Poglitsh Bike Team

Hillbilly Home Improvement

BIKE THINGS
This has become quite the fun activity with Grace, Cub and I (see poglitshphotos.blogspot.com for a photo of our "team"). Grace is a little too big for the little pink bike we bought earlier this year (though it certainly was good for a starter), and I've had my eye on a used bike for her in town. It is a 24" mountain bike with 18 speeds. I had looked it over a number of times, and even asked the employees at the bike store (where we purchased the pink bike and my bike some years ago) if I could take it for a spin. Except for a few scrapes on the paint, it rode and operated well. Money was the obstacle. I had about half the price, from money I earned working for my dad during Christmas (thanks dad!). The other half-where would it come from? Ahhh...my dad usually gives our girls (their granddaughters) a gift of cash for their birthdays. My parents were in California for a friend's funeral. When they returned to North Carolina, dad informed me via e-mail that Grace's birthday money (Grace was born 8 May) had been deposited. This information I got through our cell phone, which has a simple and very handy e-mail program. I read this e-mail as Cub and I were doing a Saturday trip in Mbabane. I checked the bike store to make sure the bike was still there; it was. I told an employee of the shop (with whom I'm getting to know on a first-name basis) if he could hold that bike for me while I called Ruth. Cub asked why I needed to talk to mom about this. TEACHABLE MOMENT! "Cub, in marriage, it's important for the husband and the wife to work together. This is especially important when it comes to money. Before making big purchases, the husband and wife should be in agreement." Cub seemed satisfied, and Ruth did a little calculating and found we were close enough. So, we got it and put it behind the counter to get later.

Oh man, is it fun now! During the school break time, Grace, Cub and I all go together and ride. Two days ago Grace figured
out how to get herself going without the least bit of help from me; she puts one foot on a pedal while the other foot is on the ground, pushes the pedal hard and fast and raises the other foot to the other pedal. With a mountain bike, which is geared low for climbing hills, that first little burst is enough to get her up and going. Yesterday Grace went up a steep little slope all on her own. It is amazing to me to see her skills grow so fast. Cub isn't as strong and only has one speed, but she pedals great on the flats and is eager to try new things-like crossing the "big road" to go to the shop. As she gets bigger and stronger, I'm sure she'll also amaze with her skills. I hope the three of us can go on big tours out here; there are hundreds of back-country dirt roads we can exlore.

NSUKUMBILI REGIONAL RACEWAY
For variety in bike riding (end to end on the flat soccer field is fun, but...), Ruth and I traced out a bike racecourse inside the school grounds; it forms a figure 8, looping through the school side and the teacher housing side of the school. Cub and Grace both do very well on it, though the uphills still stymie Cub. She tries hard, though, and I ride beside her with my hand on her back to get her up those tough parts. They both negotiate quite well a significant downhill with a turn at the end; I am very proud of them. I'm sure that in a short time they will be blazing around this track.

LAST BLAST OF THE BLASTED BUGLE
For many decades, a student with a watch has rung a brass handbell to indicate the end of one class period and the beginning of the next. A few years back the school installed an electric air horn to do the job. I hated it. If one had the misfortune to stand beneath it when it rang (it was mounted innocuously in a wooden rafter), one enjoyed an earsplitting scream of what the air raid sirens in London in WWII must have sounded like. You could hear that thing in the river valley, a good kilometer away. I know this, because it used to be on an automatic timer and would sound even when school was out of session. I heard it when I was out walking one non-school day. I promised some of my colleagues that my last gift to the school would be the utter and irreversible destruction of that air horn.

Happily, the thing broke down on its own at least a year ago. Good riddance.

We had been adjusting the seat on the pink bike up and down to accomodate for Grace and then Cub. A simple nut and bolt had held the seat in place. A couple days before Grace's 10km race, I went to adjust it, and found the bolt and/or nut were stripped. It would not hold the seat up. I would not have a chance to visit Mbabane before the race, and I knew Grace would not enjoy riding 10k standing up. The hunt was on for a nut and bolt.

Walking down the school corridor soon afterward, I espied the horn. "Say", I thought to myself, "that looks like the right size nut". I returned later with a can of Q-20 (the South African version of WD-40) and the wrench for the girls' bike, and tried the wrench on the nut. It was perfect. A shot of Q-20 and a few turns of the wrench later in the day put the nut in my hand. I put it on the bolt and though it cut some new threads on the bolt, it held. It's still on the bike, doing a great job. The horn is now in a storeroom, and nobody cares. The last blast of the blasted bugle was a good one.

GUAVA GUARD
The last day of school (Friday, April 15) was a little different than usual, as such days are at most schools. I hoped to drill a few holes in one of our walls, and I knew I had to do it this day because the drill would be locked up in the workshop until school opens again May 3. A student brought me the drill, I quickly did the job, and as I passed the drill back to him he said "There are students in the garden getting guavas". "Oh", I replied, "let me fire some things at them." I went back into the house and got my wrist rocket slingshot (thanks Tui!) and returned to the back step. When I got there, the student with the drill said with a smile "They have left". The "drill student" and I were speaking in normal volume voices, but I guess important news travels quickly.

THE "HAWKS" HAVE LANDED
Ruth and the girls spent Thursday night the 14th in town, to make sure they met their carpool up to Ngwenya iron mine (more on mining later). After they left I could not figure out what I would do with myself until bedtime: read? Sleep early? I really didn't know what.

