It's true, the longer I'm here, the less I find to share. Still, I don't want this experience to slip away without trying to capture glimpses of life here and the gradual changes that are emerging.
I've been here more than a year and a half! And... the imperceptible work of building trust and relationships is beginning to show. As has been true from the beginning, I think the most effective work I'm doing is not what I set out to do, but what emerges - one on one relationships, demonstrating the power of networking, and, perhaps most important of all, learning from the people here. Rachel Naomi Remen has several articles online about the difference between serving and helping. Serving, she says, is working together, where both (or all) parties learn together. It is sustainable, action between/among equals. That's what I strive to do, many time still slipping back into helping. Sigh.
But I'm pretty proud of some of "my kids". One has chosen to brave the difficulties in peer relationships that can occur by standing out, being accomplished. He is starting a poetry club at school and is publishing his poetry on a facebook page. Another student who almost left school because of lack of funds managed to get her fees paid, her living situation straightened out and had the 6th highest scores in her class. Both the girls I'm mentoring did fine on their exams and will be finishing high school this year. No mean feat at a school with an excellent reputation in Swaziland. One is going to start a GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) club in our community.
I'm building friendships with a couple of women here - something that I value, and which allows me to be open about things that I don't normally share, and in return, to hear confidences I think they don't normally share. I do that via email with friends stateside, but I am beginning to realize how very much I miss the in person side of that. They are such strong, amazing women.
And I am seeing, as the facades - mine and those of the people around me - fade, some of the very real faces of poverty. It's not that I didn't see them at first - more, I think, that I'm seeing the longer term effects of the poverty, the patriarchal culture, on individuals. Much more powerful that way. And, maybe worst of all, I'm recognizing how much of the same kinds of situations exist in the US - they are just ever so much easier to avoid seeing...
So school is starting again, and things are picking up. I'm going out of country for 10 days, and looking forward with great anticipation to being in a country where I'm outside the fishbowl -where no one will know whence I come until I speak. And best of all, I'm meeting family - I'll be with someone who has known me all my life. Ah, the things to cherish rather than take for granted...
And, of course, a few glimpses of my world, as written to an awesome RPCV who returned home last August:
Just in case you are missing the Swaz - here are some "pictures": looked out my window this morning. Here's Babe, dressed in a 3/4 length bathrobe, flipflops, carrying an umbrella and tp - headed for the latrine. At the top of the rise above the river, stopping to turn around, seeing the water flowing high over the cement bridge, and the school children standing on the other side, staring at the rushing river. Evicting the cricket, locking the butler door, but leaving the wooden door open, and going to bed. A few minutes later, evicting the same damn cricket, who had hopped back in under the door. Sliding in the mud on the way to the stesh, but not really minding, since the jojo tanks were getting really low and there's still no water at the community tap. The female dogs gaunt from feeding the puppies, but the puppies roly-poly. The hills green with maize and beans. Ripe mangoes and bopopo (papayas) and lichees. Heat. Dust. Cramped khumbis. Precarious busses. Laughter, golden moon, and seeing things I haven't seen before, even after a year and a half here. But don't forget washing dishes in a basin, arguing with the network and no noisy washing machine <smile>
Also...
The loud squawking of chickens being chased - and then the pile of feathers being discarded.
The ubiquitous (and hated) roosters crowing in the middle of the night.
Children laughing.
Music from the all night prayer vigil at church - this one for the youth of the community and to find the funds to finish rebuilding the church that blew down last year (they have been holding church in a large canvas tent).
February 3, 2015
A friend wrote and asked how I have changed. Hmmmm. here's some of what I wrote:
I think friendships mean more to me than I realized. I take for granted that in hard times I'll have support, assistance and non-judgmental feedback. What a given, what a gift!
I keep coming up with the same lessons, each time a bit more intensely. That the poverty and injustices and atrocities I see here also occur in the US - I just don't have to see them every day. That I really don't know very much about life or - much of anything. Rachel Naomi Remen talks about the difference between helping and service - helping is one strong assisting one weaker. Service is mutual benefit between 2 equals. I want to serve, and discover that if the other person doesn't see me that way, it's really HARD. And helping is an easy trap to fall into - familiar. And I really don't have all that much wisdom - and wonder what I'm doing messing about in people's lives. Lots of self-doubt... How do I help others reach the dreams THEY dream when they look to me to guide their dreams? How do I NOT take on that role - rather insist they find their own dreams. How do I open doors and help them look without letting my own beliefs color what I point out for them to see? It's almost like that quantum physics tenet that when we observe something, we change it - we can't erase our influence - but who's to say my influence is positive? Whatever my intentions? Any thoughts you have on this are GREATLY appreciated!
So - I muddle on and hope I'm doing it right and questioning so very much.
