Girly

Beginning of service when I showered everyday

I'm warning you, this post is gross

Because I'm nasty.

People I am straight up disgusting.

I haven't showered in a few days because of a burst pipe on my compound, so when the water is coming out of the faucet it isn't doing so very quickly, and I am usually too busy trying to fill everything up for the few minutes it is on.

I got heat rash, like stupid, insanely itchy, horrible to look at, kind of heat rash. On the backs of my hands, on the backs of my calves, and on my ankles and feet. It looks like I tried to make knee high "Pretty Woman" boots out of poison sumac and then walked around in them for a day or two.

My feet are sweating like a Turkey on Thanksgiving. This combined with the fact that I am in the land of sand, tends to create a weird sludge like substance in my keens at the end of the day due to sand and sweat mixing inside of them...which is just flippin lovely.

All of my clothing is faded.

My hair is greasy.

I haven't been paid in 6 weeks.

And I'm running out of cheese.

BUT

Its summer, and it was overcast today! The wind in the air reeks of possibility! I'm not only dripping with sweat, but with new energy to put towards finishing up the last of my projects! I'm positively stinking with the want to try and clock myself back in after a lot of time away from my village.

I was finally able to take a shower yesterday and even though I don't have money for hair products until we get paid, I have vinegar, baking soda and a little bit of left over conditioner, so I'm feeling a lot better. The amount of emotional happiness I get from washing my hair these days is impressive, which got me to thinking about a conversation I had with my friend Kate. We were talking about how Peace Corps has changed us, and I mentioned that I tended to be a little bit more feminine back in the states, whereas she had found the exact opposite to be true.

Now, I would never be what anyone would have called "girly" in the states, at most I would have been a "pracical femme" and maybe I am over romanticizing my ability to dress up, but I always had THE CHOICE to put on a skirt or a dress and makeup. I loved wearing boots, and though shopping makes me want to tear my hair out (with double wide, size 11 feet, who can blame me?) I didn't mind having a little specific retail therapy now and again.

literally this skirt

Now a days as I pull on my worn out much loved hiking boots, and slip into that faded ankle length "peace corps" skirt for the millionth time, as I wrap my stringy locks in a head band, hair tie, head scarf or bandanna, I find myself craving a level of flippant femininity that I never really reached for in the states. I want the cage heels, I want to know how to curl my hair in that blown out beach bum kinda way, to put on lipstick without looking like a 5 year old girl just broke into her mother's makeup case for the first time.

Malloey!

So suddenly, even though I am wearing a lot of skirts and dresses here, I feel like I'm not being feminine enough. I feel like if I am going to do it, I want to do it right. I want to be clean, I want to look good, and I want to go out so that other people can see my clean looking, goodness! My baby (20yr old) sister is really good at this, even when she is granola-ing it up with her outdoor peeps she has her own sense of style, so is my cousin Emily and my Mother, my Aunts and my Grandmother. All-in-all we are a pretty good looking bunch of women, and I have always felt like the knowledge of all the feminine wiles stuff wasn't something that was needed for me. My mother gave me a Sefora gift certificate when I turned 20 and said something along the lines of "its time", and I'm pretty sure, here at 24, that I still have most of the make up I used that card on.

My friend Daniella is also amazing at this and every time I travel up to her flat in Maun I find myself, for the first time in my life, flipping through her Marie Claire magazines, and perusing her closet and makeup stand, and wishing I had these things and that I looked this way. I have never seen Daniella look less than flawless but I think that is something that has come with years of practice so I am not reaching for that right at this moment.

This is what she looked like
AFTER cooking for everyone in our group

Its not so much that I want to steal how these women dress, nor do I think I am going to go back to the states and suddenly become this made-up, tight skirt wearing, woman overnight. I tend to be a little dirtier than that, I tend to be a bit more practical. What I want is to feel good about how I look and what I am wearing; be it stilettos and an LBD, or jeans and some flannel (*cough*Zoe*cough*.) I think that is something that I have missed while being here in Bots, I don't feel like I look good, even if I am having a more put together day.

So here it is, I have decided when I get home that some of my readjustment money will be going towards certain items I believe to be lacking in my life, because I want to be more femme.

- Makeup, but firstly a lesson on how to use it and what makes me look good. I'm never going to be an overly made up individual but knowing how to apply it and what to apply when I am in the mood seems like a good plan.

