Thulani Gule and Rudy Poglitsh at end of City to City 65km mountain bike race. Thulani gave me the shirt I'm wearing here, as well as the biking shorts you can't see. He and the other cyclists, though they are far better than I am (Thulani fihished 3rd, I finished 14th), are a great encouragement. They are a classy group of competitors.

Double-decker kids

Hillybilly hair salon 1

Hillbilly hair salon 2

Hillbilly hair salon 3

End of the City to City race

Meat-henge 1

Meat-henge 2

Meat-henge 3

Corn report

Hillbilly hair salon 4

GOOD FOR 65,000
65,000 meters, that is. On August 6 Rudy will participate (not compete; I don't have a chance of winning) in his second City to City mountain bike race. The race travels from Mbabane to Manzini through the backcountry. It's a mighty good time. I hope to improve on my dead-last, 7 1/2 hour completion time of last year, though I harbor no illusions about finishing the race with the "lead dogs". On Friday July 22 (the birthday of the previous king, and a public day off) I rode 5 times between Esitseni elementary school and Nsukumbili. Each round trip is 12km, so the 5 back-and-forth laps gave me 60k. A trip to the other local primary school (Entfubeni) and 3 laps around the soccer field rounded out the 65. I did it in 5 hours (a vast improvement over last year's time), but these roads are much easier to negotiate than the root- and rock-strewn trails we'll see Saturday. Still, I did each lap in about the same amount of time, and felt fine afterwards; no crippling cramps or exhaustion. So, I have some hope. Last year I was also working against a stomach bug for the week before the race, and that hindered me some. The bug seems to have returned at the same time this year; more below. Still, I'm looking forward to the race.

One of the most interesting parts of these events is getting there and back. This year's transport details go like this:
* Take Friday morning (5 August) Shining Star bus to town; bike goes on luggage rack atop bus;
* Pile family (and bike) into a taxi at bus rank in Mbabane; taxi takes us to the YWAM base just above and out of town, where the YWAMers have most graciously allowed us to spend the night;
* 5:30AM Saturday, Rudy rides his bike back into the city center for a 6:30AM start;
* At their convenience later Saturday morning, Dan and Amy McCoy (missionaries residing at YWAM) cart Ruth and the girls to the finish line in Manzini; they enjoy the kids' entertainment (jumping castle, slides, swings, piles of junk food) as long as they wish, then leave the Poglitsh women there to await Rudy;
* After Rudy crosses the finish line and spends a 30 minutes with the oxygen mask on his face (hopefully not!), we get over to the Salesian community in Manzini where Father Mikel (a Spanish Salesian) has offered us accomodation for the night;
* We attend Mass Sunday morning and then find a bus (with the big luggage space underneath for the bike) back to Mbabane;
* We buy some groceries in Mbabane, then put Ruth and the girls on a kombi back to the school;
* Rudy finds some form of transport to the Mbuluzi/Sibebe gatehouse with his bike, then rides it back to the school (I did this last year with no real trouble; besides, the little bonus ride is fun)
* We all sit around the house Sunday and talk about the fun we had over the weekend
As you can see, it's not only a matter of getting the body and the bike in shape for these races. Thanks go out to all the people who helped us do this. These are the things family memories are made of.

2 DAYS AFTER
Mission accomplished. I'm now writing on Monday afternoon, and the race was on the Saturday just past. We got up to the YWAM base just as planned. On Saturday morning at 5:40AM I walked out of the house with my bike, into a pea-soup mist and deep darkness. After getting out the gate, I realized this bordered on the insane: I knew this walk well enough in the light, but not being able to see 10 yards ahead of me due to the dark and mist, with who knows who eager to relieve a wandering umlungu (white guy) lurking in the woods (there is some problem with this in the trees around the house), I went back to the house and sheepishly knocked on Dan's door. He graciously gave me a ride to the starting line for the race. I think I would have missed the start even if I had not been mugged or lost on the way; you don't find streetlights until you are close to the city center, so I would have been riding blind.

Anyway, a little after 6:30AM we (about 30 riders) took off. My goal in this race was to finish decently-which meant no extended periods sitting in a latrine, wondering if I was going to have a heart attack, as I did last year-and to not be dead last. I met both goals! I finished in 5 hours 37 minutes-a full 2 hours less than last year. The first place finisher crossed the line in about 4 hours. At this rate, I'll be the winner next time around! The year after that, I'll be Olympic and Tour de France material and Lance Armstrong will be but a quaint memory.

I only crashed once, and neither the bike nor I sustained any serious damage. I made a point of drinking and eating more along the way. If you are looking for an excuse to eat as much chocolate and drink as much Coke as you can stomach, ride a bike for long distances. After one water table (volunteers set up drink and snack tables along the way), I got two Milky Way-sized chocolate bars peeled and put into my left hand. I ate them one right after the other. Some Swazi kids 50 yards from the water table shouted "Chocolate please!". I enthusiastically replied "For me!" Not today kids; the umlungu is mighty hungry and has a ways to go yet. But I did feel lots better this time around.

Along one stretch I rode with a guy named Adrian (okay, so you can see that this isn't a cutthroat competition for every participant, if you have conversations with other riders along the way). He was born in Zimbabwe and moved to South Africa in 1980, when he was about 17 years old. He now runs a paint contracting business in Johannesburg. I asked him when he thinks Zim will right itself. He said he had no ideas. One problem is that diamonds have now been found in Zim, and you can imagine how carefully Mugabe and his colleagues will steward that new-found resource for the good of all Zimbabweans. I mentioned that, in my perspective, this region of Africa (I don't know any others) should be prosperous, and yet it remains a basketcase. Adrian rattled off the resources some of the other countries in the region posess, and yet the poverty remains. Really frustrating.

Anyway, we got separated at the bottom of a really nasty hill and I didn't see him until the end. I hope to get back in touch with him. That last hill was something. He and I went through the plants a little to the side of the main dirt path; it must have been a 30 degree incline on dry-but-slippery soil. We asked a photographer if the other racers had gone down the hill; he said they had. I told Adrian "Yeah, those guys are half our age and have no kids and think they're indestructible." The photographer replied that the previous year he saw a racer flip himself into a 4-foot deep gully to the side of the path, landing with his bike above him. The rider pulled out and ate a candy bar, then got back up and continued.

The only cramp I got was 10 yards from the finish line, when I gave it a burst of speed to I could bunny-hop over the finish. I then slammed on the back brake and spun the bike out from beneath me, jumped up and slapped the nearest tent peg in excitement. I then returned to the bike and knelt and prayed, thanking God for a safe and successful trip. I wonder if people thought I was praying to my bike.

The McCoys, Hlengiwe Shongwe (another YWAMer) and the girls arrived about 10 minutes later. After talking to a few more folks, Dan took us all to the Salesians where we bid the YWAMers a fond farewell.

In my mind this race is the "Ruth and McCoy Memorial". Without their help, I would not have been able to do it. Thanks a lot, friends.

PHOTO FINISH
After our night at Salesian, we loaded up our backpacks and bike and kids and headed for the Manzini bus rank. Some generous friends (Brett and Lesley) had given us some bike supplies to pass on to Sibusiso, a young man in this community who loves to ride bikes but has no money for parts or supplies. So, with kids and bags and tires in tow, we made our way along the sidewalk on a Swaziland Sunday morning.

A pickup truck pulled along side us and asked to take our photograph. We smilingly agreed, and the lady riding in the passenger seat produced her Blackberry and snapped a shot. What fun when the locals take the visitors' photo because of their curious cultural habits.

STOMACH BUGS
Unfortunately, as mentioned above, I've "enjoyed" a stomach bug visitor this week. I felt something wasn't quite right starting Friday the 29th, and by Monday night had vengeful diarrhoea. Ruth put me on clear liquids only for Tuesday and emahewu (a thin corn-mush drink) only on Wednesday. I did get all the hard candies I wanted; I probably ate two dozen of a variety of them. Tip: don't mix Hall's "blue ice" vapo-effect sweets with chewy choc-clairs; the combination is reminiscent of the fumes emanating from an organic chemistry lab. Here on Thursday, I get white bread all day and chicken soup for dinner. We hope the bug will be out or at least in submission through Saturday. The other concern is that given the limited diet, I haven't been loading up on energy stores. Well, my goal is to just finish anyway, so I'll give it a try.

