Governments and gods
may vastly differ, but we
aren’t that different.
There are billions of
ways to be human. We don’t
have to be the same.
I wonder if cows
pray. Does God understand the
cock-a-doo-dle-do?
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Monday in a Picture – Plowing and Planting
Everything in life has seasons. Election season in the US is over. American football season is in its prime, while basketball season is just starting. Right now, Swaziland is heading into summer, which is the rainy season. Warm temperatures and rain mean that it’s time to plow and plant.
The staple crop in Swaziland is umbila (pronounced om-bee-la), or maize. The staple food is liphaleshi (pronounced lee-pa-lee-she), or porridge, which is made from ground maize meal. In my community, all homesteads have some land set aside for crop farming. Many of these families will grow substantial portions of their needed maize during the summer months. Some families may even have extra to sell. But before any growing can be done, the fields have to be readied. This includes plowing the field(s), which is sometimes done by hand with a hoe, shovel, or pick. It can also be done with a tractor pulled plow (as seen in the picture above).
I spoke with these guys for a bit. They told me that this was a prime season to make money for their respective families. You can hire these guys to plow your field (assuming you live close by). I learned that they work all day, literally. They start working around 4:00 a.m., and work until 7 or 8:00 p.m. That’s a laborious workday that starts before the sun rises, and ends after it sets. They told me not to worry because they had a light on the tractor for working in the dark. The conversation was brief because there were fields to be plowed and money to be made. Before they left, the driver asked if I could take his picture. Wish granted.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Monday in a Picture – Creepy crawlies
When I’ve perused various forums and blogs, I noticed that one big concern for some future PCVs and those considering Peace Corps is bugs. There’s the “but what do I do if there’s a (insert scary bug here)” question. I hadn’t given much thought to my own possible reaction. That is until this past Friday.
I was sitting on my porch enjoying a nice, early summer Friday evening when I noticed something. A spider. To be fair, I’ve seen spiders before. I saw them as a young boy and occasionally in my adult life. I’ve encountered spiders and other things (lizards, flying insects, etc.) inside my home here in Swaziland. This spider was different. It is the biggest and hairiest spider I’ve ever seen in real life. Suddenly, my Friday evening arrives at a decision point. Do I:
A. Kill the spider?
B. Name the spider and keep it as a pet?
C. Redirect or relocate the spider?
D. Go inside?
E. Do nothing?
If you guessed (D.), you would be correct. I have no idea what kind of spider it is, whether it bites, or its overall danger. The spider seemed to be having a fine Friday evening. I wouldn’t want to ruin the spider’s evening because I didn’t want to share the great outdoors. Live and let live.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
P.S. – if you didn’t do it early (and you’re eligible), be sure to vote tomorrow! #DCStatehood
Stage Fright
One of the things that has been required of us, as Peace Corps volunteers in Swaziland, is ongoing language learning. This makes perfect sense to me. As we learn more about Swazi culture and start to understand it better, language is key.
I have found an amazing language tutor who is patient enough to answer my “but why is like this instead of like this” questions, and stern enough to correct me when I’m wrong (repeatedly).
If I were to do an honest self-assessment, I’d say that my language skills have definitely improved since ending our pre-service training (albeit in miniscule increments). My language skills have improved dramatically since coming to Swaziland almost five months ago. At this point in my language learning, I’m able to semi-confidently hold a conversation with a preschooler. I’m proud of this. I want to be able to confidently have intense conversations with peers and boMkhulu (pronounced bo-mmm-koo-loo) or elder men/grandfathers in the community. I want to be able to understand jokes and be sarcastic in siSwati. I want to understand what folks are asking for when they come to my homestead. I would like to go a day without speaking English, but not be silent. My host make (pronounced mah-gay), or mom, recently told me that next year, no English will be spoken. SiSwati only. Of note: she told me when I first arrived that I must speak siSwati. “Sibusiso, you’re not in America anymore. We speak siSwati here.”
I think I’ve identified what one of the bigger barriers is for me currently. Stage fright. My receptive language is definitely getting better. I can understand some of what’s said in small talk conversations on khombis (local mass transport vans). My expressive language is where my stage fright is the star of the show. I start to wonder if I actually heard what I thought I heard. Do I have the language to respond to that? Do I have enough vocabulary to keep the conversation going? Do I just want to use the fail safe phrase? Angiva (pronounced ah-knee-va), or I don’t understand. I guess the only way to overcome it is to keep practicing and understanding that failing doesn’t mean failure. After all, winning the World Series is impossible if you never step up to the plate and take a swing.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
P.S. – Did you know that @whatisKirbydoing is an Instagram handle? Be sure to follow the fun.
Monday in a Picture – Uyatsandza kugijima
Happy Halloween!