Fortunately, our friends Pastor Rob and his wife Missy Hawkins, Mr. Shandu, and two other members of The Church of God (Charleston, TN) came by as I was doing dishes. Pastor Hawkins is in charge of world missions for the Church of God, and he was visiting the churches here in Swaziland. After a nice talk in our living room (a living room not as "nice" as I would have liked it for visitors: I was grubby from clearing weeds, and the floor was strewn with children's toys and books), they invited me to a church service at Entfubeni primary school. It was an evening well-spent in song, prayer, and preaching. The Hawkins' have been a lot of fun to visit with on their pastoral trips to Swaziland, and have been gracious in carrying things from the States for us. I must confess to an unexpected sense of appreciation for their visits; we do live in a pretty remote area, and the fact that these members of the church administration would come to this little, distant spot makes me (even though I'm not an official member of the church) feel remembered. Thank you for coming, Hawkins' and friends.

MOLE HUNT
Recently little piles of dirt began emerging all over the ground. Moles are about. Not only are the dirt piles unsightly, but Ruth tells me there are 2 kinds of moles: one kind eats just bugs (no big deal), and the other eats roots-roots of trees, sweet potatoes, etc. This is a big deal, when you want your fruit and vegetable trees to live and produce. The hunt is on.

A friend in Mbabane told me that when he sees the pile of dirt emerging he pours water on the pile. This forces the mole out of the ground (to escape the flooding). He then "leads" the mole into his backyard, where his large and heavily-muscled dogs make a quick snack of the subterranean explorer. We tried pouring water on the piles (which were right next to the outside walls and in a bank of dirt about a yard from the house), but we saw no results.

Our next step was keeping a shovel at the ready, so when the girls noted some activity (why weren't they doing their schoolwork instead of watching for signs of life in the dirt?) they ran to me and I came running with the shovel to start chopping away at the pile. Lots of dirt got tossed around, but no moles were seen or chopped. Banana plants, ornamental flowers, and peaches are on the line: we must get the mole!

Our mechanized infantry had had no luck with the enemy: time for chemical and biological warfare.

Biological: The water went out about the same time that the mole hunt was heating up. So, instead of having urine sitting in the toilet making the bathroom smell bad, we had the girls pee pee into the baby training potty and then put that urine on the piles the mole had made. It might not kill him, but it sure would make life unpleasant and perhaps drive him out of the garden and into the rest of the school yard where he could harmlessly tunnel. Still, we kept seeing new dirt piles. Next step was...

Chemical: A little more direct approach, and one that made the hunt even more exciting, was our "black spider" effort. "Black spiders" are a brand of firecrackers we bought in town last year. They are plenty loud, but to ignite them you strike them like a wood match on the striker on the side of the package. We don't know how effective this was, but maybe the shock wave put him on notice that our garden wasn't a hospitable home. Whether it did or not, it put smiles on all our faces. See poglitshphotos.blogspot.com for the video.

MAKE WA SAKHILE
(from Ruth) Before I first moved to Swaziland I very consciously withheld having any opinion about polygamy in societies where it was traditionally practiced. After living here for eight years my opinions have formed. I can see why it was abolished in Christian (and other) cultures. The stories of the patriarchs in the Bible are full of the special dynamics that polygamy causes. A woman at my church here described the best of cases. She and another one of her husband's wives come to church together. Another lady was suprised that they got along so well, "But you love each other." One of the wives quickly corrected her, "We respect each other, we don't love each other." This is the best of cases. In the worst, the situations can be indescribably bad.

Make waSakhile is the name of Abner's younger wife. She is the one he married after Make Malinga, Rudy's "main" homestead mother, died in about 2004. She came and visited with Ruth last Saturday. She has a five year old and a one-year-old child and was three months pregnant when he died. It appears that Make Lukhele, Abner's other (senior) wife, thought Make waSakhile got too much while Abner was alive and she doesn't feel like being generous now. Make waSakhile was in tears feeling that she didn't have support from Abner's family or her neighbors. The good news is that no one is trying to remove her from her house or fields (a common scenario). I was able to give her some encouragement, seeds, and some of the other things that she needed. Abner encouraged her to keep farming and making money that way so we will help provide the inputs for that. Rudy plans to help harvest their corn next week. The road ahead for her and her children looks hard. We will help out both families as it seems appropriate.

FIELD TRIP
On the 15th, Ruth and the 4 girls went on a homeschooling field trip to Ngwenya iron mine, about an hour north of Mbabane. A good time was had by all-well, all but Kit. She said it was boring. Iron mining apparently doesn't appeal to 3 year olds.

Grace came back with a piece of iron ore and told me to compare its weight with a regular stone. The iron ore was indeed heavier. She was very proud of that, as she was of the fact that she rubbed some on her cheek to make rouge. The girls spoke about how the walking was easy since they walk to church every Sunday (we marked it off; it's a 2.7 mile hilly walk to Saint Alexus).

The tour guide told them about the "lion cave". Apparently, that's a cool cave where workers would take breaks with their Lion brand lager. Seems a little dangerous to go back to mining after downing half a liter of 6% beer, but there's no Occupational Safety and Health Administration here. Then again, the mine did shut down; maybe all those lions did have an effect on productivity.