More siginficantly, Jabu also had the stomach bug. She was spouting at both ends, and with a 15th month old, that's cause for concern. We called Dr. Wasswa, our Ugandan GP, and he said a rotovirus is making the rounds. He said there's little useful medical intervention; just keep giving her liquids in small doses, and let her rest. Ruth figures that if she weren't breast feeding (which she did a lot of this past week and a half), Jabu would be in the hospital. But Jabulile turned the corner about Thursday, and here on Monday she is fine. It's funny how welcome it is to hear your baby crying and cranking again, after a week of listlessness.

Writing here on Monday afternoon, I'm happy to report that my stomach got better under Ruth's program and gave me no problems during the race. All's well that ends well, but this bout of stomach bugs reminded us that in the words of a long-time expatriate friend, Africa is NOT a feminine continent.

RUTH RANTS
One of the hazards of living here is the potential for discouragement.

One of our friends here put it well, "We are living in a slow motion disaster."

One thing that has been getting my attention lately is that fact that eventually reality intrudes. For years there have been reports here that the government has been spending more than it brings in. For years very little has been done to address this problem. Now the money is gone. Swaziland asked IMF to help. IMF said, "You have a civil servant force 11 times the size of some comparable countries!" They said that Swaziland had to cut their wage bill for civil servants by 10%. No one is willing to budge. There is a widespread fantasy that "government has money". This is spread throughout the population. If we just stop paying for wastage and corruption there are boatloads of money floating around to pay a huge civil service and provide free education and healthcare for everyone. Swaziland is going around looking for a "loan" and they have had requests to the IMF and the African Development Bank turned down because of failing to implement the recommendations given. At home, they are afraid of social chaos and strikes if they implement a 10% wage cut.

The economic woes just add to the ongoing discouragement about HIV which stems from habits about sexuality which have led to the disintigration of family (only 25% of children have married parents) which leads to young people who have no models of responsible males in their lives, which leads to a continuing cycle of poverty.

We have a Ugandan friend who regularly bewails the laziness and lack of business sense of Swazi's compared to his experience in Uganda. And as I was listening to him recently I thought, "Why would these young people do anything different than what they have seen?"

So we live with this on a regular basis, and globally it doesn't seem like many are much more financially responsible than the Swazi government. And it doesn't seem like many people are much more responsible with their sexual lives than we see here. I am becoming aware that sexual customs are the basis of culture. Different sexual practices yield vastly different cultures. Sex is not a private matter. People's "private" sexual decisions inexorably lead to different child raising arrangements which lead to vastly different childhood experiences which leads to vastly different beliefs, attitudes, and practices among the adults in the community.

So usually here, we hear the bad news. I remember when I was in high school and all of the media reports about my generation were glum and I looked around and thought that those reports weren't all that accurate. So please help me out here. Culture is made of people. Can you send me an encouraging story about someone you know? If it isn't too long, send it to poglitsh@ovi.com (our cell phone). We rarely hear about the people who are doing things right and well.

Thanks for your help!
Ruth Poglitsh

CORN FUTURES
At least the food supply looks good for this year. Read the story below.

PET PARADE
Cubby is quite the animal lover, and wants some pets. She has talked about a bird. Ruth figures pets are fun for about a month, then just drudgery. What to do? Aha! We will "borrow" pets, then return them to their owners! The pets will be chicks (baby chickens are birds, right? Give the cute little fuzzballs back after a month, then eat them a month after that), baby rabbits (same routine), and maybe pigs (MAYBE; pigs are big and messy). The girls have to raise the money for the birdcage, and we'll go from there. This seems like a good bridge between the standard suburban pet and living in a rural, agricultural area.

WALK TO CHURCH
We've described the 2 hour walk to church before, but recently it was a little more special. Three kids (Mphendulo (boy) and Futhi and Nomphumelelo (girls)) often join us along the way. On a recent Sunday two of the kids spontaneously took one of my hands each as we walked along. The sense of trust was quite satisfying. I hope these children turn out okay.

GUEST SPEAKER
We had another treat at the outstation church recently. Sister Grace from Mbabane came out and spoke to the congregation about the life of a nun. Sister Grace is Swazi, and unmarried and childless life for a Swazi is a difficult concept for folks here to understand. She gave a great talk (what we could understand of it), and the parishioners young and old paid real attention. Father Maseko also celebrated Mass this particular Sunday, so the congregants enjoyed a second example of a life fully dedicated to God. This was a good Sunday.

A CLOSE SHAVE
Given a receding hairline and thinning hair, Rudy now opts for a shaved head. "Shearing day" has always been fun, but our most recent haircut was a real ball. The girls decided to give themselves and each other hair implants using my recently-released hair and bostick. See the photos. Welcome to the Hillbilly Hair Salon.

MEATHENGE
The photos say it all. We had vors (kielbasa) recently, and the girls got creative.

DOUBLE DECKER KIDS
I change Jabu early in the morning. Kit had been near-vomiting the entire night before the photo was taken, so Ruth put her in the empty bathtub to sleep. She was content, and woke up later with her stomach in good shape.

TAMRA'S VISIT
Tamra Rich is a pre-med student at the University of Florida (Ruth's alma mater) who is studying drug and alcohol issues among the youth in Swaziland for her undergraduate honors thesis. She came out to interview teachers and get a taste of the backcountry. She had success on both counts, and the girls loved having another (FEMALE) visitor. I am forever outnumbered here. Maybe that's why I like the bike races so much. In all seriousness, it was great to host someone from home in this beautiful country.

CIRCUMCISION
This is the latest nationwide campaign in the hopes of ending the AIDS scourge. A team from the Ministry of Agriculture came out a month ago and spoke to the teachers about the issue. The team said circumcision reduces the chance of getting HIV by 60%. After an hour, they asked for questions. I said "You're promoting an intervention that works at 60% in a country that's 40% HIV+. That's only about half-good. If we just preached 'Wait until you're married, keep it only in marriage', we'd be out of this mess very quickly." One member of the team replied "All along, we have been preaching abstinence..." "Excuse me, excuse me" I rudely and forcefully interrupted. "I have been keeping track of this. You have spoken to us for an hour and you have mentioned the word 'abstinence' three times. I would not call that preaching abstinence." The speaker deferred to a nurse on the team, who fed me some gobbledy-gook. After the gobbledy-gook, the woman who initially took my question said "I hope you're happy." Consensus and mutual happiness is a big deal here. "No, I'm not happy, and you're not going to make me happy, so you'd better move on to the next question."

Later I relayed this exchange to Ruth. When I said they told us we have tried preaching abstinence, Ruth said "No they haven't." Ruth is right. Abstinence has never been enthusiastically promoted here. The ABC approach in Swaziland is pronounced "abstain, be faithful, CONDOMIZE AND MAKE SURE YOU'RE IN LOVE!!!!" HIV is still running at 40%. I wonder if Swazis will simply disappear between death, outmarriage (Swazis marrying non-Swazis), and adoption (somebody needs to take care of the kids; why not loving moms and dads from somewhere else?). So now the school sports a poster in the main hallway that says "Circumcise. Condomise. Test." This is going to solve the problem? Howzabout save it for marriage? Naah, too difficult. We need some interventions. Just remember-40%. This is a discouraging situation.

PYTHON PLUMBING
It's been a while since we've talked about water. Here goes!

Though winters are dry here, we usually have a mid-winter rain at some point. That point was about a month ago. The flow was irregular after that, so Mamba went to the source and fixed it. It was steady for a few days, then went out again. I went along the line and looked for the problem. I found that a valve which directs water either to us or a community across the way was set 100% for the other community. A little adjusting made sure both sides got their fair shares.

A few days later, no water again. I went along the line again, and the problem was the same. So I opened the valve again.

The day (July 28) before Tamra came, I went out at 6 am to again open the valve. By 10:00 the water had stopped flowing into the school so once again I went across the mountains to fix the problem. I appreciated the chance to get some hill climbing on my bike, but I did not appreciate the outages. That afternoon, Mamba and I went out in his car and rearranged some things at the main tanks, so that almost twice as much water was in the system as usual. We then went to the querulous valve and adjusted it, so that (once again) both sides were getting their fair share. Mamba joked that we should put a python snake (big and scary, but harmless) inside the concrete ring where the valve sits. We would bring the snake a mouse every two weeks, and no kid would have the nerve to put his hand inside the ring to play with the valve. We returned home (after dark now) and enjoyed increasing water pressure.

