Skirting the issue

I have to vent.
To the Swazi, skirts are a big deal. Women simply don’t wear pants. Ever.
So now that I know I’ll be here in Africa a while, I decided I have to wear skirts more often. Sigh.
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against skirts. I own a few. But to be sentenced to a life time of skirts is a bit much for me. Yeah, sure I could wear pants, it’s not against the law, but the Swazi honestly respond differently to me in a skirt. It’s as if I’m not trying to separate myself as an “American woman” but trying to fit in with them.
So I bought another long skirt this past weekend in Nelspruit.
Sigh.
I hate that I look like a …a… missionary. All I need now is my long braid back and I’ll be set. Long skirt, long hair, no make- up, frumpy frumpy frumpy.
So I wore the skirt on Monday to my teacher’s meeting, and the women were very excited. They also noticed I was speaking SiSwati (I thought I had been for the past 3 months. Where have they been?)
Yesterday I wore pants, but today it was back to a skirt. I choose the long brown one that my mom had given me before I left. I tried to iron it, and found that it’s the kind of skirt that melts with a hot iron.
Nice.
Ruined skirt. Ruined brand new iron.
It’s not the first time I ruined a skirt. I also have a black iron deposited mark on my favorite white linen skirt. And it’s not like I can just throw them out. Then I would have even less to wear than I already do, so I just have to suck it up and wear them. The shopping here is really limited, so it’s not like I can just go out and buy more.
You know, it’s one thing to be condemned to a life of long frumpy skirts. But I hate that now I have to wear long, frumpy, melted, scorched skirts.
I don’t consider myself vain, but is it too much to ask to have clothes that don’t get ruined!!!! Is it too much to want to look at yourself in the mirror and say, “hmmm. I look nice today.” C’mon! I’m a woman! But with rain every day, my hair stylist moving back to the states in 1 ½ weeks and Este Lauder foundation running $60 US dollars a bottle this is quickly becoming unrealistic for me.
So here is a picture of me from Hawaii, New years, and Christmas where I think I look rather cute, albeit cheeky. Please print them off and hang them on your fridges, because I want you to remember me that way. When I return for a visit next year, I won’t look anything like this. I’ll be a mess!
I quit trying! That’s it! No more trying to look pretty here in anti-pretty Africa. I quit! No more shaving my legs, plucking my eyebrows, painting my toenails, or trying to wear anything cute! In fact I’m going to quit Children’s Cup all together and join the Peace Corps. Yes that’s more like it. I’ll have hairy underarms, shoes made out of hemp, wear patchouli oil and live in a homestead with a squatty potty. Yes that is the life style to go with my new look!
Grrrrr!

Thanks Heidi

My BFF sent me this email. It's how I feel some days. Get ready girl, you're next.

I read this quote in the Donovan book I told you about and thought of you. "A missionary is essentially a social martyr, cut off from his roots, his stock, his blood, his land, his background, his culture. He is destined to walk forever a stranger in a strange land. He must be stripped as naked as a human being can be, down to the very texture of his being."

Blessings,
Heidi

You know in Africa I’ve experienced nature in a whole new way. There are just cool new trees, bushes, animals, smells, and phenomena that I’d never seen before.
A few weeks ago I was at a carepoint in Mangwaneni Mbabane. The fog was so think way up there that you couldn’t see anything beyond the carepoint. Not the hills, not the homesteads, not the highway, nothing. In a short while it warmed a bit and the breeze picked up. And I stood there watching the wind blow the fog off the mountain. It was so cool!
A few days later I was driving home from a cloudy Manzini towards Mbabane. A cloud of fog had simply come and rested on top of the mountain. It was like a painting it was so beautiful.
But the most amazing thing was just yesterday. As we drove back from South Africa we came through a lightning storm. The bolts of lightning were pink and wildly webbed. The rain poured as we approached the border of Swaziland, and the landscape was magnificent. It looked like the stereotypical Africa picture. The grass was long and browned from lack of rain. Acacia trees were scattered along the plains, and the mountains stood in the background. Oh I wish I had a picture to show you. When we went through the border post and into Swaziland, the sun came out, creating a giant rainbow. You could see the entire arch, from one hill, over the highway, and then resting on the opposite hill.
Wow! I have never seen that before in my life, it was amazing!

weird microwave

When I first moved in to my house, Nathaniel told me to unplug all of my appliances when they are not in use. That way if there is a lightning storm, you won’t fry anything.
Good advice from a 12 year old.
So yesterday we were having our first lightning storm. I went around unplugging my TV, DVD player, and refused to plug in my laptop even thought the battery was dead.
As I started to sit down I thought I better unplug everything. I got up again and unplugged the dryer, the coffeepot and went to my microwave.
No the microwave will be fine. Besides I didn’t want to move the fridge to reach behind it and unplug it.
I started to sit down and thought again about the microwave.
No, it will be fine. (Too be honest, I don’t know if I thought it or “heard” it but I felt fine about it.
I went to bed and the power flickered for a while. It would cut off, and then when it came back on, I’d hear my microwave beep.
So this morning I wake up, and the clock on my microwave is dark.
When I opened the door, the light inside came on, but the buttons and panel are out. Was it fried by a power surge? My fridge is plugged into the same plug and it’s fine. So is my oven. But the microwave will not work.
Huh? So what was all of that about last night? I think if it was that small voice telling me to unplug it, and I didn’t listen, I’d feel guilty this morning.
But I don’t. I feel peaceful that everything will be okay.
So pray for me as I pray from my microwave. Strange… I don’t know what the lesson in all of this is yet.

