You Have to Remember Their Happy Stories

11/13/09
Next morning.

Dumile and I meet on royal grounds. Long skirts and tail between our legs. Submissive and ready to speak with the chief. We get seated on a mat next to chief Gamedze. I wait for Dumile to speak. The chief stares. She gives me the "go on" look. Head down, eyes on the ground hands up- humble and respectful- I go on.

"Chief Gamezde, there are four issues Ms. Mkhetshwa and I would like to discuss with you. She and I have been going from homestead to homestead checking on the OVC's in the area. We have found very VERY severe instances of abuse and neglect." I tell him Jaboliso and Bhule's story. He turns and speaks with Dumile in Siswati then turns to me and says, "Simphiwe, this homestead is not part of our chiefdom. You will have to address this to the chief of that chiefdom. As for the other homesteads, the problem is no one reports the abuse to me."

What does he think I'm doing now? Silence follows.

"Okk... The other issue is the workers camps. S&B has placed their camp right across from our primary school. Girls are being seen from coming out of their at night and early in the morning. I went to the site and there are big block letters on a building that say No Women Allowed. There is a guard, but no one is actually monitoring this. There are no consequences. There needs to be consequences. Maybe if you talked with them." He tells me I should make an appointment with S&B. I should hold a workshop on their site and explain the consequences of satitory rape.

"Our other issue Chief Gamedze, is WFP. They're pulling out- leaving schools with less and less food each year. They have given us 22 bags of maize for the entire year, for 450 students. We go through two bags in one day. The students aren't eating at home. Most rely on school for food. We need land. The umphagatsi has a lot of land, and you're close enough to the school we could easily transport the crops to the kitchen. The children have an agricultural class where they are required to maintain a garden. The children would maintain the land- plowing and harvesting it. SWADE has provided water, all we need is land." Chief responds, "You and Ms. Mketshwa are new to this school. Even your head teacher is new to the school. There is a plot of land across the street from the school. It used to be maintained but over the years no one has used it. It's there, but unfortunatey now it's in the bush and must be cleared. But it is for the school."

God Dammit! I'm so tired of the solutions being right under these people's noses. Children are starving and there's land right across the street. People need to start speaking out. Why am I the one requesting land for the school? Shouldn't the head teacher be doing something?

"And last, Ms. Mkhetswa and I are having an event at Madlheyna Primary school. She got World Vision to donate a tent and PA. We'll be having poetry, drama, and a march raising awareness on child abuse and AIDS. We would love it if you came." Chief Gamedze would love to...BUT.... he'll be in the Philippines in December. BUT he'll send someone to our little event. And it's the same story with many chiefs. Being a chief, a pastime to most. They're NEVER around. Homes in Mbabane, a vacation in Thailand, and a newphew to the king. Detached and uncaring.

LET ME BE THE CHIEF. PEOPLE ARE DYING.

Defeated, Dumile and I walk back to her place. "Looks like we're on our own." I say to her. We hug goodbye. I promise to keep in touch with her over the next ten days.

Nkiliji, close to Manzini, I stop by before heading off to the 10 day reunion. My first stop, as usual, the carp shop. I find the boys keeping warm around a fire, Mctosa is outside talking with someone in the rain. I take a seat. As I'm trying to explain to them what a marshmellow is, Mctosa walks up to me and whispers, "We need to talk." We go to sit in a private room next to the shop. He has a seat on the bed. I sit in a chair across from him. "Things are bad." He says. I can handle anything at this point. I'm ready. He stares at the ground.

"She's positive." I say nothing. "She is positive." He tells me again. I clinch my jaw, barely open my mouth, and mutter, "fucking window period." The mother of his newborn child had tested throughout pregnancy, as all Swazi women do, and was always negative. We weren't worried. We should have been.
"And him... your son?"
"We'll know in a month. He's had a fever for a while. His body is so hot."
We look at each other now. He whispers, "Yeah. Things are bad." His hands rested on his knees, his head looking down at the ground. I grab both hands and lean my head in. Forehead to forehead we look down at our hands. He exhales loudly and I feel a tear. But it's not mine this time.

I look hard at him, and like he once said to me, I tell him, "You need to remember your name. You are Mctosa Mtetwa. 'Strength'"
"Proud African" He whispers.
"Mcotsa, I have seen parents dying and leaving their children behind with aunts and gogo's. I've seen what these family members are doing to these kids. Only taking them in to use them as cattle- as slaves. You promise me, if something happens to both of you, you will KNOW, you will KNOW, you're leaving him with someone who will love him unconditionally. Every part of him. Promise me."
"I promise."
"Do you have someone you can trust?"
He smiles."The lady that sits before me. She calls herself Meredith Brooks, 'The Protector'."
" Mctosa you have to tell your girlfriend your status. She needs to know."
"Yeah, this week. She asked me to go test. She and I will go to the clinic and I will have the nurse tell her. I don't think I can. I can't say it out loud right now. I will ask the nurse to."