400 POUNDS OF COMMUNITY DEVELOPMENT
In the morning, an open tap issued the gasping sound of running air. Air. Air. The water was out. Someone had gone to the valve after nightfall to shut off the water to our community.

I get up a couple hours before I leave the house. Lacking cable tv, a home internet connection, and PTA meetings, my mind does not experience multiple distractions. All my ruminations could focus on this latest twist in the water saga, and how to fix it.

I stode out of the house at 6AM to ride my bike. Mamba was outside his house, and asked "What is happening!" I strode towards him (Tromans and PCV friends, see if this sounds familiar) wearing my bike gloves, biking shorts, and bright red helmet and shouted "I'll tell you what's happening! Right after assembly you and me and 3 big boys are taking those concrete covers and closing that valve! We fixed that valve three times in a day, including nearly doubling the flow of water in the system, and it's still out! We fix it, seal it, and walk away! 'Cause this is ridiculous! Unbelievable!"

I don't know if the tirade had anything to do with helping Mamba make up his mind, but that's the plan we followed. We took the needed concrete rings and covers from other valves and went to the now-notorious valve with four brawny juniors. The combined mass of the concrete and 6 grown men caused Mamba's pickup truck tires to flatten appreciably; I do think we had 400 pounds of concrete with us. When we arrived at the valve, it was sure enough the full-open for the other community. We adjusted it, gave it time to settle down so we knew it would be fair for both sides, then sealed that thing like King Tut's tomb. We've enjoyed as steady, uninterrupted flow of water ever since. 400 pounds of community development.

Have a nice day,
Rudy for the gang

OOPS! GREENLINING
I sent this portion of a newsletter to some folks, but failed to attach the mentioned photo. Let me try it all again now.
Look at the attached photo entitled "greenlining". See the school? See the fence on the right side? See the green line just inside the fence? Of course you see none of these things, because the photo was taken with our cell phone camera from a mile or two away! But if you had been standing where Cub and I were standing when we took the photo, you would have seen just what I described. The green line is the line of avocado trees we planted a few years back. I am delighted that they are now visible from such a distance; that means they are healthy and getting bigger. Recently Kit and I got a full wheelbarrow load of cow manure off the soccer field and put some in a "fertility trench" on the uphill side of each tree. This organic matter, Ruth tells me, will benefit the tree. This tree project is very satisfying.

2 hours, 59 minutes, 54 seconds
That's how long it took Cub and I to complete the 10km bike race at Ngwenya Glass (near the Ngwenya border gate, about 30 minutes from Mbabane) on Saturday 2 July. Ruth and the girls went to town Thursday morning to spend a few days with friends. I came in the back of Mr. Lukhele's pickup truck with Cub's bike and mine on Friday afternoon. I stashed the bikes at the church (sometimes the sisters there allow us to stay in one of their hospitality rooms) and collected Cub. On Saturday morning we caught a lift to the race in another pickup truck with Cara Breero, a longtime South African transplant to Swaziland. Cub had chosen what I would wear for the race-a matching set of biking shorts and a biking shirt. Such an outfit would be great on a summer morning, but it's mid-winter down here and the wind and cold whipped right through the polyester. I was shivering before we started! Cub had lots of sweats on.

How could a 10k race take so long? 'Cause this was a real-deal mountain bike race; more, in fact, than I expected for a kiddie race. We negotiated steep downhills, rocks, footbridges, tree roots, uphills, grass, gravel, glass (under the freeway), and the wind. I did not tell Cub until the end that this was a real offroad bike race, because I feared she'd give up. I did tell her at the end, though, and I was (and am) mighty proud of her. She was given a huge medallion at the end (every finisher was) made of etched glass. As far as I can tell the experience did not sour her on mountain biking, because we have continued our break-time rides together. I look forward to more such outings with her (and the other girls) in the future.

WASTE MANAGEMENT
Several weeks ago Ruth and I sat together on the couch, enjoying the time between putting the girls to bed and going to bed ourselves. Suddenly we heard a sound unsettlingly similar to the "whump" accompanying the pickup truck's entry into our house through a wall in 2007. I got up and peeked out the window to see a neighbor's trash pit in flames. I think what happened is he doused his trash with gasoline and put a match to it. Fast and effective, if a little dangerous. Maybe this should be a "Hillbilly" entry.

NEIGHBORS (by Ruth)
One of the really gratifying parts of living here is the opportunity to help out people who genuinely need some help. On Thursday Make Silolo came to visit. She is 8 1/2 months pregnant. It took her an hour to walk over here because of frequent stops to rest along the way. She is the widow of Rudy's homestead father. This year she was trading bread with her neighbors for shelled maize. Now she has all of the shelled maize collected ready to take to town to sell so that she will have the money to pay for the transport to town when the baby comes (she is starting to feel pains now). Only two problems: no cash for bus fare, and the bus that used to go by her house is no longer running. The nearest transport is from our place. We were able to give her some money, and I told her that if she wanted to stay with us before the delivery she could (transport options are better here during the day at least). I thought of all the people we have known who have helped us during my pregnancies, especially the Illomaki's who hosted Grace and I for a week and fed us well before the delivery of Jabu. It was good to be able to pass on that favor in a small way. Fortunately we had a reused peanut butter bucket (hillbilly Tupperware) full of good food from the last nights dinner and so I could feed Make Silolo before she left. While she was eating and feeding the 18 month old (Andiswa) on her back, she told me that she had to stop nursing Andiswa at 4 months because she was having to do things to care for Abner (her husband) after he had a stroke and while he was hospitalized that weren't compatible with nursing and baby care. At 18 months, Andiswa still can't walk. It is painful to watch this homestead which was prosperous and full of life empty out and really struggle. We are glad that we can be here to help them through this difficult time.

Just before Make Silolo left, Phayo and her sister Nkosi arrived. Phayo doesn't have regulation school shoes, which means that she is supposed to go barefoot. But it is 50 degrees F inside our house in the mornings now and colder outside. Walking barefoot and sitting all day in a cold classroom with nothing on your legs or feet is neither comfortable or healthy. I arranged with her Mom that if Phayo would wash our windows, we would work things out for her to get the money for shoes. Sure enough, Phayo and her sister promptly came and got the windows cleaned this week. I have learned that sometimes we think something is important, and the other people involved don't. It was nice in this case to see that school shoes were important enough that Phayo put her own efforts into it.

On Friday Phayo brought her sister and a neighbor to join us for Girl's Club. I was really pleased to see how Grace welcomed the new girls. They had a good time playing before Girl's Club. I didn't know how this would work because Yenzie and Nonduduzo were going to their homestead for the weekend so I didn't have my translator for the story. But Tebesutfu (Phayo's neighbor) spoke English well enough to translate the story and all other verbal communication. After everything was finished, Grace was pleased to have made some new friends. The girls have been good friends with the teacher's kids, but that is often an unstable population. Children move in an out here. Friends from nearby homesteads are much less likely to move away.

SIZINGILI
The boys have two styles of traditional dance: sibhaca and sizingili. The boys and the girls both participated in their respective dance forms a few weeks ago, and the boys did well enough to go on to the next stage for sizingili. That second stage took place last Friday (July 9), and they came in position 10. This meant the end of the competitions for them, but nevertheless-they finished in the top 10. Their sizingili season is all the more commendable because they did not have any real adult direction for the first month of their training. Good for them.

FINANCIAL TIMES
The global economic crisis has finally hit Swaziland. Swazi government, like the governments of so many countries, is tasting the bitter fruits of spending more money than you bring in. The government is in deep debt, and civil servants are concerned their paychecks may be smaller than their contracts say they should be. The government has asked civil servants to take a 10% pay cut and may impose it without getting consent. We've had two strikes by teachers since school opened for the second term, and SNAT (Swaziland National Association of Teachers) is threatening another shutdown at the end of the month. No one knows how all this will turn out. I attach three articles to let you in on the story.

SPEED IS LIFE
One recent morning I rode my bike to the Sibebe Gatehouse, a structure built by the local Rotary club a few years back to serve hikers going up and down Sibebe. On the way there I passed a homestead right next to the road and spotted a dog across the street from that homestead (to which, I assumed, it belonged). My friend and fellow Peace Corps Volunteer Marcos Bradley used to lead cross-country bicycle tours, and Marcos explained to me that most dogs are just territorial; they will sound and act fierce (but not attack you) as long as you stay off their territory. Bearing in mind Marcos' comment, I started picking up speed before I reached the homestead (this stretch of road was, fortunately, on a downhill). Sure enough, first the dog ran scared across the road to his homestead; then once inside his fence, came tearing after me with ferocious barks. I tried to keep my speed not so great as to have him give up, but fast enough that if he wanted to catch me, he couldn't. I got away scot-free. Thanks Marcos! Thing is, I had to go past this homestead on the way home, and of course in the other direction it was uphill. I was thinking "Maybe I should just spend that E90 and buy a can of pepper spray"; but fortunately, no dog appeared this time.