The retreat

The weekend in Nelspruit was wonderful. I made a few purchases, made a few new friends, and felt revived. We did Beth Moore’s Loving Well study, and it really helped me to focus on the idea that I need to learn to love the unlovely, especially those that I’m close to.
One morning while I was doing my hair, I heard the Lord say that I’m home now.
Hmmm. Can’t say that I’m surprised. I’ve kinda been expecting that to come. But I’ve been feeling for a while, in spite of all the icky culture shock and such, that this is to be my new home and I need to begin building my life here. That’s not to say that I’ll never be back in the states, but as for now and this season of my life, Africa is home.
That’s hard to accept, because part of me has been trying to hang on to America with one hand. But I realize I severed all ties to the states, with the exception of my friends and family. I have no job there, no house, no car, no furniture, no toys, nothing!
But it’s helping my attitude, and accepting things. Instead of thinking, “why can’t things be like this or that,” I think “well this is where I live, and that’s how we do things here.” :0)

I love lots of things. I love my family. I love bacon. I love words that rhyme.
I obviously don’t have the same affection for all of these things, but in our English language, we only have one word, - ‘love’. In Greek, there are multiple words for love. One is ‘Agape’ which is a chosen, self sacrificing kind of love, - like what Christ shows for us. Another is ‘phileo’ which is a friendship love. Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love, gets its name from this word. Sometimes you can have one or the other, sometimes you can have both.
For example, when I was born my mother (agape) loved me. A mother’s love for a child is intense and self-sacrificial, - but we weren’t friends. Now I am grown and we have a good relationship. Sure she still agape-loves me but now she has a phileo-love for me too. Bonus.
Well learning these things have revealed a new understanding for John 21. It use to confuse me in a lot of ways: Why was Peter fishing naked, and then why did he get dressed only to jump in the water and swim to shore? (That’s a technical fishing thing that I’ll save for a different day.) Why does Jesus keep asking the same question and saying the same thing? But now I think I see a little better what is going on.
You read it first:

15After breakfast Jesus said to Simon Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me more than these?" "Yes, Lord," Peter replied, "you know I love you." "Then feed my lambs," Jesus told him.
16Jesus repeated the question: "Simon son of John, do you love me?" "Yes, Lord," Peter said, "you know I love you." "Then take care of my sheep," Jesus said.
17Once more he asked him, "Simon son of John, do you love me?" Peter was grieved that Jesus asked the question a third time. He said, "Lord, you know everything. You know I love you." Jesus said, "Then feed my sheep. 18The truth is, when you were young, you were able to do as you liked and go wherever you wanted to. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands, and others will direct you and take you where you don't want to go." 19Jesus said this to let him know what kind of death he would die to glorify God. Then Jesus told him, "Follow me."
20Peter turned around and saw the disciple Jesus loved following them—the one who had leaned over to Jesus during supper and asked, "Lord, who among us will betray you?" 21Peter asked Jesus, "What about him, Lord?"
22Jesus replied, "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You follow me." …
Do you understand my confusion?
So these are some things that have been pointed out in sermons, and some things I see here myself:
First, off Jesus and Peter are using 2 different words for love here. Also, this is the third time Jesus has appeared to his disciples since his resurrection, but the first time Peter has been there. Now remember, when Peter first recognized him as the Messiah, Jesus changed his name from Simon, to Peter. ‘Peter’ means, ‘the rock’ and he was to be the cornerstone of the church, but here, after he has denied Christ 3 times he’s getting called Simon again.
So it goes like this:
“Simon, do you Agape me more than these other guys?”
“Yes, Lord, you know we’re friends…”
“Then feed my lambs.”
Jesus, not ready to accept a quick off the cuff answer repeats the same question, this time just focusing on Peter.
“Simon, do you agape me?” He’s asking, ‘do you love me to the point of death? Would you give everything for me?'
Again, Peter answers, “Sure, Jesus, you know, we’re good buddies.
“Then take care of my sheep.”
Finally the last time, Jesus changes it up. He says, “Peter, are you my friend?”
And Peter gets upset when he’s asked this third time. He’s denied Christ 3 times and now has been asked to show his devotion 3 times, the last time what’s expected of him has been down-graded.
“Lord you know everything. You know I have can offer you only friendship love.”
“Then feed my sheep. The truth is, when you were young, you were able to do as you liked and go where ever you wanted to. But when you are old, you will stretch out your hands and others will direct you and take you where you don’t want to go.”
Jesus has big things for Peter, the rock, to do for the kingdom. Again and again, Peter honestly tells him, ‘I only have enough love to love you like a brother.’ And again and again, Jesus replies, ‘if this is the kind of love you have for me, then this is what you can accomplish for my kingdom: You can feed some baby followers. You can take care of some older followers. You might even be able to feed some mature followers. But to do the kind of things I’m asking you to do, to fulfill the role I’ve given to you, to be “Peter,” to go and serve unto your own crucifixion, you need an all encompassing, passionate, sacrificial unto death kind of love.
Then Jesus repeats the first words he ever spoke to Peter, way back when he was still ‘Simon’
“Follow me”
Under the gun, Peter does what most of us would do… he looks around and finds another disciple to take the focus off of him. “Me?!...Hey, Jesus what about that guy?”
And Jesus refuses to change the subject. “What’s he to you? I’m not talking about him, I’m talking about you…Follow me.”
And the scene ends there. But we know that Peter will follow him, and eventually will develop that Agape love that will allow him to carry out his purpose, - even to death. What facilitated that, I dunno. You’d think witnessing the resurrection would have cemented it for him, but it obviously didn’t. Perhaps it was the empowerment of the Holy Spirit in Acts 2. Oh but that’s for another day…
But now after seeing and understanding this in scripture I have to ask, do I agape Jesus?

