The reed dance

Umhlango, the reed dance is coming! This is a big deal to the swazi. The younge maidens come from all over the country after cutting reeds, and they dance before the king and the queen mother. This also when the king chooses his next wife (I beleive this year will be #14.)
Now the actualy dance is on Monday, a holiday but there are lots of activities and such leading up to it.
I was at Moneni today, which is placed near the highway. We saw 49 trucks,- dumptrucks, cattle trucks, you name it, loaded with girls, packed in like sardines all heading up the mountain! Esh!
The cooks at moneni were asking if I was going.
Wouldn't that be a sight? The girls wear traditional outfits,(i.e. topless) and tiny tiny little beaded skirts.
I don't think anyone would want to see that.
They were encouraging me nontheless. They said I could just put my skirt over pants or shorts and I didnt' have to go topless if I didn't want to.
"What if I get chosen?"
Oh they thought that was funny!
oh c'mon I could be queen!

My mom sent this one...

The Stranger

A few years after I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to
our small Texas town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this
enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family.

The stranger was quickly accepted and was around from then on.

As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my
young mind, he had a special niche. My parents were complementary
instructors: Mom taught me good from evil, and Dad taught me to
obey. But the stranger.. he was our storyteller. He would keep us
spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies.

If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he
always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and
even seemed able to predict the future! He took my family to the first
major league ball game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The
stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind.

Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were
shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go
to the kitchen for peace and quiet. (I wonder now if she ever prayed
for the stranger to leave.)

Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the
stranger never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example,
was not allowed in our home. Not from us, our friends or any visitors.



Our longtime visitor, however, got away with four-letterwords that



burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush.

My Dad didn't permit the liberal use of alcohol. But the stranger
encouraged us to try it on a regular basis. He made cigarettes look
cool, cigars manly and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (much too
freely!) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes
suggestive, and generally embarrassing.

I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced



strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of my



parents, yet he was seldom rebuked... And NEVER asked to leave.

More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our



family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was



at first. Still, if you could walk into my parents' den today, you would



still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to



him talk and watch him draw his pictures. His name?...







We just call him, "TV."




He has a wife now, We call her "Computer."

Tough thoughts

I was sitting in my child abuse class astonished and dumbfounded.
I’m not in Kansas anymore.
I did not know that 80% of Swazi girls will be sexually abused by the time they reach form 5 (equavilant to our high school senior). 80%. Let that sink in…now go and hug your daughter.
These are often little girls left in the care of an uncle or neighbor while the parents go off to work, or perhaps, “allow” themselves to be abused in exchange for bread or a few Rand to buy a bit of food.
I see its evidence around me every day. There are a few mentally retarded women who come to our carepoints each day, and they keep having children. Who is preying on them, and why aren’t they protected?
There are sisters at a carepoint whose mother goes from man to man so that they will have a home to live in. In the mean time they are being abused by the neighbors.
A little girl has suddenly become angry and disruptive in her class. Her teacher told me now she refuses to go home when he has to leave the carepoint.
I tried to ask a Swazi coworker about these statistics. She had surprisingly little to say,- and quickly changed the subject. Sometimes it’s what we don’t say that tells the truth.
But the saddest part of all is the next statistic: 90% of abusers here have been abused themselves.
I don’t have all the answers, in fact I don’t have any answers. But I refuse to accept this common view, this Oprah view, that child abusers are monsters.
No, that lets them off too easily,- as if they were mutant animals with no control.
They are very real people with very dark problems.
And what I do know is that these abusers were once little tiny babies with a mommy and a daddy. Maybe they were loved and wanted, maybe not. Perhaps they were raised by a granny or auntie. But once they were innocent and pure.
Just like the little girl in your classroom.
Just like the grandson playing outside your window
Just like the baby sleeping in your arms as you read this.
One day that innocence was stolen from them. After that I don’t know what happened. What dark thoughts caused them to progress from that scared, shame-filled, never-tell child to the preditor waiting for children to come bathing at the river, or walking alone on the path.
And as I sit holding a little boy on my lap at a carepoint, I wonder, what must I do to prevent him from going that same path?

My bad

Today we had a second day of training for our teachers and I had some tough administrative duties to tend to. I hate making my staff cry. (I’ve become the JBB of Swaziland. Some of you will get that joke.) Well, no actually I had to do what I had to do. Tough love y’all.

Spring!

Spring is starting to spring. Ha ha I like the way that sounds. Anyway here are the first blossoms from the backyard of my cottage. (Yes I realize I haven’t sent pictures of Chippie cottage yet. I’m working on it. Maybe another month or so.) Please ignore the green pool, but imagine how nice it will be in another month or so as the temperatures sky rocket. And yes, a storm was coming.

Grrrrr!

