New Rainy Beginnings

This is me sitting outside the library (I poked the assistant into letting me keep the gate key and return it to him when I am done) with my jacket over my head and computer, because today, ladies and gentleman, it rained.

It has been a rough couple of weeks here, I have been having a lot of self confidence issues, some questions about the future, and a few medical problems. I keep wondering if people around me think I am weird in a not so good way. I feel like I am back in high school again.

But today is a new day, and today is my day, and today it rained.

I can not describe what it is like the first day it rains here, at least not in words that someone who has not lived without rain for nearly 9 months could ever understand. The rain settles down the dust, and cools the air. It brings life to the soil and the people, it is like a new year, a new feeling, a new season. The rain here comes at a time when the cattle are thinning out, and people have become tense (the rain this year came a month later than it did last year, and last year it was also considered "late.") It brings with it a sense of relief that is felt throughout the community, it brings hope for the new season of crops, and the possibility of life to an often barren land.

It brings green

Over the next few weeks the green in my now very orange and dusty village, will explode as if it has been waiting for the invitation to pounce. It will race down our dusty main road, creep up the rocks in the hills, and envelop every yard and tree it touches. It will expand and breath and live and flourish, it will make the African heat that follows the rains, just bearable; as if God is saying "I know its hot, but look how beautiful it is."

So I am going to take this rain and make it my own. I'm going to allow it to wash off the emotionally crap filled last few weeks, and make room for something new, something green, something fresh. I'm going to breath in the air anew, and let is fill my lungs with possibility. This is the beginning, this is the end, this is today and today it rained.

~Claire

Road Not Taken

"Art is the conversation between lovers.

Art offers an opening for the heart.

True art makes the divine silence in the soul

Break into applause."

~Hafiz

This month’s self improvement theme has been music, which means that I have actually looked up lessons on how to play the harmonica on youtube, sang out loud (instead of just in my head) every night, and will be getting my hands on a ukulele tuner within the next few days. All of this music making has got me thinking about my “lost love” or more so, the path not taken.

For those of you who are not in the group of family and friends that are close to me, it may surprise you that I was once pretty “into” music. Not only was I “into” music, but I was into musical theater, and choir and an a cappella group and that I have a long standing, on again, off again relationship with guitar. In high school I was a part of 6 major musicals (including an opera), 3 variety shows, a competition short, and once performed at Disney World as a part of a singing group, The Loreleis. All of this accumulated in me auditioning for about a dozen musical theater programs at the start of my senior year in high school. I was wait listed at one, and rejected from the rest.

At this point in my little story I would like to point out that the largest program I auditioned for took 30 people a year; 15 boys and 15 girls, and that is pretty much the standard when it comes to programs like that; thousands of people competing for between 5-15 spots. Getting into musical theater college is hella hard, and the vast majority of people end up more like me and less like Rachael on “Glee.”

So I quickly came up with a contingent plan and applied last second to Michigan State and DePaul and happened to get my Michigan State acceptance first, so I took it. This ended up being one of the best happenings in my life because I found James Madison Residential College, and learned that my passion for culture, people and politics was equally as intoxicating. I briefly attempted to get into the MSU Jazz program as a double major but got a “delayed rejection” (whatever the hell that means.) I sang in a few competitions and made a little bit of money, but mostly relegated my musical career to karaoke nights, the shower and, once I moved into an apartment, the kitchen.

My love affair with singing and music has never completely let up, and had I not gotten into Peace Corps when I did, my back up plan was to go audition for American Idol in South Carolina. I think about it a lot, this road not taken. I think about what would have happened had I tried a little harder, focused a little more, studied for my auditions a few hours a day instead of a few hours a week, or just continued to try and fight even after getting rejected. Singing still fills my soul in ways that I have yet to see matched in much, though talking about political ethics and cultural comparisons comes damn close, and there are times when not to sing at any given moment can be painful in ways that only an artist could understand.

But then I think about where I am now, and what I am doing. Had I gotten into a musical theater program I would not be talking to all of you through this blog. I wouldn't be Botswana because I never would have joined the Peace Corps. I wouldn't be self studying on gender, queer theory, social dynamics, and expression because I would be boning up for auditions in whatever major city I had moved to after graduation. I don’t think I would have had the type of work ethic that is needed to really make it in that business. I know people, and have friends that are doing it, and I look at them at times a wonder where all the energy comes from.

