Mahbande tells me he has been a warrior since he was seven years old. "How can a seven-year-old be useful as a warrior?" I ask. He laughs and explains that it is just symbolic. Of course. Swaziland has a modern army with modern weapons and big black boots. The warriors carry sticks, not weapons. Their purpose is ceremonial.
And one of the annual ceremonies that the warriors play a part in has begun in Swaziland. About a month ago the "water carriers" started walking to the Mozambican coast. There they filled their buckets with seawater which they are carrying back to their king to use in the Incwala ceremony. The other warriors have come to the Royal Kraal in Lobamba from all over the country. Every evening they dance, and they will continue to until the big Incwala ceremony, when the King will come out and eat the "first corn" and dance for his subjects.
I am interviewing Mahbande because he is taking part in a workshop organized by several NGO's to try and reach out to Swaziland's traditionalist community through the warriors. One of the organizations involved is the Swaziland Action Group against Abuse (SWAGAA), the organization I'm working with. Prior to the interview I shoot the workshop itself. Imagine a hundred bare-chested men wearing beads, feathers and leopard-skins seated in movie-theatre seats in an auditoreum. They are engaged in a lively discussion with Bekhi, the SWAGAA staff member who organized the workshop. The discussion bounces from HIV/AIDS to gender equality to the new constitution, with loudly-voiced opinions coming from all sides. One young man says that SWAGAA is just selling off Swaziland to the west by importing western ideas. Another adds that having sex with an underage girl isn't rape if you plan to marry her. An old man jumps up and scolds the younger man, saying in the old days they had many girlfriends but didn't sleep with them until they were married.
After the workshop Mahbande and I sat down under a tree in the beautiful King Sobuzha memorial park. I interviewed him for almost 40 minutes, taking so long because I was having trouble getting him to answer my questions. I wanted to talk about violence against women, he wanted to talk about AIDS. He described how violence happens in rural communities, but then denied that it happens in his own. He also told me that he thought polygamy was a bad idea, and that his generation probably wouldn't participate in it as much as the last. This surprised me because the warriors generally uphold traditions like polygamy. But I realized later that his reasons were religious. When I asked about gender equality, he told me it was impossible. Adam came first, he explained. Eve was made from his rib. So men will always have power over women.
He also explained to me why men in the rural communities resent SWAGAA. It tends to be too heavy-handed when it comes into a community, he said, adding that a lot of men only hear of SWAGAA when their wives or girlfriends press charges against them with the organization's help. Of course, SWAGAA always organizes a meeting with the man and / or his family before turning to the law. But since so many men are working in South Africa some may know nothing of the actions his wife is taking before he gets a summons to court.
He has a point, and that is exactly why SWAGAA launched a "Male Involvement" program to try to encourage men to take leadership on these issues. The warrior's workshop is part of this program, but they also work with volunteers from local communities. One of my video projects focusses on this program in particular, so I've gotten to tag along to several of the events and meetings. I certainly think there's a need for it. Most organizations work on empowering women, both financially and emotionally. But the culture of abuse really needs to change, and that has to come from the abusers themselves - men.
With an interview with a warrior in the can, I wanted to get some shots of the warriors dancing to use in the video for context. So on Saturday I went to the "Little Incwala," one of the nights of dancing leading up to the big ceremony. I went with Eve, an Australian volunteer and her friend Satiso. Satiso pumps gas by day, and is a warrior by night. He was beautifully dressed in a leopard skin over a cloth sarong, with fringes of cow-hair encircling his upper arms. A turquoise feather stuck up from his curls, and he wore the warrior's necklace of pink beads. He looked fabulous, and knew it.
He gave Eve and I strict instructions before he left us at the car to do some preparation with the other warriors. We were not to go to the area where the dancing happened until we heard the second bugle sound. And then we must be careful to stay on the left of the tree, as the right side was reserved for ladies of the royal family. He also explained that I wouldn't be allowed to shoot video because the sacred songs they'd be singing were only allowed to be heard during this time of year. But I was allowed to take my still camera.
