Crest piece

Photo of Ndomiso and me from the 2006 trip

Here's what I wrote for Crestwood's newsletter, The Crest, just before we left for the trip. Might explain a little more about Ndomiso for those of you who don't know!

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In a few weeks I will be returning to Swaziland. This time Lindsay Toll will be joining me as a representative from Crestwood along with ten other members of our mission team from Indiana, Vermont, Cynthiana, and Lexington.

Experiences that were written on my heart in Swaziland two years ago changed things in my life and the lives of our team. I have an image of Andrea Nielsen holding a big-eyed, snot-nosed Swazi child who had attached himself to her one afternoon following the church service. His belly was bulged and he appeared sick and. I believe she would tell you that he was one of many seeds that lead her to Lillie. I can recall my own joy as I eagerly gobbled up every word of siSwati Joseph taught me and the thrills it gave me to listen to the musical cadence of my Swazi friends' voices and discover new awe at language.

Swaziland showed me the power of connections formed with people living a world apart from me. My Swazi friend Ndomiso, stripped of a future by the death sentence of HIV, transformed my perspective on my own life and the opportunities I am blessed with every single day. She's just a year older than I am, but she cannot dream and plan and delight in all of life's possibilities the way I can. Talking to her was like talking to any dear friend of mine. Our conversation was easy, comfortable, and punctuated by smiles and laughter. She still has a sparkle of youth and vigor in her eye, despite the visible weakness of her body. Meeting Ndomiso gave me new respect for the way the Swazis live: with pure, undeniable joy in the face of overwhelming sorrow. I don't know how long Ndomiso will continue to live on this earth, but her story will live forever in my heart because I've known her.

I am returning to Swaziland because for me the story is not over. I am going to return to the people I love , to grab for hope and faith through understanding, and to offer what skills I have to ease their pain. When I come home to Crestwood, I will again want to tell you the stories of my family in Swaziland, about the lives they lead in a land riddled by disease and injustice. The people of Kukhany'Okusha have called me again to tell their stories. I know you will listen.

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.

Are there really only 2 days left?

Today is Saturday, and we're rounding the corner on our last weekend here in Swaziland. It seems like it flew by, and I find myself wishing I could hang on for a bit longer to absorb all I can of the place and the people I've grown to love. This has been a different trip in many ways, and I'm eager to have that final day at church in Kukhany'Okusha. I know that Hepi will be there, and Mzwandile (who never ended up coming with us), and we are going to perform as a choir. Other choirs are also going to perform. It will be a big to do!

I have a lot more to say, but there is just not enough time to process and reflect and give back to you the most important things I have gleaned from my experience. I will try to, but I know I can never give this place justice. I need more time. 2010 anyone?! ;)

Exchange of Laughter and Languages

Today we visited a care point/ school for orphans in the extremely rural part of Swaziland near the border with Mozambique. The name of the place was Shewula, and when we arrived there were 58 children running after our vans, smiling broadly and waving. First, they showed off some of the games they play in a large circle. Everyone on the team sort of hung back watching them dance around, clapping and singing in siswati.

I greeted the makes who were in charge of the school there (by the way, they are paid nothing for their work), and before I knew it Babe Mhlanga had called me over and told one of them to throw me into the game. She had a child in one arm, but she threw her other over my sholder and asked me my surname so she could call it out at the appropriate time in the song. Vuyo, who had already joined the circle almost the moment we got there, was laughing and telling me that the song says I am now married to that woman. She dropped me off next to a little boy about half my size, and he threw his arm over my shoulder. I hunched down and walked around the circle with him (married again). Everyone got a big kick out of all of that, let me tell you.

Eventually the rest of the Swaziland Mission group joined the circle. We pulled out the parachute and played for a very long time. The children we've interacted with never seem to tire of the activities we do with them. Yesterday I found myself twirling a girl around and around and dancing with her for over an hour. I did the same moves every time! But she just kept giggling and wanting more. Sandile called out the instructions for the kids to run under if they were wearing a certain color. His face was a broad grin the entire time. He is a born leader. After we folded up the parachutes we broke up into different activities.

