From the Group Leader:
This is my one and only entry, as I left the writing and the photography to other members of my group.
It has been an amazing adventure, with my son, 7 close friends, and 4 new “close” friends. What an experience!!!!!! We have made such “connections” with another group of friends in Swaziland. It was truly a life changing experience.
I had inquired about leading a group to Peru next year, but I discovered that my heart is in Africa, specifically Swaziland. I am driven to return and do what I can to help, other members of my group feel much the same and will join me in future return trips.
The unquestionable purpose of our adventure was to do what we could to help; the relationships that we developed were a very moving part of our trip; but to actually know that we did something that will have a lasting impact, is truly gratifying. Of course we were all pleased with the new friends that we made, and the few things that we were able to leave to help them in their daily lives; but to know that our efforts in construction, were so significant to them, and will be for many years to come, it truly amazing.
I sincerely hope that as you read this blog, of our adventure, that you will think about joining us – there is nothing in your life that will have such an impact!
Cheers,
Rob
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
July 30, 2010: Carla's Final Blog: The Feminine Fabric
This is a hard one to write. As I take a break from my packing with my mind on the next phase of my adventure I can't help but try to synthesize all that has happened in the last two weeks. In a few hours I will be in Cape Town in relative luxury, where life will no doubt be simpler for me. I will be able to buy what I need, when I need it. I'll be able to eat in fine restaurants if I want. I'll partake in activities if only for pure hedonistic reasons. But, I won't be doing these things without a very different perspective. The wonderful Swazis that I will be leaving behind will forever be weaved into my moral fabric. I am a much more well-rounded global citizen because of them and their plight.
I tend to worry a bit, usually a little about lots of different things. I'll worry about my Swazi community when I leave. I'll worry about the men who, bless their hearts, carry the burden of trying to thrive and provide for their families in a country where very few opportunities present themselves. I'll worry about the beautiful children who are so full of song, smiles and laughter. And I'll worry about the feminine fabric of this country. Like many women around this world living in a male dominated society, Swazi women live very traditional female roles.
I have had many Swazi women approach me and have wanted me to marry their brothers, wish I find a good husband to “take care of me,” and swoon over the thought of marrying a Canadian man. When I stated my tenacity in maintaining my female independence I got very strange looks. They questioned me, which I liked. I explained how many independent females in Western countries approach traditional roles and their jaws dropped. I know most of these women might have no choice when it comes to a traditional female life in a male dominated culture...women do what they need to do to survive. I get it. However, it was interesting to witness the wheels turning and answer questions on how exactly it is possible for a woman to support herself.
The feminine fabric that weaves around this world needs to be strong. It needs to send a very loud and clear message to both sexes that the ultimate success and standard of living of a country is directly related to the status of women.
July 30, 2010: Peter's Final Blog: Why?
Volunteer vacations are often attacked. The reasons have much validity, but on this project they failed the test.
We were building a community centre. It could have been built sooner and faster. We each spent thousands of dollars to take part in this project, dollars which could have resulted in a better building, sooner.
The building of the centre was inefficient by our standards. We were often hanging around. Materials were sometimes not there, and builders sometimes failed to turn up.
We could be said to be fostering a dependent culture. Demands on us from so many quarters were unrelenting. The wealthy whites were here. They have the money. They can solve our financial needs, be it food to feed my family, money to build my house or put a roof on my church, materials to equip our schools, hoses to water our gardens. Is that who we are?
Some say we are the do-gooders, more interested in self gratification than doing any good to the people of this land, and anyway what difference does it make. If so many demands swamp this land, what difference will this two week stretch make? Will there not be just as many starving, just as many houses needed?
Yes, in so many ways this is all true, but then, you see, there is the singing.
As a group of us stood in front of 450 elementary children the harmonies of their voices enveloped us. The headmaster said, “We will sing...” and after a few moments one child just started, and then they all joined in, with claps and smiles. They gave us their gifts. They laughed with us. We thanked each other.
