Sibebe and Dry Season

My link grandma (equivalent of host family if I need somewhere to stay or want to spend a weekend away from hostel at school) lives at the base of Sibebe. Simply put, Sibebe is a really big rock. It's actually the second largest continuous piece of granite in the world. Here's a picture from the ridge across the valley where we went hiking earlier this year... notice how everything is only green in this picture.

A few weeks, ago, I was at my links, and I climbed up. Well, not up the front, but I climbed up to the top of it from the side. Here's what it looked like heading up. Notice how dry it is - bush fires are actually a really big threat around here in winter (now, July, is winter).

It's really interesting to see the pictures side-by-side of the rainy season and the dry season. Water seems to be everywhere during rainy season (October to March... ish), and when it's raining every day, it seems impossible that the water would ever run out.

Waterford gets water from a dam (a little pond) at school, which is filled by run-off from the mountain above us. The dam supplies the water for Waterford, but also for everything in Sidwashini, which we call "S'dwash," the community at the foot of the mountain just below us. And let me tell you - it's not that big of a dam.

Right now, it's the dry season. There is essentially zero rain, and as you can see in the pictures of the mountain, it's dry. This morning, I woke up in hostel, and the water had run out. That's right - none. Taps were empty, toilets wouldn't flush, no showers, no laundry, and so on.

We have five or six emergency tanks, and so the tanks were opened to refill the dam a bit, and now the water is back on. But, they're emergency tanks, and once we use that water, there will be no more. This is where it becomes really important to conserve water, and from the sounds of half hour showers I'm hearing right now, the people who woke up after this whole water off-on situation happened are still living in oblivion.

I have a feeling we're going to run out of water very soon. Dry season in Swaziland is not a joke.

School in Swaziland

Remember this? Still going on. Thanks!

Today, I was running between classes, studying, getting ready for a physics test, just doing the normal school thing, when I realized... I'm doing the normal school thing in Swaziland. Seeing as how school here has finally become "everyday," I figured it's as good a time as any to write about how school here is different from school in America. I think I did this on the first day of school, but I figure I must have a little bit of a different perspective six months later (hopefully).

SCHEDULE:

First of all, there's the seasonal thing. Schools here run year-round, so we have school from January through April, May off, June and July in school, August off, September through November in school, December off. Keep in mind though, summer is December and January, because it's in the southern hemisphere, so I suppose we do get a bit of summer off. Although, that doesn't help the fact that my Facebook was flooded with "SUMMER" statuses in June, just as I was starting a new term... anyways.

The other thing that goes along with schedules is the lack of bells. Culturally, time is less "of the essence" than it is in America, and so showing up for classes a few minutes (not a lot) late is totally acceptable, whereas in America it's really not acceptable whatsoever. You can see it almost ingrained into the timetable by the fact that there are no passing periods at school here. That doesn't seem so strange at first, but when you have siSwati class that ends at 15h20 (3:20 pm in American time), and French class that then starts exactly at 15h20, being late isn't really an option. Add into that the fact that teachers, unconcerned with time, rarely start on time, and you've got a school that consistently runs about five minutes late.

Except for the end of the day. The teachers always make sure we get out on time.

CLASSROOMS

The next thing is the classroom block, which was designed by a man from Mozambique. That being said, the building is not well equipped to handle winter (namely, now) on the top of a Swazi mountain. The windows don't really fill the frames - literally, there is a centimeter gap between where the glass ends, and where it should end, if they wanted the glass to fill the window. If a room should be lucky to have a source of heat, it comes in the form of a pipe that runs along one side of the room. The pipe is filled with water, which is heated, which provides heat to anyone who goes over and wraps themselves around the pipe - but nobody else. And to be fair, the pipes are very rarely working. That being said, compared to America, where people wear their coats, boots, and scarves outside, but not during the school day, at school here, you see people bundled up all day long - and rightfully so. Contrary to popular belief in America, Swaziland does indeed get cold. It's not as cold here as it is in the States, but it's inescapable (there is no real heat anywhere), and so it almost feels colder.

As far as the classrooms themselves, they're just much simpler. Classrooms in America have computers, projectors, document cameras, overheads, SmartBoards, and so on. Classrooms here are lucky to have more than one electrical socket. Chalkboards, and in some (fancy) rooms, whiteboards, are still in style here. To be quite honest, I can't decide whether I prefer classrooms with or without technology. I think that on both sides, the teachers have just kind of adapted to use what they have, and it works out.

