The silver bike. Can't wait to see Sibusiso's face when he realizes it's his!
The new bike. Love the low gearing.
Muzi Khanyile, budding astronomer.
Jabu enjoys the burning.
St. Allexus congregation, 2005. Zasho is in the front fow, blue coat, hands in praying position.
Girls stoking the flames.
I never met a mouse I didn't like. They taste like chicken.
Whiskers contemplates a catch.
Jabulane Gama28, 29, 31.....
Now 32 and counting! That's the number of mice Whiskers, our gift-cat, has caught and killed since she arrived at our house. We felt some initial trepidation about Whiskers, as she spent the first 2 or 3 days hiding behind the furniture or the fridge. She has come into her own, and unfortunately, she also likes to come into the house with her not-quite-dead mice. Still, we appreciate her taste for rodents as it reduces the presence of snakes (which also like mice) and increases the cat's protein intake (and vary her diet; I can't imagine what it's like to eat the very same thing day after day).
My favorite catch took place when we had a guest trying to set up his phone to access email. We were patiently tapping away on the phone keys when Whiskers entered the living room, furry gray snack in mouth. Our family forgot we had a guest, and the "Get out cat!" and "Whiskers has a mouse in the house!" cries went up as they always do at such times. In the uproar she dropped the mouse while momentum carried her forward; she could get no traction on the poured concrete floors. She turned as fast as she could and started scrambling back for the mouse, like a hockey player chasing a loose puck. She reasserted her grip on the furball and fled down the hallway, into the girls' room, and hid under one of the beds. I pursued and bellowed at her and thumped on the mattresses (nothing like having a dying mouse lying under someone's bed to make for unpleasant dreams) and flushed her out. She ran back into the living room. With some more shouts and waving arms, we chased her out of the house. Once the cat was outside we remembered our guest (Yenzile's dad) and apologized for the noise and chaos; he smiled and told us not to worry about it.
The cat has caught two or three a day recently; we suspect it is because Mr. Gama is cutting the 5-foot-tall grass down to size, thus destroying safe havens for the mice. And Whiskers continues to grow in girth and sleekness of coat!
TO CATCH A THIEF
Jabulane Gama is the school's gatekeeper, tracking who enters and leaves the school and ringing the bell to mark the periods. During the course of a day he also wanders about the school grounds, keeping an eye on things. One Friday afternoon he relayed to me a good story. I will relate his story in his "voice", to reduce the use of quotation marks.
One day I was walking in the school garden, and came across some students eating Mr. Mamba's sugar cane. "Oh, please Mr. Gama, do not report us to the Deputy", they said. "Alright", I said, "write your names on a piece of paper and give me some money, and I will not report you." "Oh, thank you" they said. I took the piece of paper with their names and did not take their money, and I gave the paper with the names to the Deputy.
Some might cry "Entrapment!", but the theft was ended and the guilty party positively identified. I suppose, however, such a trick works just once.
THE PLANETS
A few weeks ago the Form 3 students and I began discussing light. Lew topics always start out slow, this time with "sources of light"-things like candles, electric bulbs, and the sun. I asked them how far away the sun is. No one knew, so I told them: 150 million kilometers.
One student raised his hand and asked, "How do they know that?" At the moment I could neither remember what I was told about how that distance was known, nor how it could be calculated. After shamefacedly admitting my ignorance, I praised this young man for asking the question "How do you know that?" I told him it took me about 30 years of life to start asking that question of things ("It must be true if it's in print" dies hard), and that it is a very good question to ask. So much Swazi education is rote memorization, and rote memorization certainly has its place. Unfortunately, Swazi education attaches very little value to critical or higher-level thinking, while the end of Form 3 and end of Form 5 tests do.
So I used the internet via our cell phone (that's old news to you guys, but it still impresses me) and found a website that explains how it is done using simple geometry. The next day I presented the answer to them. They have not had enough math yet, I think, to grasp it. But the overall exercise was a good one.
SLEEPOVER
A few Fridays back Ruth hosted her afternoon Girls Club activity. The afternoon wore on, the clouds turned dark, and suddenly we found ourselves in a downpour. Phayo Gama lives a short distance from the school, but we were hardly going to send her home in a thunderstorm after dark. Yenzie lives on the school compound, but shoot-if Phayo was spending the night, why not Yenzie too? The membership of the Phi Omega Gamma (POG) sorority swelled to 6 this evening. Unlike most sleepovers, though, they couldn't have movies and popcorn; the storm knocked out the electricity. I don't think they missed it.
FIRST AID
In our last newsletter I mentioned "Friday Afternoon Improv", wherein we fixed the water in part by stomping the head of a shovel into the ground to make up for the fact that we had no proper shovel with us. I said that my knees still ached from the experience. The pain and reduced mobility in the right knee continued long enough (three weeks) to really worry me, so we went to nearby (2 hour drive) Nelspruit, South Africa (with the generosity of our friend Daran Rehmeyer) to have an MRI and see an orthopedic surgeon. The MRI did not show anything conclusive, and a better pair of shoes, some anti-inflammatories, and changing my exercise routine has much reduced the symptoms-though running and slam-dancing are no longer an option.