This was the final day of a long two week journey. You can see pictures of Swaziland. Just go on line. You can see pictures of the need. You can see the appeals for help. Then, perhaps you want to become closer and you go on a tour. Then you really see the people. We had one tour come through. They were taken them to a “traditional” house. This is so much closer, a more intimate experience of the people. Maybe this is not enough, and so you volunteer, like the young Americans we met, with the Peace Corp. Far beyond the reaches of paved roads they work for two years, among the people, giving and learning in the most intense setting available. Then you have us older folk, half of us retired, and all beyond the floor sleeping deprivations of the younger volunteers. It is the best we can do. We did not venture far beyond the paved roads. We slept in houses with beds, bathrooms and electricity. We bought food we wanted. But we did live among the people. We lived amidst the wonderful homes catering to the AIDS orphans to Swaziland. This is beyond pictures and beyond the tourist route.
Many years ago I was in a school in Tanzania. They were debating if people should be sent to the moon, when countries, such as theirs needed so much. Much frustration with Western countries was expressed, and then one student put up his hand. “You cannot stop exploration. Humans need to reach out and go into the unknown.” I believe we were part of that human imperative to explore and reach out. I acknowledge that guilt may have played a part, as it does in so many of our dealings with First Nations, but stronger is that need to go beyond the known and to connect. We did not pretend to be Swazis. We did not pretend to understand all their lives, conflicts, joys and hardships. But we could connect on those eternal values we all hold – the need for a roof, food, security, joy and love.
This was “Developing World Connections.” You cannot do that as well at home, through charitable giving, watching a documentary, passing resolutions, or engaging in high-minded debate. You do it best by shaking their hands, passing them bricks, talking with them, eating with them. You do it by walking down their roads and by laughing with them, by enduring the frustrations of their culture, and by agonizing over their endless hardships. We have not saved the world, or Swaziland, or even this little corner of their land. But what religious or plain moral imperative has ever been called to do that? We are only called to do the best we can to connect and work with others, to act as one individual to another, be it the shepherd saving the one lost sheep, or the little boy returning the one stranded starfish to the ocean.
We can, and should give money. It does alleviate our guilt. We can, and should, give of ourselves, for that alleviates our poverty of spirit and disconnectedness which can dominate our hectic, self-centered world.
We were building a community centre. It could have been built sooner and faster. We each spent thousands of dollars to take part in this project, dollars which could have resulted in a better building, sooner.
The building of the centre was inefficient by our standards. We were often hanging around. Materials were sometimes not there, and builders sometimes failed to turn up.
We could be said to be fostering a dependent culture. Demands on us from so many quarters were unrelenting. The wealthy whites were here. They have the money. They can solve our financial needs, be it food to feed my family, money to build my house or put a roof on my church, materials to equip our schools, hoses to water our gardens. Is that who we are?
Some say we are the do-gooders, more interested in self gratification than doing any good to the people of this land, and anyway what difference does it make. If so many demands swamp this land, what difference will this two week stretch make? Will there not be just as many starving, just as many houses needed?
Yes, in so many ways this is all true, but then, you see, there is the singing.
As a group of us stood in front of 450 elementary children the harmonies of their voices enveloped us. The headmaster said, “We will sing...” and after a few moments one child just started, and then they all joined in, with claps and smiles. They gave us their gifts. They laughed with us. We thanked each other.
This was the final day of a long two week journey. You can see pictures of Swaziland. Just go on line. You can see pictures of the need. You can see the appeals for help. Then, perhaps you want to become closer and you go on a tour. Then you really see the people. We had one tour come through. They were taken them to a “traditional” house. This is so much closer, a more intimate experience of the people. Maybe this is not enough, and so you volunteer, like the young Americans we met, with the Peace Corp. Far beyond the reaches of paved roads they work for two years, among the people, giving and learning in the most intense setting available. Then you have us older folk, half of us retired, and all beyond the floor sleeping deprivations of the younger volunteers. It is the best we can do. We did not venture far beyond the paved roads. We slept in houses with beds, bathrooms and electricity. We bought food we wanted. But we did live among the people. We lived amidst the wonderful homes catering to the AIDS orphans to Swaziland. This is beyond pictures and beyond the tourist route.