TEACHERS

To put it bluntly, teachers here take the authoritarian viewpoint of a classroom. "Sir" will get you a very long way. I guess ma'am would too, but my only female teacher is my siSwati teacher, and so we call her "make" (mah-gay). Asking questions in class, an encouraged practice in America, is only "acceptable" here. I can think of one teacher off the top of my head who will stare you down for a solid five seconds, before starting to answer your question.

Oh, and it's not acceptable to call teachers by nicknames of their last names, which is pretty much how we call all of our teachers in America. If I tried to call my geography teacher "Wekky," I think I'd get slapped.

Anyways.

The strange thing is that despite all the pomp and circumstance in the classroom, teachers are much more chilled out with assignments. In America, they rarely accept late work, but here, late work is almost the norm - probably has something to do with the "late" culture.

Other than that, the only difference I can think of is the marked lack of quirky teachers in America. I know that some of my American teachers who like to think of themselves as quirky will be disappointed by this, but they have nothing on the pure weirdness of my teachers here. My physics teacher has the habit of leaving the classroom mid-sentence, going to get something to drink, sometimes changing his clothes, and returning five minutes later. He then picks up exactly where he left off in the sentence, and doesn't even mention the fact that he left. My English teacher regularly makes jokes about things he probably shouldn't make jokes about. My French teacher once walked into class, said simply "J'ai déchiré mes pantalons. Je dois retourner chez moi." (I've ripped my pants. I must go home). He then walked out, and didn't return.

You know, totally normal.

YEAH.

That's all I can think of. School really isn't that different. I mean, we use textbooks in America, and don't really have proper textbooks for most classes here. We have a bell system in America, and class just kind of "starts" here. Teachers in America are chilled about classroom ceremony, and strict about schoolwork, while teachers here are strict about ceremony, but chilled about schoolwork.

The funny thing is, I go to school in Swaziland. And that's normal. And right now, like any teenager in America waiting for summer, I'm in school, waiting for August, which is the term break. Except that instead of working as a camp counselor in my term breaks, I'm going backpacking through six countries in my term break, but more on that in a few weeks...

International Weekend Field Trip



So, I spent this past weekend in Durban, South Africa, for a geography field trip. That's right - international weekend field trip. This is the kind of thing that they should put in a UWC brochure or something. The point of the trip was to study coastal processes, and so while we were technically in Durban, most of our time was spent on this little beach called Treasure Beach, doing geography research. As you can see in the pictures, the weather wasn't beautiful... it was dramatic, though.

Obviously the best thing to do when there are two meter high waves bashing against these massive rocks all along the coast is to get in and try to measure them with meter sticks. All in the name of the fieldwork!

Thankfully, the weather got better and the next day was slightly more tolerable. And so, here are some pictures of how I spent my fourth of July in South Africa, listening to geomorphology lectures and looking at ocean creatures... not very American, I know, but to make up for it, I'm pretty sure I hummed The Star Spangled Banner all day. It was stuck in my head.

Overall, it was a pretty good trip, although now we have so much work to do with our completed research! Anyways, I'm back in Swaziland now, and will be here for another month until the term ends, and then it's off for another month of adventures during the term break! I hope everyone in the States is enjoying the summer. Just know that I'm enjoying the winter here... silly southern hemisphere.

Hitchhiking and Kumbis in Swaziland

(Unless you're too tired to move the mouse across the screen to do so, please comment/like/watch this video? Thanks! And if you happen to be too tired to move your mouse - go to sleep. The internet will be here when you wake up).

This weekend was midterm, meaning that I stayed at my link grandma’s house instead of at school. Something that always comes up for midterm is transport, so I figured I could describe how I get around Swaziland, as shown through the course of my weekend.

So, I left school Thursday around lunchtime. Waterford is on the top of the mountain, so I just start walking down, with two options in mind: either I walk all the way to the highway entrance ramp and get a kumbi from there, or I get a lift from whatever car passes me on the mountain.

 The first car to pass me pulled over. They were indeed going into town, as everyone is, because there’s nowhere else to go, and so I hopped in. Ten minutes later, she dropped me a few blocks from the bus rank, and I was set. America was never a good hitchhiking place, but hitching rides in Swaziland is pretty beautiful. It’s just so easy – you don’t even have to put your arm up, you just stare down passing cars and they stop.

Anyways, I get to the bus rank, and find a kumbi to Mbuluzi. My link grandma doesn’t live in Mbuluzi, but she lives on the way to Mbuluzi. Kumbis just go between two places, so you just have to know which two places your destination is between. My link grandma’s house happens to be en route from Mbabane to Mbuluzi, and so that’s the kumbi I take. These two “endpoints” are written on the front of the kumbi, so if you’re deaf, that works, but the drivers are also yelling their destinations at the top of your lungs, so it’s hard to miss.