Prior to joining the Peace Corps, I would have considered myself a fairly active person. I maneuvered the streets of DC on bike. Twice a week, I would join the greatest November Project tribe in the world for an early morning (running-oriented) workout. Although I ran with those wonderful folks, I never really considered myself a runner. A cyclist? Sure. But a runner? Not I.
There is major opportunity here to be sedentary, which is tempting with many movies and television shows on my hard drive that I haven’t seen yet. There have been glimmers of hope as I have seen others riding bikes in my community. The thing is that I currently don’t have a bike. While I’m hoping that this changes soon, I have a desire and the energy to be active now.
Enter community runs. I’m not particularly fast or good at it, but I try to go out at least once a week for a run. I’ve found that this does a few things. First, it gets out all of that built up energy. Strangely, the more that I run, the more that want to run. Second, it allows me to explore new parts of my community and make maps of it (with my GPS watch). It helps that the watch tells me to move and posts my efforts to Strava. Lastly, it gives me the opportunity to meet and see various community members while they meet and see me. Some people have even commented when they see me, “Uyatsandza kugijima!“, or “you like to run!” I smile and laugh. I don’t know if I would classify running as something that I like, but I don’t hate anymore. I’ve even thought about signing up for one of those races. A 10K or half marathon, maybe? Because why not?
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
P.S. – I just want to say #GoBlue and #HowBoutThemCowboys! It was a sweet rivalry weekend.
Monday in a Picture – Fat cakes
So, I’ve mentioned these before. A fat cake is a fried ball of sugary dough. While it definitely isn’t the standard of nutritious meals, it is delicious.
Within a month of arriving in Swaziland, I was introduced to fat cakes. Bomake (pronounced boe-mah-gay), or women sell them at the markets, schools, and road side stands. After having several magnificent fat cake experiences and seeing the recipe in our Peace Corps cookbook, I decided that I would try to make them myself.
Here’s the recipe, as written in the cook book:
- 1 1/4 cup flour
- 2 tablespoons sugar
- 1 teaspoon baking powder
- 1 teaspoon ground cardamom
- 1 egg
- 1/4 cup milk
- Oil for frying
- Mix dry ingredients.
- Stir in egg and milk.
- For lumpy mafeti (pronounced mah-fay-tee), or fat cakes, drop by spoonfuls into hot oil.
- For better looks, roll out to about 3/4 inch thickness on a well floured surface and cut into triangles before frying.
- For a chewier texture, knead dough with extra flour for about five minutes and let rest for half an hour before rolling out.
I should probably say that I took a few culinary, creative liberties. Of note, I did not use measuring cups. While mixing, I just added more wet or dry ingredient until the mixture was a consistency between that of pancake batter and bread dough. I also did not have cardamom. It wasn’t in my budget, and it’s not that serious. Instead, I added a generous amount of imitation vanilla extract. When the dough was ready, I heated up my makeshift deep fryer (a pot filled with cooking oil). I scooped out a oversized spoonful, and dipped the spoon in the oil. The deep fried goodness was almost ready for enjoyment. After I removed the cooked fat cakes from the hot oil, I let them rest and cool for a minute or two. The last step is perhaps the most important. I poured some powdered sugar (known as icing sugar here in Swaziland) in a plastic bag, and added the freshly fried (still warm) fat cakes. A vigorous shake ensures that the fat cakes are nicely covered. They are now ready to enjoy! Try out the recipe, and let me know how it goes.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Monday in a Picture – The Head
When a cow, or inkhomo (pronounced inn-co-moe), is slaughtered, there is a lot of meat. The meaty goodness is a carnivore’s dream. After everyone has had some meat, rice or porridge, and cabbage, bobabe (pronounced bo-bah-bay), or men, gather around dishes filled with more meat.
This past weekend when this happened, one of the men invited me to join them as they prepared to eat from the meat filled dishes. On these dishes was something of a Swazi delicacy. It was the cow’s head. The picture above is only half of the cow head meat.
I had heard stories about the sacredness of the cow head, how delicious it was, and how women are discouraged from consuming it. According to some beliefs, fertility problems might come to women who eat the cow’s head. I’ve also been told that eating cow head meat increases intelligence and virility in men.
I sat down with the men and we started to eat. There were no plates, no cutlery, and no napkins. There was a beautiful sense of community as we ate or half of the cow’s head. It I couldn’t tell you if I ate the cheek, tongue, neck, or other part of the cow head. I can guess that most of the meat was grilled, while some was boiled. What I can tell you (with certainty) is that whatever I ate, it was delicious. It was juicy and full of flavor. The cow head is probably the most flavorful and tender meat I’ve tasted since arriving in Swaziland. It did have a slight garlicky aftertaste, but it was nothing compared to the deliciousness.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Monday in a Picture – My Closet
Peace Corps volunteers are notorious for not having lots of money. When we all moved to our permanent sites a month and a half ago, we were given money to settle into to our new homes and make them more homey. Because the settling-in allowance is rather modest, creativity and imagination become as important as money.
