Category: Life Beyond Tech

Posts that shouldn’t have much to do with tech.

June 12, 2011

A satisfying deep breath

I just finished watching an old TED, about The Oil Endgame (2003). Before that I was enthralled with a movie. City of Ember is a really interesting science-fiction about humanity escaping underground for 200 years after an unidentified calamity. Before the movie I had engaged in a very long day of productive behavior.

I talk a lot about the cultural side of Peace Corps. How we sing with our family, play with kids, and try to speak SiSwati. What I don’t really talk or write about is the incredible opportunity for personal growth that Peace Corps has given me. When I wake up in the morning, I have stopped believing I know what any single day will hold. I can of course have lose plans, and I still enjoy my morning routine (thanks for all the coffee Ryan, Karen, and Pop!) There is no plan, no schedule, and nothing for certain once I get outside of the hut.

One thing I have often said to my dad on the phone is “day’s are long, weeks are short.” It is incredibly difficult to convey even in words how true that is.I do not work 9 to 5, I work sunup to sundown. Today’s early morning started relatively normal. The only routine I have really is in the early morning. My first chore is to take down the solar lights and put them out to charge. The second task is to make coffee. After a bit of time, usually 8 or 9 am I usually make my way to either the KaGogo center, or to the primary school.

Although this sounds like it could be routine, it really isn’t. The locations are the same, but sometimes the teachers will be there, sometimes they won’t. Sometimes they will all be in a room together buying Tupperware or planning a cooking party. Sometimes the Gogo Center Manager is there, sometimes he is already at a meeting. Sometimes I see the goats sleeping by his door and I know I could just turn around and go home.

Today was Sunday and therefore it was a little bit different. Occasionally I will go to church, but I usually find my interest more in tune with personal development. A few weeks ago I told myself that Sunday would be my “reading, writing, and reflection” day. It would be reserved for me to correspond with friends and family, and catch up on reading. Reorganize also sounded good, so I lumped it in for good measure. To my surprise I have actually been able to do these things on Sundays now. It is a quiet day where I can reorganize my head.

The Peace Corps experience starts with travel to a remote country, but that is only the beginning. I laughed at a phrase from a PCV friend the other day. Reid said “Now we are going to explore space; now close your eyes.” Regardless of the original context of the phrase, it strikes me as relevant to the exploring of my interests and passions. I am finding more and more that my lofty ideas of what the world were are being honed into a sense of purpose. It isn’t good enough for me anymore to expect someone else to change with world. I have been watching as many episodes of TED as I possible. I am continually renewed that I am not alone when I feel that the world can be a better place. I am reminded that it is up to me to make a difference, and I can’t wait for government, businesses, or other people to do make a difference for me.

I feel positive right now and stronger in my convictions that joining Peace Corps was the right thing to do. I have seen first a completely different way of life than I was raised with. I have experienced a culture that is incredibly unique. I am living with people that do not say ‘hello’ when passing you, they say "I am seeing you.” The intimacy of the greeting, and good nature of my company speak to me of a better place for humanity. In our digital and fast-paced age something as simple as real human contact has been overlooked. It’s not that you can talk to a person through an infinite number of methods, it is what you actually say to that person that has meaning and substance.

Substance is a trait that I find lacking when I look back at many of the relationships I had at home. Most people I know are mysteries to me. I may know them from a single context, at a club or from my childhood. But what substance do I have with these people? What am I contributing to their lives by being their friend on Facebook? What value am I contributing to people that don’t read what I write, and what value can I bring to someone that is shut-off from conscious and rational thought.

Peace Corps is a growing experience. I am growing further apart from people that I was never close with in the first place. My substance with my greatest friends and family is what is most dear to me. I can’t reply to every email Ryan writes me, but I read and reread them. I can’t explain to my dad how much his phone calls mean, but I will continue to try. I appreciate Karen tagging me in photos on Facebook, at the end of the month I have something else to look forward to.

We are coming upon the one year mark of being away. Just two weeks to go before our first Peace Corps anniversary. I have learned so much about myself, humanity, and the world that I understand my inner substance will never be the same again. If you are reading this I hope maybe you will set aside some time for yourself. Maybe you can use Sundays as you reorganization day. There are some many phrases in Americana that tell us what to do.

Stop and smell the roses.

You only live once.

Tomorrow may never come.

It is important to remember that while passengers on spaceship earth, hurtling through the cosmos of our lives, we are truly the masters and commanders of our destiny.

“What happens in a meadow at dusk?” : Everything.

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!