Home is Where the Heart Is?

If home is where the heart is, right now a big chunk of home is far away on the African continent. I've been back for several days now, but so much of that time has been spent thinking about Swaziland and attempting to process my experiences, that I couldn't tell you exactly what I've spent my time doing every day. I've felt this way several times in my life. I'm standing on the outside of a journey I will never forget, and I find myself reaching back trying to latch onto the people and the the place I've left behind while the current is pulling me away and life is moving forward before I'm ready. This time I'm transitioning to a new life in Cincinnati and a new field of study. I'm stuck in a strange purgatory. I have a month before Jesse gets home and I start my new life. I have all the time in the world to think about my Swazi friends. And I feel like I should just be back there instead of wasting my time here.

I obviously haven't reflected on every aspect of my journey, so I'm hoping to finish up with that while I have all this free time on my hands. I think I know where to start: church! I don't think there's really a good way for me to organize my thoughts in a linear fashion, so bear with me.

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Since we went to the wedding on the first Sunday instead of church, I had a lot less time to catch up with some of my friends from the 2006 trip, but that certainly didn't diminish the amount of joy I felt when I saw them. When I saw Happy for the first time (I've been spelling her name Hepi for two years, but this time I saw her write it down... they pronounce it Hepi though!), I was still sitting in the van waiting to get out. I was a little rude, saying, "I have to get out of this van. Now!" I ran over to her while she was talking to the other van. She was so excited she picked me up! That woman sure does have a lot of energy. Someone commented that she ought to be on every welcoming committee. :) Agreed! She was happy as ever, spouting off songs and recounting pieces of Janice's sermon to her after the service.

It's definitely interesting to make the comparison between her and her son Vuyo. Vuyo is so quiet and reserved. I wouldn't say he's not happy, but I suppose it would be hard for anyone to duplicate her exuberance. I love them both, though, and for different reasons. Happy is the life of the party, full of love for everyone around her. I think Vuyo carries that love for people in him too, but in a more understated way. All you have to do is talk to him and love him back and you are guaranteed a little piece of his heart. He was absent for the first part of the goings-on on Sunday. I imagined him running around doing little things bobabe commanded him to do. We were all disappointed that he had to be behind-the-scenes man, but we lured him over long enough after supper to give him his team t-shirt and have a few of us sign it. Vuyo

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Happy

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When we started Sunday school, I immediately started looking for Thobile and her sisters, worried and wondering about what the two years had brought to their lives. Janice had asked about Lizzie, their mother, and was told that she was still living and, "Doing very well!" which is hard to imagine given her condition the last time we saw her. We started passing out beads and helping the kids make necklaces, and they still were nowhere to be seen. Then as I was finishing up passing out the string for the necklaces, I spotted Thobile! I couldn't believe how much taller she was! The little thirteen year old girl I once knew has turned into a young woman. She was still the same Thobile though, soft spoken with a little bit of mischief in her eye. She seemed excited to see me, even if she couldn't remember my name. One of her sisters was there with her, 19 years old now. She'd changed too, and remarked on how all three of us were different. I had precious few moments to talk with them, and before they left after the service I managed to give Thobile a bracelet and she wrote her phone number down for me (for some reason they all think we can just call them up and vice versa).

I could go on more about them, but I can feel myself stalling. Next comes Ndomiso. You might remember her story if you read the Crest piece I wrote before I left this time around. Last time we found out that she has AIDS. She was 22 then, so she must be around 24 now. I saw her in church, and Janice and I said hello to her. She didn't seem to recognize me, and I'm ashamed to say I hid behind that, so surprised was I by her bulging, pregnant belly. She looked different, even leaner somehow than before, with her pregnancy hanging low and making her look even longer. I was in shock. And I still don't know quite how to react to this change in her life.

Childbirth and new life and becoming a Make is a beautiful thing, but it was certainly something I never foresaw happening for Ndomiso. I think part of my reluctance to remind her who I am may have come from her newfound shield as a Make, a mother, an adult woman with little time to discuss emotional matters with a silly American sisi. Should I feel glad that she can leave a legacy of herself? I don't know. But I'm worried. Worried because, as Janice pointed out, this is a glaring, outward sign of her having unprotected sex. Could the father be the same person that potentially passed the virus onto her? Does this baby have any kind of future ahead of it? Will Thobile and her other sister be the ones to raise it? Is she getting the proper medication to make sure that the baby is not born HIV+? I can answer none of these questions. Partly because I was too speechless to say anything at that moment, and partly because as soon as the service was over, there was no sign of Ndomiso. I'm frustrated by my reaction, but I don't know how I could have asked her any of those things. I wanted to ask Thobile, but I also wanted to catch up on her life and use the five minutes we had to talk to her and not about what's happening with her family.

Looking back, I still feel the initial shock and uncertainty upon seeing her there, very much alive (if ill looking), and very much pregnant. I suppose in some twisted way she is getting some of what I hoped for her two years ago. She has had the opportunity to grow up and the opportunity to become a mother. Maybe that is something she wanted in her life. Maybe I should stop seeing the possibility of non-consensual, unprotected sex that will lead to the demise of someone I care about and start seeing the beauty of a dying young woman being given the opportunity to live and give life to someone who (potentially) will achieve the dreams she may never have the opportunity to achieve. Ndomiso has managed to leave me confused and saddened once again. But all I can do is continue to love her and hope that she manages to find a little piece of happiness as her family, her country, her world, crumbles. I'm sure I left a little bit more of my naivety behind again because of this girl who is a daughter, a sister, a young woman, me.