Property Rights

A big property rights case was before the High Court of Swaziland just a few months before I got here. In the case her lady ship, Justice Qinsile Dlamini finally allowed women to own property in their own names, invalidating a act of parliament that had not been updated to give effect to equality rights. Previously women were only allowed to buy property in their husbands name, which of course creates problems in cases involving abuse or divorce proceedings. It was a landmark case.

However just two days before I arrived here, this decision was over turned at the Appeal Court. Justice Moore cited reasons of separation of powers- simply put, he found that the court could not direct parliament on how to update its law. This is despite the fact that it had taken parliament 5 years (and counting) to address their laws in order to bring them in line with the constitutional act containing the bills of rights (passed in 2005).

Of course I was, and still am, flabbergasted by this situation.

So I got in touch with a journalist with IRIN news. Here is the article: http://www.irinnews.org/Report.aspx?ReportId=89510

Enjoy.

Thanksgiving

Yesterday I went to a thanksgiving celebration. Thanksgiving was for my host mothers uncle, who brought my host mother and her 5 siblings up. The idea was to have a celebration of life a chance for the whole family to get together. We drove for an hour and a half to Piggs Peak at the top of Swaziland, to get to my host family's homestead. Every Swazi family living in the cities have their family homestead in the rural areas, usually it is a peice of land given to them by the king a generation or so ago, that the whole family will them build their individual houses on. The result is a jumble of cement houses built on the land, animals walking free, chickens, cows and goats. There was a group of chicks walking in and around the outside cooking pit.

The event itself was in Swati. A lot of speeches, an MC and some dodgy music to welcome each speaker on the stage. The Zion church was in attendance as well, I am told in the rural areas that the Zion church is most prevalent. In the Zion church all men carry sticks as if they were staffs, and do they like to sing and dance! From where I was sitting, it seemed like any lull in proceedings meant a chance for the entire church to start dancing, a constant side two step move.

Any event in ones homestead is an open invitation for the entire neighbourhood to come along to share in food. There is no such thing as an invitation in Swazi culture. I noticed during the proceedings there was a host of people waiting outside the tent, and a lot of children occupying the seats in the centre of the tent. As soon as the presents were given to the Mtethwa family Uncle & Aunty, food started getting served and an instant line formed. Everyone ate their fill and got containers of food to go home with. A entire cow was slaughtered for the event, the entire animal went into those pots. It was delicious.

Khombi Experiences

Getting the Khombi home from work is perhaps the most Swazi experience that I have here. Not getting the Khombi to work, which merely involves waiting beside the road, the aforementioned designated tree station, and waiting for a Khombi to come up the road; a relatively sedate experience compared to the afternoon. The Khombi itself is a 14 seater van, 4 rows deep, the back row seats 4 people squeezed shoulder to shoulder. The hot seat is up besides the driver. It gets to a certain point in the road, a part of highway just going into or leaving town, and the conductor starts collecting 4 E from all the people on the bus. He doesn’t ask for the money, everyone just starts passing money to the front, hand to hand if you’re squeezed in the back row.

In the afternoon, the bus rank is chaotic. Roughly 60 Khombis are parked at all angles throughout a dirt parking lot, which itself is spread over three different sections, on a hill. Along two sides of the bus rank are long markets, selling mostly fresh fruit and veg, some sell a selection of clothes. Throughout the bus rank there are stalls selling lollipops and chips, with MTN workers selling airtime to top up mobiles. And at the far side of the bus rank there is a flea market. The first afternoon going to the bus ranks involved walking around in circles, asking various conductors where the bus for Fairview north was, only to be sent left to right, right to left and back again. Walking around in circles resulted in a few marriage proposals being sent my way, one person asking for money and in my mind at least, a lot of people looking.

A co-worker got me on the right bus that afternoon. Since then I have had the help of a gentleman who stands next to the small food stand and MTN guy closest to the Fairview north buses. The first time I was there alone, and there was a rather abrupt, ‘where?’ coming from behind me. I don’t hear at first, as intent as I am on not having to decline any marriage proposals for that day. ‘Where?’ he repeats. Fairview north. ‘Here, stand here.’ The man points to a very specific part of the ground. He wears a red fleece and a red beanie (toque).

It has been the same every afternoon that I have seen him. If there are two Khombis waiting, he points me towards the right one. If there are people milling around, he tells me exactly where to stand to start a line for the next Khombi that comes. Always he sounds a little angry with me, like I am disappointing him by letting people creep in front of me. Last week there was no one there, I guess that a Khombi had just left. So I waited, not sure exactly where would be the best place to stand, so as to secure the coveted front row seat. Slowly 6 people came, all ended up in front of me until the man pointed me towards the space in the loose line. With his help, I held my ground so people ended up behind me instead of in front. I thanked him as I passed him to get on the Khombi, he says ‘don’t worry about me, just get on the bus!’

Just Governance Group

So part of being a 'Crossroader' is raising money to support Crossroad initiatives. I've almost got all the money that I needed to get, see the link at the side if you want to check it out.

Part of the way I will be raising money is to write monthly for a organisation in Canada, The Just Governance Group. I have been working with them part-time for a year and a half now, carrying out research into governance, political, social and cultural rights in different contexts.

Check out their website with the link to my writings. http://www.justgovernancegroup.org/en/home_eng.htm Thanks

Day of the African Child

On Tuesday I went along to a UNICEF launch event for the Day of the African Child, at a school in Ekukhanyeni, an area with 10 chiefdoms about an hour outside of Manzini. The theme of the event is to stop child trafficking, a problem which civil society fears will be heightened with the influx of visitors during the world cup just across the border. The event brought together all the schools in the township, around 1500 pupils in total, to enjoy performances, speeches, receive bright blue UNICEF T-shirts, and to get information about children’s issues (Save the Children, and SWAGAA were also present to hand out information). Under the blue tent at the edge of the field, the front row seats for most of the performances, sat the dignitaries, one of the kings thirteen wives was present on behalf of the king.