HILLBILLY
You don't want to waste electricity reheating frozen-solid beans on the stove. How to defrost electricity-free? Strap the reusable 1kg plastic peanut butter tubs (hillbilly Tupperware) with their frozen contents to a north-facing (sunny) window with bungee cords in the morning. By cookin' time (5PM), the beans are room temperature.
Hillbilly defroster

Hope you are well; have a good day.
The Poglitshs

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
One recent Saturday Cub and I went to Manzini for confession with Father Mikel. We discussed the fact that the next day was Trinity Sunday, the most difficult Sunday on which to preach as the Trinity is the most difficult aspect of Christianity to comprehend. I told Cub that "the most believing, most intelligent Christians of all time have had a hard time understanding this reality". I relayed this discussion to Father Mikel later in the day. Trinity Sunday was the third Sunday in June this year, and Father Maseko usually comes to the outstation church on the third Sunday. So even though I genuinely felt sorry for Father Mikel for having to deliver the homily on Trinity Sunday, I felt relief that at the outstation, Father Maseko would do the job.

Occasionally, however, Fr. Maseko can't make it. And this Sunday he didn't. And Make Khanyile asked if I would lead the service, which includes preaching. I had 20 minutes to come up with something to say on the most mind-bending teaching of the Christian church. Carumba! Someone at ECHO told Ruth years ago that missionaries have to be able to sing, preach, or die on a moment's notice. I got door #2 on this Sunday. I think it came out okay, though. If you'd like to read what I said, see below.

"Today is Trinity Sunday. As I was telling Cubby yesterday, this is the hardest thing to understand in Christianity. The most believing, most intelligent Christians ever to live find this difficult.

The Trinity means there are three persons-God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit-within the one divine nature. And LOVE flows among the three persons of the Trinity. This love was so great that it overflowed into creation, into making us. It was like an orange so delicious that you don't want to keep it for yourself; you share some of it, because you want other people to enjoy its deliciousness too. God wanted us to experience the love within the Trinity too, because He knows how good it is.

This love within the Trinity is so great that even when Adam and Eve, our first parents, broke the relationship between us and God, Jesus came to save us and make it possible for us to go to heaven. Heaven will be our direct experience of the divine Trinity.

May our relationships-with our husband or wife, children, parents, extended family members, friends, etc.-showe the same strong, deep love that is between the members of the divine Trinity. In this way, our lives on earth will be a start of the love we will experience forever in Heaven."

GREENLINING
Look at the attached photo entitled "greenlining". See the school? See the fence on the right side? See the green line just inside the fence? Of course you see none of these things, because the photo was taken with our cell phone camera from a mile or two away! But if you had been standing where Cub and I were standing when we took the photo, you would have seen just what I described. The green line is the line of avocado trees we planted a few years back. I am delighted that they are now visible from such a distance; that means they are healthy and getting bigger. Recently Kit and I got a full wheelbarrow load of cow manure off the soccer field and put some in a "fertility trench" on the uphill side of each tree. This organic matter, Ruth tells me, will benefit the tree. This tree project is very satisfying.

POLE VAULT
The school kitchen cooks students' food in huge cast iron pots over an open fire. To keep that fire stoked, students are asked about once a week to bring firewood. One day recently a student ran by (he was a little late for assembly) with his piece of firewood. It was half the height of the flagpole. He looked like a pole vaulter on his way to breaking a world record. We all got a laugh.

ANTICIPATION
On Saturday June 25th the USA Men's National Soccer Team played their Mexican counterparts in the Gold Cup. Winner enjoyed bragging rights in that fierce rivalry and a trip to the Confederation's Cup in Brazil in 2013. I wanted to watch that game. They played at 9PM on Saturday in Los Angeles; which is about 6 or 7 AM here in Swaziland on Sunday morning. I tried to contact MZ Dlamini, a teacher who gets the SuperSport3 channel-all soccer, all the time. A text message didn't get returned, and no one was at his house Friday or Saturday during the day. I assumed he was out, so I asked other homes if they had SuperSport3. They did not, but one teacher said he knew MZ was around.

So, at 6:30AM Sunday morning, I walked over to MZ's house. I could only imagine how excited he would be to have an unexpected visitor ask to sit in his living room on a cold Sunday morning and watch his tv for 90 minutes. But MZ was gracious, and we tried to find the game. SS3 didn't carry it. MZ expressed his condolences and I departed. Off we went to church.

But I had the cell phone with me, and since it can access the internet, I thought I could at least find the result that way. But the cell phone tower was not operating, so that was out. Later the cell phone tower came back online, but then I couldn't get onto the internet for some reason. I sent my dad an e-mail from the phone (that was working) and another friend in town a text message to please look up the result and tell me what it was. I got the answer Monday morning-a 4-2 victory for Mexico. I can't say the result was worth waiting for, but I do appreciate everyone's help in trying to let me watch the game and get the result. It reminded me also that the information highway isn't always paved perfectly smooth here in Africa.

SUCCESS! JABU SWEATS IT OUT
We have mentioned that no matter how warmly we dress our daughters in winter, we frequently get comments from Swazis about not dressing them warmly enough. On one jaunt in town recently I showed all the layers to a shop attendant; Jabu had on about 3. "Hawu, she's going to sweat in there!" This was music to my ears. A Swazi woman actually criticized me for having TOO MANY warm articles of clothes on one of our children. It's been 8 long years in coming, but such a comment finally arrived. Later on at home, Ruth said "Rudy, look at this!" She would push one of Jabu's arms down level with her body, and without Jabu making an effort, the arm would bounce back up because of all the clothes she had on. Many of you will remember Ralphie's brother in the movie "A Christmas Story" whose mom dressed him in so many layers he could not get off his back when he fell in the snow. Jabu was dressed similarly.

FIND ANOTHER FOOL
The form 1 students have begun discussing human sexuality and procreation in science class. I go light on the physiological details and heavy on the importance of saving sex for marriage and the benefits therein. I told the girls that if some sweet-talking boy with a 1-liter box of fruit juice and a two-piece KFC combo dinner in his hands and words of "Come here, Sweetie, I love you so much, let's go into the woods" they should say "Find another fool". In fact I wrote the phrase on the board and insisted the girls write it in their notebooks: Find another fool. "Any questions?" I asked. One boy raised his hand and said "But practice makes perfect", implying that one should have sex before marriage so that one can satisfy the spouse. Thank you, Menzi, for stepping into my crosshairs. You are the teachable moment for your colleagues on how not to conduct one's sexual life.

"Girls", I said, "Know now that you should avoid Menzi; his thinking is defective. In fact, let's try out that phrase you just wrote down. Turn around and look at him." They did. "On three, girls, use the phrase: 1, 2, 3: 'Find another fool'". The girls played right along; Menzi sustained a verbal bombardment of sexual non-consent. He smiled, but also looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. I related this incident to Ruth later that evening. She said it was good to give the girls an easy and direct phrase to use in a pinch, but the problem is that so many girls are starved for love and attention that is difficult to resist what looks like love. Message to you dads of daughters: show and explain to your girls what real care and love is, so that when they come up against Mr. "got some nice food for ya here in exchange for a trip to the woods", they can brush off the offer for the ludicrous counterfeit that it is.

After the sonic boom, I asked Menzi where he got the idea that one should practice sex before marriage. He said he got it from a book. I told him the book was wrong, and that he should bring that book. In a few minutes he produced a paperback entitled "Questions Young People Ask" by Bruce and Carol Britten. Bruce and Carol are Evangelical Protestant missionary friends of ours who have been in Swaziland for nearly 40 years. I couldn't believe Menzi claimed this book had the advice he attributed to it. I thought "I know the Brittens, and I know you won't find such advice in that book." Sure enough he didn't; QYPA is all about saving sex for marriage, and why. Menzi's copy was dirtied and dog-eared; the next day, I gave him a fresher copy.

