IST: Our Family is Back Together Again

11/17/09

IST

In Service Training. We are called. From all four regions of Swaziland. From the deepest valley, from the tallest mountain. From Hhoho to Lubombo. From Mbabane to Manzini. Volunteers meet in a Catholic convent in the city Manzini. We leave behind our newly established ebb and flow. Our world of pee buckets and candles. Our solitude in our roundavel huts. Integration now over. It has been three months since we've seen each other. We are all anxious to be back together in a classroom for the next ten days.

Back to our familiar routine: flip charts, power points, technology failing, butts and brains going numb. Eight hours in a classroom. Our days broken up by meals. Like the carrot dangling before a donkey. "Just gotta get to lunch" "Just gotta get to dinner" "I wonder what they'll serve for breakfast tomorrow." The comfort of meals at the end of each exhausting lecture.

All day volunteers pour into the convent. We embrace each other. I am Meredith again. We are mostly girls in our group. One can hear the high pitched embraces from kilometers away. As stories are being shared on the lawn (ah, a lawn), I lie on the grass and take advantage of our free to be environment. I pull up my shorts a bit and let the sun bleed between leaves and onto my white white thighs. The jacuranda sways in the wind. Questions are asked about my three months of integration. "What happened Meredith?!"

"Mere, you're like a lightening rod for crazy."

I notice the Swazi mannerisms and expressions we have all picked up on. We have integrated. Each time we reunite, our hair gets a little longer and our clothes a little less white. Hair cutting scissors are brought out and the token hair dressers in our group begin their performance- maintaining our appearance every three months. Our family is back together again.

In the classroom, IST is some review on HIV/AIDS and some review of Swazi culture. But it primarily becomes an introduction to the NGO's in our area. During integration we were forbidden to start any projects. After IST we are free to begin. To begin though, most "projects" will need funding. Peace Corps is here to show us how to write those mini vasts and grant proposals. Yawn... 6 hours of how to write grants, a lecture on ARV adherence, more proposal writing, another lecture on sustainable gardening. Is any of this actually sticking? They are trying so hard to sculpt us into better resources for our communities. But I am forever struggling with ADD which is inflamed when it's ten six hour days of flip charts and graphs. And my group knows me so well. I raise my hand, "OK. So I just zoned out.. but did you just say 1 in 50?!" My group laughs- not surprised. Hand up again, "Yeah... I definetly did NOT get that form." "Meredith, you probably lost it. Don't loose this one." Peace Corps says. Country Director goes over protocol if we need to evacuate Swaziland. Where to go and what to bring. "And don't even think about bringing any cats or dogs with you." All eyes turn and look at me. "What?"

Yes. our family is back together again.

Our lab coats are back on and we are pulling back our look at AIDS now. What was an individual and sometimes personal view on AIDS is now a statistical one. We are talking about "them". We are studying "them". Mctosa, Proud African, a test object now. Our classroom is in the middle of Manzini. I watch outside the window at the hustle and bustle of this grimy city. Strange to watch Swazis while studying "them" on paper. How would it feel for Swazis to know all of us were in this room studying and analyzing how to help. People from all over the world just trying to figure out how to help.

CDC and NGO's ask us, "Are these statistics true? Are you seeing this out there on the ground?" A term office people LOVE to use about where our work is.

UNICEF comes in and lectures about the improvements they plan on making to the NCP's of Swaziland. Neighborhood Care Points. Swazi Government's solution to the growing number of OVC's. Orphaned Vulnerable Children. Children with no parents and no food flock to these huts often made out of nothing but stone and mud. One "caregiver" to each NCP. Sometimes only given a stipend to feed these children. UNICEF, "We want to build better ones where existing NCP's are now but falling apart. We want caregivers to provide more than just food, but also psychosocial support, two meals a day, and pre school." My Lubombo neighbor and I exchange a look of doubt. Lubombo a different region. A different world. NCP's are a joke, and most volunteers know this. This idealistic goal in these NGO's minds makes us all shift in our seats and hold our tongues.

I understand the idea of an NCP. I see why they were established. A child looses both parents and is left with a few things and a house. In a world where no wills are written or if so aren't considered, a child only has it's home and must stay in it to keep it. Lingering relatives come by and take whatever belongings they can from these children. Orphanages are few here. They cost the government money. Caregivers at these NCP's are given a small amount of food as payment to care for thirty to fourty children everyday. With hardly any food and structure how can you expect these women to teach and provide psychosocial support to them as well?

