This past month in Swaziland has been one of my favourites so far. I fall in love with Africa more every day I’m here and I feel a little as though I was made for this place. A group of twelve of us have spent this last month living in a homestead in a rural part of Manzini using outhouses, bucket showering and hand-washing our laundry and I have loved the simplicity of it all. Africa, or at least the small part of it that I have seen, screams adventure, ruggedness and diversity.
Manzini is a city of about 80,000 and it feels as though you have jumped right back into the nineties when you are walking down the streets. The bus rink is full of hustle and bustle with the African men wearing bowl hats, polo shirts and cargo shorts. It is almost impossible to make it from one end of the bus rink to another without a proposal, an “I love you very quickly!” or someone grabbing your hand. I have been offered cows as dowries and had long conversations on bus rides being told by men that even their “grandfatha’s grandfatha’s grandfatha” cheated, and therefore he should get my number. The women balance sizable things on their heads and they take their hairstyles and weaves seriously; hair culture here is something out of this world. People drive down the streets and talk to each other out the windows of their vehicles, they take their sweet time getting around, and the streets (and KFC) are always filled with people.
We take the Kumbi (taxi van) into Manzini and head to the children’s ward at the hospital for visiting hours every day. Most of the children are there because of malnutrition and the mothers sleep on the floor beside their beds every night. The women are all very friendly and more than willing to hang out and talk; I have met some incredibly interesting people. One lady (we named her Matchmaker Gogo) tried to set me up with her brother as she wanted a white sister-in-law (texted him to come to the hospital saying we were “craving” to meet him), another grabbed my boob as she was teaching us the Siswate word for it, and the rest willingly answer our questions about the culture and let us make weird faces at their babies (often making them cry because they’ve never seen a white person before ahha). It’s always an interesting time, sometimes awkward and sometimes not, but as long as we make a few kids smile, it’s worth it. African children have to be the cutest kids on the planet.
I can hardly believe Africa is almost over; I’ll be really sad to go, but I know I’ll be back some day. Thanks again for your thoughts and prayers and everything else. I seriously always dreamed of being here and it has been better than I expected, so thank you for the support.
