I generally like to think of myself as a composed, insightful, and responsible adult who can also be fun-spirited. Something makes me think this image of myself is not too accurate because I am the easiest target on this trip to tease, constantly saying things that will generate laughter directed at me, not with me. My professors are convinced that if someone were to back-stalk me on Facebook, my statuses would be “OMG, gum drops! Fairies! Candy!” This is in no way an invitation to back-stalk me. I’ll file for harassment if anyone does. You know what, I am going to embrace this identity. There are always those who must sacrifice themselves for the amusement of others, and if that is me, so be it! I’ve been very eager to pick up basic conversation SiSwati here so I practice everywhere I go, and the laughter follows me like a shadow. At Lituba I discovered my favorite new SiSwati song, “Sweety Sweety” by Heavy K, so when this played in the combi ride back from Manzini, I naturally began to sing and move my shoulders. The entire 12-passenger taxi van that 16 people squeezed into erupted in laughter. I tell myself that I am just naturally hilarious, but when people just laugh immediately after looking at me, I begin to think I am the one being made fun of. Nahhh.
“I really like quoting myself.” – Diksha
The Swazis seem to have a very interesting perception of race. I have been repeatedly told that I look mixed-race, half Indian and half English. I try to tell them that both my parents are Indian, but they refuse to believe me. So now apparently I represent the entire country of India because anytime someone asks to see an American dance and I begin to bust out my moves, people immediately react and say, “no not you, we will see an Indian dance later.” So now everything I do is Indian dance. Never before have I felt so much pressure. Oh, and I also met this random Indian man who owned a tiny store in the middle of Kashoba called “The Jabula Store,” which literally translates to “The Happy Store.” Like really, what are the odds. This man even spoke Gujarati.
One of our adventures this past week was a trip to Manzini, which is the most populated city in the country. We visited an HIV/AIDS clinic where the son of Kani, a woman who works at the Sibane bar, volunteers. We are planning on producing a documentary as a class on the youth involvement in reducing stigma toward HIV in communities and how people are able to use the clinic as a resource for a new generation catalyzing hope and change. That day, we got to visit local markets, try Emahewu, which is a delicious corn milkshake, and visit the nicest mall in Swaziland. It is winter here, but that day was warm enough for me to whip out shorts. Just one problem. All of the locals were clad in long bottoms and jackets. I clearly stuck out like a sore thumb. Cashiers expressed concerned for me, fearing I would die of cold. Tess and Justin told me that boys dropped their jaws as I walked by and girls giggled, as if it were a scene straight from a movie. Never again will I wear shorts here in public. On the way back, we all stuffed into a combi with a million other people and took the treacherous yet exhilarating transportation back to our hotel.
The Sibane Hotel’s cigar room allegedly has the fastest wifi around, which is a few notches below ratchet at best. So, my roommate and I have been quite a bit of time in there, meeting interesting people ranging from photographers to program directors for national TB campaigns, all in an effort to catch a few minutes of internet time. In Vicki’s words, “all this secondhand smoke better be worth it.” At breakfast, there is a crazy waitress with red hair who tells us we need to “live it up” and get boyfriends.
Just this Friday, there was a hip-hop music festival at Sibane called “Hipnotik” that drew the most beautiful crowd. The scene was popping with hip young people dressed like they were way too cool for us, famous rappers and DJs, and VIP guests. Since we are Sibane guests, we got to crash the party, and boy did we bring the party with us. Justin, Duane and I tore up the dance floor, acting like crazy Americans. Some of the staff told our professors that were were hilarious and also great dancers. Slender, one of our professor’s friends, expressed concern that we were drunk, but little did she know, we hadn’t consumed a sip of even water. All of our crazy energy came from within and from “Watch me Whip,” Beyonce and “Let’s Just be Honest.” There was an outrageously tall woman with tight white skinny jeans, a white crop top, an elegant black fur coat, red pumps, high cheekbones, gorgeously long braided hair, and a look on her face that screamed “bow down to me peasants” who caught our eyes. All of our jaws dropped each time she walked by and we immediately began to bow down in worship. We named her Queen Bae. What started as a “let’s just go for a few minutes to check out the scene” quickly turned into “let’s dance all night until the party stops at midnight.” Before we left our rooms, Matthew correctly marked, “Diksha never just checks out a scene.” You know me well, Matthew.
After much deliberation, I have decided that I will dedicate one paragraph to cute baby animals. No, not the cute baby animal videos that flood my YouTube history during finals week. I mean cute baby animals I’ve seen so far on this trip. Geez people, I know how to keep my blog material relevant. On the ride to Kashoba in a rickety 16-passenger death trap, we passed a mommy goat nuzzling her baby goat and I nearly died. Speaking of goats, I am really good at imitating sheep noises so when we visited the Lion and Rhino Park, I let it out and one of my professors whipped around his head, looking for a sheep. Life goals achieved. These animal calls came into handy during our trip to Kruger, which I will write about in my next blog post. Dang, I’m on fire. Until next time y’all.
dikshainthelandoftheswazis 