Category: Peace Corps

June 1, 2011

Hamba Kahle Babe

By Brian Deyo

Babe wetfu was a gentle man who I yearn to have known better. When we first arrived at site my unease of what my next two years would be like was palpable. Within days it was clear that Babe’s company would make me happy for the homestead to which we have been delivered. One day early in integration, Babe looked up at me and said, “Majaha, why did people stop going to the moon?” I was excited that one day I might be able to show off pictures of the moon, distant galaxies and all points in between.

Regrettably, I was never afforded my chance to satisfy his curiosity about so many things. Our babe suffered daily from a stroke he had a few years before we came. This left him in a much weakened condition and he wasn’t able to get around much. At the age of 72 he was fighting the good fight against time, but was unable to fend off his physical ailments.

When we awoke to the new of Babe’s passing, our entire service was frozen in time. What should we do? Do we go hug our make? Do we give money? Our immediate thoughts were to find out from our incredibly patient Swazi staff what our next step should be. I asked babe Musa 20 questions before I ran out of breath and paused long enough to let him respond. Very succinctly he asked, “Is it difficult for you right now?” We had called looking for some help with Swazi tradition, and what we received was warmth and understanding that helped bring our world a little closer to “normal.”

Peace Corps didn’t waste any time taking action. The day was April 19^th and was a Swaziland national holiday. Within a few hours of the phone call we were being picked up from our home and were taken to Mbabane. The car ride provided enough time to reflect a bit and try to start the difficult process of understanding what comes next. I’m sure by the end of the drive back home I asked the same questions five more times. Although we could have stayed put if we had insisted, they let us know that the family would be making incredibly difficult decisions for a few days, and that our time away would let the family concentrate without having to make sure we were doing ok. Thanks again to Day, babe Musa, and babe Mfanafuthi for their incredible patience and understanding.

After two days in the capital and a basic understanding of what was to come, Krista and I agreed that I would come back to site and she would come in time for the memorial service. I was briefed during this time that Peace Corps would come out and pay their respects to my family. The morning I was to return home babe Vilikati, babe Malaza, babe Ndzabandzaba, and make Mkhabela all jumped in the car! It was an honor to have so many of the PC family bring me back. They explained to me what I could expect over the next several hours, and the following days leading to the service. And when we arrived, the staff and I went into indlu yagogo and prayed. My host family sang and my Peace Corps family joined them. They passed condolences onto the family and thanked them for everything they did for us. I am still unable to convey completely my sincere thanks to the staff for their coming.

All during the time we were in the gogo hut, the household was a flurry of activity. Bomake and bosisi were cooking and cleaning mass amounts of food. Bobhuti were helping clean the homestead to prepare for company. After I exited the hut and Peace Corps departed, I immediately found myself absorbed into the work at hand. I put a door on the maize shelter, cleaned the yard, helped paint, and learned how to glaze windows. I was told the hardest work would be on Saturday as the tent needed to be erected, and the grave needed to be dug.

Since I’ve talked about my experience over the last month, I have heard other people’s experiences when a member of their family has passed. My experience has been vastly different from every account I have heard. As we build our relationships with our friends and family here, each of our experiences are personal, and will be different from other PCVs. At the end of the day each of Peace Corps experiences is our own, and we will all come away with incredibly different stories of living the both good times and the bad.

Our babe had been suffering for many years, and was particularly bad over the last several weeks. Although the family was necessarily sad, there was an air of relief around the end of his suffering. There was more laughing and smiling than I anticipated. We played cards and told jokes. The children danced and sung loudly. I met many new family members and strengthened existing relationships.

While we were digging, the process was to grab a digging tool and prepare to be made fun of. Although I speak SiSwati fairly well, I could not follow the insults and teasing coming from the gallery of onlookers. The task was to poke as much fun as possible at the person digging, until they broke out in laughter and couldn’t dig any further. It seemed the direct opposite of being teka’d. Standing under the starry dark sky with 20 bobhuti and only a Nokia phone as a flashlight, we dug. Staring at the stars, I closed my eyes and focused on the laughter, spirit and camaraderie of the men around me. It was in this moment that I felt the closest to my family and community.

The night vigil and subsequent funeral in the morning was as anticipated. The tent became a habitat for bogogo and bomkhulu from as near as next door, to as far as Zimbabwe. It served well through the windy Lomahasha night, and only partially crashed down the next morning. People prayed and sang throughout the evening, interrupted only by full meals, followed by tea breaks. In an effort to discourage this potentially health-affecting practice, Krista and I did the night vigil in shifts. I was up until midnight; she awoke at 3am.