“KAMANZINI! MANZINI MANZINI MANZINI! UYA YINI KAMANZINI?” is probably what you hear the most in the Mbabane bus rank, as Mbabane to Manzini is one of the biggest routes. In other places around Mbabane, such as Lobamba, Pigg’s Peak, or Ezulwini, you oftentimes see kumbis in bus ranks and parking lots, their drivers yelling “MBABANE-MBABANE-MBABANE-MBABANE-MBABANE-MBABANE!” It’s a very distinctly sound, and kind of blends into itself – “BA-BA-NAY-BA-BA-NAY-BA-BA-NAY!”

Anyways, I quickly find my kumbi to Mbuluzi, because, despite contrary belief, the bus rank is also very well organized, and kumbis to the same places always wait in the same area of the bus rank, and the Mbuluzi one is always on this certain side, and, well, it’s easy enough to find. Plus, you hear, “MBULUZI! MBULUZI!”

Now, the kumbi to Mbuluzi goes through Pine Valley, down Pine Valley Road, which is a two lane little road, nice and everything, but windier than anything. It goes up and down, zigzags, and all the rest of it the entire way. The drivers often have a hard time getting the kumbi up one hill or another, so they go hurtling down the down hills, hoping their momentum will bring up the up hills. It’s always an adventure.

Anyways, there’s no action station at my link grandma’s house, but if you want to make it a station (i.e. get off), you just declare “STATION,” or more commonly, “STAYSH,” the kumbi screeches to a halt, you pay your five emalangeni (currently divide by ten to get USD), and get off. Magic – I’m at my link grandma’s house. I doubt that anywhere in America you could get from door-to-door for only fifty cents, unless you lived adjacent to each other.

So, I’m chilling at my link grandma’s house, and that’s all fine and jolly, but I needed to go to Mpaka Refugee Camp on Saturday. Not sure how familiar you are with Swazi geography, but that’s kind of a haul, and I was supposed to be there at nine o’clock in the morning. Let’s just say that I had very little confidence in my ability to be punctual, but I was going to try.

At six-thirty, I was standing on the side of the road in Pine Valley, thumbing for rides. There’s such a thick fog in the mornings that standing on the side of this windy little road that people go zipping down is essentially asking for death, but a kumbi came along soon enough, and I hopped in without any problems. It was definitely an interesting kumbi though – it is indeed wintertime right now, and so there was ice covering all the windows, including the windshield, and they hadn’t bothered to scrape any of it off. The side door kept flying open at inopportune times, and the exhaust pipe could be heard banging on the road as we bumped along. This ride was also a reminder of the fact that kumbis are never full. There were six of us sitting in two seats during this particular ride, and nobody even gave it a second glance.

Anyways, we bump along into town, give the driver our five emalangeni as we get off, and everyone goes off to whatever they’re doing in town, or off to seek their second kumbi. My second kumbi on this grand trek to Mpaka was the famous Mbabane-Manzini route, and so I had no problems finding one. We waited about five minutes for it to fill up, as kumbis won’t leave the bus ranks until they’re full, and then we were off.

The drive to Manzini was pretty chilled. It was a nicer kumbi, and there were only as many people as there were seats, and soon enough, I was in the Manzini bus rank. Now, the Manzini bus rank is much bigger than the Mbabane bus rank, and has a reputation for muggings and the like. On the other hand, I much prefer the Manzini bus rank, as there are lots more people, entertaining things to look at, and louder drivers.

“SITEKI! SITEKI! SITEKI!” And I found my kumbi. Mpaka is in between Manzini (pronounced Man-zee-nee, clearly) and Siteki (pronounced steh, as in electric, and then gee, with a hard g – steh-gee, not so clearly, if you don’t speak siSwati).

Now, the challenge at this point was that I had never before taken a kumbi to Mpaka (pronounced mm-pah-gah – if there’s a k without an h after it, you pronounce it as a g), and as towns are never explicitly labeled, I was a little bit worried that I wouldn’t be able to tell that the cluster of building we went through was Mpaka. Fortunately, we pulled to a stop at one moment, and I say a sign for Mpaka High School, and so I hopped off. Getting off the kumbi, I started to ask another man who had gotten off if he knew which way I should walk from here to get to the refugee camp, but then one of the Peace Corps volunteers who lives at the camp and knows me came up, and asked what in the world I was doing all the way out at the camp. Anyways, I thanked the first man, talked to the Peace Corps guy for a few moments, but he was hopping onto the kumbi I had just left, so he had to go. He pointed me down a long dirt road, with no end in sight, and I started walking.