Many years ago I was in a school in Tanzania. They were debating if people should be sent to the moon, when countries, such as theirs needed so much. Much frustration with Western countries was expressed, and then one student put up his hand. “You cannot stop exploration. Humans need to reach out and go into the unknown.” I believe we were part of that human imperative to explore and reach out. I acknowledge that guilt may have played a part, as it does in so many of our dealings with First Nations, but stronger is that need to go beyond the known and to connect. We did not pretend to be Swazis. We did not pretend to understand all their lives, conflicts, joys and hardships. But we could connect on those eternal values we all hold – the need for a roof, food, security, joy and love.
This was “Developing World Connections.” You cannot do that as well at home, through charitable giving, watching a documentary, passing resolutions, or engaging in high-minded debate. You do it best by shaking their hands, passing them bricks, talking with them, eating with them. You do it by walking down their roads and by laughing with them, by enduring the frustrations of their culture, and by agonizing over their endless hardships. We have not saved the world, or Swaziland, or even this little corner of their land. But what religious or plain moral imperative has ever been called to do that? We are only called to do the best we can to connect and work with others, to act as one individual to another, be it the shepherd saving the one lost sheep, or the little boy returning the one stranded starfish to the ocean.
We can, and should give money. It does alleviate our guilt. We can, and should, give of ourselves, for that alleviates our poverty of spirit and disconnectedness which can dominate our hectic, self-centered world.
July 30, 2010: Oh My G... - Lost in Translation.
The garden tour had an unusual twist. William, a community leader, wanted us to see a community garden. After a 15-minute walk we came to a clearing. Here they had cleared several acres of the low scrub that dominates this land. Set in an area where water ran not far below the surface, they had accessed a nearby spring. A pump had been installed to feed the water to the community garden, but now, alas, the land was parched and desolate. The pump had been powered by solar panels. These had been stolen. Now the electric company wants the equivalent of $4500 to connect power to the pump. Still, William wanted to show us the site. It had been divided into three areas. One was the usual community garden with irrigation pipes throughout. William showed us where his section had been. Next to it was the “orchard.” A few mango trees struggled to survive. It was the third and final area which had an unusual twist. “This,” said William, “ is for the Gods.” We looked at him amazed. If any country seemed solidly Christian this was it. Why did they have a section for the Gods? Did they mix Christianity with local deities? Had the we misheard? No. William kept on talking about the Gods. I looked for some altar. Then I saw it. A large structure stood in the field. It must be it. “That,” said William pointing to iy, “is for the Gods. See the Gods over there.” We all turned and looked, and there they were, small , brown and four-footed – goats.
Later we returned to our building site and finished our day's labour. On my way back to our house, an area where goats roam freely, I met three young men returning home from high school. We stopped to chat. “Do you love goat?” one asked. Now I have never eaten goat, but I wanted to be polite. “Yes.” I replied. “How much do you love him?” he asked. Sensing that he was losing me he laughed and spoke very slowly, “God,” he said,” How much do you love God?”
Good news can come in many forms. He was happy with my response, and William was thrilled when he learned that a donation had been made to connect electricity to the pump. Gods and goats could flourish again amidst the community garden.
July 29, 2010: Earplugs.
For a traveler and a chronic insomniac, earplugs are a necessity. For this trip they have provided much needed bedtime silence from roosters crowing, dogs barking, crickets chirping, wind blowing my ill-fitted window and that annoying buzzing that mosquitoes pester you with just as you are about to fall asleep.
Every night for my time here, I have put in my earplugs and it has served as my mental signal to stop thinking about and internalizing all that I have witnessed that day and to sleep soundly. Tonight, the earplugs will have more significant importance. They will be my signal to stop thinking about the principal doling out the switch to tardy students in the school yard. As a teacher, I never want to see that sight again. It was humiliating for me, so I can't even imagine how it was for them.
My trusty earplugs will also be my signal to stop thinking about the destitute children and families we had the ultimate, fortunate experience to visit and deliver soccer balls and jerseys to. Although there is ALWAYS hope, it is my desire that my earplugs will help me filter out that the prognosis for most of these children isn't great.