Forgiveness!

I have a good friend, but a few years back our friendship hit a rough patch. It was caused by several things and I always felt this kind of dark cloud hovering between us. We went through all of the friendship motions but we both knew there was a strain.
Then one night she sat me down. “I need to apologize for something. I’ve been holding anger against you for A,B,C, and The Lord has been dealing with me about this…”
And as she talked I saw where this was going. I remember getting so excited, not because she was making some kind of “I’m wrong/you’re right” confession, but because I saw we could heal our friendship! And when she finally finished with “…will you forgive me?” It was all I could do not to shout out “Of course I forgive you! I’m just happy to have my friend back!!!” That started a season where we each asked for forgiveness for things we’d done wrong towards the other, and now we have a great friendship again.
(I know you are reading this, I love you girl)
Well lookie what I found in the Bible today:
“O Lord you are so good, so ready to forgive,
so full of unfailing love for all of those who ask for your aid” Psalm 86:5
I can just picture God as I come to him to ask forgiveness. He’s not gloating, he’s not smug. He doesn’t have the “I-told-you-so” look on his face. He’s excited, and can’t even wait for the words to come out of my mouth. He can’t wait for me to finish speaking, because he knows where this is going. We get to be friends again! And He doesn’t mind shouting, “Of course I forgive you! I’m just happy to have my friend back!!!!”

As promised!

Here is a pic from our teachers Braai, two weeks ago. They have refused to load! These were two or the Chubby Bunny contestants. Surprisingly, neither of them won!

interesting thought

An interesting thought from Robert A Tucker, Author of Marriage and the Family: “ We are to see [children] as an eternal inheritance. Our children are the only earthly things that we can take to heaven. Our children must not become idols to us, nor should we favor them to their own destruction. But God wants us to invest our lives to see that they carry on in the purposes of God.”
Hmmm…Can’t take the car, the house, the PHD, the bank account, or the family pet. But we have to potential to take our children with us.

In case you didn't get my email..

It was an unexpected surprise. I stopped by the clinic to pick up a friend Nombti, and give her a ride back to the office. Then I saw some of my children there who were brought to be treated for colds, coughs, and other such things. I sat and chatted and hugged them.
“Christy. We need you, two minutes” Ncamiso said. “There is a woman here. She is very sick. She needs prayer.”
It was a small frail woman. Just shorter than I am, she can’t weigh more than 80 lbs. Sunken cheeks, dark eyes, and the tale tell lesions on the side of her face. She hobbled into the room and struggled to lower herself into the chair.
Ncamiso and Tbeko prayed for healing, but to be honest, I felt nothing leading me to pray that way.
She didn’t respond much.
I did feel led to pray against her root of rejection, - her struggle to receive the forgiveness she’d been promised though Christ, and her confidence to approach her heavenly Father boldly, without fear that He was angry with her.
When we were done, she sighed. “I feel warm. I feel warm on this side.” (the side I’d been laying hand on.) She looked no more healthy, but more peaceful.
As we left I asked her, “L- they say you are A-’s family?”
“Yes, he is my brother.”
The first person I prayed for here in Swaziland was “A-’s sister.” Unnamed, and unknown to me, I felt led to pray with him one day in the kombi. She was sick in the hospital, and he was so concerned for her. And today I met her face to face and got to hold her gentle hands in mine.
It was an unexpected surprise.

Cool Quote

“Don’t ask God to guide your footsteps, if you are not willing to move your feet.”
Don’t know who said, it, but I love it!

Part 2...Finally!

Wow! my readers have been getting restless! Hope you're not to disappointed with part 2. Nothing profound, just another day of being humbled. Here it is:

Okay so I wrote It’s not about me on Sunday evening, pressed ‘save’ and went to church.
Guess what the sermon was about…Obedience.
Not just obedience, but obedience with the right motives.
Ouch!
Yes I gave the lamps, I was obedient. But I did it for the wrong reasons. I gave them because I “had to” not because I had compassion for a woman alone in a new and scary place who might have wanted just a touch of home.
Galatians 6:18-23 says : But when you are directed by the Holy Spirit, you are no longer subject to the law . When you follow the desires of your sinful nature, your lives will produce these evil results: sexual immorality, impure thoughts, eagerness for lustful pleasure, idolatry, participation in demonic activities, hostility, quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambition, divisions, the feeling that everyone is wrong except those in your own little group, envy, drunkenness, wild parties, and other kinds of sin…But when the Holy Spirit controls our lives, he will produce this kind of fruit in us: love joy peace patience, kindness goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.
Considering my actions and attitudes these past few weeks, I think it’s clear that I’m trying to be obedient to the law, not the spirit.
Sigh. No fun.
And it never works out anyway. :0)

Teacher's Braii

Last week we had a teacher workshop and a teacher braii with the American team from celebration church. The teachers really enjoyed it, and had a good time. Here are some pictures of the make-and-takes they did, as well as everyone’s favorite game, Chubby Bunny.
sorry. Some pics refuse to post.
I'll try later