This month has been wonderful so far, because I have forced myself into a regular musical practice again, and I think I will continue to do so for the rest of my service. When I get back to Michigan I’m going to look into doing some community theater, and the karaoke will for continue. Who knows? Maybe the path not taken will loop around to me again in ways I’m not expecting?

As a way to try and get people to comment more, I'm going to offer this up: if four or more people comment on this post, I will sing into my web cam and post it up here for everyone. You may like my singing, you may not like my singing, but either way you will get it if you comment! Will also keep me accountable to my goal this month :)

Just some thoughts for the day.

Hugs and smooches,

Claire   

Because Sometimes It Just Falls Into Your Lap...

After that last post, I wanted to try and lighten the mood and bring up a really wonderful project that has started to take root in my village. Around December of last year I got an email from a fellow Volunteer named Bridgette, who wanted to know if anyone was interested in organizing reusable sanitation pads for the women and girls in their village through the Days for Girls Organization. I said I was on board and would help however I could. The process was long, and slow and I don't know how Bridgette did it (but I'm so glad that she did!) Hats off for her determination and muchos gracias for the fact that she kept me in the loop even when I wasn't the most responsive of people to work with on the occasion.

Life has a way of working out, and on my way back down from Independence Day in Maun, I was able to transport about 50 kits back to Rams! Days for Girls is an amazing organization that realized that feminine hygiene in third world areas can be really hard to deal with. A lot of girls stop going to school while on their periods because they don't want to stain or mess their clothing in front of their peers. In my village, though sanitary napkins are available in most stores, they are incredibly expensive, so a lot of women just end up shoving nylons or toilet paper into the underwear and hope for the best. This is no way to live and I'm pumped about possibly improving the situation (while also having an opportunity to add a health talk or two in there.)

Here is what is included in each kit:
- Two "shields", which I like to call "holders." In this picture they are the purple rectangles to in the center that snap into the panties and hold the liners in place.
- Eight liners. This is the awesome fabric that acts like the pad and can be washed and replaced!
- Set of visual directions. One of my biggest pet peeves here is when organizations come in and try and do everything in English. These directions are completely visual and don't include any text!
- Pair of Panties
- Wash cloth
- Two gallon size zip lock bags. These are perfect for if you need to replace a pad in the middle of the day and don't have an easy place to put it
- Bar of hotel sized soap
- All of this comes in a super cute drawstring bag so you don't have to worry about anybody getting embarrassed!

I have 27 kits for girls and another 24 for women and today we had our first meeting with the Junior Secondary School to target girls who are going to be most in need of them. We also talked about how we could give the sewing pattern to the Home Ec class and they could start making them on their own. In addition to this we are going to talk to the local seamstress and any other interested women in attempting to make this a "reusable" income project. Ha ha ha :) The clinic is going to target the majority of the women who need pads, the JSS about 20 girls and then we are going to have the Village Development Committee try and find another 7 girls who may have dropped out of school, who are in need.

The great thing about all of this is that all of these organization are going to make lists of girls and women in need so that when I go home in December for Christmas I can try and bring some kits back. These lists will also be great for when the village starts producing their own, so we can target who needs them more quickly. I'm really excited for this project, and it all started because I responded to an email about a year ago. I think this could be a really wonderful opportunity to talk to the girls about empowering themselves, and have larger health talks with the community about topics such as HIV/AIDS, adherence to medication, teenage pregnancy and contraception.

This also came at a time when I really needed it. I needed a "win" this week pretty badly considering what has been going on, and it has totally come about through the grace of God and the universe. A few other things went down today that I would like to add: I had a great meeting with a guy from the village over about how he wants to try and mobilize youth to vote (I should make it VERY clear that this project isn't about campaigning, just about getting people to vote at all. The Peace Corps does not allow Volunteers to get involved in politics, and I agree with this policy wholeheartedly.) The main librarian also just came back from some emergency leave and asked to meet with me tomorrow about getting the ball rolling on the STEPS films nights!

Lastly, I went and had a game night with a few people at my friend Shannon's place this weekend. I got a ton of new kitchen/ food stuff from her (she is in the Bots 11s and will be COSing next week) and as kind of an afterthought I picked up a book of poetry by Hafiz that had been translated into English. It has been bringing about some wonderful reading and inspiration, and I love how the whole things is written like a love letter to God and the universe and humanity. With that in mind I would like to post one here for you, all of you, and especially the ones that might really need it today. As always, thanks for stopping by.

