Grace looking out from the nature reserve (I think Mlawula; can't be sure) towards the middleveld.

Rudy after the race. Look at the shine on that head!

The family after the race.

Jabu and Rudy ready for a ride.

Part of the Police pass-out.

RACE TO THE RACE
Earlier I mentioned that some kind folks paid my way to join the Siteki bicycle road race, set for Saturday 1 October. Our friend Vitor Oliverra, the plant manager for Inyatsi Construction, offered to collect our whole family at the school early on Saturday morning and take us to the race. Road trip! We enthusiastically told Vitor that would be great.

Then, it rained heavily Friday evening. Vitor called late that night and asked what he should do. I told him that the roads generally improve once the rains stop (which they did, about 9PM), so he should go ahead and try it and just call us if he hits snags.

Saturday morning we walked out of the house to meet Vitor on the main road. The girls were ahead of me, and the phone rang. Vitor's path was blocked by a bus which had slipped on the muddy road. I asked him where he was; he gave the phone to someone nearby who told me "Emtjolobela". Ha! That's within eyeshot of the school. Still, time was against us (Siteki is on the opposite side of the country, and we had to be there to start at 8AM), and Vitor suggested I pedal my bike to him and just he and I would go. That seemed fair. I told Ruth, and she agreed. I then broke it to the girls, and the look of disappointment on their faces was too much to bear. "Wait here, girls, just a second."

Time to call on the go-to man, the Michael Jordan of "We'll make a plan".

I ran back to Stan Mamba's house and rapped on his door. When he didn't open it instantaneously, I called his cell phone. He did open the door, and I breathlessly explained our situation. Without a moment's hesitation he pulled on his shirt and tincabule (sandals made of old car tires) and got his pickup keys. I ran back to Ruth (who sat in the house nursing Jabulile) and told her Mamba would take us to Vitor. Ruth disconnected Jabu and went to Mamba's, not noticing that Jabu's shoes had fallen off in the excitement.

I returned to the girls, who had not moved from where I left them near the gate. I told them the new plan, and they were excited. We all got out the gate, we piled my bike in the back of Mamba's truck and all of us into the double cab, we got to the bus, we hustled past the immobilized leviathan (the radiator had been damaged when it fell into a roadside gully), we strapped my bike to Vitor's bike rack, and we were on our way.

The rest of the trip was easy. As we were pressed for time, Vitor was generous with the accelerator. We reached 100 mph at least once, on roads not generally designed for such speeds. The girls occasionally get carsick on the kombi trip to town; good thing we had the spare bread bags with us this morning, as they all (except Jabu) got sick. But we did make it to the race on time.

This event didn't have the kiddie attractions (food booths, jumping castle, water slide, etc.) that other ones often do. Fortunately, the girls found a /ishongololo (a harmless millipede as thick as your index finger and about 7 inches long) and played with that for 1 1/2 hours of the 2 1/2 hours it took me to finish the race. After I finished I tossed each of the girls one of the mini-chocolate bars that a generous volunteer at a water table stuffed into the back pockets of my cycling shirt. Our ride back to Mbabane and the school (Vitor is mighty nice to us!) was full of fun conversations. A good time was had by all.

Ruth and the girls after the ride. Kit is holding onto the seat post; you can just see some of her hair.
Rudy after the race. Check that glare on the noggin'! Good thing I wear a helmet when riding; otherwise I might impair the vision of low-flying airplane pilots and cause an accident.
Grace looking west over the Lubombo plateau and onto the lowveld. The bike race started and ended in Mlawula nature reserve near Siteki, just a short distance from Swaziland's eastern border with Mozambique. This is a dry region, with the tough and thorny vegetation commonly associated with Africa.

THE FOURTH PEACE CORPS GOAL; or, HOW TO PRE-EMPT A TONGUE LASHING
20 years ago my fellow Peace Corps Volunteers-to-be and I were told the three goals of Peace Corps were 1) Share technical skills with the host nation; 2) Learn more about the host nation culture; 3) Share our home nation culture with the hosts. The fourth, unwritten, but much more commonly-achieved goal is to provide opportunities for side-splitting laughter for the hosts. Language gaffs, myopic naivety, and stuff we do that just looks silly to them all ensure that at least some of our efforts-even if they are just opportunities for Swazis to say "Do you remember when Poglitsh..."-will remain in the hearts and minds of our friends and neighbors.

