sawubona

On 18 May 2013, I was nearly barred from check-in at Logan. Visitors from Canada do not require entry visas to Swaziland, and my work visa application would be filed upon arrival. Evidently, this Air France attendant missed the memo, though I managed to persuade his colleagues after an hour of intense beseechment (screenshots of email correspondence, printed onboarding material, bad jokes, unsubtle flattery...) that I am not a henchman for an illicit Swazi Gold smuggling ring but rather a harmless adventure-seeking optimist. With that, they ripped the I-94 from my passport, and I bid adieu to U.S. work authorisation.

On 19 May 2013, I briefly escaped Charles de Gaulle. Picking out my favourite balcony from Châtelet-Les Halles to le Louvre, neck perpetually craned; loitering in Jardin des Tuileries amid hyacinths and teenagers in love; greeting le Grand Palais, le Pont Alexandre III, la Tour Eiffel, that Abercrombie, l'Arc de Triomphe enroute to lunch with a friend at Café de la Paix... I was Owen Wilson in Paris in the rain, a veritable flâneuse, another grinning fool held in the city's trance. I recalled a quote by Monet, "Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it." And what a privilege it is to be young, desirous, and free to discover.



On 20 May 2013, I disembarked from an Airbus A380 at OR Tambo and boarded a pint-sized jet for Matsapha. I was the last passenger to clear customs in a modest receiving area (My bags occupied an embarrassing one-tenth of that room). CHAI's driver was waiting with another fellow, the first to clear customs, who inquired about my background and position. "What about you? Are you starting as well?" "Actually I'm the Regional Director, visiting for the week." Of course he was /facepalm. Between that and meeting my Program Manager after no-shower-48-hour, I figured I'd cut my losses - bathed, watched the sun set, and zzz'ed.



First impressions? Everybody pronounces my name without hesitancy, as I struggle with theirs. Sisi, meaning 'sister', is commonly used to address friends and waitresses alike in SiSwati, a Bantu language related to Zulu characterised by clicks unfamiliar to my clumsy tongue. I feel sheepish in my inability to reciprocate warm greetings, even more so when half the greetings aren't directed at me. As to physical surroundings, Mbabane is home to under 90,000 widely spread across granite peaks and winding valleys averaging an elevated 1,243m in the Hhohho district. It is currently the dry season. The sun sets early and rapidly as we approach winter solstice, and the temperature easily fluctuates 15°C from day to night. As such, my preferred mode of transport (by foot - Boston, you have spoiled me so) is impractical and unsafe. Out of stubborn curiosity, I walked from the CHAI house to the office on the largely unmarked roads clocking in at 1.5h, drenched in perspiration, having averted close calls with kombis and cows.

I should consider purchasing a car. Swaziland, are you ready for an azn female learning to drive stick on the left hand side of the road?



I attended four braais (Afrikaans for 'grill') in my first week alone. Thank heavens that I am Albertan, because I don't know how you could survive here without fervent appreciation for fairly rare steak (and boerewors and burgers). Thanks heavens also that nature, against all odds, gave me ample lactase and alcohol dehydrogenase, and nurture has trained me for a cuisine unfamiliar with 'skim' or 'soy' and accustomed to pouring juicy Cape reds to the brim. I have not counterbalanced with sufficient physical activity (Have I ever?), though I hope to make the trail run organised by the Mbabane Club each Tuesday night and ultimate frisbee at Waterford Kamhlaba United World College each Wednesday night.

I didn't have a headlamp for my first trail run attempt, which forced me to keep pace with a few others while holding up my iPhone flashlight. At one point we were chased by wild dogs, and in another instance, I tripped over a mole. As for ultimate, rotating expats (ie; doctors from the Baylor pediatric AIDS clinic, TechnoServe volunteers, WFP interns) have been playing with these Swazi teens for some time now, I believe after a couple Baylor residents met them at a youth shelter. Expats can outnumber Swazis twice over but still face utter defeat. My manager actually brought several of the boys to competitions in Maputo and Jo'burg. Being outplayed by a Swazi girl half my size on a mountain beneath strange, sparkling constellations offered a moment of clarity: this is exactly where I should be.



Two "Is this real life?" highlights. On my first weekend, after snacking on roadside roast corn, I went on a group run at Mlilwane Wildlife Sanctuary in Ezulwini Valley, 'Little Fire' in the 'Valley of Heavens'. Mlilwane was rehabilitated from its tin mining past to become the country's most visited reserve. My focus was diverted from the freely roaming wildlife, as I was sweating (recurring theme) and keeping pace. I didn't spot the hippos, crocodiles, or leopards that day, but I jogged alongside impalas, caught my breath with the warthogs, and nearly crashed into a herd of zebras (evolutionarily brilliant; my colleague will upload pictures soon). How can you top that? With lunch in the woods, croquet on the hills, and late-late-night guitar, apparently. This past weekend was Bushfire, an art and music festival with all proceeds donated to orphanage programmes and community development enterprises. Clearly it was my social responsibility to purchase handmade bling of recycled materials for everyone's favourite Eco Optimist, drink beer from bowls, and dance to Levels with Swazis, hippies, the edgiest Waterford high schoolers, and fellow wanderers. My favourite acts were Toya DeLazy (think Zulu M.I.A. with sick backup dancers) and Jeremy Loops (think Cape Town one-man folk band of my indie dreams). "Every day I discover more and more beautiful things..."