I had a wander around the events and then went into the high school, a scattering of cement buildings that would be classified as somewhat in-complete at home, walked past the huge cow drinking from a small trough (maybe school property, perhaps just an animal that is in the guardianship of a family in the rural area for those living in the city) and found a group of men cooking over a barbecue for all the kids. Perhaps the highlight of any event for those in the rural areas is the accompanying meal. There is the problem of kids receiving their meal, walking to rejoin the line whilst eating their first meal, or perhaps putting the contents in a larger container hidden behind a building and returning for more. It is tough to control this kind of situation when we all know that the kids are not taking numerous meals out of greediness, this knowledge induces complacency in the organisers. But still, every one of those children needed to get a meal.

After deciding on a solution, penning every child on the hand (I don't know if they managed to track down a marker for that), we were taken into the foyer next to a huge kitchen. And unceremoniously had a heaped place of food placed on our laps. The difference in situation was startling and for sure the food tasted great, but was difficult to swallow. Another note to self should I find myself in a similar situation in the future.

neighbourhood

How to describe the area that I live in. Fairview North, Manzini. Bus stop- Esinlahleni. Which literally translates as 'the tree.' I've been given strict instructions to make sure I get on the correct khombi (bus) before I ask to get dropped off at esinlahleni, otherwise I will find myself at a tree just not the right tree. Its difficult to describe where I live when I seem to spend my time looking at the similarities between here and there, rather than the differences. Same people, some say hi, some Sawubona (hi in Swati), some holler goodness knows what out of the khombi as it goes past. The roads are dirt alcoves and driveways, connected by run-down asphalt main roads. Houses are a little worn, and often hidden behind concrete walls. At the moment all of the kids have the vuvuzelas (the long trumpet-like plastic instruments) for the world-cup- I woke up to the kids in a house across the road having an orchestra session with them at 8 in the morning. They were practicing last night, they are getting rather good.

Maybe I could describe the locale as a little tired, but not the people.

Anyway, this is my road. I walk down it to get the Khombi in the morning for work. Those are the kids who will have mastered the art of playing the world-cup vuvuzelas by mid July.

'Average' Swazi Problems

Today was spent driving around the Swaziland country side attending to errands- picking up files from Save The Children, checking up on a counselling site run by SWAGAA, attempting to get a work permit and dropping note books off at one our highschool which holds a 'girls empowerment club.'

Notice that we only attempted to get the work permit, highly unsuccessful. But very important considering I told the lovely border officer who was sitting behind a plywood desk when I landed in Manzini that I was only here for a holiday for a few weeks. The government building which holds all to do with immigration, visas and work permits, is like an old victorian hospital, like something out of 'A Series of Unfortunate Events.' Imagine a badly lit, zero security, measles outbreak era hospital with various food stuffs being sold in the lobby. After we found the correct floor we walked up and down the hallway, knocking on numerous doors, stepping over and around the queues of people in the hallway. When we found the correct room, literally a 2 metre by 3 metre room, we were told in 3 words that we didn't have the correct documents. Right, better luck next time.

But no complaints really, the next stop of the day puts the queues in perspective. We went by one of the girls empowerment clubs in a girls highschool about 40 minutes drive out of Mbabane on rough dirt roads. A girls empowerment club is a forum for girls in primary school and highschool to learn about issues that effect them, and to speak up on the same. Maybe there will be a workshop on AIDS issues one week (age permitting of course) and the next about violence in the home.

We get to the school and one of the highschool teacher says, 'we lost one of the girls.' Since we were talking about membership and activities in the club, I didn't understand immediately what the highschool teacher meant. One of the girls in the club had died of AIDS. She was 16 and had been suffering from birth. I can see why the government buildings are falling apart, when in the every day reality for a Swazi person there are much bigger fish to fry.

Swaziland Commission on Human Rights

Yesterday I was asked if I wanted to go to a meeting today for work. OK.

Turns out that the meeting is a two day consultation conference about the establishment of a Human Rights Committee for Swaziland. Officially, the 'National Consultative Conference on the Swaziland Commission on Human Rights and Public Administration.' It is being held at the Royal Swazi Spa in Ezulwini, about 20 minutes out of Manzini.

The commissioners for the HRC have already been appointed, on the basis of Constitutional provisions (a very new constitution, 2005), now they are in the process of passing a bill to finalize the commission itself. The bill has been in the works since 2007- it takes a while for things to get done here.

It was very interesting getting a feel for the politics of human rights in Swaziland. At day 1 of the consultation there were politicians, chiefs, NGO representatives and HRC representatives from other Commonwealth countries, including Justice Emile Short a former judge of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda and now the Head Commissioner for the Ghana HRC. A lot of the attendants were very annoyed that they only saw the Bill for the first time today, so I imagine the debates will be very lively tomorrow after attendants have pored over documents tonight.

Life Lessons

Swazi Lesson 1:
When possible, Swazis do not buy food, they pick it.

Shopping in the local supermaket I pick up an avocado. As you do. Just a regular, hand sized avocado. My host brother laughs at me- these Swazis love to laugh, as my new co-worker says 'try to figure out if they are laughing with you or at you.' As my host brother explains to me, Swazi folk don't pay for avocados, they pick them!

Sure enough, I get home and our next door neighbour drops by with an avocado the size of 4 avocados from the tree in her garden.

Lesson learnt. Now if only i was here for mango season!