I like to ride my bike, I like to do stuff with my kids, and me taking Jabulile out of the house is a special treat for Ruth; hence the photo above combines three good activities. I do not particularly enjoy, however, all the free parenting advice I get when I take the younger kids outside; as most of this advice is usually negative ("Where are the gloves? She's going to catch flu!"), I've tried to come up with ways to avoid it.

A couple weeks ago, I hit on one: fight fire with fire. As I pedaled past the homesteads, the first time I heard a grandmother inside a homestead start clucking "Hawu, intfombatana utawukula!" ("Yikes, the child will get sick"), I cranked out "Aiiiiiiiiii, Poglitsh, utawuwisa intfombatana wakho! Utawufa umtfwana!" ("Poglitsh, you will make the baby fall! The child will die!"). I added some blood-curdling shrieks and slaps to my helmet (this was on a slow, uphill climb) for drama. The other, younger voices in the homesteads erupted in laughter, and I was spared another unsolicited pediatric shellacking. I hope the gogos (grandmothers) didn't take it too hard.


SCHOOLS OPEN
Last time we told everyone that schools had not opened. They did finally open, 7 weeks after they closed instead of 3 weeks later. The government still had not paid the E80 million, but principals unlocked the doors on the promise that the money would be there by the middle of October. Opinions among teachers were about evenly split between those who thought the schools would re-close when the money did not appear as promised (which most teachers thought would be the case) and those who thought the schools would simply finish the year on financial vapors. Ruth went to town this week and read that principals of some schools were directed to come get their checks-so maybe the money will be there. I'm writing on 12 October (Wednesday night); we'll see next Monday what happens.


OUR HEADMASTER
Headmaster Magagula, the man who replaced M.K. Dlamini beginning in the 2007 school year, did not appear at the school for the first two weeks of the third term. Some years ago he suffered an accident of some sort, and apparently it was having repercussions. For the sake of his health and for teacher confidence, I can happily report that he is back at his job. He seems fine to me; I sure hope he stays that way.


POLICE PASS-OUT
No, this is not a headline from the Times of Swaziland about faint-hearted police officers blacking out at the latest rally. Instead, this is what Americans would call a graduation. The newest batch of police officers put on their "dress blues" and take the oath of office. One former student, Mzwandile Nkambule, and one former colleague (and also former student) Lucky Nkambule (no relation) became full-fledged gun-toting officers of the peace on Friday 7 October. Mzwandile's mom stopped me in Mbabane in September and invited me to the function. We put it on our calendar. We took Shining Star to town Friday morning, got some food, then continued on to friends (Todd and Debra Hoskins) in Manzini. These friends knew where the Police College was (good thing, as we did not) and after refreshments at their place, they took us over and dropped us off. Mzwandile told us the event was to start at 9:30AM. Yeah, and he told us his mom's wedding a few years back was supposed to start at that time; on the day of her nuptials, after running uphill with the family and arriving in time, we found only women cooking in the kitchen and one guy decorating the hall. The wedding got underway around 11:30. So, "9:30" at the police college seemed to us unrealistic. Todd dropped us off at the gate at 11, and things didn't rev up for another hour and a half. Maybe we've learned something here.

At the gate a Swazi police officer toting an automatic rifle said "Sorry, sir, as you are a male you will have to remove your hat". Look up at the photo of me after the Siteki race and ask yourself if I thought showing my "cultural sensitivity" by baring my hairless white scalp in the sunniest and hottest few hours of the day was right at the top of my "mix with Swazi culture" list at the moment. Clearly, though, I had no choice. The King would be here. Off went the cap. Sometime later Cub came over with the sunscreen from Ruth, and I promptly slathered some on top.