Let me make this clear – no matter how great kumbis and hitchhiking is, that only works when there are kumbis and cars where you’re going. The biggest mode of transportation in Swaziland is by far your own two feet. So, I made us of them, and walked down this long road, until it ended, and then I turned onto another long, dirt road, until that ended, but by then I knew where I was, as I’ve been to the camp before, and recognized the gate.
As this is getting to be much too long of a post, I’ll skip the bit about what I did at the camp, and save that for later.

My way getting back from Mpaka to Mbabane was much easier. I hitchhiked from the camp to the main road with some random Swazi guy who refused to believe that I wasn’t Peace Corps. He wasn’t headed towards Manzini, so I hopped out and promptly got another ride in another carful of Swazis headed for Manzini. There were two loud, obnoxious guys in the front, and a silent girl in the back next to me who just kept doing her nails. They were all really keen on the fact that I could speak siSwati though, which they alternatively laughed at, and were amazed at.

Anyways, they dropped me in Manzini, and I found my way to the bus rank, which is easy enough – follow the crowds. I jumped on a kumbi from Manzini to Mbabane, and then one in Mbabane back to Mbuluzi. A few minutes down the road, I call out “staysh” and the kumbi pulls to a stop, right in front of my door. I’m never going to get over how convenient this is.

Well, that’s it! Hitchhiking and kumbis is pretty much how everyone gets around in Swaziland, with a lot of walking thrown in there. America complains about greenhouse gas emissions – and then you see hundreds of people driving along, with hitchhiking as a lost art. Sometimes I think that America is more backwards than Swaziland.

Physics: Swazi Style

In Physics class today, we were talking about gravitational fields. For those of you who aren't into physics, the main idea is that every object has a gravitational field, and objects within that field are attracted to it, at least a little bit.

Let me paraphrase the lesson. Now, you have to hear this in the strong Ugandan accent of our wonderful physics teacher:

"Now, if there is a very massive particle, he is like the very powerful chief. A very powerful chief has much influence for the people in his chiefdom. But! If you are what? Far away! Then, you may choose to roam further away from the chief, and then you may choose to do what? Insult him! You may even dare to insult him, without fear of getting forced to go back to the chief to be punished! If you are outside your chief's gravitational field, then you may hurl insult after insult without fear of being hit! Remember though, the king will have a very big gravitational field, so if you want to hurl your insults at the king without being hit, you will have to go where? Far away!"

I mean, I guess the complicated graphics and computer simulations worked for physics classes in America, but here, we operate solely with paper, pencils, a board, and some metaphors about the local chiefs and king. I guess these are the benefits of learning physics in the last absolutely monarchy in the world...

A Day In The Life

I did this a while ago, but it's been a while, so I figured I'd just write a "life-in-Swaziland-at-UWC" post. An overly detailed post, but hey, maybe you're interested.

06:45 - Multiple alarms go off. It's a little bit chaotic in my room at exactly six o'clock, and while I'm a light sleeper who doesn't need four alarms, I'm just paranoid that three of them won't go off or something. That never happens, and so I always have four alarms going off at exactly the same time.

Anyways, I wake up my friend from India, and five minutes later we're walking out of hostel in our sweatshirts and hats. Mind you, it's winter in June in the southern hemisphere, and while I refuse to call the daytime weather "cold," at six in the morning, before the sun comes up, there's frost on the ground and it is quite cold.

We're not up at six because we're crazy - six o'clock is running time. I normally run up the mountain and down, and then run a mile or two around the field, but I donated blood yesterday, and was told not to do physical activity today, so I figured running was pushing it enough, and that I didn't need to involve any mountains today.

Side note, to anyone who doubts the idea of donating blood in what is technically considered a third world country with an AIDS rate of one in three, the lady got the needle into my vein on the first try. That's a lot more than can be said about blood drives in America.

06:45 - Done with running! We head back to hostel to shower and get ready for the day.

07:00 - I get ready really fast, and so right at seven, I head down for breakfast. The Emhlabeni, my hostel, is across campus from the dining hall, so it's a little bit of a walk, but campus isn't that big, and I get there pretty fast. Breakfast this morning was corn flakes with hot milk (they serve cold milk, but hot milk is much more popular here - it's an acquired taste), papaya, or "po-po," as it's referred to, toast, and a biscuit (biscuits in the American "biscuits and gravy" sense, not in the British "cookie" sense - I think I've been at an international school too long when I start clarifying things like that). Anyways, it was pretty good, and the hot tea was welcome, as it is every day in winter.

I  still can't get over how it's winter in June.