I looked pretty goofy, dressed in the traditional wraps that all the Swazi ladies wear and a big beaded necklace. And I was holding a long stick, the kind you might use for prodding your cow. I would need it for the dance.
When the second bugle sounded we lined up behind the rest of the dancers to enter the dance area. First we had to go through a metal detector, manned by a single policewomen. Can't tell you how absurd men dressed in skins and feathers looked going through the gate. The men lined up on one side, the women on the others. The men initiated the dance, and we mirrored them. The songs were slow, repetitive, almost mournful, and so were the dances. They were pretty easy to pick up: step, rock back, jab stick into air, step with other foot, rock back, feet together. Repeat. Until the next dance. One slightly more energetic number had us dancing up to the men, then turning around and coming back. The Swazi women seemed amused at our efforts.
On it went for about an hour, then just suddenly stopped. Everyone headed back to their cars and drove back home, feathers and all, their dancing sticks tucked in the trunk.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
Friday, December 7, 2007
Celebrating World AIDS Day in Manzini
The woman next to me is walking barefoot down the baking stretch of highway. Her ankles are encircled in rings of dried seed pods that rattle with every step. She is wearing a red, white and black cloth tied over one shoulder, falling over a full black skirt. Her other shoulder is adorned with a strip of brown fur, and her short hair is pulled into a mushroom shape by a black net.
She carries a sign. “I am a hero,” it reads. “I don’t sleep around.”
We are taking part in a 1000-person march to commemorate World AIDS Day in Manzini, Swaziland’s largest city. Swaziland is a monarchy of a million people sandwiched between South Africa and Mozambique. For several years now this tiny nation has had a huge burden to carry: the distinction of having the highest HIV prevalence rates in the world. Studies show that up to 40% of the adult population carries the infection.
There is no simple answer as to why Swaziland’s rates are so high, although many point to the highly-mobile male population as one of the reasons. Lack of employment drives many men over the border to work in the mines of South Africa, where they pick up the infection and bring it home to their wives and girlfriends. Life expectancy rates have plummeted, and there are more orphans than the government and NGOs can handle. And to top it all off, years of drought are driving some rural areas deeper into poverty.
As we walk we are accompanied by two marching bands from the Swaziland Defence Forces. The soldiers wear camouflaged pants tucked into combat boots, and T-shirts emblazoned with the picture of a red ribbon and the words “I abstain.”
I chat with Captain Bongani Msibi about military’s involvement in the event. He says it’s particularly important for soldiers to be aware of the virus. “We are also human beings,” he says. “We are the most vulnerable in the country because of the nature of our jobs. We are highly mobile so we are more exposed to the dangers of contracting the virus.”
The march takes us along the country’s main artery, the highway that links Manzini with the capital city of Mbabane. Cars, trucks and mini-buses zip along, honking their support. Any effort to get HIV and AIDS out of the shadows is appreciated.
The stigma and secrecy surrounding a positive HIV status is still a problem in Swaziland, and I discuss this with first-year University of Swaziland student Phumulani Matse. The nineteen-year-old says that general talk of the epidemic is common on campus, yet he admits to not knowing of a single student who is living openly with HIV. Matse has already lost a sister to AIDS, and sees the epidemic as affecting more than just his personal life. “A lot of money is being poured into HIV and AIDS that could have done a lot of things for me as a youth,” he explains. “The longer that HIV remains here, the more I’ll be affected because of the drainage economically and otherwise.”
The long walk takes us into the city’s exhibition grounds, and I follow the other marchers into the grandstand where we sit down to take in the speeches and entertainment. As the crowd settles, a group of dancers gathers on the grass below. Among them is the woman from the march, standing amongst a dozen other women, identical in their traditional costumes. They are all older women, probably grandmothers. They begin to sing and dance, shuffling slowly back and forth in tandem. As I watch, I am amazed that they have the strength and energy to sing and dance at all. It is, after all, the grandmothers who are carrying the burden of the epidemic; first by watching their sons and daughters dying one by one, and then by taking on responsibility of raising their children.