Janice handed me a bottle of ruby red fingernail polish, so I plopped down on the nearest rock and in no time there was a little one perched on the rock next to me with their grubby hand laying on my skirt. Their nails were dirty. Some were cracked and deformed, but by golly they were going to have the most beautiful nails around! Some of the children wouldn't allow me to paint their right hands, since the right hand is the one Swazis use for everything. Apparently the left hand is generally used for hygiene purposes. I enjoyed watching all of the goings on around the dusty schoolyard. John and Vuyo made balloon hats for a looong line of kids. Lauren, Molly and others taught some of the younger ones a little bit about softball. Kim found a little girl who followed her around and clung to her hand the entire afternoon. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. We got out two gigantic bags of oranges we had purchased at a little road side market that morning, and in no time the kids were gobbling them down and holding them out to us to get the peeling started. Babe Mhlanga handed me an orange and told me to peel it so we could share. I peeled slowly, wishing I had my father around to work his orange peeling magic. As I peeled, I walked around and observed some of the goings on. Chris came up to me and said he had just heard from a Make that these children had not had a meal in two weeks. I immediately felt no desire to eat that orange, and I passed it off to the nearest little boy.

I tried to imagine what it would be like to go without eating for too long. Today our group went without lunch and it was enough to make my stomach rumble and my spirits a little more on the grumpy side. We wished that we had purchased an entire feast rather than some oranges, but I know that our efforts were not in vain. We left a large bag of donations including school supplies and some of Lillie's clothes (don't worry Andrea, they've been put to good use for sure!). We sang with the children, we saw their smiles, and we gave them a day of freedom and a little bit of hope, along with a hefty donation of 1400 emalangheni. Even so, their empty stomachs cannot be filled until the teachers have the funds and support they need to make a meager meal for 58 hungry mouths. They received money from UNICEF to build the structures only, and told to do what they could to provide food and other necessary services. The primary provider of food to the Shewula care point is also responsible for providing resources to several other care point centers in the area. They are out of funds. There is no food left.

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In the van today I had the pleasure of riding in the seat next to Vuyo, and we were able to dive in on a little project we've been working on. I'm teaching him Spanish and he is teaching me some more about siswati. I feel like there's so much to learn and there's no way I'll know it all when I leave. I might not even be able to construct a grammatically correct sentence. But I will know a lot more! I really enjoy hanging out with Vuyo and I felt like today I broke through his shyness a little bit. We were laughing and joking a lot more, and he seemed to relax in some way. He has been a dear friend on both trips, but I finally feel that we can both be ourselves. I'm going to miss him a lot when I go. I want to promise myself that this time I will keep in touch with him the way he deserves. He has a huge heart and picks up the Spanish so quickly! I feel like I am so far behind in my siswati!

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I'm becoming increasingly attached to this place and these people. I'm glad I can share the joy, the sadness, and the desperation we all feel for a solution to the poverty, HIV/AIDS, and injustice that exists.

They finally Made It

Here is the first of Laura's blog entries.... It is powerful and I am so glad to hear they all made it safely!


I could tell you about all of the flight problems we had getting to Swaziland. I could tell you about waiting in airports for hours, visiting the Eiffel tower on a whirlwind Paris tour exhausted, hot, and miserable. I could tell you about the long list of logistical problems we've had since we've been here, but I know that's not really what you want to hear. So here goes!

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Coming back to Swaziland has been like a homecoming in some ways. I was filled with relief and joy to greet Babe Mkhonta, Sandile, Vuyo, Bishop Dlamini, and Babe Mhlanga at the airport. It was nice to be known and remembered. I was already given a siSwati name: Tsembikile. It means trustworthy. Babe Mhlanga christened me Tsembikile because he said I promised I would come back to Swaziland, and I did.

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After a wonderful time entertaining the orphans and street kids at Gigi's place this morning, several members of the group came to the realization for the first time how gigantic this problem is. Chris spoke tonight during our nightly de-briefing session of being "unable to swallow" the lives that the children we entertained live. They are all orphans. They have to be to qualify for the preschool and school programs at Gigi's place. Many of them are HIV+. Many of them have tuberculosis. All of them are vulnerable and survive on one meal a day Monday- Friday and often only drink water on the weekends. Thinking about them after seeing their faces, learning their names, holding their hands, and hearing their laughter can bring you to your knees when you think of what they go through every night and every day that we are not there to bring the joy and the release they desperately need.

