adventures on transport

Since cars are few and far between in Swaziland the main forms of transportation are either bus or khumbi (a sort of van-taxi). The bus system isn't particularly organized and it is not unheard of for buses to simply not come at all. However, there are frequent arrivals and departurs so there's almost always another bus. Almost.
Yesterday I needed some groceries so I rose early to catch the 7 am bus to Nhlangano. It never came. No fear, there's an 8:30. The only problem is the 7 am bus turns around and becomes the 1:30 bus home. The 8:30 has a much quicker turn-around time and leaves town at 12 (it gets there at 11). Since an hour is not quite enough time for groceries, and lunch, and internet, and ice cream, I needed an alternate route home.
My host parents gave me detailed directions. Take the Manzini bus to Salem, get off there, and wait for the Izigi bus to take me home. It comes at 2 and 4. Simple, right? I got to Salem at 3 just in case a bus arrived early (no really, it does happen every now and again). Izigi drove by at 4:30. . . and didn't stop. Shit. Ok, I'll wait for Jika ma Jika. It doesn't go to my community, but it gets close, and I can walk. Jika's not running today. Hmmmm. . . .
Thanks to an army of good samaritans (Swazis are some of the most helpful people on Earth) I board another bus heading in the general direction of home, hoping that if I can at least get closer, someone from my village will drive by and give me a ride. Not very reassuring, but at this point, it's my best bet.
This bus is crowded so I'm standing, smooshed in w/ 5 of my new closest friends. A slightly intoxicated old man tries to cop a feel, and the cop standing next to me (off-duty) slaps him for me. It's getting dark and I'm starting to think that this is a stupid idea. Just as I'm about to call the Peace Corps office to come rescue me, my phone rings.
"Hi Beth, where exactly are you going?" Huh? Who is this, and how do you know I'm lost? It turns out to be Alexis, a Group 5 volunteer who is sitting in the back of the bus. I explain the situation, and she informs me that my chances are slim to none of getting home on time. Graciously, she offers to let me crash at her place. It was a fabulous evening of wine and popcorn.

This morning I managed to hop a khumbi from Alexis's back to Nhlangano, where I now sit writing this. The moral of the story: Thank goodness for Group 5, and I miss driving.

Just a little homesick

The weirdest things seem to trigger homesickness:

Evergreen trees

Rain and fog

Bryan Adams, Summer of '69

French fries

the Delta force movies

Africa is beating the crap out of me

I think it's just the lifestyle, but I'm amazed at how banged up I've managed to become. Right now I'm sporting a sprained ankle, skinned knee, skinned elbow, really gnarly cut on one hand, a small burn, scars on both legs, and this huge bruise on one heel. Granted, about half of that is the result of a spectacular fall down my mountain. I partially blame the barbed wire. If you have to crawl through barbed wire to get everywhere, you're gonna pay. I also maintain that the soil erosion here makes it easier to slip (ok, that's bullshit, but it's my story and I'm sticking to it).

Besides beating myself up one scrape at a time, I'm concerned about what sort of amusements I'm coming up with to pass the time. This morning I managed to sneak up on a chicken. I clucked at him and, wow, that was one scared chicken. I haven't laughed so hard in I don't know when. Yup, I'm losing it.

Beth Parker: Playing Nicely w/ Others since 1986

So as of August 28th I am no longer a trainee, I'm an official Peace Corps Volunteer. There was a ceremony at the embassy in Mbabane (I wore a hot red dress) and we got to meet the king's first wife, Her Majesty Inkhosikati La-Matsebula. It was wonderful to spend a few days in the capital. We had the chance to purchase some household items for our new homes. More importantly, we got milkshakes and cheeseburgers. I may not have been a huge fan of KFC in the United States, but I love it here. Our final night in the village of Khiza consisted of a wonderful send-off party by our host mothers. There was even chocolate cake!

Early on the 29th we, with our massive amounts of luggage, were divided into groups and driven to our permanent sites. It's a little daunting to be left all by yourself in an unfamiliar place, with a family that is still relatively new to you. The next 3 months are what we call integration. This means, I'm supposed to be integrating into my community (!). I'm allowed to work, but I can't start any major projects until after in-service training at the end of November.

The past 2 weeks I have spend familiarizing myself w/ the village of Phobane. I work with a great Swazi dude named Bongani, (my official Peace Corps-assigned counterpart). We've visited the clinic, homesteads, community leaders, NGOs, and all sorts of stuff. School is starting this week so we will be dropping in on the high school to see what sort of assistance they might need from a Peace Corps volunteer.

My new host family is incredible. Make and Babe Ndwandwe are really young (Make is 23) so they don't actually try to "parent" me, which is such a relief. I also have a feisty sister, Lindiwe (age 16) who's been adopted by the Ndwandwes. We all watch Generations together.

I'm still adjusting to Swazi culture. What amazes me is how short the Swazi grapevine is. I've been introduced to people in the community who will tell me "Ah! I hear you went to the store yesterday." Clearly, I'm being watched. Yesterday, I saw my closest PCV neighbors (Hillary and Jay Jackson, 2 villages and 1 mountain over) at the opening of our new youth center. The first words out of Hillary's mouth were "So I hear you hurt your ankle?" Peace Corps is not kidding about living in a fishbowl!