After the entirety of the previous week, I was told that our make was not to leave the house for 30 days and 30 nights, all the while cloaked in black. It is culturally appropriate for women to see and talk with a mourning wife, and inappropriate for men to do the same. It was during this time that I was not to see her or speak to her, as I was not “family.” I was later told the origin of the 30 days in the hut was born out of necessity. Before motorized transportation, it would take days or weeks for the news of a death to reach distant family. It would then take days or weeks for the family to come visit. Having the widow stay in one place guaranteed those traveling would find the person upon arrival. Although mobile communication and better transport have bridged this gulf with time, the tradition of staying in the hut is still alive.

As time went on, Make began joking with Krista about how “Majaha is afraid of me.” I would run around the homestead shielding my eyes and screaming loudly so she could know my location at all times. On day 29 make told I shouldn’t have avoiding her as I am her son. We had our reunion during a prayer service and she told me how my avoidance made her sadder than anything else that happened since Babe passed away. Sometimes I find myself struggling to articulate the warmth I receive from our host family. The only way to understand Ubuntu seems to be through a direct encounter with the serene beauty that humanity can emanate.

Although our make is not a traditional woman, she has said she will follow the rules and wear black for the next six months or more. When we asked her how she felt on the first official day outside, she chuckled as her eyes shined. She responded to her confinement by saying, “It was killing me.” Our make has survived for 70+ years and seen countless things that I will never know. Life has returned to what it was, and up at dawn I can see make tending to the chickens, and wandering the fields, satisfied at a life well lived.

May 15, 2011

Cookies and Duct Tape

I must say a sincere thank you to everyone who has sent us magical items from home. Every item is a treasure, and no single piece of candy is under-appreciated. Thank you!

We have received a trinity of magical gift delight. Three boxes in one trip to get our mail. Multiple bags of cookies. As well as 15 kg of sweet, sweet candy from the States. I hope I won’t ever be guilty of taking consumerism for granted again. For all the angst I have towards our mindless consumer-driven first decade of the century, I am truly in awe of the supply-chain that has been created to serve our needs. Candy is such a part of the foundation of America, that we have rituals surrounding it. I’m not just referring to the obligatory pre-movie Walgreen’s stop, as candy is much more a part of our society than just that.

The celebration of Jesus’s rebirth gives Christians a reason to reflect on their religion. Since I was a child there was one tradition on Easter that surpassed the influence of Christianity on my life. This tradition can easily be defined through an iconic fat white rabbit and a marshmallow baby chicken. . Yes the Cadbury Bunny and its Peep acolytes are more symbolic of Easter than any symbol of Christian worship.

For lo, thy Bunny of Cadbury visits the known world with ambrosia for all!

The traditions I associate with Easter revolve around Chickens and Rabbits! And with the exception of hard-boiled eggs, all the chickens and rabbits are made entirely of candy. Delicious dark chocolate, malted milk balls, candy coatings. Holiday culture in America is synonymous with candy, regardless of the original holidays origins. Which is why we have Halloween; an entire holiday which was once steeped in Celtic mythology, has now become dedicated to tasty treats.

And beyond all the candy that has been lavished upon us, we are the recipient of an even greater truly American tradition. Homemade cookies sent halfway across the globe. Four zip lock bags nearly overflowing with love and warm wishes found their way to Mbabane recently. Whether it is the Marine Corps or Peace Corps, nothing sounds more American than sending cookies in the mail. I have been deeply touched by what may be one of the simplest yet most endearing American traditions. Thank you so much for providing delicious treats for my inner Cookie Monster.

These traditions haven’t influenced the culture here in significant ways. We can buy candy at the shops, and we can sometimes buy familiar candy in the capital. A few weeks ago there were half a dozen bags of mini Twix bars. Last week we found peanut M&M’s at the expensive ex-Pat store Pick N Pay. Look up that store if you find yourself with time to spend surfing. It is a large chain grocery store headquartered in South Africa. Each store lives up to the expectations someone from the US would have of a grocery store. It is a beautiful, yet pricey addition to life in Swaziland.