But still they raise their voices and sing. Ululations ring through the crowd. Their feet move together, and they creep forward, much like Swaziland itself... slowly propelling itself forward through the crisis.
She carries a sign. “I am a hero,” it reads. “I don’t sleep around.”
We are taking part in a 1000-person march to commemorate World AIDS Day in Manzini, Swaziland’s largest city. Swaziland is a monarchy of a million people sandwiched between South Africa and Mozambique. For several years now this tiny nation has had a huge burden to carry: the distinction of having the highest HIV prevalence rates in the world. Studies show that up to 40% of the adult population carries the infection.
There is no simple answer as to why Swaziland’s rates are so high, although many point to the highly-mobile male population as one of the reasons. Lack of employment drives many men over the border to work in the mines of South Africa, where they pick up the infection and bring it home to their wives and girlfriends. Life expectancy rates have plummeted, and there are more orphans than the government and NGOs can handle. And to top it all off, years of drought are driving some rural areas deeper into poverty.
As we walk we are accompanied by two marching bands from the Swaziland Defence Forces. The soldiers wear camouflaged pants tucked into combat boots, and T-shirts emblazoned with the picture of a red ribbon and the words “I abstain.”
I chat with Captain Bongani Msibi about military’s involvement in the event. He says it’s particularly important for soldiers to be aware of the virus. “We are also human beings,” he says. “We are the most vulnerable in the country because of the nature of our jobs. We are highly mobile so we are more exposed to the dangers of contracting the virus.”
The march takes us along the country’s main artery, the highway that links Manzini with the capital city of Mbabane. Cars, trucks and mini-buses zip along, honking their support. Any effort to get HIV and AIDS out of the shadows is appreciated.
The stigma and secrecy surrounding a positive HIV status is still a problem in Swaziland, and I discuss this with first-year University of Swaziland student Phumulani Matse. The nineteen-year-old says that general talk of the epidemic is common on campus, yet he admits to not knowing of a single student who is living openly with HIV. Matse has already lost a sister to AIDS, and sees the epidemic as affecting more than just his personal life. “A lot of money is being poured into HIV and AIDS that could have done a lot of things for me as a youth,” he explains. “The longer that HIV remains here, the more I’ll be affected because of the drainage economically and otherwise.”
The long walk takes us into the city’s exhibition grounds, and I follow the other marchers into the grandstand where we sit down to take in the speeches and entertainment. As the crowd settles, a group of dancers gathers on the grass below. Among them is the woman from the march, standing amongst a dozen other women, identical in their traditional costumes. They are all older women, probably grandmothers. They begin to sing and dance, shuffling slowly back and forth in tandem. As I watch, I am amazed that they have the strength and energy to sing and dance at all. It is, after all, the grandmothers who are carrying the burden of the epidemic; first by watching their sons and daughters dying one by one, and then by taking on responsibility of raising their children.
But still they raise their voices and sing. Ululations ring through the crowd. Their feet move together, and they creep forward, much like Swaziland itself... slowly propelling itself forward through the crisis.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Maps and street signs
On my second day in Swaziland I slept in late, jet lagged. By afternoon I was up, and got bored of kicking around the house. So I decided to make my way into town and drop by work. I’d been there the day before, and had plotted it out on my tourist map.
Finding my way to the office was pretty straightforward, but when I got to work everyone seemed surprised to see me. They asked how I’d gotten there. When I told them I’d walked, using a map, they exclaimed, “Aren’t you clever!” I smiled and blushed, mildly confused. Those who know me well know I’m rarely praised for my navigation skills.
One woman asked to see the map, and looked at it for a long time, turning it this way and that. “Where do you live?” I asked her, pointing to the map. She said she wasn’t quite sure. “We don’t use maps very much in Swaziland,” she explained.
