SUCCESS!
I'm writing on Tuesday morning, March 30th. Yesterday the boy's
soccer team played their final regular season game. They needed to
win in order to go on to the next round. Going on to the next
round is something they have not done since at least our arrival
in 2003; I asked some other teachers who have been here longer,
and none of them could remember the last time they did this. Even
though they played their worst game of the season, they still
managed to score 3 goals and concede only 1. So, they advance! At
the final whistle a substitute player and I lifted the coach into
the air (we don't have the money for the big barrel of Gatorade
for pouring over the coach, and I don't know if there is a
cultural precedent for that anyway). So now, as far as we can
tell, they face Lobamba National High School this Thursday. We
lost 2-0 to Lobamba last year, though we dominated the second
half. Lobamba won the national title last year. Still, I (and I'm
sure the team) nurse a quiet hope that they can pull off a
victory. In this second stage, it's win or go home. We shall see.
I promised the players that if they won, they'd get another team
dinner. We will follow through on that promise-as long as the baby
doesn't come first, and if that happens, we'll make it up to them
later.

IDENTITIES, MISTAKEN AND OTHERWISE
In class last week a student called me aside and asked a history
question. "Did you know Martin Luther?" "No", I said, "He died
when I was still very small. But my mom heard him speak." "He was
Lutheran", answered the student. "Well, yes, he was Protestant,
but he was a Baptist, actually". Short pause, while the sense that
things weren't quite clicking started to settle in. "Do you mean
Martin Luther or Martin Luther King?" I asked. "Martin Luther".
"Oh, well, no, I never knew him, and neither did my mom. He died
about 500 years ago." Context is everything.

I was at the Post Office last Saturday, picking up a package
(thanks, Tui! The stuff was a hit!) Another white man was milling
about, looking like he knew what he wanted to do but didn't know
how to get it done. I suggested that he just find someone behind
the counter and ask his question. I heard him speak, and his
American accent was unmistakable (yes, folks, you do have an
American accent; it sticks out here like your most exaggerated
imagination of an Australian accent). After a couple minutes'
conversation, it came to light that he is Holland Roberts, a Peace
Corps Volunteer who came to Swaziland in March 1991, with the
group immediately after the group I came in. He married a Swazi
woman and has been here for these past 19 years. They live near
the border gate near Lundzi. Maybe sometime we'll get up and visit
he and his family during a school break. The rest of his business
that day at the Post Office concerned getting a package out of
hock; sadly, it looked like the package had been "inspected" and
the fear was that something had "gone missing".

I was walking down a school corridor a couple days ago and a
teacher asked me to come in. He said that one of the students in
this class had said that I said I had seen a ghost. I rubbed my
chin and thought "Where on earth do these crazy stories come
from?" The student quickly said "No, not this Sg'coko, the one on
the radio". As Peace Corps Volunteers we were put in homesteads
for 10 days to get the real feel of rural Swazi life. Those
families gave us names; mine was Bongani Dlamini. There is a radio
broadcaster with the same name, and his nickname is S'coko
Siyancinca ("Hat full of fat"; long story). My nickname around the
school is Sg'coko. Hence the mixup.

HIGH SCHOOL RECORDS
I visited the education department in town last week in the hopes
of securing a letter that will help us get our residence permits
for another year. The lady at the desk said I needed to get a
graded tax clearance certificate (don't ask me what it is; I
suppose it proves I'm not on the run from the Swaziland IRS) and I
needed to submit a copy of my high school diploma. I launched into
a mildly amused, mildly annoyed diatribe, explaining that I
graduated in 1986 and I wasn't really sure where my diploma was;
but that if they wanted, I could use a computer and generate any
number of fancy-looking diplomas and certificates, complete with
watermarks. She said that is the reason they now want copies of
high school diplomas: people are fabricating certificates, and
they want to know exactly which high school in the country they
graduated from. When I told Ruth, and she nearly died. She
scrounged around our "important documents" box and found a copy of
my grades for each of my 4 years of high school, and in the top
right corner it said "graduated 1986". So, back to town a few days
later with that document in hand. The lady complained that it
looked more like my scores than a diploma (true enough), but I
pointed out the "graduated 1986" in the top corner. She took it,
though I think she would have preffered a diploma copy. I later
told our headmaster and another teacher/administrator, and they
both said they had no idea where their diplomas were, and added
that if people can fake university diplomas, why wouldn't they be
able to fake high school ones? Anyway, the lady said we'd be paid
in April; this seems optimistic, but it would be nice. Still gotta
go back for the residence permit letter.

