Participants Blog

Tania (U of T) Speaks from Swaziland

I have never been so challenged in my life. In Canada, my friends and family see me as an unbreakable rock—strong enough to face any experience and not only come out of it alive, but beaming with stories and a wiser, broader worldview. I have never felt like such a failure in my life.

I was walking with Thimbie, my host mother, from her homestead to a school where we would prepare food for an HIV/AIDS support group. As we approached the classroom, we passed a group of men. I sat down and greeted the group with the little siSwati I knew.  Through translation, the men asked what I’m doing here. I said that I’m here to learn about the culture and lifestyle of their people. The men in the group suggested how maybe, if I go back to Canada, I can help them. I explained that I really don’t know what I can do, but that if I could do something, I would. Then I asked them what changes they would like to see implemented in their community. The only thing that each member asked for was clean water. The only available water source for people in this community is a polluted dam which contains undrinkable water. In the two days that I was there, I became so dehydrated and got sick because I was scared to drink my bottled water.  I did not want my private source to become depleted, because then I would have to resort to the unsafe water.

When the men told me that they wanted clean water, I felt utterly powerless. They want a basic necessity that I have such ready access to at home.  And the fact that these people feel the need to ask a complete foreigner just stirs up an enormous anger inside of me. It is an outrageous injustice when a country like Swaziland, ruled by a King who is on Forbes’ Top 20 List of the richest monarchs in the world, has people who do not even have clean water to drink. And what makes this all even harder to stomach is that when I asked Thimbie what she thought about the king, she said “I respect him because he is my king”, and even showed me pictures of him in her room when we got home that night. 

This encounter, which literally lasted about two minutes, was the longest two minutes of my life. The rock that left Canada has completely shattered. I want to appreciate my life and the people in it that much more, but I do not feel like that is enough coming away from an experience like this. I need to make sense of this. I need to do something about this. The tragic thing is this: I know that no matter how hard I try, I will not be able to save these people, and that is a guilt that I will be forced to live with for the rest of my life. It will eat me up inside.