It's not about me, Part 1

There is a woman here, who just moved to Swaziland. She’s living on a homestead, washing her clothes by hand, and sometimes days go by where she doesn’t hear English. Wow! And while she says she’s okay with the “roughing it” I know she’s struggling with being here and all of the changes. The Lord puts her on my heart often to pray for her and last week he told me to bless her with things for her house.
“Great idea Lord” I quickly went to my give away box and found some things I’d been meaning to get rid of. “ Hmmm, I have two these, maybe she’d like one…..this was given to me, but I don’t really need it…oh I don’t really like these, maybe she’s like to have them…”
Well then I thought I heard from Him again, but He must have mumbled. It sounded like he said to give her my two new lamps that I bought in Durban last weekend.
Oh but no, that couldn’t be Him. After all, I paid a lot of money for those lamps, and He wouldn’t just want me to waste my money like that. They were so new I didn’t even have light bulbs for them yet.
And I really needed those lamps for my nightstands. My bedroom is so dark after the sun goes down, -doesn’t the Lord want me to read my Bible at night to be real Holy and stuff? So no, that couldn’t have been Him.
But I kept having that feeling all week. I said to Susan, “I think I’m supposed to give C- something,” careful not to say what, in case she decided to hold me accountable.
“Oh, well she won’t be at bible study this week.”
Aha! I knew it! Those lamps are for me!
Just to prove that they were mine, I went to buy light bulbs (You’ve already read how well that went…maybe I should have gotten a clue.) and set my heart of giving this woman a duvet and an extra set of measuring spoons.
So with my light bulbs in hand (being extra careful not to break because they are so fragile) I went to my loft determined to use my lamps. Mine mine mine. These bulbs you push down and then twist the prongs into the groves of the lamp.
Push and twist.
Didn’t work.
Push harder. Nope.
Push harder.
“It’s going to break in your hand Christy. Stop now. ”
“No it’s fine, I can get it.” I put my spiritual fingers in my ears and sang “la, la, la, I can’t hear you.”
Pushandtwistpushandtwistpushandtwist.
“I’m trying to protect you Christy. If you push any harder, it will break and cut your hand. Stop now. These are not your lamps.”
“No! I want to use my lamps… I’ll… I’ll…” (Then I had the light bulb moment, -no pun intended.) “… I’ll take off my sweat jacket and wrap the sleeve around the bulb, so if it breaks, it won’t cut me! Yes, I’ll do that and make it work. I want to use my lamps.”
“Listen to yourself, Christy…”
I realized I’d gone stark raving mad. I was so determined to keep and use these stupid lamps I was thinking up ways to get around what the Lord was trying to warn me would inevitably happen in my disobedience.
I did my huffy voice at Him, “Fine! I’ll give her the lamps!”
I went down stairs to SMS C- to let her know I had something for her. I was pretty sure that if I did that “act of obedience” He’d at least let me use the lamps until I saw her in two weeks.
Instead she invited me to meet for lunch.
“Lord,” still in huffy voice, “I don’t get you… now I’m just going to have to go and buy new lamps, when I’ve already bought two perfectly good lamps. That’s just dumb.”
Well, that got me thinking… What did the Lord plan to do with all of this?
Hmmmm….. Maybe I’ll give her these lamps, and she’ll bust out in joyful tears and gush out she’s been praying for two adorable lamps for weeks and just fall all over herself…or, better yet, maybe this is an Abraham and Isaac thing where, I just have to be willing to give them up, and then she will say “No thank you I already have two super-cute lamps” and I’d get to keep them! Yes!
So this morning as I got prepared to meet her, I was kinda excited about the whole thing. We met, had a nice visit, ate lunch, and then went to my truck.
I gave her the lamps (good-bye my babies), and she responded with a normal amount of gratitude. “Oh wow! Thanks, these are nice.”
Bummer. No lamp keeping, no gushing, just two less lamps.
So what’s the lesson I’ve learned from this?
The same one I’ve been learning the past 4 years.
It’s not about me.
God’s main purpose in life is not to make me fat and happy.
It’s not about me.
I’m called to be obeidient, and if that means denying self, then so be it.
It’s not about me.
Life is not about living for me, it’s about living for Him.
It’s not about me.
...Please stay tuned for Part 2, which happened minutes after writing this...

I love this picture

Owwwwwwww!

Do you see what I did?!!!! I was curling my eyelashes and my arm spasmed. I sat there in horrified shock when I saw lots and lots of eyelashes remaining behind! I ran to the mirror for closer inspection. Yes, the outer lashes were fine, but the inner lashes have been thinned out! Owwwww! I actually have a bald spot on my lash line.

