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!
Friday, November 23, 2007
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!
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