Next stop. Bongiwe. I find her at Sebe's homestead. Sebe, the teen mother and my good friend. Bongiwe with her new hair and new clothes- is bouncing around telling Sebe stories of wild parties she's been to. The boys. OH...and the boys. Sebe is holding her coughing child. Her hair is matted and a mess. Her clothes are torn and deep circles are swallowing her eyes whole. She stares off into the distance hurting inside, Bongiwe oblivious to it all. I ask to hold the baby. Her body squirms. Her tiny feet push hard against my hands as she tries to cough out whatever is inside her.
"How long has she been coughing like this Sebe?"
"Two weeks."
TWO WEEKS. My first thought naturally, TB. I urge her to go to the clinic.
I tell Sebe about the health club in my new village. I ask her if she would come and speak with the girls about being a teen mother and the challenges. She smiles big, honored that she can do something Bongiwe cannot. She agrees. Bongiwe shouts, "What about me!? I'll come talk to them." "What about you?" I ask. " You can explain to the class where you got those new clothes and the money for that hair. I taught them all about transactional sex- the 3 C's Bongiwe." Sebe tries hard not to laugh. "Simphiwe!" Bongiwe shouts.


That night I have one of the most lucid dreams I have ever had.

My feet are soaked in water, but I am safe in an old beat up motor boat. The white paint chipped off. I am safe though. We are safe, going far away from this place. The early fog still clinging to the dark ocean. I know this scene. It's the last scene in the film, "Children Of Men". I look down in my arms. A bundle of blankets and a tiny child crying inside. He's not mine. He's Mctosa's son. I turn around. Mctosa and his girlfriend stand on shore, hand in hand, waving goodbye to us. The forest behind blazes on fire. A storm without rain and lightening striking all around. With each strike, Mctosa and his lady in hand, turn to skeletal figures. A familiar voice inside the boat with me now. I turn back around. A man seated before me, his head wrapped in fog.

"What became of your lamb Simphiwe?" He whispers to me.
"What?"
"You still wake up sometimes, to the screaming of the lambs don't you? And you think if you can save just one, the screaming will stop?"
Silence.
"Look down Simphiwe. Vula emhelo."

The crying stops. I look down into my arms and the child is gone. Blood pours out of my stomach and the boat is filling up with water. He whispers again, "Vula emhelo."
Open your eyes.

I wake up.

The next day Mctosa and I go to Manzini to meet Dumile and discuss him working with the youth. We go to our usual restaurant. Away from the white faces and expensive "American" food. I pull out my bag and hand him the Life Stories of these children. After reading all of them as I inhale my food, he pulls his head up and asks,
"Is there lots of sugar cane in your village?"
"Yes."
"HIV is very high in the factories working with sugar cane. That's why these parents are dying."
He pulls one story out and says, "They aren't all sad Simphiwe. Read this one. This boy is living with a Gogo he likes and she's feeding him."

My home. Here where an eight year old child with no parents but is fed by his grandmother is considered "Lucky". Here where the abnormal becomes normal. Where the people are desensitized. The abused and the starving are not a priority. Here where the secretary to the chief tells me, "Simphiwe, I want to start a band. Can you get us instruments from the U.S.?" Where there is no food, no shelter, and instruments are asked for.

This is the ugly side of mankind and I don't know how to turn away. The nightmare is their waking life. I ask my friend who documented child soldiers in Uganda, "Why do we want to be punched in the face? Why do we do this to ourselves? Watching the horror?" He says to me, "You want to see all the ugly of this world before you die. You only live once. You want to see the horror."

I remember the Welcome to Swaziland DVD sent to us while still in the States. I remember the bubbily excited smiling PCV's explaining what they're doing in Swaziland. I had forgotten about the one not smiling. He sat and stared as they asked him questions. What happened to him? I ask Season 6 volunteers his story. They tell me, "He saw a lot. He did actual counseling with people who were HIV positive. He saw A LOT."

I need to be careful. I need to be effective. I cannot let the Mad World swallow me in. I want to expose myself to everything but I don't want to break down. I have to remember their Happy Stories. I ask Dumile,
"How do you do it? How do you not throw in the towel and say screw mankind?"
"I don't Simphiwe. I can't. It's not an option."

And I'm glad she hasn't.

The volunteer at Cabrini phones me today. "I think we can get Jabaliso out of there. We're going to go in and ask the grandfather if we can take her away. We'll get the rest of her story and hopefully press charges."

Maybe, because of us, Jabaliso can live up to her name. Jabaliso: Happiness.

And maybe one day, she'll smile again.