two of the Swazi women staff, including Stella, will escort me on Tuesday to Nkiliji. They will be with me as I say goodbye to another family and hello to a new one. It’s still secret what region I am going to. I try to shake it out of Stella. I joke, “Well as long as it’s not Lubombo. The hottest place on Earth- 120 degree heat, black mambas and severe poverty.” Stella looks down. I laugh. Remembering my training family in Ngonini who told me, “Simphiwe, those people moving to Lubombo……THEY WILL SUFFER.” I clap my hands together. “Well.I came to Africa to experience Africa. Being in Manzini- a vacation. Saying goodbye to another family will be hard. But now I can say I have three families in three out of the four regions in Swaziland- that's a lot of love..." An awkward pause- I look down and exhale loudly. I'm trying so hard to be upbeat about this. If I allow my real emotions to soak through- I know I'll crumble. I can't in front of Peace Corps. I can't.

Stella must have picked up on my bluff. "I really admire you. What you've endured and will have to endure again... I want to be there for you during this transition." I hug Stella. I hug Nicole. I hug Musa. I hug the lady behind the desk- the guard outside...I hug Peace Corps again.

Mctosa meets me in Manzini. I am not allowed to visit Nkiliji without Peace Corps till Tuesday. Tuesday Peace Corps and I will go to my home- collect my things- say goodbye- then straight to my new home, my new family. To be back in Manzini though! Familiar faces talking to me- kombi drivers shouting my name as they pass. I'm Simphiwe again. It's Monday and my phone is ringing non stop, schools, students, youth groups, "Where are you Simphiwe?! We miss you!" Bongiwe and bhutis calling, crying "Why Simphiwe, Why?" With their limited air time I only tell them I'll be back Tuesday. I've written letters. Make, mother, calls me- it's Gigi. She's fallen again on her arm and face. It's been days and the swelling is getting worse. I tell her I'm in Manzini, to meet me at the hospital.

I see Mctosa's face- waiting for me at the kombi rank. My anxiety now replaced with a familiar warmth of comfort inside. I hide my excitement. Arms raised he greets me with a different name today (To him I am many different characters in the books he reads)Arms raised he says, "My Florence Nightingale- you've been eating peanut butter again haven't you?" He laughs. I swat him on the arm. "Where is Gigi's walker I paid for?! It was supposed to be delivered last week. She keeps falling and hurting herself. And don't give me that 'there's no hurry in Swaziland' bullshit." "They're working on it. I promise i'll get it to her tomorrow."

Proud African and I walk the grimey streets of Manzini- my favorite city- rugged, torn, and busy. Unlike manicured Mbabane- I miss my home. As usual, Mctosa turns to me and asks, "OK- where's the police station?" I point in the wrong direction..again. Five minutes later, "OK- where's the post office." This time I get it right. He knows I'm lousy with directions- always testing me. We walk past a park. "Let's sit in the park and talk." I say. "They call it a park, but I don't see a park- just a smelly place to sit." He says this everytime we walk past any Manzini park. We sit on a pile of bricks. I give him letters, books I've borrowed. I hand him brochures, phone numbers, and information I've gathered while in Mbabane about NGO's that can help Nkiliji's clinic with their little support group. "I went to the group last week, but no one was there." he tells me. A look of shock on my face. "What? You're attending the support groups now?" Proud African, a Swazi young man keep in mind, is going to an HIV positive support group. He tells me soon he will come out and teach others. Swazi young man going to support groups, open about his status- almost unheard of.

Imagining him and all the others I've become close to- the HIV positive in Nkiliji- now without me. Tears begin to fill my eyes. "Simphiwe, I told you. Swazi men don't cry." I wipe away the tears. "I'm Swazi man now huh?" Mctosa wipes off some tomato seeds and bits of avacado on my shirt collar. He points a finger at my face."You need to remember your name." "Simphiwe?" I laugh. "Some gift I was for Nkiliji."
"No, your REAL name...Meredith. Guardian of the sea. You are a guardian, a protector of others. Like this necklace you wear everyday 'St. Christopher Be My Guide'- you too are a protector. Your name is strong. Like mine, Mctosa. Strength. Don't ever forget your name."

Swaziland, full of meaning. A bracelet, a piece of cloth..I'm always asked, "What does it mean?" It's just decoration I explain. Swazis always asking, "Do you know what your name means?" Americans- we wear our empty names our clothing- with no understanding, no depth. But when you live in a world of tragedy, of emotion and wonder- it's important to have meaning. You must raise your newborn child into the air and shout to the heavens, "Universe! I give you- Kunta Kinte! I give you Mctosa. Simphiwe. Lungile." Your name is the beginning of your story.

Proud African is right. I must always remember my name.