Points for Menzi on stamina, though; he would not surrender the concept that pre-marital sex makes for better post-marital sex. I explained to him that he misunderstood sex. Sex is supposed to be the expression of love between a husband and a wife, not some sort of graded performance. He said that if the woman is not satisfied, she will leave and find another man. I said that marriages don't break up because the sex isn't good enough; they break up because the love isn't there, then the sex decreases in frequency, then one of the spouses goes looking for love elsewhere. I don't think he's convinced, but maybe some seeds of reality have been planted in the heads of the other students and they will avoid the insanity of pre-marital sex.

ABSALOM SIBANDZE'S HAPPY STORY
One recent Sunday a man picked us up in his car. We saw a boy in the road "driving" his own car, a vehicle made of scrap wire with a working steering wheel. Many pre-teen boys make such cars. I've seen one with a radio and working lights. I mentioned "Hey, there's another driver" to the man who gave us the lift. I asked him if he made those when he was a kid, and he said yes. In fact, he could ride on his (something like a skateboard, I guess). He explained that now he works on auto bodies for a living, and has all the work he wants. This Sunday he was supposed to be fixing somebody's car, but he wanted to take a day off. His uncle recognized early that Solomon he had an interest in cars, and encouraged him to pursue it. Absalom would work at body shops for very little money, but all along he knew he was gaining skills he could use to his profit later. Now is later, and he's doing very well. If only more people were to have elders giving them such good advice, and if only more young people were willing to put in the "sweat equity" to gain skills (if not big bucks) which pay off later! This story is a good one for Swazi youth these days, as so many of them dream of white collar government jobs which are vanishingly scarce and, in this economic climate, subject to pay cuts and eliminations. I need to pass this story on to the students.

Okay, I'm done. Hope you have a good day.

Rudy for the gang

FROM LAST TIME
Please find attached Single Lilly's article (the one Ruth responded to in the last newsletter) and a video of our "hillbilly 4 channel surround sound home theater"

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
One recent Saturday Cub and I went to Manzini for confession with Father Mikel. We discussed the fact that the next day was Trinity Sunday, the most difficult Sunday on which to preach as the Trinity is the most difficult aspect of Christianity to comprehend. I told Cub that "the most believing, most intelligent Christians of all time have had a hard time understanding this reality". I relayed this discussion to Father Mikel later in the day. Trinity Sunday was the third Sunday in June this year, and Father Maseko usually comes to the outstation church on the third Sunday. So even though I genuinely felt sorry for Father Mikel for having to deliver the homily on Trinity Sunday, I felt relief that at the outstation, Father Maseko would do the job.

Occasionally, however, Fr. Maseko can't make it. And this Sunday he didn't. And Make Khanyile asked if I would lead the service, which includes preaching. I had 20 minutes to come up with something to say on the most mind-bending teaching of the Christian church. Carumba! Someone at ECHO told Ruth years ago that missionaries have to be able to sing, preach, or die on a moment's notice. I got door #2 on this Sunday. I think it came out okay, though. If you'd like to read what I said, see the attached.

POLE VAULT
The school kitchen cooks students' food in huge cast iron pots over an open fire. To keep that fire stoked, students are asked about once a week to bring firewood. One day recently a student ran by (he was a little late for assembly) with his piece of firewood. It was half the height of the flagpole. He looked like a pole vaulter on his way to breaking a world record. We all got a laugh.

ANTICIPATION
On Saturday June 25th the USA Men's National Soccer Team played their Mexican counterparts in the Gold Cup. Winner enjoyed bragging rights in that fierce rivalry and a trip to the Confederation's Cup in Brazil in 2013. I wanted to watch that game. They played at 9PM on Saturday in Los Angeles; which is about 6 or 7 AM here in Swaziland on Sunday morning. I tried to contact MZ Dlamini, a teacher who gets the SuperSport3 channel-all soccer, all the time. A text message didn't get returned, and no one was at his house Friday or Saturday during the day. I assumed he was out, so I asked other homes if they had SuperSport3. They did not, but one teacher said he knew MZ was around.

So, at 6:30AM Sunday morning, I walked over to MZ's house. I could only imagine how excited he would be to have an unexpected visitor ask to sit in his living room on a cold Sunday morning and watch his tv for 90 minutes. But MZ was gracious, and we tried to find the game. SS3 didn't carry it. MZ expressed his condolences and I departed. Off we went to church.

But I had the cell phone with me, and since it can access the internet, I thought I could at least find the result that way. But the cell phone tower was not operating, so that was out. Later the cell phone tower came back online, but then I couldn't get onto the internet for some reason. I sent my dad an e-mail from the phone (that was working) and another friend in town a text message to please look up the result and tell me what it was. I got the answer Monday morning-a 4-2 victory for Mexico. I can't say the result was worth waiting for, but I do appreciate everyone's help in trying to let me watch the game and get the result. It reminded me also that the information highway isn't always paved perfectly smooth here in Africa.

SUCCESS! JABU SWEATS IT OUT
We have mentioned that no matter how warmly we dress our daughters in winter, we frequently get comments from Swazis about not dressing them warmly enough. On one jaunt in town recently I showed all the layers to a shop attendant; Jabu had on about 3. "Hawu, she's going to sweat in there!" This was music to my ears. A Swazi woman actually criticized me for having TOO MANY warm articles of clothes on one of our children. It's been 8 long years in coming, but such a comment finally arrived. Later on at home, Ruth said "Rudy, look at this!" She would push one of Jabu's arms down level with her body, and without Jabu making an effort, the arm would bounce back up because of all the clothes she had on. Many of you will remember Ralphie's brother in the movie "A Christmas Story" whose mom dressed him in so many layers he could not get off his back when he fell in the snow. Jabu was dressed similarly.

FIND ANOTHER FOOL
The form 1 students have begun discussing human sexuality and procreation in science class. I go light on the physiological details and heavy on the importance of saving sex for marriage and the benefits therein. I told the girls that if some sweet-talking boy with a 1-liter box of fruit juice and a two-piece KFC combo dinner in his hands and words of "Come here, Sweetie, I love you so much, let's go into the woods" they should say "Find another fool". In fact I wrote the phrase on the board and insisted the girls write it in their notebooks: Find another fool. "Any questions?" I asked. One boy raised his hand and said "But practice makes perfect", implying that one should have sex before marriage so that one can satisfy the spouse. Thank you, Menzi, for stepping into my crosshairs. You are the teachable moment for your colleagues on how not to conduct one's sexual life.

"Girls", I said, "Know now that you should avoid Menzi; his thinking is defective. In fact, let's try out that phrase you just wrote down. Turn around and look at him." They did. "On three, girls, use the phrase: 1, 2, 3: 'Find another fool'". The girls played right along; Menzi sustained a verbal bombardment of sexual non-consent. He smiled, but also looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. I related this incident to Ruth later that evening. She said it was good to give the girls an easy and direct phrase to use in a pinch, but the problem is that so many girls are starved for love and attention that is difficult to resist what looks like love. Message to you dads of daughters: show and explain to your girls what real care and love is, so that when they come up against Mr. "got some nice food for ya here in exchange for a trip to the woods", they can brush off the offer for the ludicrous counterfeit that it is.

After the sonic boom, I asked Menzi where he got the idea that one should practice sex before marriage. He said he got it from a book. I told him the book was wrong, and that he should bring that book. In a few minutes he produced a paperback entitled "Questions Young People Ask" by Bruce and Carol Britten. Bruce and Carol are Evangelical Protestant missionary friends of ours who have been in Swaziland for nearly 40 years. I couldn't believe Menzi claimed this book had the advice he attributed to it. I thought "I know the Brittens, and I know you won't find such advice in that book." Sure enough he didn't; QYPA is all about saving sex for marriage, and why. Menzi's copy was dirtied and dog-eared; the next day, I gave him a fresher copy.

Points for Menzi on stamina, though; he would not surrender the concept that pre-marital sex makes for better post-marital sex. I explained to him that he misunderstood sex. Sex is supposed to be the expression of love between a husband and a wife, not some sort of graded performance. He said that if the woman is not satisfied, she will leave and find another man. I said that marriages don't break up because the sex isn't good enough; they break up because the love isn't there, then the sex decreases in frequency, then one of the spouses goes looking for love elsewhere. I don't think he's convinced, but maybe some seeds of reality have been planted in the heads of the other students and they will avoid the insanity of pre-marital sex.