This weekend

The Swazi times were advertising a movie! The Simpsons Movie was being shown at the Royal Swazi convention center. Now considering Swaziland doesn’t have a movie theater, I was very excited about this. I don’t know if I would have paid to see this in the states, but here, I’ll take what I can get.
At the Bargain price of $25E, I hurried to make plans with my friend, British Emma. (Okay… her name is just Emma, but British Emma describes her accented charm.)
Now I must say I was open minded to the whole Swazi movie experience. I didn’t know what to expect. Would it be a proper movie, or one of those pirated DVD that they sell on the street? Would it be on a real screen, or would it be on a laptop with a projector? Would we all be sitting in folding chairs? Would the Swazi’s insist on answering their cell phones, as they do in every other setting?
We arrived at the convention center a few minute before the advertised starting time (remember nothing start on time here.) It was a nice auditorium and they were selling chips and cans of soda. We picked out very plush cozy seats and they even had the little desktops that fold out in front of you to set your goodies (imagine a much nicer college lecture desk.)
We waited another 20 minutes before it began as lots of anxious movie goers filed in.
“Ah…..I think we’re the only adults here, mate”
I looked around and she was right. The room was filled with children! Oh no!
Now, being it was in Ezulwini, (where the rich people seem to live) most of these children were not Swazi. They were American, British, White South African, Nigerian, etc. And being from better off families, I can only assume they have satellite tv, and are familiar with the TV show. What were the parents doing sending their children to see the Simpsons?!!!!!!!!
I sat there cringing through the whole movie, thinking, “What are these kids thinking about all of this strangling, and ugly talk. They obviously missed all of the adult humor, all of the jabs at American politics,- in fact they only laughed at Homer being hit in the face with a tree, and Bart being naked.
To top it off, the family in front of us had an adorable toddler who was much too active to sit still through the whole movie. They just let her go walking up and down the isle. At one point I coaxed her into my row and held her on my lap for the rest of the movie. When the lights came back up they casually looked around for her. They just smiled and laughed when they saw her on the white lady’s lap. “Awwww. Isn’t that cute?” But then again, I guess in a culture where people are trying to get rid of their kids, there’s no threat of kidnapping is there? No one wants an extra one.
But overall I was happy to see a movie, even if it did get my maternal instinct all up in a dander.
PS Craig- the Simpsons spent part of the time in Alaska. Homer promoted it as, “Alaska, where you can never be too fat or too drunk. And no one ever asks to see your ‘High school equivelant exam.’” And it looked very cold… I don’t think I can come and visit you now.

Culture shock part 2

Grrrr!
I was trying to have a good day.
But it's the culture shock!
I'm so tired that nothing is familiar, and nothing is normal, and everything is a new learning experience.
Everything.
I had to get 2 items,- batteries and light bulbs. I thought "How hard could it be?"
(If you've ever been to Africa you are already laughing. You know where this is going...)
I told myself, "Christy, you can do this. It will be fine. Just go to Clicks, you know that store. It will be easy."
So I park Punkin in the parking garage (that's my truck's name) and go to Clicks.
I go to the batteries.
I call my teacher Mary on my cell, "What size did you need?"
"R20ppj..."
"...What?...is that a size?..."
AA, AAA, 9volt, C, D... what size is R20ppj?
I looked and looked until I figured out it is D.
Fine.
I asked a man for light bulbs.
Blank stare.
"Light bulbs?...maybe I'm not saying it right... to go into a lamp?"
"Oh yes, this way."
He took me to the photo albums.
"No. No. Light bulbs. For a lamp. (miming screwing a light bulb in.)"
"Huh?...li- buh?"
"LIIIIIIIT Bullllb. LIIIIIIIIIT Bullllb."
"Oh!" he took me to the bulbs (they are called globes here.)
To my dismay they are different too. Yes they have 60 watts, but some you screw in, and some you push onto prongs, and I had no idea what my new lamps took.
Sigh, I left without a li buh.
I went back to my garage and found my punkin with a clamp.
What?
I called the # given, and they sent a (swazi) security guard who told me I would have to pay a fine. Go figure. I was fighting back tears, when the (south african) manager arrived.
"Why is it on my car? What did I do?"
"This spot is reserved... Do you see where it says 'African Alliance'?"
I had seen the sign, but didnt' know what it meant. I don't exactly know who the African Alliance is, but appearantly, I'm not part of it."
I just gave up and let the tears flow, "But I didn't know..."
The manager was very understanding and just let me off with a warning. (Don't judge me. I swear I've never cried my way out of anything before.) He told the guard to un-boot Punkin and let me go without a fee, and left.
"Thank you, thank you I appreciate it" I said to the guard.
I guess expecting a "you're welcome" or "pleasure" was asking a bit much.
"Can you go and buy me a drink now?" He asked.
ARE YOU FLIPPIN' KIDDIN' ME?!!!!!!
I was irrate!
Tears gone.
Stone faced.
"No."
I got in my car and drove off.
GRRRRRRRR.

My diagnosis

The results are in...I'm officially in culture shock.
I don't know what I thought culture shock was, but I didn't think it was this. I thought it would happen right away...but I've been doing so well.
That's what everyone says..."christy, you're doing so well."
Apearently the joke is, everyone thinks they are immune to it, and no one ever is.
But Monday it hit in full force. I awoke fighting back tears as I realized I have everyone and everything Swazi,- simply because it's all wrong. They're all backwards!
I went to Bible study where all of the women have lived overseas, and tried to vent my frustration: How am I suppose to love, serve, and minister to these people when I can't stand them!
"How long have you been here?" They asked
About 10 weeks.
They all busted out laughing! "Yup! it's culture shock. I remember that. It happened about the same time, and then again at 6 months. But it will be okay"
What I liked best was that they all assured me that when it passes I will find I have such a love for the people again.
Good. I will look forward to that.
I went to my carepoint and saw some kids I haven't seen in 3 weeks. they ran up to me shouting, "Auntie! Auntie!" They hugged me and held my hand and wouldn't let me go.
It was so sweet and I just wanted to love on them and kiss 'em. My babies.
It must be passing.