A few days later I got a bit confused finding my way home from work. My map lay, forgotten, on my bed. The light was just starting to fade, and I began to panic. The warnings I had gotten about walking after dark were playing like mantras in my head. So I pulled out my phone and called Thwala, the cab driver the other Canadian girls had recommended.
I heaved a sigh of relief when he pulled up minutes later, and climbed in.
“Where do you live?” he asked as we drove off.
“Wilmer Park,” I answered.
“Wilmer Park?”
“Yes, Wilmer Park. A neighbourhood on the south end of the city.”
“Where is it?”
“Ummm... Not really sure. I was lost. That’s why I called you.”
“I don’t know Wilmer Park.”
“Oh. Uh, do you know Southern Distributor Road?”
“No.”
“Railway Avenue?”
“No.”
We drove around town for about twenty minutes before we finally found my neighbourhood.
Later I found out that poor Thwala had the same experience with all the Canadian girls, none of whom were quite able to figure out how to explain where they lived. Most streets in the suburbs don’t even have names, and if they do nobody knows them. Swazis navigate by landmarks rather than signs. Maps are just squiggles on a piece of paper. Their knowledge of the city’s layout is based on experience, not on a set of symbols.
I remember discussing oral cultures in anthropology classes back in my UBC days. I never quite understood how a culture can still be considered oral when the population is totally literate. Most of the countries I’ve travelled to before have a rich literary tradition going back centuries. Even if many of their citizens can’t read, the culture is still dependant on the written word. Swaziland has a very high literacy rate (much higher than India’s) but is still in some ways a very oral culture. I guess the total disregard for street names is just one example of that.
A few days later an invitation to tender in the newspaper caught my attention. The city of Matsapha was looking for someone to put in street signage. Ha. What a waste of time and money that’ll be!
Finding my way to the office was pretty straightforward, but when I got to work everyone seemed surprised to see me. They asked how I’d gotten there. When I told them I’d walked, using a map, they exclaimed, “Aren’t you clever!” I smiled and blushed, mildly confused. Those who know me well know I’m rarely praised for my navigation skills.
One woman asked to see the map, and looked at it for a long time, turning it this way and that. “Where do you live?” I asked her, pointing to the map. She said she wasn’t quite sure. “We don’t use maps very much in Swaziland,” she explained.
A few days later I got a bit confused finding my way home from work. My map lay, forgotten, on my bed. The light was just starting to fade, and I began to panic. The warnings I had gotten about walking after dark were playing like mantras in my head. So I pulled out my phone and called Thwala, the cab driver the other Canadian girls had recommended.
I heaved a sigh of relief when he pulled up minutes later, and climbed in.
“Where do you live?” he asked as we drove off.
“Wilmer Park,” I answered.
“Wilmer Park?”
“Yes, Wilmer Park. A neighbourhood on the south end of the city.”
“Where is it?”
“Ummm... Not really sure. I was lost. That’s why I called you.”
“I don’t know Wilmer Park.”
“Oh. Uh, do you know Southern Distributor Road?”
“No.”
“Railway Avenue?”
“No.”
We drove around town for about twenty minutes before we finally found my neighbourhood.
Later I found out that poor Thwala had the same experience with all the Canadian girls, none of whom were quite able to figure out how to explain where they lived. Most streets in the suburbs don’t even have names, and if they do nobody knows them. Swazis navigate by landmarks rather than signs. Maps are just squiggles on a piece of paper. Their knowledge of the city’s layout is based on experience, not on a set of symbols.
I remember discussing oral cultures in anthropology classes back in my UBC days. I never quite understood how a culture can still be considered oral when the population is totally literate. Most of the countries I’ve travelled to before have a rich literary tradition going back centuries. Even if many of their citizens can’t read, the culture is still dependant on the written word. Swaziland has a very high literacy rate (much higher than India’s) but is still in some ways a very oral culture. I guess the total disregard for street names is just one example of that.
A few days later an invitation to tender in the newspaper caught my attention. The city of Matsapha was looking for someone to put in street signage. Ha. What a waste of time and money that’ll be!
