Ok, ladies. If this does not make you laugh, then you have never worn "dress up clothes."
In the foreign service, one has to move to various locations around the world. At one post you may be wearing the least amount of clothing possible and your very next post might be in Siberia. This, of course, makes for a drastic change in wardrobe contents. Take for instance, panty hose; also known as stockings, nylons or in German, "shrumphosen." It would have been useful to know this word before venturing out to the mall to buy some, but that comes later.
My last post was Sierra Leone, West Africa, where the average temperature is about 85 degrees. There was no need for panty hose or any other form of clothing that would cling to your body when the humidity matched the temperature. I had a closet full of sun dresses and flip flops. I managed to wear nice dresses with a suit jacket and heels to the Embassy, but only because of the very American air conditioning system that no one else in Freetown enjoyed. But panty hose? I didn't own a pair. Because I lived in Texas prior to Sierra Leone, my panty hose collection has pretty much been void for the past 20 years.
Now I'm in Germany, where it's a good day if it doesn't rain. The fall temps feel chillingly like winter and then I remember it's nearly November and of course, nearly winter. I look sadly at my flirty summer wardrobe and wonder if I will be able to put together anything decent and warm and professional for my first day at Embassy Berlin. I select a black skirt, long sleeved top and a suit jacket. I add a few pearls and I'm ready to impress. Hmmmmm, what to wear on my legs with the temp around 45? Oh yes, panty hose! I remember I brought a pair along for church in Minnesota and they are somewhere in my suitcase that has yet to be unpacked. With a bit of searching, I find them and pull them on. They look great! Then I notice a BIG hole/run in them that just about coincides with the hem of my skirt. I wonder and wonder if I might be able to pull this off, but then think it's not worth the hassle of worring about my wardrobe on such an important first day at work. I find a pair of black slacks and put them on over the panty hose and they look ok. Of course, I think the pants are too form fitting to be wearing to work but at this point in the morning, I just need to get out the door and I hope my pearls will cover any wardrobe mistakes. That was Chapter 1 of Panty Hose Saga.
I decide to go to the mall after work to buy panty hose for day two at the Embassy, and thus begins Chapter 2 of Panty Hose Saga. I went to the supermarket and saw a display of normal looking panty hose in little cardboard boxes. I picked up one of the boxes and looked at the sizing....what in the world? The sizing was something like 36-38, 42-44 and 46-48. I chose the middle size and took them home. The next morning as I put them on, they went up past my waist and felt about as saggy as you can get. I had to wear them anyway because I had no other choice. The whole day I kept pulling them up....it felt like they went up to my chin.....and hoping no one noticed the wrinkled parts around my ankles. Ugh, I could not wait to get home and throw them away.
The next day I went back to the mall and this time I bought TWO pairs of panty hose so I would have a back up in case something went horribly wrong. This begins Chapter 3 of Panty Hose Saga. The first pair had cute little designs on them so I felt like I was in Paris when I put them on. The size was right but they were a bit itchy. My Dad says one must "suffer to be beautiful" and this day I fit the bill just right. When I got home, there was a huge hole where my toe had poked through (sorry guys, if this is too graphic for you), so I threw them away too. The second pair I bought that night came with a special shopping experience. I decided to go to a proper shop and ask a proper sales lady for help. I tried asking her in German, but I didn't know the word for panty hose. Finally through exagerated gesturing, I got the idea across and she said, "Oh, you want Schrumphosen" and led me to the proper display. I thought Schrumphosen was a funny word so I kept repeating it both because it was fun and because I wanted to remember it. I chose a size and brought it to the counter to purchase. There was a group of business men also at the counter and for some reason they thought it was funny that I was buying Strumphosen. They kept repeating the word and talking to the clerk and everyone was snickering except me because I could not understand a word they were saying! Now guys, tell me you have at least seen your girlfriend or wife buying panty hose and it wasn't cause for joking around. Anyway, I was wishing the clerk would put my Schrumphosen in a plain brown paper wrapper so I could get the heck out of there. Finally I escaped to the privacy of my apartment.
Chapter 4 of Panty Hose Saga finally has a happy ending. I wore the final pair today and they were....perfect! The size was correct, the elastic was actually present so they didn't fall down and they felt great. Best of all, they held up the whole day so I can also wear them tomorrow!
So the next time you Ladies slip into a pair of panty hose, thank your lucky stars that you (a) know your size, (b) know the word for panty hose and (c) don't have a boyfriend or husband who thinks panty hose should be purchased under cover of darkness!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
A Comedy of Errors (OR Banking 101 in the Foreign Service)
This story begs to be told (and in this context begging was almost required), even though there are groceries waiting to be put away (and the fact that there are groceries at all is a miracle in this story), and the added facts that I still have an hour of German homework calling out to be finished and I ran a hard 45 minute run tonight and my dinner is burning on the stove and it's now 9:55 pm and I've had exactly one meal today. All that going on and I still feel the burning necessity of telling this story so others of you might be saved the humiliation of stumbling into the minefield of good credit vs. one tiny (seemingly harmless) mishap.
Where to start? Well, let's start with the financial details--namely mine. I like to keep things simple. I have one debit card and one credit card. For the past several years that has seemed ample enough. I can easily track things and don't have to weed through mountains of monthly credit card statements. In Freetown, business was conducted on a strictly cash basis, so I used my antiquated check book to write a check for cash every few weeks and paid for everything in cash. If I wanted to buy something online, I used my handy-dandy debit card. I hardly ever used my credit card and that significant fact will play a huge part later in this saga. A few more details--I have good credit; my credit card currently has a zero balance and a fairly high credit limit. My checking account is healthy too and by that I mean it usually has a couple of zeros to the left of the decimal point. My financial portfolio was not always this rosy, but I have worked hard over the past few years to get things in shape and I'm proud of that.