As a volunteer we could spend our entire food-stipend there and likely walk away with no more than a cartful or two of groceries. This puts the store out of our reach for trivial shopping expenditures, but worse is it puts most of the population out of reach as well. Our volunteer food stipend is economically equivalent to the average income here. I say equivalent, as most people do survive on less than $2 per day, but most also have large plots on which to grow their food throughout the year. So by virtue of no land we make our $2 per day stipend plus enough left over to buy soap.

The lifestyle of spending little due to a lack of disposable income is nothing new to me. I was raised to make something last until you had exhausted every possible way of maintaining an item. If there was one chain of atoms that came from the original product, it didn’t matter how much glue you smeared on, or how many sticks you laced together, it was still a usable descendant of the original. These skills transfer directly to, and greatly enhance our life in the Peace Corps. Recycling as we know it in American is not an option here, but reuse is part of the culture. Everything we use can be dual-purposed into someting else. I will be honest, not everything gets reused. I recycled for years (to build up karma I think) but we’re burning enough stuff here that we are definitely reversing any positive impact we had on the planet. I don’t think those “carbon footprint” calculators available online actually account for how much trash is burned in the developing world.

Aside from the occasional fire, everything is dual or triple-purposed. Strangely most items are just left floating in the yard, sneakily camouflaged as trash. This is just an illusion as the majority of garden fence we have is made from this fake-trash that lays around everywhere. Our homestead Babe was a farmer and welder. He was always making things, and if you could weld it, it was likely welded (I think he may have welded some trees together). His professions and our homestead Make’s craftiness have led to a large assortment of useful things we can scavenge from the yard. Even with all the wire and strange gear, it was obvious months ago that there was an extreme lack of America’s #1 fixit: duct tape. After looking in country we started to wonder if it was true, there was no duct tape. Fortunately for us a wonderful package from Krista’s mom came with a bounty of supplies. It contained in this order: a 3-inch piece of string, a shred of paper, and the last few inches of a roll of duct tape.

Delicately placed under the “mock” gift package was indeed the real thing. An entire roll of duct tape. We received the Duck Brand duct tape several months ago, possibly near November. The roll is nearing its halfway point, and we have no intention of discontinuing its usage in our lifetime. The litany of household articles healed by tape are vast, including pedals on a bike, a speedometer cable, shower curtain, expensive electronics, water bottles and patching a 5000 liter water tank from the inside. Additional uses that aren’t fixing something include assembling a solar cooker with duct tape, and using strips of it in the never-ending War on Ants

America is currently fighting the War on Drugs, the War on Terror, and the War on Poverty. In rural Swaziland we are engaged in a seemingly daily life-and-death struggle with invasive ants. These ants have proven a most resilient foe, and have thwarted our outer perimeter on multiple occasions. Our battles were passively predictable for many months, they would chew through our concrete walls, we would give them Blue Death and patch the new tunnels. Our defenses were taken by surprise last month when they came through the interior door jam separating our two rooms. It was in the battle of the door frame that duct tape has proven its functionality on the battle field. It is still holding the frontline as it sticks to the metal door frame that has been chewed through. It has even been employed to thwart the latest advance by the ants. In a move reminiscent of medieval castle warfare, the ants have tunneled beneath us and came up in the middle of the floor in several spots. I only hope that the rest of the concrete floor holds, but I wouldn’t be surprised if we have a wall-to-wall duct tape carpet by the time we depart. There is no hope, they will overrun us at some point. I can only hope that we can escape before “the big one.”

There have definitely been additional uses for the tape, and I’m sure this won’t be the last time I will praise it.

All things considered, Krista and I are pretty lucky. We have a lot of friends and family back at home who are supporting us in tremendous ways. I may not get to write emails or post as often as I want, but please know that reading emails and Facebook messages can help make our week a great one. Cookies are great too. Thanks everyone for your continuing support!

April 12, 2011

This is what a Peace Corps experience is.

When I first volunteered for Peace Corps I knew I wanted to help. I wanted to help, but had no idea what that would actually mean. Wanting to help is a great idea, actually helping seems to be something else. The image in my head of what it would mean to be genuinely helpful has been elusive and fuzzy. In a euphoric moment however, I have recently encountered and experienced exactly what it was I was seeking. I have had my first real Peace Corps experience.

I have been teaching computers at the Primary School for a few weeks now. At the end of last term I pushed several teachers through an intense crash course on everything the XO computers could do. In case you aren’t familiar with what the XO is, I can tell you a bit of what it is.