But if that seems like more than any society can possibly handle, remember that the hardest hit is my age group. The youth ages 25- 35 are dwindling. I don't know anything yet about my friend Ndomiso. When I met her two years ago she was visibly sick. She has full blown AIDS, and so does her mother. Meeting her was meeting myself with AIDS. She is my age, but she will never have what I have. I want to hug her and tell her what she has done for me, but I am afraid that that opportunity will not exist for me.

Yesterday I met a young man name Mzwandile. He is known for his rich, glorious bass singing voice in the choir. Sandile (who is the choir director) claims he is indespinsable for his choir. When John went to shake his hand, he offered his arm, explaining that he was HIV positive and that he had a cut on his hand. He came right out and said it. Later, as we were about to leave the church parking lot where we were picking up some of our friends, Vuyo brought him over to my car window and introduced us. I didn't notice that he didn't offer his hand for the traditional greeting (I heard later what John had learned). He smiled and asked to see a picture of our group wearing the traditional dress for the wedding. Unfortunately it took me about a year to figure out how to scroll quickly through the pictures on my new camera. But eventually I showed him. He said that he hoped to see us Sunday. Today he came by Gigi's place and we were able to have a slightly longer conversation. I remembered about him being HIV positive and felt slightly awkward that I couldn't shake his hand and wondered if he noticed that I never put out my hand to do it. Tomorrow I may see him again, since he is joining the team choir. :) I'm eager to get to know him. I know it will be hard. Once again I will see the promise of a future reflecting from my eyes into is, and I will know that one of us will have the opportunity to see our dreams realized, and the other may never have that opportunity.

I'm remembering what Kathy and Jesse tell me (where does that come from...?): Breathe deep, seek peace. I'm doing it. I miss everyone. I'm safe.

Kukhany Okusha Zion Church

While in Swaziland, the mission group will spend a great deal of time with the members of the Kukhany'okusha Zion Church in Manzini. The Kukhany’okusha Zion Church (KZC) has thirty six congregations throughout Swaziland. The Zionist Church in Southern Africa was founded in the late 1800’s in Othaka, South Africa by a Dutch Reformed missionary, Mr. LeRoux and an indigenous leader, Rev. Daniel Nkonyane. The Zionist Church is characterized by practices and rules which are unique. These include: A) the use of uniforms during worship, B) the removal of shoes inside the sanctuary, C) the carrying of crosses/staffs during worship, and D) prohibition of smoking, pork products, and fermented food/beverages. In 1983, after six years of discussion and dialogue, the Kukhany’Okusha branch of the Zionist Church of Swaziland was established under the leadership of Bishop A.M. Dlamini, the founding and present presiding bishop.

In English, Kukhany’okusha means “new light.” Bishop and Make (pronouced Maagay) Dlamini are very gracious and kind. The Bishop has taken his vision for the church and worked with the other leadership to establish numerous projects designed to improve the lives of Swazi's living in various states of need. The Kukhany,okusha Zion Church focuses on the spiritual Growth of the church, with an additional strong focus on the love and care for others. Church building projects, preschool education, feeding programs, and extensive HIV/AIDS education programs within congregations have all been a part of the work of the church. Although indigenous and independent, the church is a member of the Council of Churches of Swaziland (the only Zionist Church that holds membership), the All Africa Council of Churches, and the Organization of African Indigenous Churches. It is also a partner church with Global Ministries of the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) ad the United Church of Christ.

Welcome!

Hamba Kahle means go well in SiSwati, one of the two official languages of Swaziland, the other being English. Our journey begins July 24. I will be returning to a place that is very dear to me and Lindsay will be discovering the magic of Swaziland and the people of Kukhany'Okusha for the first time. We hope you will join us as we grow and learn during our time in Swaziland. Feel free to make comments on our posts and ask questions. We look forward to sharing our experiences with you.