08:00 - My first class of the day - geography. My teacher is from Tanzania, and his accent adds an extra layer of difficulty into the lessons. As he puts it, "You cannot talk in my class! I don't speak good English, and half the class doesn't speak good English! We barely understand each other, much less with you talking in the background!" We're preparing for a field trip to Durban in a few weeks, so we were preparing stuff for our fieldwork there. And yes, Durban, South Africa. International field trips, yo.

08:40 - Maths! I've started calling it "maths" instead of "math," which makes me feel like a traitor to America, but hey, it's hard to resist. Anyways, we're working on trigonometry proofs in calculus. Yes, maths is the same everywhere around the world. It's not any more exciting in Swaziland than it is in America. Well, other than the fact that everyone here uses Casio calculators instead of Texas Instruments (I cling to my TI-84+ like it's a mathematical life vest. Casio confuses me).

09:20 - siSwati class. We go through some translations, and then just talk in siSwati for a while. I have nothing more to say about siSwati class, other than that uma ngikhuluma siSwati nebangani name, ngijabulile. Lesinye sikhatsi, ngiyasokola, kodvwa manje, ngati emagama kakhulu.

10:00 - Break time! This is kind of a weird concept that hasn't entered into American schools. In America, we have five minutes passing between classes. Here, classes start exactly as the last one ends, and you are just one or two minutes late all the time, but then there's a forty minute break right at ten o'clock every day. It's nice, and we get a snack, which is always welcome. Well, most of the time. Today is was a roll and hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is strange here too - it's not sweetened in itself, you have to add sugar. That might just be the school cafeteria though.

10:30 - Time for community service. A few of us headed over to the Mbabane government hospital, picked up a disabled guy who stays in the ward, and took him to the park. He's not properly cared for in the hospital, and so we take him out so that he doesn't have to sit in the same room the whole time. He doesn't speak, and doesn't really respond, but we try to entertain him, as you can definitely tell when something makes him happy. Today, we spun around on the carousel thing with him.

Let's just say that didn't make him happy.

Then, he went to take a nap, and so we chilled on the swings for a while. Some creepy guy yelled across the parking lot whether me and my friend fro South Africa wanted a push, to which we replied a very strong, "Cha!" Cha means no, and is pronounced more like "ta" that "sha," because "c" in siSwati is a click, not a sound that exists in English.

12:40 - We returned to school for a lovely cafeteria lunch. Today, I had pap, which is corn with the yellow shells taken off the kernels, then boiled and mashed up like potatoes. It's more rubbery than mashed potatoes, and not really my favorite food, but I'm sick of rice, which is the only alternative.

13:20 - French class! We practiced introductions for speeches in French, and then headed out a bit early. Compared to America, where teachers NEVER let you out before the bell, classes let out early quite often here.

14:40 - English. We talked for a bit about an assignment, and then surprise - we got out early!

16:00 - I headed over to the IT center to set up the computers for a computer class that I teach to some kids from SOS Village, an orphanage in Sidwashini, right by the school. They're super beginners are computers, which is really cool, so today we were working with the freeware version of Excel - LibreOffice Calc. We were just doing simple functions and graphing, but it's interesting to see what questions they had - what does the shift key do? How do I type a plus sign? How do I highlight the box?

17:30 - We wrapped up the computer class and headed over to the dining hall for dinner. In line at the dining hall, I got stopped by my second year from Mozambique, who asked if I wanted to come to supper club. Supper club is this thing where four or five students go to this one English teacher's house for supper, just to get away from eating in the cafeteria, at least for one meal. I enjoy it, and always go when invited, as it means several things: soda, nice glasses, a normal table, and conversation that doesn't revolve around school. Today, he also made us soup, which was a lovely bonus. To be honest, any food other than the cafeteria good brightens my day considerably. Conversation revolved around America's position in the world compared to China, and sex as a means to find religion. Definitely better conversation than "school," and it always amuses me that it's totally normal to have dinner a teacher's house here.

19:00 - Supper club wrapped up, and I headed over to the IT center, which I supervise on Thursday nights.

And that's where I find myself right now, about to start my homework. I hate to burst any bubbles about whatever Utopian life you imagine I have, chilling in Swaziland right now, but there's something you should know. While it is summer in the States, with warm weather and without school, it's currently winter here in Swaziland, and school is in session. I have siSwati to study, a math test tomorrow, a geography test next week, an English essay to write, and Physics formulas to study. Not saying that school isn't great and all, but I assure you, the next four hours of my night hold nothing entertaining enough to write about. And so, I'll summarize.