Durban!!!! Yea!

I spent the weekend in Durban, and it was very nice. It had a very American feel to it, and it was filled with the simple things I took for granted. I shopped and shopped and shopped. Now I’m not much of a shopper but there were still so many things I needed to get for my house that you simply can’t find in Swaziland. But I spent 3 days in 2 different malls finding all of those little things to make my house nice. And I can say that the malls in Durban have one up on the states, they have shopping carts!
Yes, I went and did a lot of shopping at Game, a store that would be the African version of Wal-Mart. And once I filled my cart I was able to take it around the mall to Sheet Street, Mr. Price’s home, @home, home etc, and the other stores filling up my cart more and more! What an ingenious idea! If I was limited to only what I could carry, I would have finished shopping after an hour. But with the cart, I was able to shop all day spending lots and lots of Rand (South Africa money.) Brilliant!
Then Lauren and I went to eat Sushi and then to a movie. This was a big treat since you can’t do either in Swaziland. So I saw Even Almighty, (which I thought was cute.) in my assigned seat and ate butter-less popcorn. I don’t recommend that, no matter how much flavored salt they offer you.
I sat in a proper coffee shop and drank very nice coffee while reading a celebrity tabloid magazine (Actually it was written I Afrikaans so I just looked at the pictures. Yes, Brittney is still a mess, - even to the Dutch.)
And even thought the weather was cloudy and rainy, I did enjoy the beautiful view of the Indian Ocean. Now I have stuck my toes in 3 oceans!

Don't worry Dad/mom...I'm fine!

“This is downtown Durban. Be sure to zip up your purse and hold it close to you. That way you will avoid pick pockets. That’s the worse that would happen here.”
Heh. Famous last words Lauren.
We went straight away into downtown Durban because Lauren’s husband Ross had to be fitted for a tux for wedding he was in. So once in the tux shop I sat down to read a very outdated 2003 magazine, and Ross, Lauren, and the Groom went behind the curtain with the tailor to get measured and pinned.
Suddenly a man rushes into the store announcing that he was with security, and that there was a problem. He told the shop keeper she must lock up the shop immediately and evacuate the plaza.
Is this for real? I went and sheepishly peeked behind the curtain.
“Hey guys? This man just came in and said we all have to evacuate the mall.”
“What? No. whatever.” They weren’t taking it very seriously.
And then they saw the shop keeper snatching her purse and heading for the door, disregarding all other people in the shop. The tailor jumped up quickly and said, “Ah, just wear the suit, mate. I’m going,” And dashed out.
Poor Ross, in his half casual/half tux shoeless outfit dashing along with the rest of us out of the plaza back to the parking garage. There were families, shop keepers, women with their hair half weaved, all looking about confused and trying to find out what was going on. One woman passing by said there was a bomb threat, but we never had anything confirmed. Ross sent Lauren and me off as he and the groom stayed behind to finish his fitting. Eventually he convinced the tailor to finish the job in the garage and left without ever knowing what it was all about. (I should check the news online)
I joked with Lauren later, “If I wanted to get bombed, I’d have gone to England. Pick pockets, my foot!”

Homesick (Monday)

I’m home sick today. I think Durban started it. I didn’t realize how much I needed to get out of Swaziland, until I arrived in South Africa. And suddenly I was surrounded by cities again, loving families that aren’t American, stores that sell what you are looking for, restaurants, coffee shops, clean children, African men who weren’t hitting on me, and it all felt so nice.
Then I returned and went straight back into work. And it was Swazi life in full force again. And I guess today was the first time I felt the full weight of being here. I suppose I haven’t really been acknowledging how these images I see every day, and the experiences I’ve had here are weighing down on me. But being away from it for 4 days and then back in kind of hit me like a brick wall.
I had to have a “game-face” on all day because a new team is here, and they hosted a wonderful teacher workshop for us. And while it was great, I really just wanted to bust out crying. But I couldn’t. I had to do the “life-as-a-missionary-is-great” smiley face even though today didn’t feel that great.
I just wanted someone to listen, and sympathize for 2 minutes and tell me everything is going to be okay.
I tested the waters with a co-worker, not really sure if I had enough of a “friendship” to be vulnerable with her (women know what I’m talking about): “I’m feeling a bit homesick today.”
That’s as far as I got. I pretty much got reamed out.
But to be honest, I don’t resent her for that, - it’s a very Swazi thing to do. Swazi life can’t afford to be burdened with silly things like feelings, and emotions, because life after all is about survival. You don’t let yourself get bogged down with what you want or how you feel; you simply suck it up and do what you have to do to get through the day. And in her mind, only two months into this thing, I have much too far to go to start getting soft now.
It’s not her fault.
I’m just tired of living day to day where everything is new and unfamiliar. I’m ready to feel like I fit in somehow and that I’m actually making a difference in the areas I’m charged with. The ironic thing is I see how I’m making a difference in the lives of other people, but not necessarily in the lives of my teachers or carepoint. I feel, once again, like I’m hitting a brick wall. People are saying I’ve done this to help this or that person, - but I don’t see it.
So I’m home, and I’m going to Susan’s just now. I know she is a friend that will listen, - she’s been through this herself, and she’s coaxed many a homesick women through this same thing.
I know she will offer me tissues, and tell me everything will be okay, which they will be- I know. But just today it doesn’t feel okay. It feels hard.
Then tomorrow will be a new day. :0)