- Hair stuff, not that I need much because I am a redhead and we are just naturally fabulous. ;)

- How to do my hair. I can straighten it but it would be nice to have a few "styles" in my back pocket. Its like cooking, everyone should know a few special things to whip out for that special someone.

- Heels. I actually got a pair of these at home that are waiting for me, but I want more.

- A sense of style that I like instead of just tolerate. I was going to put "clothing" on here, but ultimately it is more than that. I don't need more clothes I need more style and the right kind of clothes.

Like I said before, I think the first step in all this is getting clean...good thing it rained this morning ;)

Covered in dust after a salt pans trip

Hugs and smooches,
Claire

P.s. I thought this was a pretty awesome post: Don't Date A Girl Who Travels

Round Trip From Hell

Happy New Year everyone!

I finally made it back to Botswana, and would like to apologize profusely for not being more in touch when I was in the states. My trip was wonderful, I got to spend lots of time with my family, my friends, my sweatheart, and the new puppy! His name is Zeus and he is adorable. I watched hockey (boo Toronto Maple Leafs!) and football, and went ballistic when my Spartans clenched the Rose Bowl title for the first time since 1988. I went to my favorite bars and had my favorite beers, went to my favorite restaurants and had my favorite foods, went on walks around my neighborhood, and went out at night (which is not something I ever do in my village.)


On top of all this wonderfulness I also got an extra 5 day at home because the state was taken over by a polar vortex that canceled my flights four times, and froze my luggage into the plane resulting in an additional night with my Aunt Martha in Chicago. I was really thankful for this extra time seeing as it was 5 days of unscheduled, do-whatever-I-want kind of time, instead of the hectic planned out portion of the trip that the holidays had been. Which brings me to the next chapter of the story; never in my life, have I had a more hellish round trip flight experience.

I started off in Gabs by boarding a combi that would take me down to Joburg. Usually I am pretty good about picking seats, but this time around I had one in the back bench, by the window, which ultimately made for a stupidly sun burnt arm by the end of the ride. This was fishsticks compared to what was to come next.

Generally I really enjoy flying and in Peace Corps it is an extra treat because you know all the in flight movies are going to be completely new to you. I was on the 747, we had gone through the safety talk and I was about 4 minutes into watching the movie Turbo, and settling in for the take off. Suddenly the entire plane is shaking and breaking incredibly hard. It stops for a moment only to start up again, to the point where my headphones fell off my head. The first thing I hear is from a woman to my right is "The wing fell off!"

In my brain this does not seem logical, since last I checked wings don't just "fall off" of planes. I'm in the side seat of the middle section so I try and get a glimpse out of the window to see what is going on and all I can see is rising dust and a ton of bricks.

This was me:
British Airways Plane Wing Crashes Into Building

I was in a plane crash! So everyone is rushing to the side where we have crashed and taking pictures of the wing, the stewards are rushing up and down the aisles looking panicked, while wearing neon green reflector vests, the pilot keeps coming on the system and saying things like "ladies and gentlemen we have had a minor incident and we need you to remain in your seats while the crew handle the situation" and "please turn off all electrical devices" which we all knew meant they didn't want us taking pictures.

An older lady in the back of the plane (she told me about this afterwards) started shouting at an attendant that they needed to "let us all off or we are going to burn!" You know...because its important to be helpful in the face of an emergency. I didn't realize until the captain came on and said "we are now reverting all of the fuel in that wing to the center of the plane, there is no need to panic" that fires may have actually been a bit of an issue. The woman in front of me kept asking the people around her if they thought this would delay the flight much...

SERIOUSLY LADY?!? WE JUST CRASHED!!

So there are a ton of police and fire trucks surrounding us at this point, and they attempt to roll a set of stairs up to the front of the plane, unfortunately the stairs got stuck in the mud, and so they have to take them to the back of the plane, which was kind of disappointing for me because I was really gunning for the idea of making an emergency exit on those inflatable slides. What was nice about this is that cattle class was able to exit first, which means I got on the first shuttle back to the terminal, which means I was first in line to get my hotel and food vouchers.

In line for getting those vouchers a young woman my age, with awesome tattoos, comes up and asked about the Peace Corps patch on my backpack, and come to find out she is in Peace Corps too! Steph and I were disaster buddies for the remainder of our time at the hotel and flight to London, which was nice because people all kinda grouped up and I would have been the only kid in the cafeteria without a lunch table otherwise. The next day British Airways set up a table in the lobby, with two phones, two laptops, and two reps and lined us all up to rebook flights out. I was able to get on one that left around 9pm, so I hung around the hotel and then bopped over to the airport around 6pm after eating dinner.