19:30 - Work on homework in the IT center.
21:30 - IT center duty ends, lock up the IT center, head back to hostel.
22:00 - Dance to some Indian music in the corridors, complain about life, hug and laugh about how complain-y we are, make some tea, complain about homework, procrastinate, and then finally go work.
24:00 (or 00:00, depending on how you look at it) - Give up on work and go to sleep. It's another long day ahead of me tomorrow!

Actually, tomorrow is a special day, and an really abnormally long day, but that's for another post.

And so you have it - a day in the life of a Waterford student!

Climbing Bulembu

Yesterday, as what we call one of our "Swazi Outings," a group of us from Waterford went to climb Bulembu, the highest mountain in Swaziland. To be fair, it's not that high (about 1800 meters), and the entire ascent took less than two hours. The way down was even faster.

Anyways, the hike was beautiful, but the best part was getting to the top and doing the illegal border hopping between South Africa and Swaziland. The border kind of runs along the peaks of these mountains, and so the border is oftentimes at the top of the hill, which is a nice reward for all the climbing you've just done.

As you can see in the picture, the border fence was particularly strong, secure, and well maintained.

The only logical thing to do when faced with such an unsecure border is to stand with one foot in Swaziland and one food in South Africa, obviously. The left side of the picture is Swaziland, by the way.

 

UWC Day at Waterford Kamhlaba

(Open up this video in a new tab, let it play while you read this post, and I will love you. I might even marry you if you "like," the video, comment on it, and send it to some friends! The more audience support it gets, the more likely I'll be to go to India!)

Being at a UWC is a constant culture mish-mash. I oftentimes look around the dinner table and see my friends from Malawi, India, Lesotho, Tanzania, Zimbabwe, Swaziland, Zambia, Uganda, and more, all around one table. I'm currently in a musical with people from Kenya, South Africa, Zimbabwe, Swaziland, Denmark, and so on. My physics teacher is from Uganda, my siSwati teacher is from South Africa (ironically), my geography teacher is from Tanzania, my French teacher is from Cameroon, and so the list goes. That's kind of just how UWC works.

But, once a year, we have what we call "UWC Day," where we have this big festival and performances and parade to share our cultures (and food). (This was before all the South Africa stuff, by the way, I'm just posting it now).

First, there's a bunch of performances outside. There wasn't an America performance, (Next year, I tell you. Next year.) but I did an Indian/Bollywood dance. After a bunch of dances and performances, each country has a stall where they sell food from their country, and we just kind of run around eating food and taking pictures in our national costumes. I just chilled in my Indian dancing outfit, as I didn't really have anything "America" that I was dying to change into.

 

This is the Ethiopia stall, selling their food.

 

Yup! It was a pretty chilled day.

South Africa Travel Diary 5 - Johannesburg: The Conclusion

(So, I have this idea that healthcare isn't screwed up because we lack qualified doctors, it's because the infrastructure is messed up, and needs to be revamped. Although to be fair, I'm just a teenager, and while I've worked in the government hospital in Mbabane, I would love the chance to see how it works around the world. Watch this video to help me go to India to work on this? Thanks!)

By this point, I was quite familiar with buses. I boarded my third overnight bus in a row, from Durban to Johannesburg. It left at what normal humans consider an acceptable hour, but was to arrive at Johannesburg's Park Station at three in the morning. I was to catch another bus at noon, and wasn't exactly looking forward to spending nine hours in a place that is known for its muggings.

She got on the bus at the third stop, and promptly asked me, “What is a white person like yourself doing on this bus?” I hadn't noticed, but I guess I was the only one. I'd stopped thinking about things like that a long time ago, but I was well aware that most of the people around me hadn't.

“Why are you not taking the fancy coach bus?” she demanded.

“Well ma'am, I'm just going to Johannesburg. Both of the buses leave from the same place and go to the same place. Why would I pay more for the in between?”

Well, that sent her into a fit of uproarious laughter, which got both of us a Sesotho scolding from a very tired, crabby man. There's nothing to make you bond with a stranger faster than somebody yelling at you both in a language neither of you understand. She sat down next to me and we started talking. I listened to her stories of being a Zulu during Apartheid, of how she had grown up in Bantu education, but was thrown into an English university after Apartheid ended. While it was too dark to see her face, I could her the pride in her voice as she described how she was the first black student to graduate from her university after Apartheid.

Now, I'm a teenage girl, and I probably should be more careful. I should probably be more wary of strangers, and decline their invitations, but I can't help but see them as just people. So, when the bus pulled into Park Station at three in the morning, instead of settling onto a bench to wait out my day, I accepted this woman's invitation to come to her house for a warm breakfast, a clean bathroom, and a safe place to spend the morning. She had two daughters about my age, and we could hang out, and then her husband would drive me back to catch my second bus. My alternative was nine hours in a bus station, so I said yes.