This homeschooling group gets together about once a month; we hope to get Ruth and the girls hooked up on a regular basis.

PALM SUNDAY
On the 16th, Grace and I went to Mbabane (regular errands) and Manzini (confession with Father Mikel, and hanging out with the other priests for an hour or so). When we got back to Mbabane, the line for the kombi was getting longer and (most significantly) fatter; looked like people were cutting in line. It was getting dark and starting to rain, and I did not want Grace and I to make the newspaper by being two of the passengers killed in an overloaded kombi that slipped off a wet road in the dark into a cavernous roadside rut. I called Ruth and asked if it would be okay with her if we found a place to spend the night in town and came out in the morning. She said okay, as did our friends Daran and Theresa Rehmeyer, who said we could spend the night at their place. This was the third stay with them in two weeks, so I was nervous about asking. They had no problem. Thank goodness, and thank you Daran and Theresa!

Grace and I watched Disney's "The Rescuers" at their house; I had forgotten how much fun that movie was. We enjoyed a long night's sleep, and got to go to Mass the next day-Palm Sunday. Grace chose a palm which had a particularly interesting "wobble" action at the top. The congregation had a procession-something like a parade-out of the church grounds and around the block. Given the recent labor unrest and marches, I was simultaneously amused and nervous that the police surrounded the procession to make sure the (very light) traffic and we "proceeders" did not clash. The group also sang the song "Give me oil in my lamp"-but the back of the procession and the front could not keep time together, so there was an uncoordinated (and hence humorous) canon going on the entire time. As we walked, Grace and I talked about what this procession meant. It meant showing publicly that we love Jesus, and it meant reenacting His entry into Jerusalem, and it meant to remind us to walk with Him not only when everyone was cheering him, but also when He was left alone by almost everyone else. No matter how bleak things looked for Him, or sometimes for us, we can trust that in Him, things will work out in the end-so let's stick with Him and keep living good Christian lives right through this life.

After Mass we made our way as quickly as we could back to the bus station-but not without a stop at the old fruit and vegetable market first! I explained to Grace that when my brother and I were about her age, dad would take us to a donut shop after church and buy us the donut of our choice. Chris and I closely scrutinized every donut in the case, looking for the biggest. I remember one called the "bear claw" always seemed the largest. You can find donuts in Mbabane, but the biggest and best deal by far are "fatcakes": softball-sized clumps of deep-fried dough. Imagine a donut hole on anabolic steroids, and you're pretty close to a fatcake from the vegetable market. Some of them also have large and delicious chunks of crispies attached to them (the kind you used to find on "extra crispy" Kentucky Fried Chicken, before "deep fried" and "extra crispy" became alleged crimes against humanity). At only E2 they are comparable in price to regular donuts, but they dwarf the normal ones on size. Plus, they use only polyunsaturated fat for frying and they have a low GI rating-HA! If you don't like fat, don't touch 'em.

Finally back at the rank, we got in line. And waited. The line was short, but the rain was getting heavier. I did not want to spend another night in Mbabane, so Grace agreed to take the kombi to Mbuluzi and try our luck walking. We had all day, so I knew we could get there on foot if worse came to worst. The kombi for Mbuluzi left while we bought an umbrella, so we were back to square one. We got together with an older guy in trying to organize a private car to take us to the school, when an Nsukumbili-bound kombi pulled up. We got on (including the old guy, whom we had to hunt for over by the main kombi terminal) and enjoyed our ride to the top of the big hill near St. Alexus. This guy didn't feel confident about driving down the steep slippery road, so we were back onto our feet. Better safe than sorry, though; I'm glad he dropped us. A second kombi met us at the bottom of the hill and took us the rest of the way. It was good to see the rest of the family again, and it was good to have been able to spend almost 2 full days with Grace. What a blessing it is to be able to have so much time with my children-and so much fun with them-before they leave home. I know I will appreciate this time spent when they do leave the nest.

NSUKUMHILLBILLY
You can grab out of the air and crush a mosquito with your weak hand while your strong hand holds soapy forks and spoons during dish clean-up after dinner at the kitchen sink.
Hillbilly

Your daughter exitedly calls you into the bathroom to "watch this": she is blowing into the overflow pipe on the bathtub (that funny, usually round metal cover with the drain plug chain attached to it) and watching the bubbles come up in the water through the drain. She tells you "What would this be like if you had a fan blowing into this?"
Hillbilly

Multiple choice question: What are these comments about?
"I like how this turned out." "Yep, it looks good."
a) A bedroom addition to your house
b) A new car in the driveway
c) A new deck and BBQ grill in the backyard
d) A newly-strung clothesline above the tub in the bathroom, for drying clothes on rainy days

If you chose d), you were right-and you have the "Hillbilly mentality".
(see photo at poglitshphotos.blogspot.com; the drilling mentioned above was for putting anchor kits in the masonry above the bathroom window)

Have a good day,
The Poglitshs

MAMBA MATERNITY WARD
During a recent conversation Stan Mamba (resident handyman genius) said "Well, Sg'coko, I have a son". I knew he had one son, a young man who stayed a number of years with him here at the school. I sensed something else was coming. "Make wa Sina gave birth on Saturday." Cultural note: In Swaziland, women with children here are referred to as "mother of [child's name]". Hence Ruth is "Make wa Grace" or "Make wa Cubby", not usually "Mrs. Poglitsh".