However, on second thought, I may not use my earplugs tonight because I fear that they will muffle the sound and memories of some of the most beautiful singing and laughing of these same children. Yes, as bad as it may be for them, when we arrived to meet some of the beneficiaries of the SOS Children's Villages reach, they broke into the most genuine and heartfelt singing we will probably ever hear. We played collective games and we all laughed. We even danced which resulted in raucous laughter from the children. We must have looked pretty funny to them.
Tonight, the earplugs are on hiatus.
July 27, 2010: Large lessons in expectation management.
At last we are in full swing, but it wasn't entirely the blessing it initially seemed. We now have a brick layer and supervisor committed to being with us every day. The trouble for us is that as long as there is cement we work, and that was the snag. The day was long, and the sun hot. For those of us assigned to shoveling sand through a screen the day started with energetic enthusiasm, waned to determination, and ended with exhaustion. Yes, we did, as so many people have worried, drink lots of water. And those were blessed breaks, sometimes extended guilty in the shade.
While one group screened sand, others helped with the building of the walls round the future washrooms. Two Swazi women, one with a baby on her back, joined us to mix concrete which we then brought to the required spot, where it was hauled up to the brick layer. At times we were actually allowed to help the brick layer, though he showed with significant doubts about this.
Our host brick layer and supervisor were relentless. They never stopped. Their wheelbarrows were always fuller than we could manage, their shoveling shriveled us with shame. What must they have been thinking? What were these soft whities doing? Why did their spades seem more useful as a tool to lean on than one to use for moving sand? But as always they were polite and gracious.
Elsewhere other things were happening...
A Citrus Legacy and a Lesson in Expectation and Perception Management
While our fellow group members worked steadfastly in the hot sun, toiling until exhaustion, three of us were to meet the SOS driver, Lucky, and van at eight in the morning. We were of the understanding that we would quickly run up to town with one of the house mothers to buy the trees that we collectively contributed towards. In fact, when I woke up that morning, I had an expectation and a perception that it would be as easy as at home...jump in the car, drive to Home Depot, buy the goods needed, return home, plant said trees. Simple, right? Baaaaaa haaaaa. Silly preconceived perceptions.
As it turned out, unbeknown to us, Lucky obviously had multiple other priorities to deal with. He dropped sick children off at the hospital, took another for a hearing aid and bought a heap of meat for the orphans. Our run to the greenhouse to buy trees was important, but obviously there were other pressing issues that day.
After all Lucky's other errands were done, he patiently attended to our mission. We went to one greenhouse and found just what the house mothers wanted...orange and lemon trees. We purchased an orange tree for each home and two lemon trees for the SOS village. We had a little bit of money left over so we went to another greenhouse where they expressed they could really do with some onion and cabbage seedlings. In all, this mission took six hours. Yet again, I think we learned a lesson in expectation management when dealing with a culture that clearly tries to be as efficient as possible, considering its resources.
When we got back to the SOS village with our goods, we were overwhelmed with a very appreciative group of people. In fact, one of the organization's leaders said, “We will have oranges forever now and every time we eat one, we will think of you.”
We leave behind a citrus legacy...we take away large lessons in expectation management.
July 25, 2010: Contributing and humbled.
Our kaleidoscope of experiences and interactions with the Swazis continues to build our understanding, empathy and drive to make these two weeks as much as an impact for them as it is for us.
Contributing to this impact was our time we spent with the SOS children Thursday afternoon. The children trickled into the courtyard and we sprung into action...we played tag, we did relays, we played with Frisbees and skipping ropes and we sang songs. I think the initial reaction of most of us teachers was to make sure that every minute was used efficiently...heaven forbid children have some unstructured time. However, at one point I stood back and realized that these children were just happy “being.” They didn't need gadgets, computers, Gameboys, iPods or even sports equipment to be able to amuse themselves. They had this beautiful sensitivity and companionship in each other. In that moment when I was standing back and observing, those children taught me the ultimate lesson in being present. Just stop...acknowledge the people around you... breathe... and be grateful for that specific moment.
