"It's A War Outside"

11/11/09


Her name is Dumile. She calls today to remind me that I am to come see her health club at Madlhyena Primary school. I'm impressed. Normally I do the confirming- tired of spending two hours to get some place, and an hour of waiting, only to realize no one is coming.

I had discovered Dumile's youth group after some interviews with the head teacher at Madlhayena Primary. I was excited to hear UNICEF had trained one teacher (Dumile), a parent, and a student of this school on Life Skills, Peer Counseling, how to spot an orphan, what a balanced diet is, and how to live a healthy life. NGO's are leaving and realizing you cannot just educate one role player in a community. You must bring the parent, the student, the teacher, the caregivers together. Like I said, there is a lack of communication that is killing these people.

With this information Dumile has formed a health club. They discuss growing up, life skills, HIV, STIS, teen pregnancy, counseling, defining child abuse. Everything a parent should teach a child. But there are no parents anymore. Now they are preparing for World AIDS Day. They want to hold an event at school. They've prepared plays, poetry, and dances. Dumile wants them to march. March with banners spreading awareness about HIV and child abuse.

"So many have come to me you see." She stands in front of the class now speaking directly at me. I'm seated amongst the children. "So many with stories of abuse. And I don't know who to turn to. Who to tell. I'm all alone here. So many children living alone in this area. So many children without food, clothes, and shelter. Two children, the eldest is 15 in a child headed homestead, their home fell apart. I got them a tent to sleep in for now. I buy them what I can. Some maize, some bread and beans. Out of my own pocket. We need help."

After the kids perform a skit on peer pressure and teenage pregnancy- it's time for them to go "home". But they don't want to. They stay seated. All eyes on me. I walk up to Dumile who is now gathering her things behind her desk.
"I've been looking for you."
"Me?" She asks.
"Yes. The motivated one. It's been hard finding one- but I think together, we can make a difference." I can't stop smiling. My heart pounding- daydreaming of all the things we can do together.

Dumile invites me to come with her to World Vision. There is a meeting with other teachers from all over the area. On the way she tells me what she's seen. Horror stories. Absolute horror stories.

"Two months ago, one of the children came to me. A fourteen year old girl living alone with 4 other children- an eight year old, a six year old, a four, and a two year old. Her parents had died and her aunt left her with her four children. Their house recently fell down (sticks and mud) and they had no where to go. I told UNICEF and they gave us a tent- a large tent. Myself and another teacher went to their homestead and put the tent up. It was very difficult- there were no instructions. We dug a trench so the water would not get in. As we dug and dug in the heat so many people passed and neighbors watched. No one offered to help us. These children have no food- nothing. They're dying as people stand by and watch. Another child, she is eight years old and both her parents are gone. We started noticing she was wrapping porridge from school into the bottom of her shirt and taking it home with her. We followed her home one day. We found a little baby boy wrapped in a blanket under a tree. Her brother. It was only this eight year old child and this baby boy at this homestead- all alone.

Another child, her parents died leaving her with her auntie. Her aunt had no children of her own so could afford to take care of this child. However, she has been abusing her. She refuses her food then throws her out at night when it's raining. She tosses her few belongings at the child and screams, 'I don't have a child!' When it's raining outside, she sleeps outside. A workers camp right across from our school. It's called S&B. You will see Simphiwe, I will show you. Tomorrow morning you will see students, young girls coming out of their camps in the morning. And next to them......their mothers- with cash in their hands.

And lastly. Two girls living with their grandfather. The nine year old is the daughter to the old man, and the eleven year old is the granddaughter. The homestead consists of him, the two girls, and his eldest daughter- she is our age. She's often away working though. The old man's wife just died of AIDS- so I am sure he has got it too. The eleven year old took care of her father and mother until they died of AIDS. Her father was the first to go. She had to scrape off the maggots from his infected thrush in his mouth. Then it was just her and her mother on the grandfather's homestead. The grandfather was her mother's father in law. Now I was told he chased her away because she refused him in bed. So she ran away to her parent's homestead and eventually died. The grandfather made her leave the eleven year old girl however. Her name is Jabolani. The daughter to the grandfather, the nine year old, is Bhule. Are you following?"

"Yes."

"Since talking about child abuse in my class I have noticed the two girls acting very strangely. They become very uncomfortable. So I went to their homestead to investigate.The neighbor told me she thinks the old man is sleeping with these two girls."
"So how do we get them out of there?" I ask.
"We must first get them to admit it to us. Can you come with me tomorrow Simphiwe?"
"Of course."

Dumile introduces me to the other teachers during the World Vision meeting. They are discussing a shortage of money. What a surprise. One man looks at me and says, "So Simphiwe. What are YOU going to contribute?" I laugh, "How's two years of my life?" They laugh. I drop by Save The Children that afternoon. I haven't been yet. I enter the building, clap my hands, and say, "I got some kids that need saving!" They tell me I need to get them to talk before anyone can take action. "You got it." I hitch a ride home with one of SWADE's trucks passing by (who also have workers camps full of men sleeping with young girls) and I get the driver to tell me where S&B's head office is. "I need to speak with SWADE and S&B about your boys sleeping with my students." Driver laughs, "Yes. It IS a problem."