Naturally I told Mamba I was happy for him. Stan then proceeded to describe the circumstances of the birth.

Swazi nurses are notorious for their um, less-than-Marcus Welby-style bedside manner. We have heard stories of verbal abuse and gross inattention from Swazi nurses in government hospitals. Make wa Sina (Stan's wife) lived through such an unpleasant experience with the birth of Sinathemba. Apparently, she buzzed for a nurse as she began to deliver. No nurse came. When a nurse finally showed up some time later, Stan's wife had delivered Sina. The nurses complained to her, "Why didn't you call?" Well, Make wa Sina was determined not to repeat this or a worse experience.

On Saturday morning the 26th, she said she didn't feel very good. But she did not mention that they were labor pains, and she declined to go for medical attention. Stan began his busy day. Sometime after dark, while giving a lift to someone in the community, Mamba got his truck stuck in a rut. While puzzling about how to extract the bakkie, he got a call from home. Make wa Sina had delivered right in their teacher's house, attended by a couple of her sisters (her homestead of origin is nearby). All's well that ends well, but even Mamba conceded that had she experienced complications, things would have been very difficult. That night got wet and slippery, and Mamba's car was already trapped in a rut. Thanks be to God everything went well. Mom and Wakhile (the son) are doing well.

STRIKE ACTION
As with many governments around the world, Swaziland's government is broke. The government suggested cutting salaries for civil servants (the IMF has suggested reducing the govt. payroll for years; the Swazi govt. instead kept giving raises) and teachers got upset. They staged a protest march in March, which went peacefully and, according to one participant I spoke with, successfully. Government was still interested in pay cuts, so teachers stayed home or joined a protest march on Tuesday April 12th. Since I'm not a member of the teacher's union and figure I make enough money, I went to school and tried to do my job. I did not know, just as no one else knew, what would happen. But very little happened at Nsukumbili; my students for the first class I was to teach had been shanghaied into harvesting corn. After that class came the first break, and students were sent home by the headmaster after the break. He instructed the students to return on Friday. I spoke with someone on Wednesday, and he said this march was not as successful as the previous one. I've spent some time helping compile report cards which we'll distribute on Friday. I don't know how worried folks were about this; I was worried, but as I said, nothing bad happened here at school. Looks like it'll be a pretty calm end to the school term. I hope government and the teachers can reach an agreement; probably no raises for 3 years would be fair to all. We will see what happens.


FAMILY AND DEVELOPMENT
On a trip to town earlier this month Cub and I went to Carter's Mall, Mbabane's equivalent of Home Depot. Carter's Mall isn't as big or as fluorescently lit, but it still has pretty much everything you're looking for. On the way through the checkout, the ladies at the cash register noted that Cub and I were together. I said yes, and the cashiers and I got into a discussion of marriage and family. This, by the way, is not the sort of conversation I ever remember having at a Home Depot cash register in Fort Myers, Florida or anywhere else in the USA.

Anyway, we agreed on one thing: if husbands would just treat their wives and children better, the world would be a happier place. They said things like "There you are with your daughter; there is love" and "A woman is like a balloon; if you love her, she fills up and up. If you puncture her with sharp comments, she goes flat". We all agreed that if each man made better efforts to love his wife and children, all these non-governmental organizations focusing on women in development, or ending violence against women, or promoting gender equality, etc. would become unnecessary. I know the road runs both ways, but I'm a man, so let me speak to the men: let's make the extra efforts to treat our wives like queens, and our children with love and proper training. Our homes will flourish, and maybe other guys will get the idea, and who knows how far the good reverberations will go?

SOCCER
I'm still officially disconnected to the soccer team, which is how I like it. But that game is in my bones, so it's very hard to pay NO attention to it. The boys have played three games. They lost the first two, 4-1 and 5-2. Both of their opponents in these games were weak to average. Our boys played like someone had spiked their drinking water with sedatives; they played with little determination or interest. Their third game was against Mater Dolorosa School (MDS), a perennial powerhouse but a team that had tied our first opponent 1-1. I feared for our team, but that tie certainly seemed anomalous.

When I coached in the 2009 season, we introduced the "team dinner"-a big rice and chili gathering for the players at our house the day before the game. We had a team dinner before the MDS match, complete with a replaying of the USA-Mexico second round game from World Cup 2002 on the vcr (it's funny how "2002" and "vcr" sound antiquated now).

I tossed some "Mr. Nice Hot Chilli: Sinandzi-Nandzi Saphelephele" hot sauce into the beans, having found our crushed red pepper overrun with ants. This is a blood-red, locally-produced salsa-like seasoning guaranteed to make my bald head shine with sweat. I use it to liven up my food, as the girls like their fare pretty bland. I put a fraction of a teaspoon into 3 cups of chili in my own bowl with trepidation. On this day, feeling time pressure and a desire to make this a "manly" meal, I tossed 1 1/2 tablespoons into the beans.

Whether it was the hot pepper or something else, the team was INSPIRED against MDS. They controlled the play, they made plenty of scoring opportunities, and most importantly, they played with a determination to win. Unfortunately, they lost, 1-0. One defensive lapse cost them a goal, and despite a barrage of attack on MDS' goal and numerous near-misses, they simply could not score. Both teams seemed to recognize the result "should" have gone the other way. They have one more game to play, which will have to be played when school opens in May (this term ends April 15th). I hope they get to play it (that long a delay for a game when at least one of the teams cannot advance may mean the game is not played at all), and I hope they win it by scoring lots of goals. It would be a great ending to a "turnaround" season.