Who will raise these children? Who is raising these children? No one.

These crumbling existing NCP's UNICEF wants to replace are crumbling for a reason. No one is maintaining them. What will happen to the new buildings they put in? Is this sustainable? Lots of meaningless words are used to answer our questions but we are still left scratching our heads.

WFP comes in. World Food Program. We have all been waiting for this one. WFP is going bankrupt and we're all seeing it..."on the ground". The new director of WFP comes to speak. She's bubbily and animated. She's new. WFP is giving food to schools and NCP's all over Swaziland. We ask, "What about the communities that don't have an NCP?" Her reply, "Well, just pull your community together and build one." I try to cover my mouth before it leaps out. Too late. I burst out loud with laughter. "Any questions?" She naively asks. About 20 hands shoot up into the air. She steps back. I see the bit of fear in her eyes. "WFP gives us un-milled maize. It costs money for these people to mill it. What are they going to do with un-milled maize?" "My NCP is constantly running out of food at the end of each month. Is anyone actually monitoring these NCP's and how much food the caregiver takes for herself?" "My NCP was given food but has not kitchen." "My school is getting half rations now, what are these kids to do when they aren't fed at home and now school?"

Director becomes nervous and defensive. She knows we know she doesn't know...(?) the answers to our questions, but yet we keep asking them. I wait for her Swazi counterpart who has been working for this organization for 9 years to speak up. Director doesn't once ask for her input. Peace Corps Programming Manager stands up and tries to calm the sea. "We just want to thank you for coming again. We all are aware you are new and well we really do appreciate you coming." She looks at us to start applauding. Volunteer leans in and whispers to me, "Man are we gonna get it from the country director for this one. We were pretty rude."

And I feel no pity. We are the voice to many who don't have one. We are our community's ambassadors. We are the voice of these "lab rats"...of our Proud Africans.

Our next lecture is a somber one. PCMO, our doctor Day, wants to know how we are coping amongst all the tragedy of this world. Her flip chart reads: Grief and Loss. "What are you seeing out there?" she asks. Hands go up. "Last week I lost my bhuti." "My sisi was murdered." "My little sisi is sick." "My babe from our training family died." Volunteer tries to hold back the tears. She takes a moment to collect herself before finishing. "I never made it back to see him. I promised him that I would come back, and I didn't." Day asks us how we're coping leaving our loved ones back home. "You are all nurturers. How are you dealing not being able to be there for those back home?" A volunteer gets out of her seat and leaves. I follow. I hear her crying in the bathroom stall. I let myself in and take a seat with her on the dirty tiled bathroom floor. "They are going through this alone." She tells me. "I can't be there for them. I could kill him for what he's doing to my sister and brother. I can't protect them anymore." We share tears as I relate. Unable to be there for my sister back home. Alone going through the awkward steps of adolescence. Not able to tell her none of this won't matter in a few years. You'll have the last laugh. Your uniqueness is absolutely beautiful and one day...you will see.

Sometimes the absolute insanity of this Mad World is comforting. It helps us forget those who we have left. The connections and control we have lost back home.

Surprisingly not much was said between volunteers during this session of competition. You loose perspective as a volunteer amongst other volunteers. Who is the most HARDCORPS volunteer. Those privileged to have electricity or even a toilet are made fun of. No volunteer spoke of maybe wanting to go home. Which is just unrealistic. The fact that all of us are still here through integration- is rare. To leave now, for some, would be bruising their pride. Volunteers are scared to hear other's HARDCORPS stories and all the crazy intense things they are doing everyday. Afraid to say, "I'm not adjusting so well. I miss home. I don't really do anything in my community."

That evening we go out. We meet up with beer and pizza. As soon as I finish my entire pizza in record time, my phone rings. It's Dumile. "Simphiwe, the 5 children living in the UNICEF tent have been robbed. Their tent was sliced and all their food taken." My pizza and beer turn in my belly. I feel guilt. This is why NCP's are NOT the solution. These children need guardians, an orphanage, a protector. I go back to sit amongst friends- detached again. Neighboring PCV, my "bright light", sees the distraction in my eyes. She grabs my arm. She knows. We share similar experiences- we're in "it" together.