Humbled...I think that is the word that we would use to describe how we felt after our goodwill soccer game with the local village boys' soccer team. Yes, they had youth and spryness on their side, but most of them played in bare feet. An even playing field it was not...both literally and figuratively.
We have all had the fortunate experience to step outside our immediate community of the SOS Village and take in some of the local Swazi country and culture. Some of the highlights include the cultural village, including dancing and a tour of a traditional Swazi village; local craft markets; a game drive where most of us got to see animals only reserved for the fronts of postcards; and a sampling of some of some local flavours, including warthog and wildebeest.
Some of us took in a local church service. The church leaders and the community eagerly waited our arrival. We were, as per usual, greeted and welcomed with the most sincere open hearts. Rob, our group leader, had a special spot reserved for him in the front row along with the other important people of the church. He was a man full of dignity and grace when asked to stand at the front and say a few words and introduce the rest of the group.
Our time here is flying by...we know it is. When we are sitting around chatting in the evening and we reminisce about specific events, we all have trouble wrapping our heads around the fact that it happened only the day before. Swazi time...it astounds and it is profound.
July 24, 2010: Land of contrasts.
July 24, 2010
This is a land of contrasts, of laughter and heartache, of smiles and crime. As I work in the garden of one of the houses I look at the neat brick house, one of twelve built for the orphan families of 10 children and a mother. Beautiful, with its grated windows. Beside me is a lush and productive vegetable garden forged out of hard, unforgiving soil.
A group of us are transplanting grass to extend the lawn and to try and reduce the erosion torrential rains can cause in the rainy season. It is hard work. The earth is unyielding, rock-like clay. The small grooves we need to dig can take ages, but we are not alone. The mother worries when she cannot help us, even though she has her 10 children to care for.
We return to the building site, greeted by every person we pass. In the distance we can hear singing. As we approach the site, women sit laughing and gossipping while they set out food they have prepared to sell to the school children on their lunch break. Then the students come, but while some make their purchases others are telling some of us that they are hungry. They have no food to eat, and no certainty of any when they return home.
And when we return to our house I know that behind the pretty structure lies a darker side. Those windows with grates are there to prevent young men, terrified of AIDS and seeking virgins, from finding their prey within these beautiful and loving homes.
This is a land of contrasts, of laughter and heartache, of smiles and crime. As I work in the garden of one of the houses I look at the neat brick house, one of twelve built for the orphan families of 10 children and a mother. Beautiful, with its grated windows. Beside me is a lush and productive vegetable garden forged out of hard, unforgiving soil.
A group of us are transplanting grass to extend the lawn and to try and reduce the erosion torrential rains can cause in the rainy season. It is hard work. The earth is unyielding, rock-like clay. The small grooves we need to dig can take ages, but we are not alone. The mother worries when she cannot help us, even though she has her 10 children to care for.
We return to the building site, greeted by every person we pass. In the distance we can hear singing. As we approach the site, women sit laughing and gossipping while they set out food they have prepared to sell to the school children on their lunch break. Then the students come, but while some make their purchases others are telling some of us that they are hungry. They have no food to eat, and no certainty of any when they return home.
And when we return to our house I know that behind the pretty structure lies a darker side. Those windows with grates are there to prevent young men, terrified of AIDS and seeking virgins, from finding their prey within these beautiful and loving homes.
July 22, 2010: Community ingrained in their sweat.
Machines make us weak and disconnected. It is true that machines could have accomplished today's work in a fraction of the time. It would have looked neater, more pristine: We would have looked cleaner and more pristine. That clean pristine appearance for which all suburbanites long for would have smiled back, but it would not have been us. It would not have been their community. In one part the cement was hand-mixed, bricks heaved, and buckets lifted by fragile backs. In another part, sod was laid, each piece unique in its size and form. This was us, this was a community unfazed by its lack of modern machinery, reliant on muscle and ingenuity to succeed. At times we looked on shocked by the improvisational building methods, uncomfortable with the untidy rows of sod. With us alongside they were building their community using their scarce resources with creativity, and with a knowledge of their land. This was not a building which they came to applaud at the end. This was not a lawn preening itself in green abundance at the end of one day. This was them. This was their community ingrained in their sweat. This was Africa.