ABNER
About 10 days after a funeral, friends and relatives of the deceased re-convene at the deceased's homestead for an all-night prayer vigil. Abner Dlamini's prayer vigil was Saturday night April 9th. I did not want to spend all night, but I did want to make an appearance. I did that early (by vigil standards-9:30 to 10:30PM) in the evening. Ruth and the girls stayed home.

The atmosphere at the homestead wasn't very prayerful at that time; there was lots of laughter. I like laughter, but I expected something a little more somber. Maybe people were letting off steam. Anyway, I sat in a hut with my back to the wall and dozed, while the other men in the hut exchanged brief comments-something like the real-life version of Twitter "tweets", I suppose. I did not get to see either of Abner's wives; one was asleep, and I didn't ask about the other one. Frankly, I was glad to leave.

On the way home I got to enjoy stretches of non-electric-light night walking. This was the only way to travel by foot the first time I was here. It is now harder and harder to find, as more and more homesteads get electrified. I certainly don't begrudge anyone their electricity; we sure do like it ourselves. But somehow the stars are more vibrant when they aren't competing with house security lights. On the walk back I got to enjoy the dark outlines of trees silhouetted on a starry backdrop. On the trip to the homestead, I got to see moonlight shimmering on the slow-flowing Mbuluzi River. These brief and delightful experiences made me ask why young people throw their lives away for sex (read HIV/AIDS). Why would people living out here trade simple and beautiful things like this (and these are but a small examples) for a brief thrill carrying a lethal price tag? It is painful to think of the friends and acquaintences who have died. It is chilling to wonder "Who's next?"

TEACH YOUR CHILDREN WELL
The attached article was published in the Times of Swaziland a couple months back. I really liked it, and I think it applies as well in the US as it does in Swaziland. Read, think, and apply.

GONE FISHIN'
The other attached article also appeared in the Times. On April 1st. Read, think, and enjoy.

Have a good day,
The Poglitshs

Africa Dispatch

A BIG DAY

Sunday March 6th was a big day. We had spent the previous day in town, saying goodbye to the Rogers who were moving to the US, spending some time with our friend Daran Rehmeyer, and going to 5:30PM Mass with our Ugandan friends the Rugumambaju's.

The "Rugus" gave us a ride back out to the school after Mass, which is a big treat. Because we had attended the Saturday evening service, we did not have to go to church the next day at the outstation. Thing was, it was the first Sunday of the month and that's my (Rudy's) week to teach Sunday school. So, off I went, happy for the walk. Church went fine, and afterwards I turned around and walked back. We never tire of this place; every vista is postcard-perfect, and this Sunday was no exception. I look forward to exploring (maybe with one of the girls on bikes!-more later) some of those distant roads and

hills we see from the trail to church.

After a buoyant few hours in God's house and God's world, I came home to water-less plumbing. Exultant thoughts of Psalm 19 verses 1-3 "The heavens are telling the glory of God; and the fimament proclaims his handiwork. Day to day pours forth speech, and night to night declares knowledge. There is no speech, nor are there words; their voice is not heard" turned to John 16 verse 33 where Jesus says "In the world you have tribulation; but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." So, I deposited the church stuff and set out on bicycle to check the system. I found the problem-a valve had been closed, reducing the water coming our way to a trickle-and headed back home. I was tired, I was hungry, and I hoped the flow of water into the house would be enough to ensure me some drinking water. Still, the vistas and the opportunity to be active outdoors in such a beautiful place were undeniable. Church done, water done. Time to go home.

Then, a bit of news on the way home. I passed a woman going away from the school who said Abner Dlamini (my homestead Father) had died this very Sunday. I asked her a couple questions, to make sure I knew we were talking about the same guy and that we had the date correct. I got back to the house and told Ruth what I had heard, and then went to the homestead to make absolutely sure. It was true. I met Michael Dlamini, a young man (now not so young) Marcos Bradley and I had known as Peace

Corps volunteers in the early 1990s. He confirmed the news. Abner died in the wee hours of Sunday morning. His sister was there, and had said he had been saying for a few days that "He was going away". They kept shushhing him on it, but this particular date he had been vomiting and then died. Swaziland can have that "whiplash" effect on you; up one moment, in the pits the next.

I had visited Abner 2 weeks before, and had planned to see him Friday afternoon the 4th of March. But Jabulile was still asleep when I wanted to go, and it's my job to take care of her while Ruth does girls' club on Friday afternoon. It would not have done to take off and then have Jabu wake up, and leave Ruth to have to take care of her. Besides, I figured there'd be another chance to see him. I do feel bad about not getting back there sooner, but his sister said he had mentioned how we had helped him. One of the last things we did was give him a photo of he, his dad, my dad, me, and a bunch of others when my

parents visited in 2005. He remembered that time fondly, a time when he was still strong. His funeral was Sunday, March 20th. He was born June 26, 1954.