The next day I meet Dumile at her house on school grounds. We talk about how we're going to get these two girls away from the grandfather tomorrow.

I tell her the story of how I used to live in Nkiliji but the harassment was too much so they moved me here. She laughs. "I used to be a teacher at Nkiliji high school. I was harassed all the time. Then my home was burgarlized while I was in it. They tried to break into my bedroom where I was hiding. I was so traumatized. I resigned and came here. Nkiliji is no place for a woman. Did you know Vusi? He is also a teacher in Nkiliji." "Yes." I respond. "He is the reason I am here. He tried to shove his tongue down my throat." Dumile has a hard laugh. "Oh I'm sorry Simphiwe. He is my cousin, and quite the drunkard."

She continues. "But this place really needs you Simphiwe. These people have been spoiled by hand outs and NGO's. They don't want to do anything for themselves. I say you've got two hands and a mind- what's the problem? NGO's are pulling out. They're telling us to think for ourselves. This is why UNICEF trained me, a teacher and a student. They're giving us knowledge and skills and it is up to us to spread it to the community. You can't just walk by anymore. We must come together. I always say. If you have two of something...share."

We are both now seated on her front porch- looking out at the dry flat plateau. I turn and tell her, " I think you're amazing." She looks down now. Just when I think the moment is about to entirely pass by without her saying anything. She says to me, "My sister died of AIDS you know. It was six years ago. She left her son behind. He is living with our mother. He is thirteen now and he is HIV positive. This is what motivates me. I've seen AIDS. I don't want anyone else to."

I dig through my bag and pull out two beers I saved just for this moment. I hand her one and raise my bottle high. "What shall we drink to?" She pauses and thinks. "To Vusi." I say. Confusion in her eyes. "If it weren't for Vusi's attempt at a tongue in my mouth- I wouldn't be here.....Yes...to Vusi. For bringing us together." We clink our bottles together. And there in the middle of Swaziland, during the hot midday of the Lubombo region, sat two women sharing a luke warm beer. Both from two different worlds, still young, with dreams and plans. With hope in their hearts.

That night I sat in my hut reading the "life stories" I had asked the students of this club to write me. It's important they know their life story is important to them and to me. Almost all of them spoke of their parent's death. About a third spoke of abuse, neglect, hunger, and rape. Tears fall from eyes onto the pages and the wind blows hard outside.

IST is coming up. In Service Training. Ten days in Manzini with all the other PCV's. Peace Corps will train us on how to write grants, mini vasts, and proposals. How to suck the NGO's and loved ones back home dry. Volunteers all hard at work writing their Community Assessments of their villages. I get an extension because of my "situation". I am still new to my community. PCV's have been slaving over them for three months now. Filled with census, surveys, charts, and graphs. A picture of their community in numbers. "I heard so and so's assessment from Group 6 was 60 pages long!" "I bet so and so surveyed over 200 hundred homesteads!" I don't understand charts and graphs. I don't understand numbers. I never have. What I do understand is sitting alone with a dying woman- holding her hand. Watching a shy girl light up in my class as she watches me bounce around in front of fourty students. She asks me later, "How do I tell him 'no'?" Peace Corps gives us Siswati homework and book reports to do over the past three months- due at IST. Are you kidding me? Volunteers biting their nails. "I haven't read it all. I barely got any of the Siswati assignment done!" While I sit on a stoop and plan out how to pull an abused child out of her home.

I by no means am saying one is better than the other. Or that other PCV's aren't doing this. I'm saying Peace Corps causes you to loose perspective. I have heard volunteers complain, even myself, that their community is too "active"...they aren't needed. Since when is it a "bad" thing that your community is being self sufficient. I'm about to spend ten days with people I used to spend every day with but now have been the last thing on my mind for the past three months. All eyes will turn to me and ask, "Why did you move communities Mere? Whats been going on?!" Where do I even begin? Do I even want to begin?

Where's your homework? IT'S DUE!"

I don't know how to let go of the grasp of the personal. This is who I am. Peace Corps wants numbers- crisp clean paper full of acronyms. Let me turn in these children's stories. Let me take you to their fallen down homes. Let me show you the face of the abused. I don't know how to step back. I don't know how to stop myself. "When you have two of something- share." I think about a dress I bought two months ago, the beer I bought Dumile and I, the things I have been given from home, the food I feed my dogs every night. There is so much more I can give and do. And I will. I've decided I will.

December volunteers are allowed to FINALLY leave this country. Most are planning a trip to Mozambique. OCEAN! I had planned on going- but now, I think I will stay. Youth will be out of school December and January. This is the time they are having sex and drinking. They don't want to go home. They have nothing to do. Dumile and I will give them something to do. I'm not sure what exactly. But I'm staying.

The wind is blowing harder now. I put down the Life Stories and stand in my doorway. Lightening so hard it looks like day outside. Thunder so loud, from every direction, you can feel it deep inside your body. It's a war outside. I think about the young girl living with her aunt. Is she outside right now? I think about the six children in their tent. Is it holding up? I think about my life story. My privileged life.

These children were born on the wrong continent.