My gripe for the day: My dad sent me a care package of pencils for the children at our schools here. Isn’t that so sweet? – wait that’s not the gripe yet. The gripe is he had to spent $15 US to get it here, and when it arrived there was a fee of $6.50E to retrieve it from the post office. Now with today’s exchange rate, $6.50 is only about $.85 US dollars, so it’s not exactly breaking the bank. But it’s not right that. It’s already paid for, so why should I have to pay some more?
Rotten Swazi post office. Grrrrrr!

Luke

Congratulations to my oldest, dearest friend, Kristin and her husband Nate. They welcomed Luke Swenson Green on August 20, 2007. I am so happy for them.
Isn’t he handsome?

4 sisi

Friday I had the best African day yet. It was so cool. This is a picture of the 4 sisi (little sisters) who made my day so special. Left to right: Nosisa (13) Hlengiwe (13) and the twins Nelly and Thoakele (15). And they are all at my Moneni carepoint.
Now I’m the first to admit that back in the states I never cared much for teenagers. They kinda bugged me with their drama and such and I pretty much stuck to little ones. But here in Africa I’ve been forced to spend a lot of time with teenagers, since they usually seek me out for conversation, and they speak more English than the little ones so you can have an actually conversation, not just count to 10. And as I’ve gotten to know them, I’ve developed a new love for them.
As said in my “invasion” post, being a teen in Swaziland is risky business. And it’s worth repeating to keep fresh in your mind there in America that at age 15, only 1:15 will reach the age of 35. That statistic has stuck with me for weeks, and I considered it as I hung out with the girls. Chances are, not one of them will be alive in 20 years.
Hard to think about isn’t it? Especially now that I (we- if you are praying there in the states, you’re in the trenches with me,) have faces and names to go with this statistic. But worth thinking about. As you are sending your kids off to college, they will be leaving their children orphaned.
I know that I (we) can’t change harsh realities, and can’t “save the world” but I see now that I (we) can make a difference in the lives of a small few. Perhaps I can influence them to make the choices that will save their lives, or at least to make healthy choices that will increase the quality of their shortened lives.
For the next 3 weeks, the school here are on break so these (and the other 250-300) kids will be at the carepoints a lot. Please pray that I have the time to get there often and spend a lot of time building relationships with the children there. I’m considering doing a book study with Joyce Meyer’s Battlefield of the mind, for Kids with the teens if they are interested. I think it would be cool for them to have something just for them, as well give them some life “tools.”
Okay so this post was not supposed to be so long, or depressing. Sorry. Read on and you will see the cool things my sisis and I did.
 

more

We ended our day playing with the rest of the children who had arrived by then. Some bunte, (little brother) shared his sugar cane with me. You simple tear off a part and chew the fibers to taste the sweet juices inside. Then you spit it out. We also played singing and dancing games.
At all of out carepoints you can get these games started quickly by simply shouting, “If you want to play, make a big circle!” The children come running from every direction!
We had a lot of fun. If the video is available, you’ll see a different wedding game. You choose your spouse and then the children all sing about your new surname, and then you choose someone different to dance around with and they sing about that person’s surname. The game went smoothly until I got choosen. They all kinda stopped and looked at me. “What is your surname?” When I told them Merrill, it was tough. Merrill is a tough name for the Swazi. I should have told the Dlamini. But we danced any way and the teen age boy who had chosen me was very proud he had chosen a “mulungu” (white person) wife.