MORE ON ABNER

Ruth and I went to the funeral. Yenzile Mamba is Grace's best friend. She has a cousin living here, Nonduduzo, and "Nondudu" spent the night at our house. That way, Ruth and I could leave the house at 3AM and walk to the homestead for the dawn funeral, and our girls would have someone responsible in the house when they woke up. We caught the last part of the vigil-a vigil being an all-night prayer and singing gathering before a funeral. It has a cathartic effect, and it may also make it easier for people to attend funerals, since private cars are still pretty rare. A vigil allows people to get there the day before and spend the night. And, most importantly, it allows people to pour out their thanks, praise, and heartbreak to the Almighty over the passing of a loved one. Graveside, men and women generally stand separately. Ruth and I went to our respective groups. After the casket is lowered into the ground, female relatives take a handful of soil from a shovel and toss it into the grave. I noticed that Ruth did that along with a number of other women. I appreciated that; it did seem appropriate, and I was struck by how blessed I am to have a wife who is willing to live this kind of life and enjoy it. It seems unlikely that most women I might have married

would enjoy getting up at 2AM to walk by moonlight and flashlight through the countryside to attend a funeral. It was never a question to Ruth that we would go together.

After the women, the men take turns shovelling soil into the grave. In Swazi culture one usually passes tools, utensils, books, etc. directly from person to person using the right hand. I learned a few funerals ago that the rule is different at burials; the shovel is simply placed on the ground, and the next man picks it up and shovels a little while. It is strange what details stick with you. Ruth's most vivid image was of the young men who dance barefoot on the grave after each layer of dirt is added to pack down the earth.

We spoke briefly to BoyBoy Dlamini (a son of the homestead) after the funeral. He is working in the north of Swaziland as an agricultural extension agent now. Another son ("Skippa") lives in Manzini. A third son is a soldier, and is almost never home. The homestead Marcos Bradley and I spent 10 days in 20 years ago, a homestead then bubbling with life and activity, is nearly empty. Vegetation is taking over, and decay is evident. There is only one adult male constantly in one of the two homesteads. He is the son of Abner's other wife. His name is Bernard. I'm not sure how the homestead will get its harvest in this year, though that harvest will be much smaller than in years past because without Abner's manpower, a much smaller amount of corn was planted. Ruth and I plan to have me help do that work. It is actually pretty satisfying, much like cutting the grass (for those of you who like that work, you know what I mean). Harvest is also in a lovely time of the year, when the air is dry and cool and the sky a cloudless dome of blue. So, there are worse things you can do with your time off than harvest corn during a school break in Swaziland.

MACATA

"Macata" means "small pieces of meat". A student who finished school in 2008 somehow (I never asked how) got that nickname. A couple months ago a teacher asked me "Do you remember Macata?" "Yes, of course", I said. I wondered, before the next comment came, if this teacher would tell me that Macata had died. "His funeral was this weekend". I was shocked and disappointed that my half-guess was true. I asked the teacher what he had died of. The teacher said he had tuberculosis and that either the disease or the medication or both, or maybe just despair, had confused his thinking, and he hanged himself. I don't know what to do with all these deaths, sometimes.

BHEKITHEMBA AND THE GIFT

While waiting in town for a kombi, a former student name Bhekithemba Dlamini came up behind me and greeted us. We shook hands, and I told him how strong his grip was. He has found construction work in Matsapha, a fact both of us were glad about. Somehow we got onto the topic of "gifts", and he said that God gives gifts, and we must just take them as they come-we can't refuse them. "If I give you my cellphone, you can't make it a different cellphone; that's the one I gave you. You just have to accept it". I mentioned that Abner had just died, and he nodded his head in understanding. "I buried my father about a month ago. That is just how it goes. We have to accept it." I hope I someday gain the maturity that some of my former

students already have. Follow this link (http://www.firstthings.com/article/2011/02/real-death-real-dignity) for a good essay about the gift of life, and how one man both received it and, and at the proper time, let it go.

WHIPLASH

I mentioned that life in Swaziland can have a sort of whiplash feel to it. Early in March I was having some intestinal trouble. Our first attempt was a medicine that kills a wide variety of microorganismic baddies in the innards. After 7 days, things weren't much better. In fact, they were substantially worse, worse to the tune of feeling like someone had swung one of those construction-site wrecking balls (the ones used to knock down old buildings) into my gut. Whatever was going on in there had me laid out on the contrete floor in the fetal position due to the pain. Dr. Wasswa sent me to the lab to try to identify the exact culprit. They found two varieties of worms, one of which is called the whipworm. It pretty much had me

whipped! Wasswa's order included deworming and bombardment with erythromycin, 8 tablets a day for 10 days. The pain comes and goes once in a while, but not as strong or as frequent as at the beginning. As a longtime expatriate friend has said, Africa is not a feminine continent. The bugs here are tough.

MORE ON WATER

No newsletter would be complete without a mention of the water system. A couple weeks ago we found a cut in the pipe along the road. The local kids (elementary-school age) are trying to help the community and turn a buck at the same time by filling in potholes for hire. The routine is, as soon as they hear a car coming they jump up with shovels in hand and start moving dirt from the side of the road into nearby potholes. The driver will give them a coin or two. The road is somewhat better for their efforts-but in this case, the pipe suffered. In digging soil from the shoulder, they hacked the pipe in a couple places. As the pipe sits in a low point, the water pressure is very large, and makeshift "slings" (bicycle innertubes cut into strips and wrapped around the cut part of pipe like an ace bandage) weren't working. Catch was, normal copulings weren't going to work, because the pipe in the ground was a non-standard size.