The One-Laptop-Per-Child program (www.laptop.org) was started by Nicholas Negroponte about a decade ago. Nicholas Negroponte was the director for the Massachusetts Institute of Technology’s Media Lab for many years. The Media Lab is one of the most prominent and advanced technology centers in the world. MIT’s Media Lab could be considered a rocket-powered space station on an intergalactic voyage. The mission of this voyage is to create new ideas and new technologies, and then applying these ideas and technology. I’ve been a fan of Nicholas Negroponte for a number of years, particularly after reading his book Living Digital. After Professor Negroponte left MIT he started working on the OLPC project, whose aim was to enable all children of the globe to have access to information technology. Focusing on economically poor countries and students, the OLPC foundation created the XO. The XO was designed to be a low-cost computer, low enough to be put in the hands of every small child in the developing world.

It’s not a great computer by the standards we expect today. It wouldn’t have been an icon of powerful computing 5 years ago either. It has a 266 Mhz processor, which is slower than most of our phones. It has 1GB of memory which actually is the short-end of what many new netbooks are coming with. It has roughly a gigabyte of storage. These all might be seen as shortcomings in a computer for us. If we saw it on the shelves at Best Buy most of us would walk away, or at least the sales guy would try to get you to move on. These features are only describable to the children using one word. A word that is continually overused in modern society, just ask Bill Engvall. These computers are Awesome. I can share with you a glimpse of the joy children experience with these computers, only because it has been captured in a few photograph An unrelated survey was given to a 5th grade class this week. In the survey it asked the children what is their favorite class. So many of them answered computers, I’m honored.

The first class was fun. It consisted of trying to get children to point out the various part of the XO. What are the speakers, where is the camera. Almost everyone has played with a cellphone here, so it became “the camera that is just like the one in the cellphone.” And the speakers were “just like the ones on the really loud buses.” Most children memorized the parts of the computer pretty fast, but lacked mastery in approaching the mouse. The mouse in the case of XOs a touchpad. I still feel obligated to call it a mouse, because 30 years after its creation, the mouse is no longer a pointing device. It is a concept. And it is a concept that I took as granted. I somehow lured myself into believing that mouse usage was universal, and had somehow already established itself in the collective unconscious of children all over the globe. The lesson learned by me was not to skip anything with these children. Any knowledge I have is completely new and foreign to them, including the simple word “click.”

At the end of the first lesson, after getting the children to turn on and immediately turn off their computer, I asked them an interesting question. One of the more popular questions asked by Peace Corps volunteers to their students is “what do you want to be when you grow up?” Because the question has been asked here by plenty of volunteers before I got here, I was prepared for the answers. Almost all students answered one of a few things. Police, soldiers, teachers, and nurses. One student wanted to be a banker, and the other an accountant. It is true that children want to grow-up to be the occupations they are exposed to. The children are ready and ripe for something as intense and powerful as computer and the internet. I feel there is a critical mass of curiosity building in these students, and computers are the perfect relief valve. Not to be caught in a trap of dismissing the children’s interest as ‘status quo’ or ‘to be expected,’ I asked them an additional question. “How do you think computers would be used in the job.” A few kids muttered some answers, but one hopeful policeman said “it would help me catch thugs.” These kids were ready for computers and I was ready to get them working.

The first class was an introduction to me as to what my service could actually look like. It wasn’t until my second class though that I felt my own awe at what I was experiencing. Our second class consisted of a review from the first class, including “phone cameras” and “bus speakers.” My main focus was trying to get the students acclimated to moving a ball through a maze in a very simple game. It is literally a maze, such as the ones we find on the back of cereal boxes. The object is simple, get the ball to the end of the maze. Movement requires the use of the arrow keys. Up, down, left, right. Simple concepts once you have been exposed to them, and had time to experience just what “left vs. right” might mean.

And it was in that moment when I was looking at the different faces in the room that I realized I was engulfed in the “help” I had so incredibly wanted to bring. I was aware of the physical presence the silence of the students had on me. I heard nothing bu intensity from the students. I immediately went to the front of the room, something told me I needed to see this from a beter perspective. The silence of the students was they key for me to recognize that something was happening. The students were entranced by the glow of the screen, and completely absorbed in the decision of going “left vs. right.”

Knowing that I was there and I helped these students engage a part of their brain that up until that moment was untouched, gave me the incredible satisfaction of helping. And it gave me my first real Peace Corps experience.