I love my dad

Once when I was in college I made a pitcher of ice water with lemons. My dad thought it was lemonade and drank a big glass of it.
“Yuck! This is horrible. You make the worst lemonade Christy.”
“It’s not lemonade, - It’s lemon water. “
Blank stare.
“You know, like when you go to a nice restaurant and they give you lemon wedges with your ice water.”
Blank stare. “They don’t do that at McDonalds.”
I thought my dad had to be the most unrefined person on earth.
This weekend, while in Durban, we went to visit Lauren’s sister. She is the chef of a nice restaurant downtown so we visited there for breakfast. As always, I ordered a “filtered coffee” and was surprised when I was served a tea cup with only a tiny bit of espresso sitting in the bottom. The rest of the cup was empty. I didn’t want espresso; I wanted a proper cup of coffee.
“Did I order it wrong?” I whispered to Lauren.
“No… This is Illy brand coffee.”
Blank stare.
“Do you see it here, ‘Illy’ written on the cup? It’s gourmet, so they dictate how it is served in restaurants.”
Blank stare.
Her sister leaned in to explain, “This is just a shot of espresso here. Then you have this teeny-tiny pitcher of boiling water that you add to make it as strong or as weak as you’d like. Then add cream and sugar.
“Oh…Well, that’s not the way they do it at Starbucks.”
Like father, like daughter.

Just for fun...

There are so many African things that make me smile.
I saw a purple tree yesterday. It looked like any other tree, but instead of green leaves at the top, it was lavender. So pretty. I guess it’s the jacaranda tree, and now they are blooming. Cool.
The music here also is very humorous. Sometimes it’s American, and they will play 50 cent followed by Dolly Parton, followed by a hymn. Sometimes it’s SiSwati, and I have no idea what it is. But there are also a lot of remakes, American songs sung by an African. My personal favorite was “Jambalaya” (If you’re from Louisiana, you can imagine how silly it would sound being sung by an African.)
Today I was driving about and wasn’t really listening until I heard, “pa-rum-pa- pum-pum”
“What?! “ No, it couldn’t be… I turned it up
Yes, it was the little drummer boy. But last month I heard “Let it Snow” so I shouldn’t be surprised.

Another thing I saw was hilarious and I will try to explain it to you, but you will have to imagine it to visualize how funny it way.
I was driving on the expressway and they were doing construction. A big truck had to back up so it was doing it slowly into the oncoming traffic of that lane. To warn drivers that the truck was in reverse (in case they didn’t see the lights or hear the ‘beep-beep-beep’) there were workers jogging behind it. They were holding orange traffic cones or white flags and were pumping their arms up and down over their heads. I guess that kind of made sense to me, but here‘s the funny part: There were also men on top of the moving truck with flags and orange cones. And since the truck was moving in reverse, they didn’t have to run. So they were simply pretending to run. Lungile, the teacher I was riding with, almost fell out laughing, “Look how lazy they are! They are only riding, but they are pretending to run!”
Maybe you just had to be there…
No, I just re-read it. It was funny. If you don’t get it, you must not be imagining it right.

care packages

Can I say how much I love getting car packages? I've gotten 3 here so far. One was pencils for my kiddos from my dad. Out of the kindness of his heart, isn't that sweet?
The next came from Ruth and it had some of my favorite terrorist threat hair goop, real kleenexs, and real honest to goodness American Toilet paper. I have the happiest bum in all of Africa!
I told her I would have a potty- party. And we would say, "Have you heard about christy's party? Everyone's going.
Bah-dum-dum.
And then I got one from Joey and Liz. Brownie mix, a super cute NC towel to make me think of home, and best of all Starbucks coffee. I've had 4 cups already.
Thank you friends and family.
While I could make do here, you have all been so thoughtful to send little things to show you care about me, my bum, and my kiddies.
I love you for that.

:0(

It was so hot today. Yes yes I know the states have had a hot spell in the south. I'm not trying to compare, just complain.
It kinds reminds me of summer in Michigan. It's hot everywhere, but not really humid. And since no place has air conditioning, you just sit and sweat and shower and sweat, and wait for the sun to go down.
And of course I insisted my bedroom be in the loft of chippie cottage.
It's been fine so far, but I'm afraid this summer I'll be sleeping in my living room on a sponge. (that's a foam matress for those of you who don't speak aff-ree-can.)

I'm off!

Forgive my absence! I will be traveling to Durban, South Africa tomorrow with my new friend Lauren, and her husband
I'm excited to be leaving the country!
I will return on Sunday to a team, so please forgive my lack of blogging and email.

Belly Blues Part 2

The secret must come out. The belly bling is gone.
I had to do it. I had to.
It was just one infection after another, or sore, or caught up on something. It just wasn't worth it. I took it out about 3 weeks ago and I was sad the instant I did it, and am still a little sad.
But I know it's for the best.
I bet this is how you feel when you put your dog down.