ABSALOM SIBANDZE'S HAPPY STORY
One recent Sunday a man picked us up in his car. We saw a boy in the road "driving" his own car, a vehicle made of scrap wire with a working steering wheel. Many pre-teen boys make such cars. I've seen one with a radio and working lights. I mentioned "Hey, there's another driver" to the man who gave us the lift. I asked him if he made those when he was a kid, and he said yes. In fact, he could ride on his (something like a skateboard, I guess). He explained that now he works on auto bodies for a living, and has all the work he wants. This Sunday he was supposed to be fixing somebody's car, but he wanted to take a day off. His uncle recognized early that Solomon he had an interest in cars, and encouraged him to pursue it. Absalom would work at body shops for very little money, but all along he knew he was gaining skills he could use to his profit later. Now is later, and he's doing very well. If only more people were to have elders giving them such good advice, and if only more young people were willing to put in the "sweat equity" to gain skills (if not big bucks) which pay off later! This story is a good one for Swazi youth these days, as so many of them dream of white collar government jobs which are vanishingly scarce and, in this economic climate, subject to pay cuts and eliminations. I need to pass this story on to the students.

Okay, I'm done. Hope you have a good day.

RUDY'S RESPONSE TO SINGLE LILLY
Here's another approach to her piece.
"My view of life...is very simple. Put simply, I believe that life is dolorously boring and hence has no meaning whatsoever".

So begins Single Lilly's opinion piece entitled "Teenage Abortion: Why It's Not So Bad". I suspect, however, that Ms. Lilly looks both ways before crossing the street and does not engage in drink-driving every Friday and Saturday night. Probably she eats three meals a day and does not juggle Homelite chainsaws while they are running. But if she really believes what she says, why wouldn't she close her eyes when crossing Gwamile on a busy Tuesday morning, or see just how many limb-dismembering Homelites she can keep in the air at once? Such actions certainly would relieve the boredom, and if they ended in her death, well, she's already said life has no meaning, so there'd be no loss.

In all likelihood Ms. Lilly engages in (and refrains from) a large number of behaviours which result in her continued survival and health. What we do always shows what we believe. We conclude, therefore, that Ms. Lilly believes life (hers at least) has enough meaning to act in ways intended to keep it going. Since Ms. Lilly's life is no more or less valuable than any other human life, let's see if abortion really is not so bad for the meaningful lives of women and children.

Ms. Lilly says "from what I've witnessed from close friends, abortion is usually a decision taken calmly, sanely and rationally". A couple of qualifiers deserve mention here. One, the women for whom abortion was a terrifying decision and experience probably aren't going to talk about it the way a sports fan talks about his favorite team or a young man talks about his new love. We naturally avoid discussion of events that hurt us. Consequently, Ms. Lilly has not heard much from the women for whom abortion was (and continues to be) a disaster. Two, the number of women Ms. Lilly has spoken to (specifically, her close friends) is relatively small, compared to all the women who undergo abortions. Her sample is not representative. What do representative surveys tell us about womens' experiences with abortion?

Dr. David Reardon of the Elliot Institute in America studies the effects of abortion on women. His website http://www.afterabortion.org contains oceans of research on the topic. Consider a few results of much larger surveys in Europe, Britain and the United States:
* 64% of women having abortions felt pressured by others.
* 52% felt rushed and 54% were not sure about the decision at the time.
* In a survey of women who sought help after abortion, 83% said they would have carried to term if they had received support from the baby’s father, their family, or other important people in their lives.
* 84% reported that they did not receive adequate counseling.
* 79% were not informed about available alternatives.
* 31% of women suffered health complications after abortion. 10% suffer immediate complications, one-fifth of which are life-threatening.
* Women have a 65% higher risk of clinical depression after abortion compared to women who give birth.
* 65% suffer multiple symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder after abortion.
* Death rates from all causes are 3.5 times higher among women who abort, compared to women who give birth.
* 60% said “part of me died,” according to a survey of women who aborted.
* Suicide rates are 6 times higher for post-aborted women compared to women who give birth.

Clearly, the vast majority of women who undergo abortions suffer from them. Bearing in mind that we avoid discussion of painful experiences, the above results may under-represent the number of women injured through abortion.

The vast majority of us want to live rich and fulfilling lives. In our best moments, we also wish this for other people. Surveys of post-abortive women indicate that abortion is not the way to build those rich and fulfilling lives. Let us stand in solidarity and charity with women in crisis pregnancies; let us give them the love and support they need to take care of their unexpected children. The moms, the children, and we the helpers will all grow because of the experience.

Rudy Poglitsh
rpoglitsh@live.com
more letters at http://letterstotheTOS.blogspot.com

Rudy for the gang

APOLOGY
Sorry we haven't written in a while! The mornings have just been taken up with other things. It's good to be sharing our experiences again.

LUKHELE
Make Lukhele is one of the two wives of the deceased Abner Dlamini. Make Malinga was my "main" Swazi mom, and when she died then the next woman Abner married (make Silolo) became my main contact with the homestead. Still, it does not seem right to pay no attention to make Lukhele, so Jabu and I went over there a couple of weeks ago. She seems to be doing fine. Except, of course, when a goat with a rope around its ankle (an arrangement intended to keep the beast from wandering into the neighbors' homestead) bolted when released from its pen and knocked down Lukhele's mat-weaving loom and a 1-year old child. We all laughed (except the 1 year old, but she got over it pretty fast).

CHAYA UP!
After visiting make Lukhele, Jabu and I passed make Silolo's homestead. We greeted them briefly. Just as we stepped away from the gate, I noticed a newly-planted vegetable coming up. Over my shoulder I asked make Silolo if she had planted chaya cuttings from our place. She had! You ECHO folks must be glad; chaya has moved off our property and taken root in one genuine Swazi homestead. For those of you not familiar with the plant, chaya is a spinach-like dark green vegetable with iron and vitamin A. It grows profusely and needs little care. Chaya would integrate well with traditional Swazi cuisine. We hope it proves beneficial to this (and eventually other) Swazi homes.

EXSULTATE DEO
"Praise God with sugar cane and dance; lay on your face and worship Him". Not quite the Psalms, but it's close. Recently we found Jabulile (who can walk now) with a stalk of sugar cane in her hand, turning circles and smiling as the music of Alessandro Scarlatti (Exsultate Deo) and Anton Bruckner (Os Justi) played on the boombox. These music selections came from a cd of choral music entitled "Songs and Psalms of the Divine".Occasionally she would fall to her belly and lay face-down on the floor for a few moments; whether she had lost her balance or wished to express obesiance to the Lord or just got tired I don't know. Without doubt, however, she had a great time. Just watching her was a joy to us also.

PAY SCALE
For several years the International Monetary Fund (IMF) has told the Swazi government they need to reduce their civil servant payroll in order to keep the nation financially sound. The government has not done that, and has in fact given pay increases on several occasions since we arrived in January 2003. Swaziland's main source of income is a portion of the customs receipts for several southern African nations; the vast majority of this customs money goes through South Africa, and Swaziland was given a cut. The Swazi percentage has been reduced, and now the government is trying to find ways to keep their budget on an even keel. They have proposed cutting civil servants' salaries 10%. This has caused two nation-wide one-day teacher strikes. It is impossible to know how this will turn out. I feel I am overpaid for the work I do, and I think a 10% cut would be a fair step. Part of the opposition to the cut (other than the basic fact that very few people jump at the opportunity of making less money) is the belief that government has and continues to squander money through unnecessary spending and corruption. Some teachers don't want to give up money they are working for until other government officials stop wasting money. I told a meeting of teachers that folks we know in the States have had 10% pay cuts and shortened work weeks due to the global financial downturn for two years, and that if government has promised to pay you 20 Emalangeni but only has 15 in its pocket, maybe you should take what you can get. The comments were not well received. We will see what happens.

TRIP TO TOWN WITH THREE GIRLS
Our school operates on a 6 day schedule. Pretend the first day of a new school term is a Monday. That is day 1. Tuesday is day 2. Friday is day 5. The next Monday is day 6. The Tuesday following this next Monday is day 1. And so forth. Each day has its own teaching regimen; that is, a teacher does not teach the same students at the same time every day. I'm not the biggest fan of this setup, but that is neither here nor there.

What is relevant is that on day 5, I do not have any classes. I do not know how this came to pass, but I do not bring it to the attention of the folks in charge of the schedule either; no need to incite jealousy or a "How can that be? No teacher should have a day without students!" reaction from the administration which might result in a change. I do occasionally use that day, however, to run errands in town (most times I use it to do outside work around the school).