Now I'm waiting for a plane in Johannesburg. Walking around the airport, marveling at what I see. Haagen Dazs ice cream. Lots of white faces. Shirts, beards, many different languages. Hauw! Makes me wonder what it's going to be like in another 6 months when the plane I board heads west, west, west.
February 9, 2015 - Jerusalem, Day 6
Israel! What a different place to be. It is a land of contrasts, history, many cultures and peoples, whistling winds, art work. And hope. Hope.
Visited Yad Vashem, the holocaust museum. The horrors were so great I could not shed the tears that saturated me. Just when I thought there was no way out of that darkness, I came to the hall of heroes - the Resistance movements, the individuals, those who knew, in their hearts, what was right, and did it. Rays of light and hope, despite the despair. Walked through the original monument - tall sandstone columns with the names of whole villages that were decimated, standing peaceful, paths winding through them, in the cool winter sun. And I know that if I ever wonder - why Israel? the answer will lie at Yad Vashem - the answer will be, Never Again!
And it makes me wonder - what is Home? What does home mean? I pose the questin to you - not the easy answer - think it through. I'll be interested in hearing your responses.
From the museum to the Hadassah hospital. Through security to get in. Into the room with 12 stained glass windows of the 12 tribes of Israel, made by Chagall. One got damaged in a sniper attack. Chagall repaired it, leaving the bullet hole as a reminder. It is a room of great peace, the light constantly changing what is visible.
Then to the children's cancer room. It is light and welcoming. And in the elevator we saw an orthodox Jewish man with his daughter standing close to an Arab woman with her daughter. The mix of fear and hope, the reality of the tragedy of cancer, bridges the impersonal cultural and political differences. And how ironic that the desperate struggle for hope, the life-threatening illness, is what unites them. It was a statement woven from Yad Vashem somehow.
Then to the Bat Ami women's center, a place for survivors of domestic violence. Again, the services reach across the cultures, just as the situations do. Just as in the states, the staff is dedicated, overworked and underfunded. Again - a mix of hope and darkness.
The next day we toured the old city. Old City. With Jewish, Christian, Arab and German quarters. Each so very distinct in atmosphere, sounds, smells and life. But the buildings are the same age - very, very old, streets narrow and winding, many not large enough for vehicles, though people live here. Tours in all languages, some focusing on one religion, some on another. The history very much alive. This area is part of the Fertile Crescent, part of the only route to and from the north and the East to Africa. It was politically necessary to conquering armies, and it shows in the wars, the never-ending wars.
We visited the West Wall (Wailing Wall), and today we will go into the tunnels beneath it.
On Saturday, Amit and his sweetheart took us to Masada - a high desert stronghold where almost 1,000 Jews took refuge from the Romans when they refused to bow down to the Roman emperor and to pay taxes. They fled to the stronghold, the Romans in pursuit. They held out for more than 8 months, then the Romans burned the last of their defenses at sundown. They knew that the next day they would be made slaves, and worse. 2 women and 5 children hid - the rest chose to allow themselves to be killed by their families, the last person committed suicide. They had chosen freedom. When the Romans arrived, theirs was a hollow victory.
Then, on the way back, we stopped to float in the Dead Sea. Pretty amazing amount of flotation! The Dead Sea is receding, rapidly, as water from the Jordan River is being diverted for irrigation. And then a GREAT dinner at a funky little restaurant - authentic Middle Eastern food.
Other observations:
Saturday is the sabbath, and shabbas begins on Friday afternoon. That means everything stops, including public transportation.
The wall between Palestinian and Israeli Jerusalem is literally that - a wall.
Driving, there are many checkpoints. Safety is ever-present.
It appears to me that all of the (18-20 year old) soldiers are thin and eating, eating, eating. They, smile, laugh, and carry their weapons casually, but carefully, in their hands. That visibility, that presence of weapons of protection and death, unhidden, proclaim safety.
There are so many complexities here. Lots of different levels of religious observance, political influence from religions, artists and businesses and sandstone everywhere. The history seeps into the modern, the tourists and locals and life with the realities of still very present battles. It appears to this tourist a land of great contrasts.
So now it is late afternoon, and we are leaving tonight. A last day in the Old City, walking in the tunnels under the Western Wall. Amazing travel through history, as we walked on ruins built on ruins to the side opposite the sunlit side. A Bedouin who owns a shop invited us to break bread with him, and we ate the best falafals either of us ever tasted, plus hummus, salad, pita and great conversation. The Bedouins are nomads, some of one religion, some of another, who struggle to keep their culture intact as national borders closed and curtailed their chosen lifestyle. Interesting talks, and a glimpse of some gorgeous carpets, shawls, clothes for celebrations and ceremonies. A gift of a glimpse into another world.
Now we prepare to re-enter our own worlds: one to California and one to Swaziland. It will be many hours of flight, and we will arrive a little disoriented from travel between such different worlds, lack of sleep, different languages and whatever it is that makes up such change. We are going home. Have you figured out what home means to you yet?