The event really was fun. We saw Mzwandile and Lucky before they marched in, and we saw a fair amount of the goings-on. We did not get a seat in the bleachers, which was just as well; Ruth sat under a tree on the grass with the girls, while I got a great view of the event by standing right next to the assembly ground. The "newbies", after taking their oath, marched and sang Christian songs (yes, they did; I was there) for about 20 minutes. I also got to see the King 3 times, from only 10 or 20 yards away. Even though a casual observer like me figured this wasn't up to US Marine standards (heights of knees, precision and solemnity of raising and lowering swords, etc.) I did feel a surge of patriotism for our adopted nation and pride for the young people who had just sworn "so help me God" to defend their country.

We left the function before the food was served, as past experience and solicited advice indicated the lines would be excruciatingly long (especially for young kids). A short kombi ride landed us back in Manzini proper, we had a late lunch of barbecue pork and fried chicken at Kowloon's Restaurant, then we spent the afternoon and evening enjoying the company of the Salesian priests at the Catholic Cathedral. We spent the night at the Salesian's guest housing. The older 3 girls had a room to themselves; Ruth, Jabu and I shared our own room. This was a very pleasant day.

Our ground's-eye view of the newly-minted police officers on the marching ground.

GLAM-ROCK GRACIE
Jon Bon Jovi, eat your heart out. A couple days ago Grace said "Dad, watch this!" She began swinging her head side to side and her 21 inch hair (she can sit on the longest parts if she wants to) began waving like a mop in a hurricane. Our girls are maturing, but (like their dad) not always in every behavioral department; she still knows how to have fun, and that's a good thing. The video is attached. You may notice the high-pitched grinding sound in the background; though it's actually Mamba applying an angle grinder to a metal pipe to tweak our water tanks, it plays perfectly into the 1980's screech-rock theme. Enjoy.

SEEMS LIKE OLD TIMES (by Ruth)

Because the government is broke, forward-thinking parents are realizing that their children and relatives who have been on government scholarships might have to pay their own way next year. In a recent week we had two families come to inquire about getting help for school fees. We know of one group that does high school scholarships, so we have been passing out the applications.

That same week, we had a real good rain. It was the night before Rudy's bike race. The power went out. We were trying to get packed to go by candlelight. There was all of the uncertainty--will the transport make it? Are the roads too bad? We had agreed that I would stay home with the kids when Rudy came tearing into the house yelling, "Let's go NOW, Mamba is going to take us!" He parked us on the other side of the bus which was stuck in the mud and we walked through the mud to the other side and I just had this nostalgic feeling, "It's just like old times."

Sometimes you don't realize how things have changed. But slogging around a bus in the mud, having no power, and watching the mad school fee scramble are things that just haven't been happening as often as they used to. We have mini van transport that rarely gets stuck (and I rarely go to town now). The power has become more reliable. And the government sponsorships of orphans and "vulnerable" children (75% of the kids in this community fit into those groups) really reduced the stress levels in our community.

More Deja Vu moments:

Monday evening we got a call. Mzwandile was over at the local shop. He had just arrived in the community for a post school holiday before his work starts. I told him to come over for dinner--just like old times. When he was schooling here he would join us for dinner at least weekly. At the Police Graduation the other graduates had helped us find him in the line-up. He said he had gotten a lot of curious questions, "Who are those people?"
"I belong to their family. I am here today because of them, " he told them (sometimes he gives us more credit than we deserve).
"What? Were they your sponsors?"
"No, they didn't pay my school fees. I was just at their house all of the time."
Nobody seemed to quite understand.

It was really fun to have him here, and if time permits he said he would come by and help in the garden just for old times sake. Frankly though, the girls are really hoping for wheelbarrow rides. He used to collect cut grass and bring it over to our garden. The girls would ride on top, "just to keep it from falling off!" They are a lot bigger now, and there are more of them. But on the other hand, Mzwandile is a lot bigger too. Especially after a year of hard physical training.

On Wednesday, Thokozane Khumalo showed up at our back door. He used to spend a lot of time here while he was working on the moringa project. The girls were again very happy. They wanted to know if he would make playdoh cows with them. But they ended up checking out our garden with him. He helped them harvest the first radishes, and he got to eat radishes for the first time. He liked them. He has a very large garden. He is an excellent gardener and he left with seed for quite a few plants that looked interesting to him.