It was a simple house, with just three rooms. She described it as “third or fourth class down, nothing fancy, but not too bad.” A warm breakfast meant Wheet-Bix with hot water instead of the usual milk,
but it was warm, and you can serve worms to a weary traveller and it'll still taste good. Her daughters were amazingly welcoming, considering that their mother had brought a complete stranger into the house at four in the morning. They just kind of rolled over on the couch and gave me a spot, as if it was an everyday occurrence. I was shown how to flush the broken toilet by hand and told where the cups were in the kitchen. Within five minutes, I felt like I was already a part of some this family, who had so suddenly welcomed me into their home.

At nine in the morning, the house went into a flurry, as it was time to go to the Kingdom Authority Bible Church, and so I went. Not a religious person, I was a little bit wary, but you could hear the singing from a block away, and it was such a joyful noise that I couldn't help but smile.

We ducked inside during a song, but the moment the song was over, they asked all the new people to stand. I would have liked to hide, but being the only white person there, and having gotten the feeling that I was the only person who had been there in a long time, that was hard to do. With all eyes on me, I stood, and then promptly sat. Then, they asked us to come to the front and introduce ourselves, and after much nudging from my new friends, I walked up.

"I'm Diana, I'm from Chicago. Thanks for having me." My greeting was met with a round of emphatic "HALLELUJAHS" from the old ladies in the back. About a million people came up to shake my hand, and then I went to sit back down, a bit shaken myself.

Now, I'm not a religious person, and when the whole church went into prayer, I didn't quite know what to do with myself. Compared to every single church I'd ever been to in America, where you pray in your head, here, the preacher starts screaming, and people are praying out loud. Not together or anything, they're all just yelling to God, however they're feeling it. Some people are on the ground, some are kneeling, and this one woman is standing on her seat, reaching for the heavens.

Now, this had no signs of stopping, and I'm just kind of awkwardly standing there when I glance at my watch and realize it's 11:45. I have a bus that leaves from the airport to Swaziland, leaving at noon. The family had told me that their house was about half an hour away from the airport.

Oh my.

I elbow the sister of the family, and tell her I need to go. She says that I'll make the bus, but I insist on going, seeing as how the school bus is kind of a "you-need-to-catch-this" kind of bus. Eventually, she understands my urgency, and goes to get her father, who is at the front.

So, we slip out of the church amidst the prayers, and their dad goes to get the car, while the sister and I run through the neighborhood to get my bag from the house. I grab the bag, hug the mother, the woman from the bus, goodbye, trying to thank her for everything they'd given me, while not taking too much time, and then we dashed out the door for the car.

I've never seen somebody drive so fast. Correction: I've never held onto the edge of the seat so hard while someone drove me so fast. Not even in a taxi in Amman, or a kombi in Swaziland - this was much faster.

We pulled into the airport, and I jumped out of the car. Another woefully inadequate, rushed thank you, and I was running through the airport. I get to the bus rank, jump onto the school bus, and not thirty seconds later, the bus pulls away.

That's a narrow escape if I ever had one.

And, I suppose that ended my adventures in South Africa. The school bus back to Swaziland was normal, and I got back to school safe and sound. Waking up the next morning was bizarre though, thinking, "Twenty-four hours ago, I was at some random family's house in Johannesburg, going to some random church, and now I'm back at school. Darn."

THE END.

South Africa Travel Diary 4 - Jeffrey's Bay Part Two and Durban

(I know spam-like internet contests are annoying, but dying from preventable diseases is more annoying. If you would watch this video to help me go to India to work with people there to get better healthcare, that would be wonderful. Thanks so much!)

May 22nd: Leaving the farm was tough, sure. But, in a rare occurrence when travelling, I was also returning. While I don't like to visit the same place twice, a scheduling screw-up sent me back to Jeffrey's Bay for a few days, and to be honest, I couldn't complain.

I assure you, there's nothing like a few familiar faces when travelling. Not all the time, but it was nice to know, when I was leaving the farm, that I knew some people where I was headed.

Sure enough, walking into the backpacker's was like walking home. Well, if my home were filled with hippies and surfers, but hey, close enough. I didn't have R40 to spend on that night's dinner, but I had some pasta and feta, and so I just cooked for myself, and sat down at a full table. It's nice to eat with people, even if they're just random people.

My only problem now is that I've marked these few days back in Jeffrey's Bay as "work days," so I'm hitting the siSwati books, and trying to stay away from the beach (spoiler alert, I failed at that).