Funerals and death notices
On the surface, Manzini seems to be quite a prosperous and youthful city, although a bit on the sleepy side. The streets are crawling with the latest Toyota models, well-heeled ladies and gents dart in and out of shops, and even the fruit vendors chat on cell phones.
There is little in the city to indicate the severity of the AIDS epidemic in Swaziland. There are, of course, a few clues: billboards advertising condoms; USAid, AusAid and World Vision trucks buzzing around; and government-sponsored “Mobile Wellness Testing Units” (vans set up for HIV testing) parked on the city streets... But an unobservant visitor to the city might be convinced that all is well in the Kingdom of Swaziland.
I wasn’t too surprised by this. After all, it is the rural poor who are hardest hit by the epidemic, right? But I couldn’t help but wonder how much HIV and AIDS were affecting those I work around every day. And the longer I spend here, the more I realize that the epidemic is right here in Manzini’s cafes, shops and salons.
A friend of mine has spent the last two weekends attending funerals. A cousin, a nephew and a co-worker. All three died of AIDS. I didn’t get that last bit of information from my friend until I asked. “He was sick,” or, “she was sick” she had initially told me. I wasn’t sure how appropriate it would be to ask her what killed them, because I didn’t know how strong the stigma is amongst the urban middle-class. But finally I asked, and she answered frankly. She told me of her frustration with her cousin, who died when she was just in her mid-thirties. A bit of a party-girl, the cousin was diagnosed with HIV ten years ago. She had been sick on and off, but had never taken the anti-retroviral drugs (supplied free to all Swazis) regularly. She had continued to party, drink, sleep around... living, my friend felt, in denial of her diagnosis. My friend feels that if her cousin had taken the drugs and lived a healthier lifestyle she might have held on for a long time. She spoke about some of the myths that persist about anti-retrovirals... about how they make you sicker, make you fat, or even give you AIDS.
On her deathbed, the cousin admitted that she had continued to have unprotected sex even after getting being diagnosed with HIV. My God, what a burden to take to the grave.
The other day I flipped open the Swazi Times to the classifieds section. There, next to the used car ads, were the death notices. They were chilling. There were about forty altogether, listed in both English and SiSwati. Every notice had a picture, and I looked at row upon row of young faces... The same faces of the office workers and college students I see out in the streets of Manzini every day. Only about a quarter of them appeared to be over the age of forty.
One picture showed a young girl wearing a graduation cap. The notice gave details for the memorial service. “All graduates,” it added, “are asked to wear their academic gowns.”
Not one notice listed a cause of death.
There is little in the city to indicate the severity of the AIDS epidemic in Swaziland. There are, of course, a few clues: billboards advertising condoms; USAid, AusAid and World Vision trucks buzzing around; and government-sponsored “Mobile Wellness Testing Units” (vans set up for HIV testing) parked on the city streets... But an unobservant visitor to the city might be convinced that all is well in the Kingdom of Swaziland.
I wasn’t too surprised by this. After all, it is the rural poor who are hardest hit by the epidemic, right? But I couldn’t help but wonder how much HIV and AIDS were affecting those I work around every day. And the longer I spend here, the more I realize that the epidemic is right here in Manzini’s cafes, shops and salons.
A friend of mine has spent the last two weekends attending funerals. A cousin, a nephew and a co-worker. All three died of AIDS. I didn’t get that last bit of information from my friend until I asked. “He was sick,” or, “she was sick” she had initially told me. I wasn’t sure how appropriate it would be to ask her what killed them, because I didn’t know how strong the stigma is amongst the urban middle-class. But finally I asked, and she answered frankly. She told me of her frustration with her cousin, who died when she was just in her mid-thirties. A bit of a party-girl, the cousin was diagnosed with HIV ten years ago. She had been sick on and off, but had never taken the anti-retroviral drugs (supplied free to all Swazis) regularly. She had continued to party, drink, sleep around... living, my friend felt, in denial of her diagnosis. My friend feels that if her cousin had taken the drugs and lived a healthier lifestyle she might have held on for a long time. She spoke about some of the myths that persist about anti-retrovirals... about how they make you sicker, make you fat, or even give you AIDS.