Next, we helped Make Fikile Dube with the cooking. She had already cut all of the butternut squash so we had to fetch a huge,black, heavy, caste iron pot. Thought it was the smallest pot they had, it was so heavy we had to carry it with a wheelbarrow. They girls took some hot coals from the fire and began a small fire on the ground using the fire wood that each child brings daily. (It’s a great concept that is unique to the Moneni carepoint. The teachers tell the children that everyone must contribute,- not just eat without “working” so each child arrives with a piece of fire wood they found along the way. It might only be a small twig from the itty-bitty children, but it adds to the firewood pile nonetheless.)
Then they take 3 pieces of broken cinder block and make a triangle around the fire to place the legs of the pot and fill the pot with squash and water to cook!
The girls taught me some games that they play to pass the time. I’m not sure what all of the songs were about, but they were fun. There was a game where you sing and pass rocks, and lots of hand clapping games, but different from how we play in the states. So I was able to teach them the American version as well. The songs are very telling about the culture. One was:
“There’s a party on the corner,
will you please, please come,
with your own cup and saucer
and your own chewing gum…”
Yeah I guess most families here wouldn’t have the capability of having enough dishes to host a party.
Another song was all in Siswati. Tholakele told me it was about meeting someone and getting married. I could see the story progressing with the dancing. One side would sing about love, and the other person would deny them. And then the first person would “cry” and then the second person would accept them and you and your partner would dance in a do-si-do. “We’re married now!” Nelly told me. But then you laugh and cheer and leave your first spouse, to go and dance with another spouse. Uh-oh! That’s telling.
By that time it was time to “take tea” but we had no bread. “Auntie, will you come with us to buy bread?” Tholakele asked.
I was up for it. The store next door was closed because the people wanted to go to church (?) so we had to walk to the shell station down the street.
WE walked on a foot path through the community over rocks and broken glass. “Sisi, where are your shoes?!” I asked Tholakele when I noticed she was barefoot! She burst out laughing at me. “Oh, Auntie. These are traditional shoes.” She’s a funny girl.
We bought bread, and I got a pack of gum for us to share, which they thought was very special. We walked home as they attempted to teach me Siswati and came upon some teen age boys singing a song for me. They girls all laughed and told me they were singing, “Hey, I see an American.” Too funny.
We returned and had tea. It’s cute to see how the girls took the hostess role so seriously. You would think you are were at someone’s richie house drinking from china tea cups with proper biscuits or crumpets, not just sitting on cinderblocks drinking from plastic mugs and eating white bread with mango jam. But I was honored by their efforts to make it nice for me.
Shortly afterwards the squash was done cooking. “Auntie, would you like to help too? We’ll teach you.”
Teach me what?
Well life without slotted spoons is rough too. To remove the squash from the cooking pot you have to dip your fingers into cold water and then quickly snatch out as many pieces as you could before burning your fingers. This became a game in and of itself, where each girl would grab quickly, her turn ending by a distinct yelp of burning fingers, where as the rest of the girls would burst into a giggling fit. It wasn’t bad until you got to the bottom pieces where the remains of the hot water sat.
Tholakele told me that Swazis drink the hot water at the bottom of the vegetable pot because it’s rich in nutrients and keeps you strong. I think in the states it’s called pot-liquor, but here it’s called Nkovi (sp?)
I also asked them how Swazi learn to carry things on their heads. I’ve seen them carry everything from firewood, to bags of oranges, to furniture on their heads. They said their mothers teach them young and you have to practice daily with a bucket of water or sand. So I began my training with some wood. Well actually this is a Swazi broom made from a bundle of sticks but it was light and I did a pretty good job.

One for my dad

I first went to the carepoint to deliver some seedlings. They have garden where the children tend the vegetables and when they harvest then, they eat them with their daily pap and beans. Cool huh? Well they recently harvested their lettuce, cabbage, and beets so I took them some new seedlings.
At 11am I expected tons of kids to be there. But because they are on school break, many will only come for feeding at 2:30. So the kids were scarces. But these girls offered to help me plant them ourselves.
Gardening here is old-school- no rota-tillers, or irrigation systems. Just a hoe, and hose. So they taught me to first water the soil to soften it, then hoe the holes and remove any rocks, and plant the seedlings in a different area so the soil won’t get depleted.
Here’s the pictures of us getting down and dirty. Make Sukati is the one doing the hoeing. She is a community leader of Moneni and a hard worker, as all Swazi women are. And me, planting them as well. It made me think of gardening with my dad! Yea!

just so you know

I had the best swazi day yet today! so much fun. But it's late in the day, I have no way to sown load the pictures and I will be out of the office on mon and tues.
So you will have to wait patiently to hear my stories, see my pictures, or hear from me via email.
sorry!

I am woman, hear me roar!

Yesterday Queeneth and I arrived at a carepoint and I cut the engine off. I tried to turn it on again to unlock the doors, and nothing.
Not a click, not a tick, not a grind. Nothing?
Sound familiar?
It was the same thing that happened to my in Ezulwini. But this time in stead of panicing, and calling for help, I popped the hood and took a look for myself
Sure enough this time the blue cable had come loose.
I pounded it on, and tried the engine again.
VROOM!
I couldn’t believe it! I fixed my own car!
If you had told me 5 years ago I’d be living in Africa, driving a man-truck and fixing it’s troubles I’d had called you crazy.
Life is good.

Racing Stripes

Ben, my director, has nicknamed me Racing Stripes. This could be interpreted in many ways,- none of them flattering, but he gave it to me because of a mysterious, large, yellow, stripe that just “appeared” on the side of my truck. Now I can’t tell you how it got there, but I can tell you it’s the exact shade of yellow that is also on my landlord’s house.
Oops.
I thought perhaps no one would notice, and after several days no one had mentioned it. Even though it stood out like a beacon to my eyes perhaps it was only because I knew it was there. Well it turns out everyone had noticed it; they were just too polite to say anything while I was still learning to drive.
I quickly rectified the problem with basin of water, a cloth and a butter knife. No more racing stripe.
BUT THEN…!
Yesterday on my driver side I noticed a small reddish-brown streak right above my tire; - you know the part of the body that kinda sticks out over the wheel. “Is that mud?” I thought as I scratched it with my finger nail.
Nope. A scratch!
I DIDN’T DO IT!
I mean, I knew when I hit the hou-, errr…I mean…um…when that yellow stripe magically appeared on my passenger side. But this stripe had nothing to do with me!
And even though it’s only a few inches long, as opposed to a few feet, it made me mad that someone or something hit my car!
But then I had to ask myself. Why is it “not a big deal”, even excused and justified when we do something, (no matter how big the yellow stripe) but when someone does the same thing to us, (no matter how small) we get all upset? It’s a huge offence!
Oh I’m sure there’s a whole sermon in there. :0)
 

Oh Happy Days!