Hugs and Smooches,
Claire

The Great Work

By: The Great Sufi Master Hafiz 

Translated by Daniel Ladinsky

Love

Is the great work

Though every heart is first an 

Apprentice

That slaves beneath the city of Light.

This wonderous trade,

This magnificent throne your soul

Is destined for--

You should not have to think

Much about it,

Is is not clear

An Apprentice needs a teacher

Who himself

Has charmed the universe

To reveal its wonders inside his cup.

Happiness is the great work, 

Though every heart must first become

A student

To one

Who really knows

About Love.

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful committed citizens can change the world: indeed its the only thing that ever has." ~Margaret Mead

I Am Not Dirty

TRIGGER WARNING: This post deals with the topic of sexual harassment/ assault

I wrote this up a few days ago and have debated whether or not to post it, but I have come to the conclusion that I did not start this blog as a tool of recruitment for Peace Corps, but because I wanted to give you my insights into service, and my experience, and this is part of what that all is. I'm fine now, I'm still 100% confident in my decision to join Peace Corps, and for the most part feel completely safe here. 

I want to preface this post with how much I love being a woman. I want to make it clear that I adore being female, and what that means and how it contributes to how I see and interact with the world. I understand that I have also benefited greatly from cis-gendered privilege (i.e. I was born with female sex organs and also identify as female) and am thankful for that. This is not about how I feel about my gender but about how the world deals with it.

With that said, there are times when I just wish I could be a guy. What I should be saying in this sentence is that there are times when I wish I didn't have to deal with the crap that goes along with being female, but I know this isn't going to happen within my life time, and it seems like the only way to escape it is to be male. I was so excited about getting dressed up for Botswana Independence Day and the party that my friend Daniella was hosting. I did my makeup, I had cute sandals on, Danny showed me how to use hair products and I wore a “new” dress (inherited from another volunteer.) I looked adorable, and I felt fierce and I just wanted to be able to dance my booty off; and for the first three hours, I was able to do that.

Then the party died down a bit and there were just three of us girls along with about 6 guys. 5 of these men were awesome; talking, dancing, laughing, and having a good time, but among men there always seems to be a boy. This guy would not stop grabbing me, despite me pushing him away and telling him to back off, multiple times.

Those of you who come here a bit more often have probably read my "A Letter to Men" post, and I want you to know that this post is not going to be like that. I don’t want to talk about how horrible this guy was, I want to talk about how pissed I was at my own reaction, and the mental process I went through both during and after this point in the party. I did not swear this guy out in the middle of a group of people, I didn't punch him in the face, I didn't scream and order him out, and I should have. When the harassment started I figured pushing him off and telling him to stop would be enough, but it became clear pretty quickly that this wasn't going to work. Everyone was having a good time and drinking, and I didn't want to be the party pooper.

At this moment I would like to say something along the lines of “I hope this story doesn't prevent those of you reading this from joining Peace Corps” but to be honest, I think most women who are willing or have already done some world travel, know that they are signing up for this.

My next tactic was letting people know I was getting sleepy and that I was going to go lock myself in the bedroom. At this point a friend of mine pointed out that she would be the only girl up then. She was saying this because she didn't want to party alone, and because she wanted to hang out with me more, and because I hadn't made it clear to her that I was trying to get away from someone. How it read to me though, was that if I left, she would be the new target, and so I stayed out in the main room. This is how women think, and for the men reading this, don’t you dare think that I’m the exception. We socialize in packs, because there are safety in numbers. I couldn't leave her behind.

So I took it, I kept pushing him away and telling him to stop and not escalating it any further than that even though I knew in the back of my mind that I should. This is not how all women would have reacted, I know plenty who would have brought it to the level that it needed to go to truly get this guy to stop. Public humiliation works great in this country, and yet I didn't take it there. I didn't want to screw up the good mood of the party, I didn't want to embarrass a guest in a home in which I was also a guest, and I didn't want to be that whinny woman that couldn't just take it. I consider myself a pretty powerful, confident person and yet this was what going through my mind, this is why I didn't tell the little shit to go screw himself. 

Things got worse...