On Friday June 10th, I took the oldest three girls to town with me. I had a slew of errands to run, the most important one being the installation of some lights at the Youth With A Mission (YWAM) campus. We got a nice lift in someone's sedan all the way to town, visited the church, got the electrical stuff I needed, dropped off the back wheel of my bike (I'd broken a spoke; bike wheels don't work too well with even one broken spoke), purchased a big bag of oranges, bought various clothes items for three of the four girls (my 9-years-old-and-younger female companions had a ball with that), visited our post office box (where we found a large envelope from my dad; this provided delicious anticipation for the girls, as envelopes from Grandpa Poglitsh usually mean issues of Highlights magazine), picked up a few groceries, then took a kombi to YWAM. Given the number of personnel and posessions, this Poglitsh contingent took up the entire back seat (which accomodates four adults). I was happy with this, as controlling that entire space made sure the light fixtures would arrive at YWAM unbroken.

We got to YWAM and the girls ran off to play with the other kids. I got the lights installed just in time for dinner. After the meal the girls (with ours there, the total came to 5) had pajama party to bid Catherine Nave (daughter of Jim and Lisa Nave, leaders of the YWAM campus) bon voyage for three months. Jim is getting some training in the States. So my daughters happily clambered off to Luciano and Ane Duarte's house (the Duartes are Brazilians working at YWAM-Swaziland) and stayed up until 1AM watching movies and eating popcorn. I retired and got a long night's sleep, and did some pleasure reading in bed in the morning (something that otherwise happens only when I'm sick). When I learned in the morning that the girls had only 6 hours sleep, I knew I had three ticking time bombs on my hands; I figured the tiredness and accompanying crankiness would detonate in irritability and tears by 10AM. So they played for a little while with the other kids, the Duarte's gave us a lift back to town, and we ran a few more errands. By the time we'd picked up my bike tire, another big bag of oranges (the first bag was given to YWAM), and a big bag of carrots, we looked like Okies en route to California. Kit rode on my shoulders with the oranges across her lap, I had the wheel in one hand, I held the hand of one of the girls with my other hand, and bore a full but not very heavy (clothes are pleasantly light) backpack on my back. We got to the bus rank where we sat down and waited for the Nsukumbili kombi. The girls sat down and ate their fat cakes (the enormous donut holes mentioned a little while back in these newsletters), and within 10 minutes our kombi arrived. We again dominated the back seat (the conductor asked us repeatedly if we really intended to occupy the entire seat; I assured him we did) and were home in an hour.

The point (which I've made in this space before) is that Swaziland affords us tremendous quantities of (fun) time with our kids. A friend of ours who heads a faith and family outreach in the US said that in preparation for his ministry, he asked fellow seminarians which of their Sunday school teachers taught them most effectively. It turned out that those teachers who did fun but simple things with the kids were the most memorable. For a child, "love" is spelled "T-I-M-E". This weekend jaunt gave us lots of time together and built bonds and memories to last a lifetime. For experiences such as this, I am very grateful to Swaziland.

GIRLS RULE!
Ruth still conducts Girls' Club on Friday afternoons. One recent Friday about eight girls, from ages 5 to 17, descended on our house to hear the story of Boy's Town (a little ironic, I suppose, at an all-girls function), hollow out eggs and paint the shells, and play freeze tag. I am very glad Ruth does this. It seems that opportunities for girls to gather and just have fun, without work responsibilities or male attention, are rare in Swaziland. I usually take Jabu and make dinner in the kitchen while the activities take place in the living room. Everyone has a good time.

LIFE AND LOVE
Find attached two letters to the Times of Swaziland; one is by a woman named Simple Lilly Ruth's response to Ms. Lilly is below. These letters encapsulate two very different approaches to life, and the approach each of us chooses will determine whether we build societies of love or societies of selfishness. Note that the presence of such an exchange in Swaziland indicates that the clash of ideas as to what constitutes the good life (commonly known as the culture wars in the global West) has spread to Swaziland.

Response to Single Lilly
Single Lilly's important piece ("Teenage Abortion: Why It's Not So Bad") helps explain why societies support abortion and why friends and family either "gently encourage" or forcibly push women into abortion.

Her closing paragraph reads "They [women who choose abortion], very kindly-and potentially at great risk to their lives-make what could be a problem for us all simply vanish. Personally, I don't particularly enjoy the sight of unhappy, malnourished children". Lilly clearly expresses a chilling vision of human relationships we are all tempted to indulge: "I don't care if you murder others or damage yourself, as long as those lethal actions keep me from having to deal with your problems." What are these "problems?" They are weak human beings-the young, the old, the sick, the disabled, the poor, even the depressed-who might bother us with their troubles or demands.

Consider this parable. Once upon a time a man saw a vision of hell. In it he saw a beautiful banquet table loaded with food. The guests sitting around the table had very long forearms, however, so that none of them could feed themselves. There were shouts, anger, and cursing as everyone tried to spoon up the delicious food only to find they could get it nowhere near their mouths. Then the man saw a second vision, this one of heaven. In heaven he saw the same banquet table and guests similarly deformed. In heaven, however, everyone took the food in their hands and carefully fed their neighbors until all were satisfied.

We can selfishly focus on our own needs while resenting the needs and demands of others; in doing so we create hell on earth. In the 1930's the United States suffered a great economic collapse which became known as the Great Depression. Several decades later a man named Studs Terkel interviewed hundreds of people who had lived through that time. He compiled his interviews into a fascinating book entitled "Hard Times". Terkel found that some people looked back upon those years with nostalgia saying things like, "It was so wonderful, everyone pulled together and helped each other through." Others looked back with horror, saying how awful it was and how people selfishly grabbed everything that they could get with no consideration of others. The challenge of the situation created opportunities for individuals and communities to grow in selfishness or to grow in love. Heaven or Hell.

Swaziland faces a similar challenge right now, and the same choice lies before all of us. When confronted with the needs of the weak and needy, are we going to wish that they would simply vanish, or hope that other people will do us a favor and make them vanish? When our family members, friends, and neighbors come to us with their needs, will our response show that we care and will do what we can to help them? I know a gogo who, several years back, was barely surviving. She took in, fed, and cared for a child who had fled his homestead because of an abusive second wife who didn't want to share food with him. The gogo and her grandson showed love because they believed that Jesus was giving them an opportunity in this boy to show love to God himself. Heaven or Hell--which one will we create here?

I hope that Single Lilly discovers the happy surprise that God fills the universe and our everyday actions with meaning and eternal significance, that Christ is present in the needs of others, and that in the adventure of love no one's life need be "dolorously boring".

Sincerely,
Ruth Poglitsh

HILLBILLY
Your electricity has been unexpectedly going out after dark for a couple of weeks. Your girls plan for the outages by attaching glow-in-the-dark plastic stars to the living room walls with bostick (a tacky adhesive similar to chewing gum). When the lights go out, they find their way to the wall (the stars "charge" as long as the lights are on) and stick the stars to their foreheads. Now they can know each others' locations, and find their way around until a grownup lights a candle.
hillbilly headlights

Most kids' household chores include raking the leaves, cutting the grass, and shoveling the snow. Your kids take the hammer to a rock-hard, basketball-size anthill in search of the queen ant.
hillbilly yardwork

An evening's entertainment includes your daughters taking 10 liter plastic buckets (used to store sugar, flour, and corn meal) and banging on them with hands and sticks like drums.
hillbilly 4 channel surround sound home theater

Have a good day,
The Poglitsh's

MANGOES UP!