July 20/21, 2010: Construction begins on solid red clay.
Our first two days here have been nothing less than surreal. Falling asleep to the crickets and waking up to roosters in a rural Swazi village is truly an amazing experience. Our first day, we got our bearings...and groceries...and information on what we are here to do. Probably most importantly, we continued to build rapport with each other. We are living in close quarters, so getting to know each other is important because we will be spending a lot of time together... living, working and ultimately growing as individuals. We will share experiences that will move us and change us so building those relationships are paramount.
Our second day was very productive. We divided and conquered...some of us worked with some of the local villagers on the construction of the community centre, a part of the larger community. Some of us stayed in the heart of the SOS Children's Village and helped one of the house mothers to transplant some grass in her yard. The ground was pretty much solid red clay and it took shifts of us swinging the pick ax to get even through the first two or three inches. These amazing house mothers have 10 children to look after...meals to cook, laundry to do, medical needs to attend to, a house to be kept...oh, and did I mention, 10 children to look after? I think we were all more than happy to help her with something that was necessary, but probably not a priority with 10 children to look after!
Ever try to herd squirrels? Well, I think Rob and Will, our group's leaders, have a PhD in it. They have demonstrated steadfast patience and grace and their experience has directed us to consider local customs and ways of life.
We are impressed with the approach here...the partnership between Developing World Connections, SOS Children's Villages and us. We are here to help...we are not here to fix in a way that is frivolous, temporary or impractical. We are agreed: We want attainable, sustainable development that works for these beautiful people long after we leave. We are here to help and learn, not to impart or impose.
As a group, we debrief... a lot. I think we need to just to be able to process what we are involved in—to be able to wrap our heads around some things...the circumstances, the insurmountable obstacles that Swazis face, but perhaps ultimately celebrating their resiliency, learning from them and perhaps taking stock of how we really have absolutely nothing to complain about in our regular lives.
So many emotions and introspections in only two days. Hold on...we are in for a ride.
July 19, 2010: Making our way to SOS in Swaziland.
It was almost missing the third night's sleep that was tough. An overnight flight from Vancouver to London, an aching rest in a transit lounge before a second overnight flight to Johannesburg: that
should have been it, but at bedtime on the third night we were still on the road.
The group who were headed for Siteki SOS Children's Village gathered in Johannesburg at 7 a.m. Monday morning. Five were the weary travellers from Vancouver, four had come from the UK, while the final three were due to meet us at the airport to make up the group of twelve. The nine from the plane were there, two more soon arrived. But where was the twelfth? Phone calls were made. E-mails searched. Eventually William was located, stuck in Namibia. Since William was the son and co-leader with his father his presence was needed, but after alternate plans were made we set off several hours late, but happy to be on our way. Past the featureless plateau from Jo'burg we eventually came to the Swaziland border. Bruno, our driver, said it was a record crossing, and certainly, both the South African customs seeing us out, and the Swazi immigration welcoming us in were the friendliest border officials I have ever met, so far from the paranoid nervousness we so often encounter at borders. In fact, one of the Swazi border guards stopped our van and asked Bruno who these people were in the van. He said we were volunteers from Canada. With the warmest smile, he looked at Bruno and said, “They are most welcome here. Take care of them.” Bruno replied, “I will.”
After an excellent lunch at 'The House on Fire' we carried on. Now a few hours into our journey we looked forward to arriving at the SOS Village, finding our rooms and relaxing. Being winter, the day closed in sooner than we expected, but at six we drew into the Village. They were so friendly, and so bewildered. We were not expected. Phone calls gave us the unwelcome news that we were indeed at the wrong SOS Village. We had almost another 200 kilometers to go. A weary crew boarded the bus once again, and our stalwart driver took us through the Swazi night, bringing us to Siteki shortly after 8:30 p.m. How wonderful it was to arrive, greeted with warmth and humour. With rooms assigned and the sureness of having finally arrived we started to become acquainted with each other before staggering to a happy sleep.
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