Every day there is something here that makes me smile. This morning I ate the juiciest, sweetest pineapple I ever tasted. It was so ripe it smelled up my house during the night. Walking up the hill last night I smell something in bloom (spring has sprung) Not quiet honeysuckle but just as nice. Jasmine maybe?
Today I was driving from one care point to the next. I had to stop in the middle of the road because a herd of cows had decided to cross over in front of me. Now I could have pointed out to them that there was no robot (traffic light) or cross walk there, but they were very large and had very sharp horns.
I figured I’d just let them pass.
Yesterday I saw my teacher Ntombi, who had given birth to a baby boy less than 24 hours before. He was so tiny! But I thought it was comical that in Manzini’s 95 degree weather, there were 5lbs of baby and 4lbs of blanket wrapped around him.
Monday it was my marriage & family class that I am taking along with my teachers. Pastor Ron was giving an example of an American family where the roles were reversed, and the woman worked and the man stayed at home.
“He stayed at home, and washed the dishes,-“
GASP!!!!
The room shook with the gasp of 25 appalled Swazi! I just smiled and snickered to myself.

How cool are these memories? A pet monkey at the mechanic’s, a zebra strolling on our way to dinner in the game park,-these are experienced I could only have here in Africa!

hmmm... how true

I've been taking a class with my teachers about marriage and family. Pastor Ron Courier, the teacher made an simple and profound statement: The things you refuse to allow God to deal with, will be passed to you children.
And later: The things you refuse to address in your children, you force God to deal with when they are older.

How many things do I see in myself that my parents allowed, that God has now corrected. And how many things so I see in my friends that now are being passed to their children.

1 for the moms

I have to give credit where credit is due. Being a mom has to be the hardest job in the world. So if you are a mom, give your weary self a pat on the back. I’ve heard stories from moms about only shaving one leg a day because there’s not enough uninterrupted time to shave both. I believe it now.
This weekend I kept the Rodgers Children over night while Ben and Susan went to Johannesburg.
Now let me start by saying that the 3 Rodgers children, Kayla (9) Levi (7) and Trinity (4) are great children. They are delightful, well mannered, caring children. .. But they are still children and there are 3 of them!
I had them Saturday evening and we had pizza (that Joyce cooked and cleaned up) I tucked them into bed, and went on to bed myself.
Then next morning I was awaken at 7am by the pitter patter of little feet. “Auntie Christy. Can I sleep with you now?” SO I pulled Trinity into bed with me thinking she would rest.
Nope.
She was wide awake. She told me all about her mom and how today she was taller than yesterday because she’d had a good night’s rest. I drug myself out of bed because all 3 were up by now, and cooked a nutritious breakfast of cold cereal for all of us. Ruling out the option of a shower, I sent the kids to get dressed and attempted to dress myself.
I had just enough time to change my drawers, and my pants before I heard crying. I rushed out, settled that problem and returned to change my upper half. I didn’t realize I would have to dress in shifts.
Later, the children were all outside playing nicely in the garden. I thought I could grab 30 seconds in the bathroom for a pee break.
Nope.
Mid-stream, I hear screaming. “Auntie Christy! AUTIE CHRISTY!!!! THERE IS MARIJUANA GROWING IN OUR GARDEN!!!!!!”
Sigh.
I went to inspect a weed that did in fact look like marijuana. “We need to burn it!” Kayla told me.
Uh…..no.
I set it aside and assured her that mom or dad would take care of it when they returned. Although later, Charles assured me it was not marijuana,-just a weed.
And the day continued with rushing, playing, feeding, playing, feeding, playing feeding, feeding, etc. And by the end of the day I was exhausted by 3 very well behaved children.
Women, I don’t know how you do it. It makes me reconsider having children in my future.

So sad.

I've been visiting my carepoint, Moneni, and getting to know the student there. I know that Moneni, has a disproportionate amount of children with HIV, and you can see that some of the children are sickly. I guess in my mind I could "tell" which ones were sick, and which were not. They are small, frail, dull skinned, dark spots over their skin at times.
Yesterday I was talking to Queeneth about the sickly children, and she said," Yes, and there is that one little boy, B----, I think he is still on his ARV's but he's still sickly."
I didn't know he was positive.
My heart kinda stopped.
He is one that I've been growing close to.
I just wanted to stop driving, and cry.
I did last night.
I guess I had the tiniest glimps of what these families must go through,- loving a child,and then finding they are HIV positive.
A shock
A heart breaking shock.