On her deathbed, the cousin admitted that she had continued to have unprotected sex even after getting being diagnosed with HIV. My God, what a burden to take to the grave.
The other day I flipped open the Swazi Times to the classifieds section. There, next to the used car ads, were the death notices. They were chilling. There were about forty altogether, listed in both English and SiSwati. Every notice had a picture, and I looked at row upon row of young faces... The same faces of the office workers and college students I see out in the streets of Manzini every day. Only about a quarter of them appeared to be over the age of forty.
One picture showed a young girl wearing a graduation cap. The notice gave details for the memorial service. “All graduates,” it added, “are asked to wear their academic gowns.”
Not one notice listed a cause of death.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
In Manzini
I’m writing from my office in Manzini. It’s just past eight o’clock and it’s already scorchingly hot. Even the Swazis are complaining of the heat. We had a few drops of rain last night... just enough for a quick tease before the thunder and lightning took over.
I’ve been in Swaziland for about a week and a half now, but am already feeling quite comfortable living here. I’m staying with two single women in a little bungalow on the edge of the city, about a twenty minute walk from the centre. Samu works for a pension company, and Gcinegile (her name starts with a click!) works at one of the local supermarkets. Samu is probably not much older than I am, but has already had so much grief in her life. She’s lost two children. One died at just three months old in a car accident. The second had meningitis as a baby, leaving her in a wheelchair and unable to talk. But she was otherwise a healthy and happy child until a year ago, when she suddenly died of some sort of complications. She was seven. But Samu’s incredibly strong, and has learned to distract herself with work, night classes and church, and visits family regularly.
Our little house is in a fairly quiet neighbourhood just below a soccer pitch, where most of the city’s boys spend their time before dark. Like every other house in Manzini, we have a small yard with a high fence topped with barbed wire, a locking gate, and a dog. Swaziland has its share of crime, and I’m told that Manzini is where all the tsotsis (gangsters) live. Locking the door at night is quite the process... first the metal grate is secured with a big lock. Then the door itself is locked. Then the inside bolts are slid into place, all four of them. All the windows have metal bars on them. Probably a good thing, since our “guard” dog, Snoopy, is pathetic. She runs away with her tail between her legs when anyone comes within five feet of her.
Manzini is a bustling little city draped over the top of a hill, with suburbs spread throughout the surrounding hillsides. It was quite a surprise for me. I’d been bracing myself for the dust, stench, noise and chaos that I’ve encountered in so many cities in Asia’s developing world. But Manzini is actually quite clean and organized by comparison. Throughout the day the two main streets are busy with fashionable office and retail workers, though at night the city centre is empty, with everyone safely locked up in their compounds. The streets are lined with clothes shops, electronics stores, small restaurants (two KFC’s!) and there are even two cool, sparkling shopping malls.
The people in Manzini are a very friendly bunch. They’re always smiling, willing to help, and love a good joke. The young men are particularly friendly to young white women who wander the streets... To call them aggressive might be an understatement. The women are very stylish, often wearing heels and smart business suits on the hottest of days. And I learned quickly not to recognize women by their hairstyles, because if Thandi has long braids one day, the next she might be sporting short curls. It seems that most of them keep their hair very short, and use a variety of wigs and hairpieces for style. I often see bits of fake hair loosed from the wigs blowing through the streets.
Work has been quite good so far. At the moment I’m with the Swaziland Action Group Against Abuse (SWAGAA), an organization that’s fighting to change the culture of abuse – physical, sexual, and economical – that’s quite predominant in Swaziland, especially in the rural areas. They carry out a wide range of programs, including counselling, education and women’s empowerment. I’m making a promotional video for them... something they can use to show potential funders or partner organizations what they do. I’m also going to be working on a promotional video for Canadian Crossroads International (the organization that’s sent me here) – they’ve got seven videographers in seven countries working on it, so it’ll be a small project for me.