Leave it to Stan Mamba to come up with a solution. He took a piece of metal pipe and cut it into two pieces. Then he took a piece of plastic pipe and poured hot water on it, so that the plastic became soft. He quickly shoved the metal pipe into the softened pipe. The metal would go into the plastic pipe, but as the plastic cooled it made a very tight fit. He did the same at the other end of the plastic pipe. Then we went back to the scene of the break and shoved the metal ends into the plastic pipe at the road Almost a half-dozen clamps held the "splice" in place. It did shoot out once (Mr. Gama, the school groundskeeper, found primary school boys had pulled it apart), so we had to go back and re-install. We then threw large

quantities of dirt on the pipe, both to discourage further tampering and to apply pressure to the pipe so that it would stay connected. So far (about a month later), so good. The water has been steady since then.

A FEW OF MY FAVORITE THINGS

"Sing, Sing Out Loud"

Grace, Cub and Kit accompanied Mr. Mamba and I to the second pipe repair along the road. On the way back the girls had their heads out the window of Mamba's pickup, singing parts of the song "My Favorite Things" from the musical "The Sound of Music". They sat in stair-step fashion; Grace, Cub, Kit. The sound of their boisterous song, the huge smiles, and their hair whipping around like mops in a hurricane were just great. It's funny how you have so many "important" things to do, and you get anxious about completing them. I suppose many of those are necessary, but the things you really remember are moments like

"the Poglitsh family singers" chorusing the great outdoors out of your friend's pickup.

"Proud Mary"

Also in the file marked "unforgettable" goes the lift Cub and I enjoyed from Mbuluzi school to the top of the first big hill one recent Saturday. As usual, my patience ran out standing in a long line at the bus rank. Cub and I loaded up on sodas and took the kombi to Mbuluzi. We hadn't left the paved road when a tractor came by. Up we got, and what a ride! We were in a trailer, and since it was unladen except for the 4 Swazis and the 2 of us (comparatively little for a tractor load), the trailer bounced around a lot. Cubby twice knocked her head against the ironwork we held onto, but she kept her grip. It was great fun watching those huge back tires turn around and around; they reminded me of the paddlewheel steamships I've heard

of, and the Creedence Clearwater Revival song (you know the chorus: "Rollin', rollin', rollin' on the river"). Mark Twain, eat your heart out.

Later on this trip home we got a lift with a kombi operated by the Shining Star bus service. The bus (a full size one, like city buses in the USA) no longer travels out here, but there is some kombi service. Though the kombi was full, and though we had spurned the opportunity to get a "proper" seat on the kombi back in town by jumping out of line, they took us on. Cub sat up front on someone's lap, and I stood in the main passenger section. They got us as far as the path between the homestead and the school, which was plenty far for us. What a nice lift.

Along the way, we overheard some of the passengers talking about us. They were commenting on how long we had been here. Though they weren't saying "The Poglitsh's are one of us"-which will never be a reality for various reasons-the tone of the conversations carried a sense of "They really do live here with us; they're alright." That was satisfying.

MARATHON

A couple Fridays ago the track and field team had a meet at the national stadium (called "Somhlolo", meaning "miracle") near Manzini. The athletic director asked me to come and take photos. That sounded like fun. I brought Kit with me, to give her an adventure. We also contacted the Salesian priests in Manzini to see if they would put us up for the night, for the opportunity to attend Mass and have my confession heard, and to make getting home easier the next day. Track meets tend to run late, and it would be more fun to leave the meet in the light and spend the night nearby with friends and return to the school in the sunshine the next day.

Everything went very well, except that I took not one photo. Somehow I ended up being a judge at the high jump competition. Kit was a patient and good helper, sometimes helping me pick up the bar when a competitor knocked it down. She was rewarded with fruit and sodas. Still, it was about 5 hours in the direct sun, right next to the artificial-turf soccer field. As the day wore on, we were treated to the warm waft of slow-roasting astroturf. As cans of soda were 6-8 Emalangeni each and I didn't have a deep pocket, I was mighty thirsty by the time we got to the Salesians. I must have downed 2 liters of juice at

their place. Next time we'll bring our own drinks. Photo attached of Kit crashed out about an hour before we left. She was hot and tired by this point, and just fell asleep on my backpack in the full sun.

PINEAPPLE FIELDS FOREVER

Running swells my knee up now, so I can't run now. I picked up the bike last year and have had lots of fun. That fun has been amplified greatly now that we have a child's bike for Grace and Cub. Both can ride completely on their own! I rush home during the first break time during the school day (after 4th period) and either Grace or Cub grabs the bike, and we go up to the soccer field and ride around for about half an hour. On March 26th Grace and I rode in a 10km race in nearby Malkerns, a major fruit-production area for Swaziland. As usual, transport was a challenge but thanks to friends it all worked out. On Friday the 25th S. Mamba took us to Mahlanya (a point not far from Malkerns, and site of a big fruit and veggie market). The ride with Mamba was quite a blast. Nsukumbili closed at 1:50, and Mamba had to be in class at 3PM in Manzini. We left the school at 2PM and picked up a couple people along the way. After collecting a grandmother along the way and putting her in the front seat, I got in the back with the two bicycles and shouted to Mamba "Drive it like you stole it!" A laugh went up from the folks in the twin cab, as the accelerator went down and the dust flew up. I've never travelled so fast in the back of a pickup on a dirt road. But all's well that ends well, and after getting some huge red grapes and mangoes twice the size

of softballs at Mahlanya, Grace and I walked the 30 minutes to The Willows Lodge. We enjoyed one of the mammoth mangoes and our liphalishi and bean dinners. After preparing our gear for the next day we enjoyed turning in early (7PM).