During the summer (December to March) I occasionally bought 10kg bags of mangoes. Mbabane has a big open-air fruit and vegetable market, and we like to buy in bulk-even though my 43-year-old knees are starting to complain about carrying bulk volumes of carrots, potatoes, and oranges!
We really like mangoes; so much, in fact, that we decided we would keep the seeds and try planting them out to grow our own trees. After devouring the sweet fruit (and picking the myriad fibre strands from between our teeth-get a non-smooth-flesh mango and you'll understand), we dried the seeds (the average seed fits in the palm of an adult hand), removed the tough outer skin (takes a pair of diagonal cutters and a slot screwdriver from my electrician days to do it), and planted them in a trench of potting soil beside a north-facing wall of the house. Mangoes love heat, and the north side of the house will have the most heat through the winter. I did not know what the seeds would do; they came from mangoes grown for eating (not cultivation) in the commercial market. I am happy to report, however, that 8-10 seedlings shot up! I am very excited. We will let them grow there through the winter, then plant them out (by the avocados) in the spring. It will be a few years before we see any fruit, but we hope that one lasting legacy of the Poglitsh's at Nsukumbili will be an avocado and mango orchard.
SOUTH OF THE BORDER-WAAAAAY SOUTH

During Christmas in America, Cub, Kit and I drove past South of the Border in South Carolina. But really-who (other than a truck driver or regular commuter) can really drive past South of the Border without stopping in? Not the three of us! After taking pictures with the fiberglass turtles, giant saddled rabbits, etc., the girls and I bought a jester's hat. The girls took turns wearing it after we continued driving to North Carolina.
The jester's hat made it to Swaziland. It also made its way into a pile of items which the girls (the 3 older ones) decided no longer got enough play time, and could go to other kids. That pile went over to the homestead one morning that Rudy went to help harvest corn (more later). Later in the day, Sakhile (the 5 year old daughter of Abner's younger wife) had put the hat on, as well as some multi-colored socks. South of the Border had gone WAY south.
KNEE DEEP IN THE HOOPLA

The break between the first and second school terms was only 2 (instead of the normal 3) weeks long. The break between the second and third school terms will be 4 weeks. I have asked around and have received no explanation as to why.
Regardless, the first school break (during the autumn season) is the time to harvest corn. Seeing as the homestead has only one adult male between the two widows, Rudy went over to help bring in the harvest. That is one SATISFYING job. The weather is clear, cool, and beautiful, the view (as the homestead is near the top of a hill overlooking all of Dlangeni) is magnificent, and the feeling that you're doing something worthwhile (putting food in the pantry for the rest of the year) is priceless. I wield a grass slasher in my left hand to hack the stalk down. My glove-covered hands husk the cob. Slung across my chest is the backpack we got from World Youth Day 2002 in Toronto (the last one Blessed John Paul II attended). I would drop each husked cob into the backpack and when it was full, walk it over to a pile of other "mealies" (Swazi English for corn cobs). What a great way to spend a day.
With Abner out of commission during the growing season, though, it appears very little weeding got done. The non-corn plants were, in many places, above my knees. Also, some patches in the field had very few corn stalks, and those few had pathetic cobs. But still, it appeared to be a respectable harvest.
MAKE WA SAKHILE'S DAD

Sakhile's mom has suffered another blow; during the school break, her father unexpectedly died. He was fit at Abner's funeral, and several weeks later he was dead. Please pray for her; she has a number of heavy loads to carry these days (2 small children, another one coming in August, a teenage girl who delivered a child last Saturday, and no husband to help her).
SOCCER STICKERS AND SOAP

Ruth read "American Caesar" last year, William Manchester's monumental biography of General Douglas MacArthur. Somewhere in Manchester's writings (I'm not sure it was in American Caesar), Manchester says that "A man will not sell you his life for money, but he will give it to you for a ribbon"-the ribbon being a military decoration. I decided to try that principle in the classroom. I now keep a healthy supply of pencils, pencil sharpeners, and erasers at home. If a student gives a good answer or asks a good question, I pull one of those items out of my pocket and give in to them, then resupply my pocket on my next trip to the house. The students do appreciate it, as these items are eminently useful and not as easy to get as you might think (they cost money and most sold here are poor quality).
Bearing in mind that variety is the spice of life, I thought I'd introduce some different awards.
On the clearance table near the checkout at Shoprite grocery store sit two boxes of soccer World Cup 2010 stickers. Each packet has 4 to 6 stickers of players from the 32 teams which competed in South Africa last year. Also, our friends the Rehmeyers passed us a big ziploc bag full of soap (mainly from hotels) given to them by friends in the States. Hmmm, the Rehmeyers live in town and gave us "Nsukumhillbillies" a big bag of soap-you guys droppin' hints about our rural hygiene habits?
Anyway, I now distribute soccer stickers to the clever boys and soap to the insightful girls. They really seem to enjoy it. I do too-when I give a sticker pack to the boys, I insist they open it right away. I want to see which players they get. I have not seen an American sticker yet; when I do, I suspect I'm gonna trade a pencil, eraser, or sharpener (or all 3) for that sticker. I'm also thinking of taking all the remaining sticker packs at Shoprite to the manager and try to make a deal-E1 for all the packs (they are currently E2 each). It will get them out of his hair, and into the hands of my students. I don't know what I'll do when the soap runs out. Something, I trust, will appear.
IT WAS 20 YEARS AGO TODAY

A local family (the Ncongwane's) hosted two members of our Peace Corps group during our training. A senior at the school was just a small boy when we were PCVs; I once asked him if he remembered Khanyisile, the Swazi name given to one of the volunteers. He said he had vague recollections of hearing about her. Ruth and I were reflecting recently that January marked 20 years since our group started our service. I think it's neat that the Peace Corps connected two groups of grass roots people from opposite ends of the world, and that the connection remains intact.
BAD NEWS

A friend sent me a link to an article about the connection between the birth control pill and HIV. I hoped the story was overblown hype so I passed the link to a prominent international expert in HIV/AIDS whom we know personally. He confirmed that the article is accurate. Read the story "The Pill’s Deadly Affair with HIV/AIDS" at http://catholicexchange.com/2010/04/26/129702/
WALK WITH THE DAUGHTERS

Monday May 2 was the last day of the first school break. To give Ruth a break, I took the girls on a walk to the Mamba shop. The Mamba shop is almost all the way to Entfubeni elementary school, about 2km (1.2miles) from Nsukumbili. We took the back way, to have a little adventure and give Ruth more time for herself. We strolled through woods, up and down hills, through picturesque fence gates, and relished the crackers, soda and conversations with the proprietor at the shop. This provided another golden time with my wonderful children-and once again, I have Peace Corps to thank for it. Swaziland has been very good for us; I sure hope we return the favor to some degree.
I am particularly grateful for the proprietor, a Mrs. Mamba. She was here when I was a Peace Corps volunteer, and she's here today. With so many older people from that era now dead, it's sure nice she's still alive and well. I did tell her that recently.
WHAT'S IN A NAME? THE SEQUEL

"Jabulile" is the female variant of "Jabulani", which means joy. Jabulani was also the name of the soccer ball for World Cup 2010. We're not too far from the folks named in the attached article. [Note: That is why Rudy liked Jabulani; Ruth liked it because of a great church song "Jabulani, Jabulani, Jabulani maKholwa" -- "Rejoice, Rejoice, Rejoice Believers" and because she was recognizing a great need for Joy.] See above article.
JOYRIDE

Friday's is Girl's Club at our house. Rudy is in charge of Jabulile for those two to three hours while Ruth, the other 3 daughters, and any interested young girls (Yenzile, Phayo, Nonduduzo, and their friends) band together for a girls-only afternoon of fun. Thing is, I like to have fun too. So last Friday and just yesterday, I strapped our 1-year-old soccer ball namesake to my back and took her out for a bicycle ride. Last week we went 23km; yesterday we had less time (she wasn't awake right after school, and we had to change, feed, and dress her), but we still covered 12km. She seems very content on my back; certainly she doesn't squall as though she's hating it. I hope to participate in the City to City mountain bike race again this year, and so I do need some training. I like to think having the extra weight on those uphills will help prepare me for that race.
We regularly get free parenting advice from strangers even when riding a bike. At one point last Friday a mother shouted to me "umoya!" which means "wind!". Apparently she thought my blazing speeds (ha!) would cause sickness-inducing winds on Jabu. I lifted one arm in an expression of (mostly) mock exasperation. I'll keep doing the biking with Jabu, regardless of the comments of the gallery.
NSUKUMHILLBILLY

Upon digging into a bowl of freshly popped and salted popcorn, your 2nd born daughter says:"Doesn't this taste just like tinhlwa?" Tinhlwa are pan-fried flying termites.

hillbilly

The school's groundskeeper, a very hard working and helpful man, plays his cellphone ring tone for you. It's a rooster (digitally sampled and mixed) crowing "Old MacDonald Had a Farm" with a snare drum accompaniment.

hillbilly

The same groundskeeper tells you that for fun, he plays his rooster ring tone at his house. When he does, his own (live) rooster believes a rival has entered the compound and begins to round up the hens for himself.

hillbilly head games

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