Steph and I get to the gate and see lots of familiar faces (there were 182 of us so we all kinda got to know one another.) They open the gate and begin boarding, I hand in my new ticket and then wait in line to get on the plane. 20mins later they tell us to go back out into the waiting area because there have been maintenance issues. The usual groan from the passengers who were originally booked on the flight goes up, but those of us on the crash flight pretty much just start screaming and pulling our hair out.

We finally get on the flight and by my calculation I will still have an hour and a half to grab my connecting flight in Heathrow, no biggy, its all good. NOPE!

We get to London and I see that my flight to Chicago has been delayed by two hours, this is a huge problem since my layover from Chicago to Detroit was only going to be about an hour. I show my ticket to the lady at the counter and she points me in the direction of the lounge. It is at this point that I realize I have been booked in business class, which is awesome, but I am too worried about getting home in time for Christmas to give it much thought. I get to the lounge desk and practically break down in tears in front of her...maybe "practically" isn't quite right.

"My flight is delayed...*sniff*...and I was on the plane that crashed yesterday...*sniff sniff*...and I just want to get home in time for Christmas and I'm exhausted and can you please just put me on the next flight to America so I can hitch hike home and hug my parents? *sob*"

She was a bit shocked and told me they had been hearing about the crash on the news all day. She calls a dude, who calls another dude, and at some point asks me if its okay that my luggage probably won't make it, to which I respond that I don't give a hell. She puts the phone down and tells me there is a flight to Dallas that is leaving in 20mins, and that I'm still in business (score!) and that I should grab a complimentary muffin, use the computer to inform my family, and get my ass over to the gate.

I do just that, and can almost see the plane, when I get pulled aside for a search through my entire 65 liter backpack. Why, you ask? Because I don't have any checked luggage... I tell them the story about the plane (which gets you all kinds of perk, go figure) and they end up having me open stuff up instead of taking stuff out, before sending me down the fairway to the plane.

As a Peace Corps Volunteer, and prior to that point a broke college student, I have never in my life flown business class. I had the sense to change into a cute sweater before boarding and quickly stowed my giant hiking pack, which at this point is covered in dirt and looking a bit worse for wear, in our GIANT OVERHEAD BINS, before plopping down in my own little cubicle chair and acquainting myself with my surroundings. Out of no where and friendly chap with a British accent asks me if I would like any water, juice or champagne, and my eyes bug out a bit before I say that champagne sounds wonderful.

It takes me all of five seconds to rip off my hiking boots and socks and slip on the fluffy slippers provided. I also take note of the duvet that has replaced the standard scratchy blanket, the large flat screen tv that folds out in front of my seat, and the noise canceling Bose headphones that are tucked inside what appears to be a vanity mirror next to my own little table. Awesome British guy brings back my champagne along with a menu which I am told I should look over before he comes around to take orders...because we have choices...like steak or salmon. While feeling like the black sheep of business class I settle in, and peruse the drink menu.

The flight was amazing and wonderful. I ate good food (ice cream sundae anyone?), watched a few good movies (Godfather Part II), ordered a scotch and soda before realizing that I am 24, and WAY too young for that drink, and ordering a whiskey and ginger ale and slept like a baby.

We landed in Dallas and I had a two hour layover before getting on the flight to Detroit. Not a huge fan of the Dallas airport, going to just leave it at that. The flight gets delayed on the tarmac for about and hour and a half and finally we take off. By the time we touch down in Detroit it is 10:00pm, Christmas Eve, and my usually emotional self is just too damn exhausted to do anything but hug the crap out of my Dad, do the same to my Aunt Martha and sorta just fall into the arms of my darling.

This post is all kinds of long so I will finish up by saying that on the way back my flights were canceled 4 times, and I missed a connection because of frozen luggage and staid in Chicago for a night, which ended up being cool because I was able to fly back on the same flights as my friend Kate. Also my baggage went missing again in South Africa, but got sent to Bots two days later.

It was a crazy journey, and I'm finally back to finish up the next 5 months, and getting settled back into Rams. I can't say I would want flights like that to happen again, but as an older, wiser RPCV once told me: "If it's not a good time, it's probably a good story."

Hugs and smooches,
Claire