Draw the curtains

My friend Heidi could get a date in the most unexpected places. Once she spun around quickly in the grocery store isle to check the price of ice cream, and ended up with a date. Another time she went to the drinking fountain for water and came back to her class with a date.
“But you only went for water?” Her co-teacher puzzled.
Well I think I’ve got her beat here in Swaziland. (And no Heidi, this is not a competition.)The Swazi men like white women a lot, and are not shy about it in the least. If you are standing by yourself, the men will come like flies to honey. It’s made me uncomfortable on many occasions, but today beat all.
I’m sitting here in my dining room typing on some work for my meeting tomorrow. And the guard who works next door spotted me through the window.
“Madam! Madam! Come out here, I would like to talk to you.”
I refused, but went to the window, hoping he just wanted to tell me something about the fence or the back yard or something.
Not so lucky. He chatted me up for a while, and when he saw I was finished with the small talk…
“I want to be in love with you.” He said smiling.
Sigh.
Unfortunately, I think I’ve got one up on Heidi now. I’ve been hit on while sitting at my table, in my own house, minding my own business. I wish I could gloat about that fact, but to be honest it’s just creepy, and makes me want to pull my curtains shut.

Good Quote from the Boss Man

“The biggest obstacle facing Africa today isn’t AIDS,-it’s hopelessness.”
Ben Rodgers, Director of Children’s Cup.

Christy, drive here

With the exception of the whole stick shift thing, learning to drive in Africa hasn’t been too hard. I thought the whole left-side-of-the-road thing would be tough. But I started on the 3rd day here and got the hang of it pretty quickly.
One thing that helps is the road signs, - big round blue signs with arrows that point to the left, as if to say, “Christy, go here” Perhaps the Swazi have had too many Americans trying to drive on the wrong side so they designed them for their own safety. I don’t know.
But it’s helpful when you approach an intersection, and everything is confusing. The green arrows are flashing the other direction, and you wait for oncoming traffic to clear before turning right, or you try turning left on red into the inside lane; It’s just nice to be pointed in the right direction,-and by “right” I mean left. :0)
Another thing that is helpful, although it might seem strange, it to have someone else on the road as a reference point. If a car is approaching you in the other lane, you can keep to your side and know you are correct.
Well, a few weeks ago, I had dropped Queeneth off at our Ngwane Park care point and was attempting to find my way back to pick her up. I made it all the way to the bottom of the hill before I realized I’d missed my turn.
Sigh.
I turned my truck around on the empty hill and started back up, looking off to the side to find the street.
Clutch. Shift. 1st gear. Gas.
putputput.
“Where is that road?”
Clutch. Shift. 2nd gear. Gas.
Putputput.
“It should be here. I have to find that red thingy. Yes, we turned at the red thingy.”
I was concentrating so hard on the shifting, and clutching, and where to go, it took me a good long while before I realized I was driving on the right side of the road!
“Oh crap!” I shouted as I swerved back to the left side. “Phew, that was lucky!” Good thing no one was around.
But the Lord spoke to me very clearly in that situation.
“Do you see what happened? You weren’t looking for direction, or reference points, and you went very quickly back to what was comfortable, familiar, and easy. You went to what you were use to.”
Yikes! How true.
It made me think about when I read through the old testament, and time after time, when the people didn’t have a strong judge or king for leadership, the Bible says, “and each person did as they saw fit,” or “each person lived as they thought was right.”
If we, as people, aren’t intentionally looking to God to be led, for direction, or reference points on which way we should go, we all fall back into what is familiar, comfortable, or easy.
Sometimes, it makes no difference. Like that day I drove up on the wrong side of the hill,- No harm, no foul. But it’s easy to see if I had continued to do it for long, I’d get myself into a real mess.
God’s guidelines are for our own protection, and well being.
I encourage you to look for those big blue arrows!
 

to hire, or not to hire...

A missionary family is returning to the states for a while and would like to keep their house girl employed during those 3 months. And while I would love someone to clean for me (open houses have to be cleaned everyday here to avoid being overrun by dust and bugs), it’s an added expense, a risk of theft (very common in the Swazi culture) and to be honest, I have issues with the idea of “hired help.”
Yes, I suspect the summer house work will be way too much for me to handle, and yes I realize it employees a woman who would otherwise be unemployed. Because of these things, house girls are very common in this culture. The missionary families approach it as an outreach to Swazi women and look for extra ways to bless them. But this month I’ve been struggling with feeling like a spoiled rich white lady, and adding a “maid” would only further this. You know?
While I’m living much simpler than American standards, with a used car, no cable, no internet, a half furnished house, 2 bath towels, 5 wash cloths, 1 frying pan, and 6 place settings of silverware, I look around at the Swazi culture and recognize how blessed I am.
I have a flushing toilet. I have electricity. I have hot water. I have a TV room big enough to fit their entire one-room house. I live within the safety of a compound so I can sleep worry free at night. I bake for fun, not necessity; I cook on a stove, not a fire. I wash in a washer and dryer, not the river. I own a used car, a half furnished house, 2 bath towels, 5 wash cloths, and 6 placesettings of silverware.
So how do I really have the right to complain about bugs in my house, and dirt on my floor? I should be grateful my floor is not made of dirt!
“We felt the same way when we came here. Christy, you just need to get over it.” Charles told me.
“But I feel spoiled”
“You were born white. You are spoiled.” Kristen said.
All the Swazi women snickered at that.
I wanted to get offended, but how can I when it’s so true?

I can explain!

I know you have missed me! We had a three day weekend because of the holiday. It was so relaxing filled with a get away to Ezulwini where I stayed with my friend Lauren and her husband, And cleaning my shower wiht a toothbrush and bleach.
Now that I'm back I'm with the team and not in the office (accept for a bit this morning)
SO I promise soon I will get back to my computer, and write something interesting.

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?”…