Up in the mountains

The last time I lived here in Swaziland, I stayed about 15 minutes out of the capital city in a place called Ezulweni.  Literally translated this means "The place of heaven" and the tourist board (yes, Swaziland has a tourist board.  Of course!) will occasionally more loosely translate it to "The valley of heaven"instead.  It is an undeniably beautiful place.  My house backed onto a nature reserve.  In the summer -- when the paw-paws and bananas around my house were ripe -- my roommate and I would sometimes wake up to the thump-thump-thump sound of vervet monkeys playing on the roof.  Disconcerting, I promise.  Maria claimed that if they ever broke into the kitchen the trick would just be to point at them rudely ("monkeys and people think the same types of body language are rude") until they backed themselves out again.  I am very grateful that I never had to try this.  Much as I trust Maria's skills as a monkey-whisperer.

This time I am staying about 15 minutes out of town in another direction, in an area called Pine Valley.  As far as I can tell, "Pine Valley" loosely translates as "British people lived here when Swaziland was a protectorate, and now lots of English-speaking ex-pats live here instead." It is also very beautiful here.  My cottage has a little deck that looks over a pool and succulent garden, interspersed with granite outcroppings.  The yard drops into a valley full of large, pleasant houses with large, pleasant plots of land around them, and little toy cars puttering peacefully across the roads between them, and then back up into the mountains.  The mountains are not covered in pine trees, the way you might expect from the name, but they are dotted with granite boulders and covered in green scrub with the occasional crop of trees that I am not botanically-inclined enough to be able to name.  A few of them probably are pine.

I have recently been driving a Lexus, rented to me by my very kind landlord.  I feel totally absurd driving a Lexus around the city.  Especially driving a Lexus that parks next to the pool in the house with the gorgeous view and the private deck.  It makes me feel ostentatious, but it also makes me laugh.  I feel like the absolute portrait of a colonialist (perhaps a CDC apologist colonialist, no less).  Fortunately, later today I will pick up the Honda that I have bought for my very own, and relinquish the Lexus.

Everybody who lives here full time manages just fine with your standard set of sedans, hatchbacks, and small pick-ups, but how could I manage as a successful ex-pat in Africa without driving an SUV?  It just wouldn't do, would it?  Sure Swaziland's roads are often in better shape than Atlanta's, and sure I mostly drive from my very nice house to my very nice office, but everybody knows that Africa -- AFRICA, that dark, mysterious continent full of crocodiles, lions, and mud tracks through mysterious, foreboding jungle villages, demands something closer to the jeeps in the Disneyland Indiana Jones ride than, you know, a boring old car.  Well, that and the fact that a Honda-CRV was the only decent car available that I could buy with US dollars.

It is a strange mixture, and no lie.  I look forward to chasing monkeys off the roof of my new car as soon as the opportunity arises.