CHECKERS VS. SPANKIE THE PANKIE
I'm now writing from town. We are in town for the Easter weekend,
staying at the church. The sisters let us stay in a guest room
during times like Christmas and Easter.
To keep the kids busy, Ruth bought a coloring book and a checkers
set. Grace wanted to play checkers, but as the game was entirely
new to her, I beat her.
After getting ready for bed, an impromptu game of "Spankie the
Mankie" developed. "Mankie" is one of the nicknames of Hope, our
3rd child. I don't know how she got this nickname; it seems
nicknames increase exponentially with each kid. Anyway, this game
consisted of the girls stiking their backsides in my vicinity, and
me trying to slap them. The game of course is getting close enough
to dad that he takes a swipe, but not so close that you get the
flat of his hand across your butt. I think the final score was a
draw; though Hope liked to somersault towards me and take multiple
swats-laughing all the time. As for the popularity of checkers vs.
"Spankie the Mankie": butt-slappin' won, "hands down".

FOLLOW THAT CAR
You've seen enough movies to have heard that line. On Thursday the
soccer team played Lobamba National High School. They beat us 3-0,
though we had our chances. I really think our school has
potential; it just needs to be refined. I think our current coach
can do it, if we can keep him over the years.
After the game, we sat four about an hour waiting for the food to
come. Mr. Khumalo did eventually deliver the goods, we chowed,
then it was into town to get transport back to the school. I was
under the impression that there'd be a kombi in town chartered for
us, and that it would be a smooth transition from the back of
Mavuso's pickup truck to the kombi.

Wrong. Welcome to the adhocracy. I read a book by Tom Peters
called Re-Imagine. In it, he suggests business by the seat of the
pants, chucking protocol out the window, and making it up as one
goes along. I wonder if he has ever worked a year in such a
situation, and if he would still advocate it after this
hypothetical 1'year internship. Seems a lot of logistics here ifts
Peters' adhocracy idea.

Anyway, I got out of the pickup, Khumalo pressed 13 Emalangeni
into my hand, and said "Try to find a kombi". I went to the bus
rank and glanced at my watch. 3:55PM. Hmmm, Shining Star bus
leaves at 4. That would be nice, as I could read my latest First
Things magazine as I travel.

There was Shining-leaving the rank. You and I have also seen
movies where someone chases a car on foot. So, that's what I did.
I would keep the bus in sight a while, then it would go over a
hill and I'd lose it. I'd weave around a couple other pedestirans,
then see it again.
Finally, it got into a flat section where I was afraid I'd lose it
for good if I didn't get some real speed. I saw a small pickup
truck at a red light, put my cap in my hand, and knocked on the
window. The guy rolled down the window, I hurriedly explained my
desire to catch that bus, and asked if he could take me to it. He
said "Hop in".
We had a nice 5 minute conversation as we got ahead of the bus. We
agreed there's more money and action in South Africa, but it's a
more dangerous place. I have since reflected that that is very
true; I would never dare the thing I had just did in Johannesburg.
He dropped me at the top of the hill, Shining came by in 30
seconds, and on I jumped. The bus was packed with people and their
Easter groceries, but after 30 minutes I could sit and enjoy First
Things.

After getting off the bus, I actually met 2 players from the high
school team. They had indeed caught a chartered kombi; it had
simply left from another place. Time from leaving school to
returning, to play one 90 minute soccer game? 8 hours. Experience
along the way? Priceless.

NSUKUMHILLBILLY
While sitting on a bus waiting to return to school, you tell the
family you're going to take the banana peels and drop them in the
trash can just outside the bus. Your two elder daughters want to
go with you; "I'm only going to the trash can", you tell them. "We
want to go!" they reply, in the tone of voice that indicates a
second refusal may result in tears. They happily accompany you on
the 30 yard round-trip to the trash can. Not just a trip to town-a
trip to the TRASH CAN too!
Hillbilly

In the course of your girls taking a dip in the backyard
above-ground swimming pool (the plastic black barrel used to
collect rainwater off the roof), you hear/join the following
conversation:

Cub: Did you pee in the tub?
Grace: No.
Rudy: Don't do that!
Hope: I did; twice.
Grace: No wonder the water is so warm!
Hillbilly

Have a good day,
The Poglitsh's