May 24th: Today was (oops) a beach day. I checked out of the backpacker's around eleven, and then just went to the beach. I'm not a huge beach-y person, but I've really enjoyed it this month.

My bus didn't leave until 5:30, but I was kind of itching to get on the road again, and it's a couple of miles walk to the gas station where the bus was going to get me, and I have a tendency to get lost, so I figured I'd start walking at 3:30 and leave myself some time.

Typical me, I did indeed get a bit turned around. I'm really, really bad at directions. I wasn't really lost though, as I was on the right street, but realized I was going the wrong way. So, I turned around, hoping that nobody saw my about face, as that makes it really obvious that you were lost.

About two seconds later, I get stopped by two cops. Darn, I think. Apparently I've got the "tourist-so-badly-confused-they-need-police-help" look. Ugh.

Instead, they asked me if I had noticed where some other guy had turned off the main road. I apologized and said that I hadn't really been paying attention, but I was looking for St. Francis Road, and wanted to check that I was (finally) going in the right direction. So, while they didn't stop because I was confused, the one cop gave me this really long, weird list of directions. The other cop just pauses and goes, "Get in."

Apparently the guy they were chasing wasn't very urgent.

We then had a very bizarre conversation - it went like this:
Me: Thanks for the ride.
Cop: So, where are you from?
Me: I live in Swaziland, but I'm from the States.
Cop: Oh! I've always wanted to go to England! Where are you from?
Me: Um, Chicago.
Cop: Now, does it actually rain all the time in London?
Me: Sure. Every day. Twice a day, actually.
Cop: Really? Wow.

May 25th: The last twenty-four hours since the cop's ride have been pretty crazy. When I got onto the bus, I sat next to this adorable old Chinese lady. Women are so much nicer to sit next to on long bus rides, as at least we're aware of how much space we're taking up, while guys just kind of sprawl out.

But, to my complete aggravation, at our first stop, Port Elizabeth, the nice lady got off, and was replaced by this big, loud, annoying guy, who kept on making politically incorrect comments on purpose and then laughing at his awful jokes. I normally enjoy meeting people on buses, but this guy? No. I mean, when you introduce yourself with, "You study in Swaziland? We send all our retards to Swaziland. Oh, and weed. We get our weed there. Swaziland is the Mexico of South Africa. Ha. Ha. Ha." Well, I'm not exactly inclined to like you.

And that sort of commentary went on for the next ten hours. At one point I fell asleep, and when I woke up, he was still talking. When the bus pulled into the station, I can't deny that I was happy to get off.

But, instead of relief, I was pretty frustrated rather quickly. The advantages of bus ranks is that they're usually in the city center, and it's easy to walk to things, but for some reason, I just couldn't figure Durban out. It was empty, weird, no signs, no nothing.

I originally didn't want to go the beach, as I was sick of looking at sand and rocks and waves, but when you're vaguely lost in a new city, the beach is usually a good starting point, so you can at least figure out which way is up.

It was easy enough to find, and when I got there, I was pleasantly surprised to find that there were things going on, so it wasn't just sand a water. It turned out to be a really nice place to spend the day, with jetski competitions, surfing relays, skateboarding contests, sand soccer, BMX riders, and sand castle artists.

 

And I found a place that sells ice cream for one rand. I haven't eaten anything else all day. My justification is that the lady will refill my water bottle, so it's one rand water and ice cream, so yeah. Good life!

 

In Durban, there's this sidewalk thing along the beach, and it's actually the best people watching ever. There are these guys in big headdresses pulling carts for rides. There are the wanna-be thugs, which are in two groups - the kids and the thirty-year-old men. There are skateboarders and surfers and old women in saris and young women in burqas, balding men holding babies, trophy wives with husbands carrying their shopping bags, homeless guys carrying their own shopping bags, vendors ringing bells, kids chasing pigeons, and everything in between.

 

After all this time on the beach this month, I'm really going to miss it. There's the breeze, the smell, and the openness of it. It makes the rest of the world just seem claustrophobic. I'll be back in Durban in July for a school trip though, so no worries.

 

(A few hours later, at the bus rank): A man just walked up with a coconut, pulled out a massive knife, declared it too small to be useful, and started asking everyone if they had an axe. I quote, "What kind of Zulu are you if you don't have an axe?"

 

At this point, let me quote exactly what I wrote in my journal. "I was about to wrap up this whole adventure diary, but then I realized that the adventures won't end until I'm back at school. And even then."

 

I had about twenty-four hours left travelling. I think I expected it to be boring. I couldn't have been more wrong.

 

And, off on another bus to Johannesburg!