"Take Two"

10.12

I wave goodbye to PCV's, at the backpackers, from the back of my Peace Corps' white chariot. Without the support of my volunteers each step would be so much harder for me to take. Bongani (driver) and Peace Corps programming Swazi staff (Stella and Samu) make our way to Nkiliji.

At home I find Bongiwe and her girlfriends studying for exams. I am tackled as soon as I step out of the car. We walk to my hut, hand in hand, and begin to pack as Stella speaks with Babe and Make.

A difficult game of tetrus- my belongings are all packed in my tiny Peace Corps vehicle. As I sweep my now empty home, the girls wiping off dusty furniture, they begin to sing together. A "Goodbye Song" they learned in Pre School. Their rhythm and song swells as I get closer and closer to leaving them behind. I can barely hold back anymore.

It's time to say goodbye to my Sisi- Gigi. I find her sprawled out on the kitchen floor, skirt soaked in urine. Gone only a week and she's broken her arm and hit both sides or her head leaving large swells on either side. Two dogs bursting with pregnancy and Gigi now in her own urine. I pick her up and take her outside to her favorite spot- the tire in the middle of our homestead. I bring her fresh clothes and wipe her down. It's especially hot today. I sit next to my sisi on our tire, like we have so many times. Watching the chickens fuck, the donkeys roll, and the trees blow. "Ngiyakutsandza sisi wami." She puts her hand on mine as I rest my head on her shoulder. And I wonder- has anyone ever told her they love her as I have?

Make returns home, carrying a large bundle of firewood on her head. As I take off her load I tell her I'm going. She grabs my hand hard. I see Bongiwe behind, friends around her. The tears start to collect. She sees my sadness and quickly turns away. I walk over, turn her around, and in between sobs tell my sister, "Swazi men don't cry Bongiwe."I hold her shoudlers then draw her against my chest, her clenched jaw resting on my shoulder. We hold each other- strong Swazi men- and we cry. Her friends gather around...."Shame...". They place their hands on my back- heads down. I assure them I will be back often. "I'm not done with Nkiliji." Make grabs my hand and walks me over to the Peace Corps chariot- inside is Peace Corps staff hiding from the heat. I turn to my make (Ma-gay) and thank her and Babe (Ba-bay) for everything. "It is because of you- volunteers are able to help. You have given me a home and a family. This is something that will forever stay with me. I am forever endebted to you. You will always be apart of my life." Babe holds my shouder, "Always a Dlamini?" He asks. "Always a Dlamini." I say. Make grabs my other shoulder and pounds my chest hard as she gives her speech in Siswati to Peace Corps staff. I can understand enough to know she thought I was doing wonderful things in my village- a hard worker and a good daughter.

I pile in with staff and watch my dogs, my family, my homestead get smaller and smaller. I ask one last favor of Peace Corps. We pull into the local clinic. I have a book to return to one of the nurses. I leave it and my contact information with a woman from Mothers2Mothers. (An HIV positive mothers support group) Just as I'm about to walk out the door I hear a familiar voice, proud and booming.

"What are you doing here?" I ask Mctosa. He pulls me aside, away from the glued Swazi eyeballs always on me. "690." He says smiling wide. "Your CD4 count?! No ARV's!?" "No ARVs." he says. "Mctosa! This is good news!"

Swaziland AIDS. You wait till CD4 count is dangerously low- 250- then are put on antiretrovirals. In the States it's something in the high 300's. You get two trys with Swaziland drugs. Once the virus mutates on one kind of ARV you switch to another. After that- you wait to die of some OI like meningitis or TB. This is why average life span of a Swazi on ARV's is only 5 years. You want to stay off them for as long as possible.

I want to hug my Proud African, but the glued eyes deprive me of this tender moment. We stand face to face, like dancers onstage, waiting for the music to begin. I recover and return to my practical tone. "I will see you soon....and" He interupts my words by going to, what I think is, hug me- I stop him. But it's too late. He's put something in my pocket. "I'll see you again." He whispers in my ear.

Back in my chariot, I quickly pull out the sheet of paper. Written are these words:


"No longer scared to live. No longer scared to die. I have my protector.
The Guardian of the Sea- dwells inside of me. Thank you Meredith."

I fold the paper hard and bury it deep inside my pocket. As we pull out of the clinic I look out the back window. I see Mctosa standing outside, matchstick in mouth as usual. He points his index finger up against his chin raising it up high. Peace Corps staff- having heard that I managed to get Swazi young men to test- ask me, "Is that him? The one you got to test? How did you do that Meredith?" With a flick of my wrist I respond, "Ah nevermind."

Driving down down down to Lubombo region, I watch the thermostat rise as the mountains around me descend. I watch the trees become dry and stunted- bush like. I watch the rich red soil turn dry and colorless. I watch the jacurandas wave goodbye. The tide is out- and the colors are being taken with it. A cliche African scene. Dry dust and desert- we arrive to Siphofaneni- the closest shopping town to my "town" Lukhetseni. A river lies between Siphofaneni and Lukhetseni. Filled with worms and crocs- a shinning shimmering tease on a hot hot day.

It's getting late and the heat has not subsided. Peace Corps quickly introduces me to Make who speaks no English and 9 children under the age of 13. "And my counterpart?" I ask. Peace Corps says to talk to my new Make about it. "You mean the one who speaks no English?" Stella grabs my shoulder, "Meredith, I know you can make this work."

I watch Peace Corps chariot drive away for the second time. Leaving me with a whole new set of glued eyeballs and gawking mouths- tiny hands digging through my pockets. Make, built to be a linebacker, and her death stare. Stella rolls down the window and shouts, "The NCP (Neighborhood Care Point) tells me they don't have any food....that could be your first project." She laughs- she's joking.

"Yeah. I'll get right on that."