Christmas in August

I went yesterday and began distributing the toys and supplies to the carepoints that the latest Americian team brought. I will be able to give a babydoll/stuffed animal to all of the little girls at our schools, and a matchbox car to all of the little boys, in addition to the toys for the carepoints and treasure boxes.
You should have seen their faces!
Oh my! It was like Christmas.
Here are some pictures.

Pray for Invasion

Do you realize that a 15 year old Swazi has a 1 in 15 chance to make it to the age of 35? That stuns me.
14 of every 15 will die in the next 20 years.
Tomorrow, Saturday August 18, we will be partnering with Potter’s Wheel church in an event for the youth of Swaziland called Invasion.
An event for youth here is a very unique, I’m told. Since teens can’t tithe, they are often ignored by local churches who preach and seek prosperity.
Such a shame that lives are disregarded because of money.
So please pray for the youth who will attend tomorrow, that their lives would be touched, their hearts would be open, and their hope restored.
And please pray for those who have poured countless hours into prayer and preparing for this event.

Back to School

It’s back to school time. Raise your hand if you are a very happy parent! I’ve been wondering how I would feel when August rolled around and I was still here.up until now it’s still seemed like I was on summer vacation. I know many of you, my teacher friends, will be heading back to North Chatham, or other school to a new class. That was always the best time. Smiling faces, newly laminated…everything. And Jennifer, I bet you are giddy with anticipation. You probably have a new label maker or something. (Can I give credit where credit is due? I have to say Jennifer is one of the best teachers I’ve ever known. I always loved getting her former students in 1st grade)
So to be honest there has been a little teacher pang of longing in my heart this month… And then the team came.
They blessed us so greatly. They left suitcases of clothing, enough toys to make Santa jealous, and SCHOOL SUPPLIES!!!!!! This picture doesn’t even do it justice! There are probably about 300 boxes of crayons, 100 pairs of scissors, pencils, glue sticks, markers, colored pencils, construction paper, and on and on. As I opened suitcase after suit case I couldn’t believe my eyes! More school supplies, and more school supplies and more school supplies!!! It took me an afternoon just to sort them on the table here. We’ve made ample goodie bags for all of our carepoints and still have leftovers to store for when our new carepoints open in a few months! The All Labels:
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Shortcuts: press Ctrl with: B = Bold, I = Italic, P = Publish, D = Draft more conference room of our office smelled like Crayola crayons (teachers you know that smell…) and it gave me such a comfort. So even though we are about to go on break for a month, when we return in September, I will feel right at home. I feel like a teacher again!
Thank you team for all you have done. Not only have you blessed the children of Swaziland, but you have blessed one North Carolina teacher as well.
Sorry, the picture doesn't wan tot post. I'll try again later

Who are you?

Paul was a great Jew. He was a Pharisee, trained under Gamaliel, and knew the holy scriptures. But until the road to Damascus he’d missed the point. When Jesus called to him, “Saul, Saul why are you persecuting me?” he asked, “Who are you Lord?”
In spite of all of his studying and keeping the law, he didn’t even recognize that Jesus was the God he was worshiping.
This past month here in Africa, I’ve been feeling just as lost as Paul. I’m a pretty good Christian by American standards. I go to church, I give my tithe, I treat others kindly, blah, blah, blah. I can tell you that Jesus is the son of God and died for my sins and has forgiven me because I ask for his forgiveness. He’s the way the truth and the light, and no man comes to the father, but through him.
Yet now that I’m here, out of my element, I feel as though there is a Jesus that I never knew. A Jesus that is too big to fit into my tiny American box.
My ideas of him are challenged and I find myself asking on a daily basis, “Who are you Lord?”
Like Paul, I don’t even recognize Him anymore.
He’s not the Jesus who spends his day looking for more and more ways to make me comfortable/happy/rich/popular. He’s not the gentle rock star Jesus, nor the Jesus who sits waiting with a goodie bag to reward me when I behave. He’s not the Jesus that gives me 10 points on the days I go to church and 10 bonus points if I count the offering. He’s not the Jesus who offers grace and mercy to the people I like, and judgment to the people who really tick me off. He’s not my personal assistant Jesus, or my “wait-here-until-I-make–time-to-spend-with-you-Jesus” Jesus.
No.
He is the homeless Jesus.
He is the Jesus amongst the lepers.
He is the Jesus walking all the way through town to reach one outcast.
He is the loving-through-suffering Jesus.
He is the disgusted by the injustice, Jesus.
He is the Jesus seeking the lost sheep. And seeking. And seeking. And seeking.
He is the preaching through exhaustion Jesus.
He is the storm calming Jesus.
He is the calling for righteousness Jesus.
He is the follow-me Jesus…
Today I’m asking again, “Who are you Lord?”…