BROKEN PROMISES (by Rudy)
Edward C. Green, former director of the AIDS Prevention Research Project at the Harvard Center for Population and Development Studies, has just published a book by this title. The subtitle reads "How the AIDS Establishment has Betrayed the Developing World". That's a pretty bold title, and the book lives up to it. Green details from an insiders perspective how successful, low-cost, home-grown, behavior-changed based anti-AIDS campaigns (like Uganda's in the late 1980s and early 1990s) get ignored and overwhelmed by big-budget western projects driven by "all sex, all the time" ideology. Green wrote an article entitled "AIDS and the Churches: Getting the Story Right" (http://www.firstthings.com/article.php3?id_article=6172) in First Things magazine on AIDS prevention in 2008. He also wrote an opinion piece for the Washington Post newspaper entitled "The Pope May be Right" (http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/03/27/AR2009032702825.html) in March 2009 soon after Benedict XVI said condoms may be exacerbating the AIDS problem in Africa. If you're worried Green is a neo-conservative Bible thumper concerned only with the immorality of condoms and not the decimation of Africa, read these portions of his "biographical disclaimer" from chapter 1 of the book:

I was born at the start of the Boomer generation that came of age in the 1960s. I grew up in a liberal family, and I still have photos of my mother with Robert Kennedy and Hubert Humphrey...Later, in Washington, D.C., I distinguished the family escutcheon by cofounding the Sewer Rats gang...Starting at age ten, I attended two boarding schools for almost five years: Fay School, where actor Peter Fonda was as miserable as I was, and super-elite Groton, where my father and Franklin Roosevelt had thrived, and which I hated. The feeling was reciprocal. After I had been expelled for a 'chronic negative attitude' toward authority, my mother informed me that my life was over...I became the first kid in my 11th grade to get a "social" disease. I soon discovered that girls in my school were not quite as thrilled as guys about my accumulating triumphs. Still, promiscuity was the name of the game and I was clearly an all-star. In my high school yearbook for the Class of '62, the prophecy for me was: "Shot by a jealous husband." Friends from this earlier life (including my ex-wife, who left me because of my infidelity) can hardly believe Ted Green promotes faithfulness these days...In other words, you won't find my picture if you look up the word "prude" in the dictionary. And-as perhaps you have surmised-I have a problem with authority. I dislike it, probably more than most people, as shown by my expulsions from Groton, from summer camp, and eventually from Harvard's Center for Population Studies (even as I write this book). I like to stick up for the weak and powerless and stick it to the rich and powerful, especially if they are arrogant. Whether my joy in puncturing these floating, self-important bags of professionalism is a bias to overcome, a form of masochism, or a useful analytic tool, I wish at least to be forthright about it.

Green later confirms that he still supports many principles generally associated with the political and cultural left.

"For the record I am a lifelong, outspoken liberal-progressive-leftist. I have never voted for a Republican. I would have cast my ballot for Ralph Nader in two recent presidential elections if he hadn't been siphoning votes from the Democrats in two tight races. I have always supported reproductive rights and sexual freedom, and I spent many years working in contraception, family planning, and condom marketing. I am not an active adherent of any sect, denomination, or religion. I shouldn't have to say these things, but such is the level of argument that some people judge one's findings by one's politics and vice versa. Of course, that isn't science at all; it's ideology.

When it comes to stopping AIDS in Africa, Green empirically demonstrates that "free love as long as you use a condom" won't work. We have had the pleasure of correspondence and even a couple of meetings in Swaziland with Dr. Green. If you want informed insight into the development and dynamics of the anti-AIDS fight in Africa, buy and read his book. I trust you'll find it as fascinating and exasperating as we do. I cannot help but add that Dr. Green asked us if we had read it. When we replied that we had not, he sent us a copy. I figured he had a box of them sent free to him by the publisher and that he had sent us one of those. In fact he purchased us a copy from Amazon. Thank you, Dr. Green.

Have a good day
Rudy for the gang

Glam Rock Gracie