I live in a spacious octagonal roundavel (I’ve named it, “The Palace”). I moved into a blank canvas, and had to figure out how to add my own flair. I mapped out how I wanted to use various areas, and went to work. When shopping for home furnishings, I took note of prices for various things on my shopping list. I noticed that basic wardrobes (metal poles fitted together with a zippered cloth covering) were priced around 200 emalangeni. I decided against buying it then and there.
On one of my walks to get familiar with my community, I saw a rather sturdy looking tree branch laying on the ground. I had an idea. What if I could make a hanging wardrobe? I picked up the tree branch, and brought it home. I shaved the bark of the branch to have a relatively smooth piece of wood. Then, I threw rope over the rafters, and tied many knots to make sure it was sturdy enough to support the weight of my clothing. Before placing the branch in the rope loops, I sprayed it with bug spray to kill any bugs that may have still been present. I hung the branch in the rope loops, and secured it with even more knots. The entire process took about 90 minutes, and was a great entry level project in home improvement.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
On the outside, looking in
The year was 2011. I had purchased a roundtrip ticket from Washington, DC to Cape Town, South Africa. I would be vacationing in southern Africa for almost a month. I wanted to do all there was to do, and see all there was to see. While crossing a border (either from Mozambique to Swaziland, or Swaziland to South Africa), I started talking with one of the other passengers on the bus as we waited for everyone to clear customs and immigration. He asked me where I was from and if this was my first time in Africa. I told him that it was my first time, and that I lived in DC. He, a Mozambican working in South Africa, went on to ask me how Africa was treating me. I let him know that I was enjoying my time and that everyone had been very welcoming and kind. His response has stayed with me, and probably will forever. He expressed happiness that Africa had been so welcoming. He told me that I was always welcome here, and that any family or friends would welcomed just as warmly across the continent. Wow!
Fast forward to now. October 2016. I live in southern Africa. In Swaziland, on the border with South Africa. I have been asked family, friends, and locals if I’m scared, or worried, being so far away from home. I’m not. When I actually reflect on the state of affairs around the globe (especially in the US), I’m actually worried to return to the US. I’m a burly, bearded 30-something Black man, and I have feared and would fear for my safety in various parts of the US much more than here in Swaziland.
Last year, as riots filled the streets of Baltimore (a 40 minute drive north of DC), I watched news coverage from my living room. People were fed up with another Black man dying at the hands of law enforcement officers. That evening, I received a text message from my brother saying, “Stay safe. It’s only a matter of time before the revolution makes down there (to DC).” Since I left the US in June, there have been even more Black people to die at the hands of law enforcement. There aren’t the same massive protests that seemed commonplace even a year ago when Black people were killed by law enforcement. I doubt that the protests can keep up with the shootings. As I write this, I think about that text message from my brother. I think about sending him a similar message. It’s a strange dichotomy. Some family and friends fear for my safety here in Swaziland, while I have similar fears for their respective safety across the US.
In contrast to the many law enforcement shootings at home, I feel really safe, warm, and welcomed here in Swaziland. This is the country that has been called one of the friendliest in Africa. I’ve only seen one police officer with a firearm, and that was weird to see. The biggest fear of crime against me that I have here is being robbed or having something stolen, which is miniscule compared to my worries about speaking siSwati more fluently and being understood.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
Monday in a Picture – Sibhimbi
Recently, I was fortunate to attend an event in my community known as Sibhimbi (pronounced see-bim-bee). This is the installation ceremony of a new chief. It’s a really big deal. Most of the people in my chiefdom (community) were there, and people even came from far away for the all day event. The king sends a representative from the royal family. It’s huge.
The week leading up to the Sibhimbi, I noticed that infrastructure was being arranged for something big. Large trucks worked to ensure that the gravel roads were level. School children took time away from school to remove trash from the side of the road. I was urged by community elders to make sure I was present at this event. One of the teachers at the high school explained all of the fanfare surrounding this event. He told me that these events rarely happen. He shared that he had never been to one in his life. He’s almost 40 years old!
He explained that once a chief dies, the position of chief typically passes to the eldest son. While the new chief may govern the chiefdom (unofficially) for years, it isn’t until the Sibhimbi that the new chief becomes official. Because there are so many people and resources involved, it can take years to organize. It is at this event that the new chief gets his late father’s shield, among other items. The Sibhimbi involves much singing, dancing and eating. For this occasion, at least 18 cows were slaughtered. This is in addition to all of chickens.
In the picture above, several men from my community sing and dance in full traditional dress to celebrate the installation of the new chief.
Be kind to yourself.
Onward.
What is Kirby Doing?: Stories from life after Peace Corps eSwatini 