African Adventure week 6

The other day we went with the team to Milwane, a game reserve, for dinner. While we were chowing down, a family of warthogs sauntered by. Huh. Nathaniel told me that last time he was there, an ostrich ate off of this plate. That would never happen in the states.
Another animal experience:
The other day I saw my coffee cup was empty. I poured the last splash from the pot into my cup, added a splash of cream, and a little shake of sugar. AS I drank it down, there was something soft and mushy on my tongue. I figured it must be some coffee grounds from the bottom of the pot and spit it onto my finger tips.
Nope.
Not quite sure what it was, but it was a soft body with definite legs. I think it was a spider at some point. Now you know how I feel about spiders, but surprisingly I just shrugged it off. It didn’t really bother me. In fact, later that day, after running around I was starving.
“Hmm… Maybe I should have just eaten the spider. It would have held me over…”
Ha HA Yeah, I know it’s gross, but I think Africa is doing that to me. :0)
I also got my first flat last Friday. Amazingly, I was at peace. I knew God was in control and I was safe. Isnt' that funny? In the states I would freak out even though I just had to call my insurance to change it. But I sent a text to every man in my phone, and had a response in minutes. Nathie and Darren were on their way home from Manzini and were there quickly, changed it, and I was on the road again! HOw cool. And I watched, so now I know how to do it! Hopefully I'll never need it!

cool thought

This is an interesting except from an article I was reading on www.followtherabi.com :
The decision to follow a rabbi as a talmid meant total commitment in the first century as it does today. Since a talmid was totally devoted to becoming like the rabbi he would have spent his entire time listening and observing the teacher to know how to understand the Scripture and how to put it into practice. Jesus describes his relationship to his disciples in exactly this way (Matt. 10:24?25; Luke 6:40) He chose them to be with him (Mark 3:13?19) so they could be like him (John 13:15).
Most students sought out the rabbis they wished to follow. This happened to Jesus on occasion (Mark 5:19; Luke 9:57). There were a few exceptional rabbis who were famous for seeking out their own students. If a student wanted to study with a rabbi he would ask if he might follow the rabbi. The rabbi would consider the students potential to become like him and whether he would make the commitment necessary. It is likely most students were turned away. Some of course were invited to ‘follow me’. This indicated the rabbi believed the potential talmid had the ability and commitment to become like him. It would be a remarkable affirmation of the confidence the teacher had in the student. In that light, consider whether the disciples of Jesus were talmidim as understood by the people of his time. They were to be with him Mark 3:13?19; to follow him Mark 1:16?20; to live by his teaching John 8:31; were to imitate his actions John 13:13?15; were to make everything else secondary to their learning from the rabbi Luke 14:26.
This may explain Peter?s walking on water (Matt. 14:22?33). When Jesus (the rabbi) walked on water, Peter (the talmid) wanted to be like him. Certainly Peter had not walked on water before nor could he have imagined being able to do it. However, ‘if the teacher, who chose me because he believed I could be like him, can do it so must I’. And he did! It was a miracle but he was just like the rabbi! And then...he doubted. Doubted what? Traditionally we have seen he doubted Jesus’ power. Maybe, but Jesus was still standing on the water. I believe Peter doubted himself, or maybe better his capacity to be empowered by Jesus. Jesus response? Why did you doubt? (14:31) then means, ‘Why did you doubt I could empower you to be like me?’
That is a crucial message for the talmid of today. We must believe that Jesus calls us to be disciples because he knows he can so instruct, empower, and fill us with his Spirit that we can be like him (at least in our actions). We must believe in ourselves! Otherwise we will doubt that he can use us and as a result we will not be like him.

Too Busy!

I use to get so frustrated with the Children’s Cup team. I was sitting in American all curious aobut what was going on in Africa, but no one would be posting.
Now I understand. Judge not, lest ye be judged.
I just survived my first team. A group of 31 came from the states, and while I was still only minimally involved, I was still very busy! SO I return to the office on Monday hoping to catch up on some email and blogging only to find a mountain of suitcases in my workspace. The team had left behind tons of clothes, books, school supplies, and craft things for the carepoints. (They also left me all of their American toilet paper. Yea! I have the happiest bum in all of Africa!) But my chore is to now sort this mountain and distribute it.
I checked my email just at a glance and had lots of people wondering why I wasn’t writing or posting.
Sigh
Sorry guys. I just haven’t had time. But I love you and miss you and have been thinking of you!
But I must say, I enjoyed being with the team. Many of these members were sponsors for our care point kids. So one day we had a luncheon in the park. The children all got KFC, and Fanta, and candy to eat, and then they got to play on the playground. And if that wasn’t cool enough, we then went to the store where each child got a pair of new school shoes and then their sponsors bought them an outfit, or two. And if that wasn’t cool enough, they then went to Steers and bought them an ice cream cone! You can imagine that this was the best day of their lives! They thought they’d dies and gone to heaven!
Another day we hosted a fun day at the location of a in-process carepoint. Complete with jump houses, face painting, balloon animals and crafts the kids had a blast. One teen-age girl told me, “I’ve never had so much fun.”
So while it was crazy busy, it was a lot of fun!!!