Two days later while hitching back to my village I got a ride with a man I had seen a few times driving through Ramokgonami. He is in his mid-50s and runs the hardware shop in the village over. I was tired, I was still feeling dirty and violated from the two nights before, and I just wanted to get home to be able to be in my own safe space. We spent the entire ride with him putting his hand on my leg and me removing it. He would also take my hand, kiss it, and rub it on his face. I felt completely trapped since we were in the middle of the bush at this point. He kept saying how beautiful he thought I was, and how he had so much love in his heart for me, but not "dirty" love. 

I spent the next twenty four hours trying to feel "clean" again which involved working out at 5am in the morning and curling into a ball on the floor and crying.My phone was broken so my normal support network was also cut off to me. Again, I felt like I had failed myself, that I was the one to blame for not being louder, more persistent, for not giving both these men hell for what they were doing. During all of this my wiser, more logical self kept trying to push gentle reminders that none of this was my fault, but for a while my more hysterical side tended to be louder. I worked at a sexual assault center for a year, I knew better than to victim blame, especially when the person blaming and getting blamed are both you. Maybe part of this comes from some internal issues but another part of it comes from social conditioning.

This is where we get into a conversation about why I felt like my personal comfort is an acceptable price to maintain a nice atmosphere for those around me, but the thing is, is I don’t know why. I grew up around strong women, I was told that my body is mine and no one else’s and that others should treat it with respect, I was given every opportunity to empower myself, and yet when this particular time came, the prospect of confrontation kept me silent. It is like an extreme version of those moments when you are arguing with someone and then realize what you really wanted to say only after you have walked away from it.

Here is the real mind blowing bit though, at the end of the night, after screaming and running my hands through my hair about a million times, and cleaning things up just so I didn't have to think about what had just happened. I was more angry with myself than I was with this pink shorts wearing bastard, and placed more of the fault on my own shoulders than I did on either of theirs. I was not raised to take this! I was not educated and empowered to be this woman! I WAS GIVEN A VOICE! And yet here I was, not only unable to use it, but blaming myself in the process. This was not my fault, this guy should have stopped doing what he was doing the first time I shoved him off me and told him to stop (hell, he should not have been doing it in the first place), I shouldn't have had to have a plan b. Here is where we come back to the beginning.

At some point, in my objectification, in my humiliation, in my self-blame comes the sad truth that no matter how empowered I am, it is a man’s job to take it to the last step. To stop objectifying, humiliating and creating situations in which he is the creator of my blame. This won’t happen in my life time. I’m all about being a step in the journey to reach this goal, but I won’t reap the ultimate benefit of equality. We aren't even close yet, we haven’t even begun to see the light in the end of the tunnel even though we have been in the dark for so incredibly long, and have come so incredibly far from where we started. Since I will not be around for the end of the tunnel, I want to be outside it. I want to be able to be a guy, the type of guy that should be, the type of guy I know exists in abundance out there.

I want to be able to walk around the streets at night, I want to be able to buy booze without being looked at like a floozy, I want to wear whatever I want without worrying about someone invading my space, I want to travel to ANY COUNTRY I want, I want to be more likely to be given a raise, and piss wherever I want without worrying that someone is going to follow me into the bush and watch (yeah, that happened.) I don’t want to have to travel in a pack because I want to know that I don’t have an especially large target on my back. I don’t want to have to constantly be explaining to the opposite sex how “yes, if you tell enough ‘women’ jokes, it does make you a chauvinist asshole; there is a line, and if you are asking, you have probably crossed it.” I don’t want to have to worry getting kicked out of a hitch because the creepy old driver keeps putting his hand on my leg. I want to be too tired to speak up, and not have to worry about it because no one is trying to get at me. I want to have a voice and not have to use it so damn freaking much.

Most importantly though, when these things happen, which they will, I want the woman who is going through it not to blame herself as I was. I want her to feel supported and loved and safe enough in her own skin to

be able to say "this was horrible and crappy, but it was not my fault and I am not to blame." I was not to blame for what happened this weekend, and those of you out there that share this experience, you are not to blame either. We don't have to come up with excuses to clear our name, we don't have to convince people that we couldn't have done anything more to avoid the situation, it is not our fault, we do not carry the burden of proof when it comes to our own innocence. 

"Until we are all free, none of us are free." ~Emma Lazarus