A couple of years ago I received some sage advice about age and health: don't talk about your age-related health issues, as most people (outside spouse and maybe immediate family) don't really want to hear it. This was my first big opportunity to keep my mouth shut. Still, we were going to miss church on the Sunday before we went to Nelspruit, and wanted to explain why we would not be there. We sent a text message explaining the situation. We later learned that the congregation prayed for us. That was very touching.
Equally touching was last Saturday morning when the three older girls and I stood at the bus station, awaiting to board Shining Star Bus. The bus pulled up, stopped, and off hopped Zasho Khanyile, a member of the St. Allexus church we attend. Zasho is quite a character. He is an old Swazi man who usually wears animal skins and traditional clothing to church. His voice is rough and gravelly. When he speaks, people pay attention. I would hate to have him angry at me. He is the grandfather of Lungsile and Nsiki Tfwala, the daughters (and friends of our girls) of a teacher who left Nsukumbili several years ago. Zasho is of inestimable age and can be seen moving about the community, reminiscent of an itinerant prophet. This Saturday morning he hurried over to me and tapped my knee, asking how it was. I told him it was much improved, and he said that the church had prayed for us. I gave him my heartfelt thanks, and he quickly reboarded the bus. It is good to have friends-and praying friends!
FREE WHEELING
Wishing to continue bike riding but not wanting to damage my knee in the process, I started wondering how I could make bicycling easier on my legs. A friend said getting a lower set of gears on my bike would help. I spent some time wondering how to get a new gear arrangement, when some long-lost friends in Mbabane called and said they had a bike they wished to donate. We had lost contact, so they called the bike shop in town and got our number that way.
Long and short-the new bike has 27 speeds, and the overall gearing is lower. Perfect!
The shop also connected our family with a Dutchman staying in Swaziland until early May. He and his family (wife, 2 children, and one on the way) are traveling the world via four different locations for a year (Berkeley, CA; Swaziland; Chile; Vietnam, in quarterly installments). They are, understandably, looking to cut costs wherever possible. He wants to do some biking, and the bike shop told him we live in a good place for it. We loaned him my silver bike and Grace's bike; when he returns them both, we will pass the silver bike to Sibusiso Gama, the young man in this community who loves to cycle but is always riding 4th hand bikes and trying to keep them together with used bubble gum and grass substituting for brake cables (not really, but it seems like that). The Dutchman got the rear gear changer tuned at the bike shop, so "Sibu" will get a better bike than I had. We can't wait to see his face when he realizes the silver bike is now his. These charitable donations sure are nice; thanks, friends.
MABUZA
Sometime before 2006 (I should keep better track of dates), Khetsile Dlamini (daughter of former headmaster M.K. Dlamini and his wife Ruth) said, in the course of conversation, "You know, Rudy, that I'm married." "Uh, no, I did not know that until just now." I walked home for lunch and told Ruth, "You know what Khetsile just told me? She's married." Ruth said I looked stunned, like I had just been told that the moon is indeed made of cheese and that men really are from Mars and women really are from Venus. We had absolutely no clue at that time that she was even thinking of getting married. News travels mighty slow at times around here.
Her husband's last name was Mabuza, and sadly, we learned two weeks ago that he died after a short illness. Khetsile is now a widow with two small children. They had been married seven years at most. At least Khetsile has good family in M.K. and Ruth, and in his side of the family also. Please keep Khetsile and so many other women in similar circumstances in your prayers.
FIRE CREW
One evening this week the girls rushed outside to help Mr. Shandu with his fire. Shandu was trying to reduce the small stand of very tall grass in his backyard. Such stands can be cut with a weedwhacker- but fire is fast, and fun. Our girls used to lament the fires which burn during the (dry) winters here; this time they enthusiastically collected piles of grass, twisted them into bundles, and tried to spread the fire throughout the thicket. Perhaps they are becoming a little Africanized.
FIRE CREW II
Wednesday afternoon Grace ran into the house breathless saying "The trees are on fire!" "Which trees? Our avocado trees?" "Yes!" responded Grace.
Out we ran, and sure enough, someone's trash pit fire had escaped. It's been a low-rain summer, and this is the time of year when the grass turns brown and ready to burn. Though this fire had the potential to do a lot of damage, a bunch of other teachers were already out there dousing and beating down the flames; the fire did not escape the school ground, and only one or two avocado trees will be affected (and will survive just fine I think). It is particularly important that the fire did not go past the school fence into the larger community; if it had reached any corn fields (the ears are still on the plants and the stalks are drying out) it could have destroyed some portion of some families' staple food crop. It was great to see the teachers pull together on very short notice and stomp the flames.
[Note from Ruth: This was the first time I have ever seen a group of people here jump in quickly to put out a fire. Usually fires are viewed with indifference. I don't know if the difference was that the teachers knew that Rudy cared about the avocado trees or if they didn't want it escaping out of the school grounds. But it was nice to have everyone working together.]
Have a good day,
The Poglitshs in Swaziland
