Reports from Swaziland

I love love Swaziland’s weather right now, just after its rainy season. The sky is always a pale cerulean expanse, sparsely populated by thin, wispy clouds. The sun is overhead, but it nothing more than a soft, warming pat on the back as the temperature oscillate around the 70s F. it is hard to call this winter, especially when I can hear the incessant cricking of the crickets at night.

Living here reminds me a little of my childhood in a rural part of China. The only paved roads are for cars. People walk along rocky dirt paths beside the road, unconcerned of the cars whipping pass them. Trash litters here and there, collecting in small valleys of dirt or drifting in circles with the breeze. It is curious that the trash is rarely a cigarette bud; there is almost no smoking among the native population. Small houses with formidable yards dot the landscape randomly, mostly in lower grounds but also situated in pockets of forest clearings up on the mountains. Whereas in China, families used the yard to farm daily vegetables, here the yards are paved for driveways and parking spots.

The people overall appear surprisingly wealthy, noticeably especially in the way they dress. It is a wonder to me to see the women walk up and down the steep hills in high heels and sandals. Interestingly, Z and I have not seen a single beggar; everyone seems to hold some type of occupation whether it is being a guardsman or a housemaid. This is the Mbabane, the capital; I am curious to see if the rural areas the clinic outreaches to match well with the city. At the same time, I am doubtful of the country’s manufacturing ability. So far, all the randomly picked packaged goods that I have bought from the supermarket—from water to olive oil—are imported from other countries, mostly South Africa or Europe.

The locals treat us with the same curtsey as they would afford to others, although we do get more solicitors for business. There is more Chinese exposure here than I had expected; I have received several “thank you” in mandarin and gestures of kung fu. Later, I learned that there is actually a Taiwan embassy here.

There is a substantial amount of foreigners here. It is easy spot a few groups at the market place, almost always accompanied by running children. It seems to be popular to start families here. Everyone is very friendly, waving or greeting a casual hello without even knowing who we are. A middle age man actually approached us and chatted with us after reading Z’s Rice Soccer t-shirt from afar. Rutti, the man, has actually returned to the village he had worked in as a peace corp volunteer and has been teaching there for the past six years. He was such as friendly fellow who actually invited us to dine at his house, if there was ever an empty weekend in our schedule. Z and I are very tempted to take up on his offer, after hearing that his house is a short walk away from waterfalls.

Saturday night was to say the least a very interesting night for Z and I. it was the night of Veki’s party, or as we found out, a Serbian man’s 30^th birthday party. I can only describe the party as unique, fitting for Swaziland. There were mismatched food, mismatched people, mismatched music that all seem to blend and mix seamlessly together. Drinks—pina colada, tequila, rum—were flying (Z and I sticked to coke), music was blasting, people were dancing in the living room. It was a fun atmosphere and we meet so many random people from all different walks of life. The question of how the heck did these people came to Swaziland simultaneously popped up multiple times to Z and me as we traded looks. We meet a Fulbright scholar, an English man heading the government’s irrigation project, a man working on the new airport, a woman who heads a catering business, Italian girls who work for the UN and many more, more than we can keep track of. They come from many countries—Serbia, London, Mozambique, Cambodia. The age range in the room spreads from the youngest of 3 to the oldest of 75 (A Holland man who has lived in Swaziland for 26 years).  We were a mismatched bunch, but in this setting, in this context, we were all friends. Many of the elders have actually traveled to many places and lived in Swaziland from quite some while. It was really interesting to listen to their perception of the Swaziland’s HIV problem, not from an American’s education perception but from one who has lived in this land. Talking to the irrigation head (lived here for six years) and the Mozambique native, we learned that they don’t believe that the Swaziland HIV problems is at all related to the king’s number of wives or the legalized polygamy. The king’s tradition multiple wives is actually a way for him to stabilize the nation’s clans. They think the HIV epidemic lays in the often wild and unbelievable attitude towards HIV. For instance, an acquaintance of theirs gave a lift to a woman one night and learned that she was a prostitute who knew that she had HIV/AIDS and that she would die in a year or so. Her attitude to the situation was that, if she was to die soon, why not enjoy life– aka spread the virus…We heard more accounts of the general uncaring and ignorant attitude to HIV the two men have encountered in Africa, but they all serve to highlight one fact: there is still much to be done about HIV awareness and education in this continent.

 The party, though fun, felt interminable, but we were eventually rescued around one, driven home red-eyed from the ceaseless smoking that went on, sleepy to the bone but refreshed from the new perspectives we gained.