Adventures in Africa- week 4

Saturday morning I decided to be brave. I drove myself to Ezelwini, just down the mountain. I did well (thank you to all who have been praying about my driving. Keep it up) and enjoyed the beautiful scenery. As I get closer to the Pic-and -pay grocery store, something darts in front of my car.
Is that a cat? No. The run is too bouncy.
It was a monkey!
How cute.
I get to the store, shop, and then go next door to a little handicraft market to do some window shopping.
Now this was the scary part...
When I come back to the parking lot, all of the other cars have left, and standing between me and my truck is a teen age boy.
"Hello Sisi," he calls "Is this your car?"
"Yes."
"I'm very hungry. Give me some food. Give me some money. I want some of the food in the bags. I see the bags in your car. I want some food."
Now this whole time he is getting closer and closer, and I'm feeling more and more uncomfortable. I keep saying, "No" to all of his requests and keep walking to my truck without making eye contact,- and yet not trying to show fear.
I get to my truck safely, climb in breathing a sigh of relief as this boy is inches from my window, continuing to demand food or money.
"I'm getting out of here." I think to myself as I stick the key into the ignition, and crank the engine.
Silence.
Nothing
not a tic, not a grind, nothing.
Silence.
I started fighting back the tears as I called Susan. She sent Ben as quickly as possible. I sat sweating in the hot car, unable to roll the windows down, and unable to open the door for fresh air because of this guy.
Just as my car began to smell like a kombi, Ben arrived, fixed the minor problem (Thank you Jesus!) confirmed the teenager was sketchy, and followed me home.
So I guess the lesson learned was this: sometimes in Africa you have a great time, sometimes you get in a jam. But even then I am watched over, protected, and provided for.

church

We visited a cool church this weekend.Many of the women wore traditional dresses and danced during the music,- very cool. They had expected an entire American team of 31 to appear, but since there were problems and missed flights, they couldn't make it. However I appreciated it! I kinda wish I could dress up with shells on my ankles and dance around...oh but I digress.
Afterwards we went to a braii. It's really just an african cook-out (notice I didn't call it a bbq. I didn't want to confuse anyone in NC who would imagine a bunch of africans roasting a pig, eating hushpuppies, and drinking sweet tea.) But there was meat, upon meat upon meat! Giant bowls heaped with chicken, beef, and sausages! Soooo good. Oh, yeah, there was some other food there, but I don't remember them... potato salad or something.

This one is for Pam M ...

I know how you love those big brown eyes and adorable tendrals... Keep scrolling, there's more of her later...

Happy Prayers

A long line of hungry tummies

Too cute

A little girl in a big world

Sneek-A-Peek Prayer

A picture is worth 1,000 words!

That would never happen in America

Yesterday I was at Makholweni as Teresa did a clinic. I was out playing with the kids, and shooting pictures. I went inside and saw the scale, so I stepped on.
55kg. Hmmm. Down from 55.5kg last week. I like that.
Abraham's wife looked down at it, and laughed teasingly.
"Ha ha. I am more that you!"
I forgot the African view is bigger is better.
I feigned competition,- "Oh I have to go and eat! I will stand in the line with the children to get some pap and beans!"
But you know better don't you?
I'll just let her weigh more. I'm a good loser. :0)

Moneni Carepoint

New that I'm here, I've been assigned to oversee Moneni Carepoint, in Manzini. I've been told that the word "Moneni" means jealousy. Hmmmmm.
This is a picture of Phindile, the carepoint teacher, Queeneth,my co-worker, Nkihosinathie, then newly assigned teacher (now we have 2 male teachers on staff) and Make Sukati (pronounced ma-gee Soo-got-ee.)a leader of the Moneni community.On my other visits I saw several sickly students. Queeneth informed me that Moneni carepoint seems to have a disproportionate amount of children with HIV.
So we need to pray extra hard for them, and for Phildile as she cares for them. :0)

New things!

My man-truck had a light bulb burned out so I had to drive my way to Bob's Midas. I bought a bulb and then drove to the garage to replace it.
I did not belong! I don't go to garages in the states, but here, it was ree-dic-u-lous! I stood out like a turd in a punch bowl!