The next day we got on our gear and Ally James, proprietess of The Willows, gave us a lift to the Malkerns Club. Grace picked up her packet of goodies (the number for the front of her bike, her T-shirt, and the assorted food items) and we got ready. We stretched our muscles and pedaled around a little bit. She said she was a little nervous. We said a little prayer, offering the "butterflies" to the Lord. After the prayer, Grace said "What butterflies?" A little explanation about that funny feeling in your stomach before you're going to do something big was given.The starter made the call for the 10km racers, and they (and the many parents riding with them) made ready. A 5,4,3,2,1 and we were off! In fact, Grace was "off" twice in 50 yards! She crashed once on her own getting started, then we had a three-way "close encounter" with another girl, Grace, and I. I was extremely glad to see Grace's reaction to the two crashes; she just

plain laughed, like someone had told a good joke, then picked up her bike and kept going. That was, I suspect, the biggest victory of the day. What a good attitude.

As mentioned above Malkerns is a major fruit-producing and processing area, and the course went through a huge pineapple field (ah, THERE'S the connection to the heading!). The fields were in various stages, from freshly plowed and unplanted to lots of green leaves sticking out but no evidence of pineapples, to baseball-sized bright red pineapples just getting started. Grace brushed against some plants once and got some pineapple spines in a finger. I wonder how much of that happened to other riders along the way. A big crash into the plants could be a prickly situation.

Each lap was 5km, and each time the riders passed the gate, they got a sticker on their helmet to mark a lap. Grace did just great all the time. Of course my tendency was to try to make this into a "real" race, but I knew the point was for Grace to have a good time and do her best, so I kept blunting that competitiveness in me.

Still, there was one girl who seemed to be "the one to beat" for Grace. They were back and forth a number of times, first she (Nosipho) then Grace in the lead. This, I thought, would be the "race" part of this race. At one point Nosipho was about 60 yards behind, and Grace said "Can we wait for her?" I grimaced, forced a smile, and said "Of course". We did wait, and I encouraged each of them for the second part of the second lap. All three of us were winners.

Grace and Nosipho both finished, and I don't know who was happier-me or Grace. I asked someone nearby to take a photo of Grace and I with the camera on our cell phone, and he obliged. I thought Grace and I would just stand next to each other, but she turned and gave me a big hug. That photo and the one with her just after she finished and got her medal are attached. What a kid, and what a day.

Because she finished, Grace was eligible for the various raffle prizes-and she won one! She received a E50 voucher for a Bennigan's-type restaurant in the Ezulwini Valley. We will somehow make a family trip (probably with another family, since they have vehicles) to the Valley this school break to cash it in.

BONUS RIDE

The Bennett's, who had a son in the race and live very close to (and attend) the outstation church, gave us a lift back. I got to be in the bed of the pickup again, though Mr. Bennett wasn't in quite the rush Mamba was on Friday, so it was more pleasant. The dad, David Bennett, had to be at a meeting in Manzini right away, so he dropped us off at the church service road. This meant Gracie and I got to do a little more riding! We did another 6km back to the house. This was more of a challenge, since Dlangeni is hilly (which is fun). We got up to about 20km an hour going down one hill, but we did a lot of pushing and walking on the uphills. We had an entourage of a half-dozen curious kids for a km or two. That's kind of fun, and

kind of unnerving; I don't envy politicians and movie stars the crowds of complete strangers following them around all the time.

We got home and told our stories to the rest of the family; then Cub and Kit cleaned up the girls' bike. By evening's end we were talking about Cub's turn in such a race; I hope the Sibebe race later in the year has a "kid-parent" component. If it does, Cub and I will be there.

NSUKUMHILLBILLY

You use Avon "Skin So Soft" to keep the mosquitoes off.

how is that hillbilly?

Because your girls apply it to themselves before they go to bed, in the house.

Hillbilly

The "extra rinse" setting on your clothes washer means leaving the laundry on the line through an afternoon rain shower. The clothes will dry the next day anyway.

Hillbilly

You lash a fatally-cracked cereal bowl to your neighbor's fence with wire, so he can use it for rifle practice.

"reduce-reuse-recycle" Hillbilly

You employ magnets (saved from the door gaskets of your fridge-turned-bookcase) and mesh fabric to make screens for your metal window frames.

Hillibilly

Some families keep fish as pets, some keep cats or dogs. Yours collects mosquito larvae found in a plant vase in the living room and puts them in an empty baby food jar to raise them to maturity.

Hillbilly

You want to plant a mango seed nursery under the eaves. Directly above your desired planting area you see a wasp's nest. It's too late in the day to burn them out (the wasps are warmed up and will easily escape the fire, and probably attack you). You go for your slingshot. Shooting from the safety of your back step, your 20th shot knocks the nest down.

Hillbilly pest control

Have a good day,

The Poglitsh's