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