Shit. Another exceptionally long delay between
postings is about to result in a harried recap of our last few weeks. At least we’re leaving room for improvement
on the blogging front….
Sarah’s board studying has begun in earnest, which means
fewer adventures until she’s done in mid-October, BUT before that self-imposed exile, we managed to escape with some
friends to Mozambique a few weekends back. I say “escape” because this was the weekend of
Swaziland’s Umhlanga (Reed) Dance, an
annual event where bare-breasted virgins gather for a week or so in a large
soccer field to celebrate the Queen Mother (by bringing her reeds for her palace) and their own virginity (rolled out this year, a pilot program to test the girls' virginity). The King has also occasionally used the opportunity to pick a new wife,
once even fining himself a cow for picking an underage girl (the traditional sanction in place at that time). Despite this kind of self-regulation, the marriages don't always work out that well. So, we took a pass, even though the Reed Dance is considered one of Swaziland's largest tourist attractions, and headed out of country.
Maputo, Mozambique's capital, has this kind of crumbling beauty. Portuguese architecture stained from years of
coastal winds stand tall, with fenced-in balconies often stretching to the top floors.
Among these old giants, other jewels remain, like the city’s nearly defunct train station, designed a century ago by
Gustave Eiffel’s firm.
Or the stunningly-refurbished Hotel Polana, the “Grande Dame
of Africa,” where we ordered cocktails in a spot once favored by WWII
spies.
These few flashes of past (or restored) brilliance are not
indicative of the state of the country, though.
Infrastructure doesn’t feel updated since independence. Roads, frequently named for communist heroes,
were deeply potholed and dangerous. The
rural poverty leading into Maputo was on full display as we drove along
the two-lane highway that leads into this city of a million plus. It was interesting just how used to Swaziland
we had become in such a short period of time; Mozambique felt different. While
Swaziland’s border post is large and relatively modern (there are computers),
Mozambique’s was an exercise in triplicate and included a border guard who,
with our passports firmly in his grip, informed us that he was hungry. You can drink the water in Swaziland (I know!),
which means we eat fresh vegetables; in Mozambique, like in most of the
third world, it’s gotta be boiled, fried, or peeled. Everything becomes so relative so quickly that it
is hard to get a handle on how deeply your expectations have altered until you
change something dramatic, like countries.
We took pleasure in the differences, though, and are excited to stretch our explorations into deeper territories north and south. We tried to provide our own small
economic stimulus to the economy, too: perusing local markets; buying more cashews
on the streets than we knew what to do with; seeking out delicious Thai and
Indian food; returning for gelato, again, to that brightly-lit place around the
corner; and finding live music, first drumming and dancing at the
Franco-Mozambican Cultural Centre, and the next night,
a four-piece jazz outfit at a small wine bar lined with large, open windows to
let in the breeze.
Oh, and the fish.
Although the city’s beaches are landmines of broken beer bottles and
rusty bottlecaps, the view from the city is beautiful and fishing boats dot the
horizon. At this market you buy your
seafood wholesale:
And then one of the restaurants at an adjacent courtyard
turns it into this:
It was a trip with later nights out than sleepy Swaziland
usually affords, and a mix of cultures that coastal destinations seem uniquely
positioned to provide.
Back in Swaziland, we’ve settled into a pretty good routine. Most days, Sarah’s work takes her to the
Baylor Clinic in Mbabane a few blocks from our house, but at least once a week
she’s off to the satellite clinic in Manzini (about 35km away) or a rural
clinic mostly staffed by MSF docs in Hlatikulu (100km away). Armand splits his days working on law- and
NGO-connections for possible volunteer or work opportunities, with time
leftover for reading and guitar and the occasional stop at the tiny but
beautifully situated gym in town. At
night, Sarah studies and Armand cooks.
We read. The other night we made
pizza at a Spanish doctor’s house. She’s
lived here for four years and has a projector in her house for watching
downloaded movies, which was kind of amazing.
We’ve been making pita and tortillas, banana bread and hummus, and
partly-inspired by Gayle’s recent vacation recap,
started kneading bagel dough on Friday night, letting it rise in the
refrigerator, and then shaping, boiling, and baking them on Saturday
morning. They’re delicious, and after
two weeks we’re already much better at it, like deciding to put fresh-pressed
garlic on several bagels and baking them to a toasty, crackly brown. Salt, honey whole-wheat, cinnamon raisin,
and poppy have been successes.
Despite the relative stability of our own lives, Swaziland
continues to face one crisis after another. First, their near financial collapse, saved at the last minute by a loan from South Africa, has stalled. And this after the King requested that he receive a commission for securing the loan. I think the technical term is kickback. Although the IMF, World Bank, and numerous other countries declined, one can only imagine that South Africa is not chomping at the bit to see a country almost entirely within its own borders fail, let alone one with the highest HIV rate in the world.
School resumed today after a month off for
winter break, but only because the teachers' union committed to being there. The principals did not want to return until
the government delivered the required funds necessary to continue to provide
free primary education.
Last week saw several days of protests in cities countrywide, as
university students objected to the government’s failure to deliver funds
sufficient for all of its students to return and pro-democracy forces and unionists protested, as well. Political parties are banned, but unions are allowed to do so, although the government sought an injunction on Saturday to stop the week-long demonstrations. Swaziland's rulers seemed to have learned a lesson from last April, refusing to confront the protesters to create newsworthy events, even here as I watched youth mock the belly of a particularly heavyset officer.
Later in the day, though, away from my own camera’s eye,
police unleashed tear gas and rubber bullets. Without a critical mass of protest participants, a reaction from the government was the only thing that might
escalate the disturbance into something that could actually foster change, and this one incident doesn't seem up to muster.
Swaziland is also in the middle of a judicial crisis, started by the actions of the High Court's Chief Justice, which has led the lawyers to strike and the courts to close for several weeks.
It is a fascinating time to be here; one with the markers of great change, but the seeming lack of either popular will or a singular, precipitating event to actually make it happen. We're very happy to be here at such a significant moment, and remain content to intersperse our cultural immersion with the occasional trip abroad and a few homemade bagels.