I was a little worried they’d work on Swazi time (slowly), but they got me settled right in with a desk right away, and helped me sort out a tentative shooting schedule almost immediately. I’ve been on two shoots already, and have a few more really interesting ones lined up for the next few weeks.
More on that later!
I’ve been in Swaziland for about a week and a half now, but am already feeling quite comfortable living here. I’m staying with two single women in a little bungalow on the edge of the city, about a twenty minute walk from the centre. Samu works for a pension company, and Gcinegile (her name starts with a click!) works at one of the local supermarkets. Samu is probably not much older than I am, but has already had so much grief in her life. She’s lost two children. One died at just three months old in a car accident. The second had meningitis as a baby, leaving her in a wheelchair and unable to talk. But she was otherwise a healthy and happy child until a year ago, when she suddenly died of some sort of complications. She was seven. But Samu’s incredibly strong, and has learned to distract herself with work, night classes and church, and visits family regularly.
Our little house is in a fairly quiet neighbourhood just below a soccer pitch, where most of the city’s boys spend their time before dark. Like every other house in Manzini, we have a small yard with a high fence topped with barbed wire, a locking gate, and a dog. Swaziland has its share of crime, and I’m told that Manzini is where all the tsotsis (gangsters) live. Locking the door at night is quite the process... first the metal grate is secured with a big lock. Then the door itself is locked. Then the inside bolts are slid into place, all four of them. All the windows have metal bars on them. Probably a good thing, since our “guard” dog, Snoopy, is pathetic. She runs away with her tail between her legs when anyone comes within five feet of her.
Manzini is a bustling little city draped over the top of a hill, with suburbs spread throughout the surrounding hillsides. It was quite a surprise for me. I’d been bracing myself for the dust, stench, noise and chaos that I’ve encountered in so many cities in Asia’s developing world. But Manzini is actually quite clean and organized by comparison. Throughout the day the two main streets are busy with fashionable office and retail workers, though at night the city centre is empty, with everyone safely locked up in their compounds. The streets are lined with clothes shops, electronics stores, small restaurants (two KFC’s!) and there are even two cool, sparkling shopping malls.
The people in Manzini are a very friendly bunch. They’re always smiling, willing to help, and love a good joke. The young men are particularly friendly to young white women who wander the streets... To call them aggressive might be an understatement. The women are very stylish, often wearing heels and smart business suits on the hottest of days. And I learned quickly not to recognize women by their hairstyles, because if Thandi has long braids one day, the next she might be sporting short curls. It seems that most of them keep their hair very short, and use a variety of wigs and hairpieces for style. I often see bits of fake hair loosed from the wigs blowing through the streets.
Work has been quite good so far. At the moment I’m with the Swaziland Action Group Against Abuse (SWAGAA), an organization that’s fighting to change the culture of abuse – physical, sexual, and economical – that’s quite predominant in Swaziland, especially in the rural areas. They carry out a wide range of programs, including counselling, education and women’s empowerment. I’m making a promotional video for them... something they can use to show potential funders or partner organizations what they do. I’m also going to be working on a promotional video for Canadian Crossroads International (the organization that’s sent me here) – they’ve got seven videographers in seven countries working on it, so it’ll be a small project for me.
I was a little worried they’d work on Swazi time (slowly), but they got me settled right in with a desk right away, and helped me sort out a tentative shooting schedule almost immediately. I’ve been on two shoots already, and have a few more really interesting ones lined up for the next few weeks.
More on that later!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Sanibonani
Sanibonani!That means hello and good day in SiSwati, the language of Swaziland.
I'm leaving for Africa on November 3rd. Once there, I'll be living with a host family in Manzini... not the capital city (which is Mbabane) but the industrial capital.
Through my videography work I expect to travel throughout the tiny country, hopefully getting into some of the villages as well as the cities.
More to follow soon....
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