Some Peculiarities of Swazi-Ville

There is a custom in Swaziland that requires you greet every person in a room when you enter, and those greetings must be appropriately acknowledged in response. Considering there are over fifty members of staff here and a good portion of those hang around in the staff room in the mornings before lessons begin, it can be something of a tedious and lengthy undertaking to enquire after the health of multiple people you have seen probably a mere twelve hours before. The only exchange I have with the majority of colleagues consists of, 'Good morning! And how are you?' 'Good morning! I'm fine, thank you. And you?' 'Oh, good, good. Cold at the moment, isn't it?' I then usually signal an end to such banalities by slotting in my headphones and staring firmly at my computer screen.

Now, there are two possible reactions to this. Or probably more, but I'm going to consider two. Some of you will immediately respond that it is nice and polite to greet everyone, and since I'm living in Swaziland I should logically adopt their customs. But those of you who are anti-social sods such as myself, and indeed advocates of people being remotely genuine in their behaviour, will appreciate the issue I have with this whole pointless scenario.

I'm also tired of standing in shopping queues and having someone pressed against me. Without putting too fine a point on it, I'm not entirely sure that deodorant has reached all corners of the globe and certainly not this one; I'm not overly keen on spending the rest of the day with the smell of somebody else's stale sweat embedded into my clothes.

And I'm not that wild about the fact any time I am required to have a conversation with someone whose job description falls under the broad umbrella of Customer Service Assistant, I am forced to wait while they finish personal calls, file their fingernails, wander off to do – well, God knows what. But they always wander off in the middle of conversations and, after a few minutes of absence, you are forced to ask one of their co-workers, 'Er, do you think they'll be coming back??'

A few months ago I was required to rent a car for a period of five days. I phoned around all the local car rental companies and came to the depressing realisation that the cost of renting a car in Swaziland for five days is the equivalent of buying and insuring an old banger in the UK. I went with my friend into the chosen company's offices, and spent maybe forty minutes filling in documents and looking over the car. Five days later we returned as arranged, to the exact same people in the office looking at us completely blankly. 'Erm... we're here to return the car' we eventually explained; the three Customer Service Assistants exchanged startled looks which clearly meant, 'Heck, we rented a car out? Really? Do you remember this?!' Paperwork finally confirmed that we had indeed hired a vehicle from them and, before the price went up even further for a Late Return, we'd very much appreciate if they would take the wretched thing back.

The odd encounter like this might be classified as entertaining, but such events on a daily basis can eventually take their toll on a person. Through my teaching and such mindless interactions, I'm learning to have the patience of a saint: you now won't see me angrily tapping my watch when a train is two minutes behind schedule, as would the majority of Brits lined up on a platform. Stay over here for a while and you'll soon learn to appreciate the arrival of any train at all, late or otherwise. And be glad of the fact that, as a female travelling alone, it is possible to board that train after dark and not be embarking on a suicide mission.

I have never been so aware of my safety as I am forced to be over here. It is unsettling; constantly looking over your shoulder is surely no way to live a life. And I have never been so aware of the fact I'm white – and the implications that seem naturally to come with that fact. I live in a country that is unquestionably one of the most beautiful I've seen, but which is also a complete social disaster with no apparent hope of the issues being resolved. When I stop seeing the beauty, I guess that will be time to leave.