The guy put it in quickly, and then tried to charge me $50 E. I don't think so. The bulb was only $18E. I told him no. I told him I would pay only $20E. So another guy went to "ask the manager" while the first guy tried to ask me out on a date, (I played dumb-foreigner. It works often in dual language situations. I learned that a long time ago) and came back and insisted on $30E. I stood firm. I told them only $20E and no date.

I won! yeah! Now I realize I still probably got screwed, but hey, my first time bargaining in Swaziland! all in all the whole day was only $6.75 US so not that bad!

New teachers!

I spent a lot of time last week interviewing new teacher candidates. It's a strange feeling to be on the other side of the table. But don't worry,- I was nice.
This is the group of 8 who were chosen to start a trial period through the rest of term.
Aren't they a nice looking bunch? (picture won't post. sigh. come back later)

My first Guests

This is Mary and Roger. They were my first dinner guests at Chippie Cottage. Roger had asked that I teach Mary to cook pasta, so she'll know how when they get married. Now I think it was less about me teaching Mary (because it's pretty simple) and more that he wanted to eat pasta that night! And while my house is far from presentable, and I don't even have a dining room table yet, we ate on the sofas and had a nice time. I guess friendships that aren't dependant on furniture are the best to have!

A peek into the lives of others

Queeneth and I have spent the past 2 days at a conference and workshop pertaining to the emotional support of orphans and vulnerable children. And while there were many interesting things about the workshop, the most valuable information I gathered was simple observation of the Swazi culture. I questioned Queeneth on a lot of it, and she’d been so helpful.
I saw two men walking while holding hands on several occasions- not that uncommon in America, but for different reasons. Each time it was an older man taking a younger man to be introduced to someone. (I know in Sudan men in families will hold hands to show an unbreakable bond within the family)
Also, one of the presenters described the fear some children express when election time draws near. Huh?
Queeneth explained the practice of ritual murders around election time. While she says it’s less common then it was 25 years ago, candidates are told to kill someone to cut out their tongues, or a small child for their genitals, in which a witch doctor will perform a spell which will bring them luck to win the election. “Some people want what they don’t deserve,” she explained.
That blows my mind.
But the most interesting was the lifeboat activity. Read on

the life boat

Okay the life boat activity is a hypothetical story where you are on a sinking ship and get into a lifeboat. You are only able to save 4 of the 7 people in the freezing water. There rest will be left to die. Who of the following would you choose and why?
A prostitute
The ship’s 2nd in command
A mother and young child (they only count as 1)
A 16 year old boy
A 86 year old survivor of the holocaust
An 80 year old woman
A nurse
Now if you’ve read Donald Miller’s, Searching For God Knows What you are familiar with this activity. And you’ll have the same difficulty making a choice, with the understanding that all life has value. No matter who or what they do, or how long they have lived. A life is a life.
However this is an activity that exposes what cultures value as important. Typically Americans choose people with youth and status. The prostitute, and the two oldies are left behind. We say, “They’ve lived a good long life,” or “They’re trash and not worth saving.”
In China, the mother and young child are regarded as two each because they are each burdensome, and the remark was made, “China is overpopulated as it is. Let the child die and do China a favor.”
Now I kept quiet in my group and let the others decide. I was pleasantly surprised when the Swazi women recognized the value of each one. Swazi culture respects the wisdom of their elders and so the two oldies were not dismissed. And they saw that a prostitute was a person too, and deserved to live.
I don’t exactly remember which ones my group chose but some of the ideas the groups threw out were:
The mother and child because it was 2 people and the child would live on for many years.
The nurse because she would be helpful to us in case we got sick
The prostitute because they didn’t want to reinforce the stigma that prostitutes are worthless, or they have proven resourceful in survival.
Tthe 16 year old boy because he has a long life ahead of him, or he was young and healthy and could row the boat.
The ship’s 2nd in command because he would have knowledge of the sea.
The oldies we wise.
Now after making our decisions, more is revealed about each person. Does this make a difference to your decisions?
The prostitute is a male. (We were told that most all-male groups are crestfallen when they find out. Hmmm. What was their reasoning I wonder?)
The 2nd in command was responsible for the sinking ship and was blinded during the accident
The mother actually works aboard a small sea craft and is the only one who knows anything about navigating the small life boat. (We were told that most people only see her in conjunction to the small child. The idea that she might have a skill is never considered. She is seen as a mother, that’s it.)
The 16 year old boy is a parapalegic
The 86 year old holocaust survivor is the only person with proven survival skills.
The 80 year old woman is a doctor with over 45 years of experience, and sharp as a tack
The nurse has only 6 weeks of training, and is horribly incompetent.
Would that affect your choices? It did in our group. Many of the women got flustered and angry. “We should have chosen XXX, not XXX. I told you!” Their underlying message was clear. All life is valuable…but I’ll only waste my time on those who are proven valuable to me.
Yikes. That’s telling.