Next up is the silly little mishap. I was taking a friend to the airport and we were in a bit of a rush. As I was getting the cash out of the machine with my debit card and simultaneously checking the departure schedule, I haphazardly forgot my debit card in the machine. I have never done that before and I have been banking since before most of you reading this story were probably born. By the time the flight left and I realized my mistake, of course my card was long gone. I dutifully called my bank to report the lost card and they informed me that they would happily mail me a new card in "7-10 business days" along with the PIN code another "five days later." Geez, I thought, what am I going to live on until then? How am I going to get money? I knew I had about $25 dollars cash in my wallet and that certainly would not last for 10 days. Then, eureka, I remembered my long lost credit card. Surely that could help me out in the interim.
I breathed a sigh of relief, merrily dusted off my long-forgotten credit card and tested it out at a few places around town. I didn't make any large purchases--just a movie ticket, some juice at CVS, and drinks with my old manager. When I tried to refill my Metro subway pass very late last night, the machine didn't seem to like my card, but I chalked that up to a fickle subway machine and didn't give it another thought.
Today, I stayed home all day diligently doing my German homework until I talked myself into going for a 45 minute run. I have had too many days off from running lately (and frankly too many donuts and whipped cream lattes) and so running was a huge effort. I was assigned to bring snacks to my German class tomorrow so I decided to combine running with a stop at the grocery store on the way home. I don't have a car in DC, as is the case for most foreign service officers between assignments. My Africa car stayed in Africa and I will most likely buy another car when I get to Germany. In the six month interim, I'm car-less. The grocery store is on the way home from running so it saves me a few steps. I got all the groceries and I was looking forward to going home and eating a late dinner. Then all hell broke loose.
Hell breaking loose looks something like this: You are standing in line at the check out counter in sweaty running clothes after a hard run and you hand your credit card to the clerk and after she runs it through the machine she says, "Your card is declined." In my story, I am completely stunned so I ask her to try the card again, since I know full well that there is plenty of credit on my card to purchase $34.00 worth of groceries. She tries the card again with the same result, "DECLINED," and this time she says it loudly enough for everyone in line to hear it. Of course I am mortified. She asks me if I have another card to try, as if I carry a whole wallet full of cards for this very purpose. I'm in my running clothes and I want to shout that, of course, I don't have any other cards with me....I'm, in fact, traveling light. For a brief moment I consider asking the manager if I can take my groceries home and come back with an old fashioned check but as the manager comes over, I realize that there is no way in this modern credit abusing age that he is going to let me take home $34 worth of groceries on my good name alone--and I'm sure my sweaty running clothes didn't help my image. I ask the manager to please hold my purchases and I will come back with a check. He looks at me completely annoyed and I can see he does not believe me and curses me silently for all the hassle I am causing. I limp out of the store and head home, empty handed.
As soon as I got into the door of my apartment I got on the phone to my credit card company and for once I only had to be on hold for 6 minutes instead of the 22 minutes I had to be on hold last week when I changed my address. The operator started asking me all sorts of security questions about my account and that really surprised me. Why should my credit card company care about my tiny purchases over the last few days? I soon found out. Apparently because I hardly EVER use my credit card, when the credit card company noticed my purchases, they put a hold on my account because they suspected someone had stolen my card. Apparently, if your credit card practices are such that you are frugal and responsible and do not normally USE your credit card, you will not be ABLE to use your credit card until the company verifies that you have simply changed your routine and your card is NOT the victim of theft or fraud. The credit card operator called it, "Monitoring your account, for your protection." I asked her if she realized the humiliation her company had caused me when I was unable to use my credit card. She said, "Oh don't worry, when you go back to the store, your card will work because we re-activated it. The store will understand because it happens all the time." I wanted to yell back, it does not happen to me all the time.
So, to make a really long story a little shorter, I hiked back to the store, stood in line to wait for the manager and he had to ring up my selections all over again. He grumbled the whole time and he even said, "Well, you took so long to come back that I didn't think you were coming at all." I reminded him that I had to walk each way and apologized for my inconvenience. He certainly did not have that understanding attitude that the credit card operator promised. I resubmitted my credit card and this time it worked. I packed up my now even more precious groceries and walked home.
So, be sure you have a back up credit card, or maybe even call your credit card company in advance and notify them when you intend to change your credit card habits; or you might find yourself on your long-awaited exotic vacation in Jamaica with a credit card on HOLD. Welcome to life in the foreign service and learning new life lessons all the time.
Where to start? Well, let's start with the financial details--namely mine. I like to keep things simple. I have one debit card and one credit card. For the past several years that has seemed ample enough. I can easily track things and don't have to weed through mountains of monthly credit card statements. In Freetown, business was conducted on a strictly cash basis, so I used my antiquated check book to write a check for cash every few weeks and paid for everything in cash. If I wanted to buy something online, I used my handy-dandy debit card. I hardly ever used my credit card and that significant fact will play a huge part later in this saga. A few more details--I have good credit; my credit card currently has a zero balance and a fairly high credit limit. My checking account is healthy too and by that I mean it usually has a couple of zeros to the left of the decimal point. My financial portfolio was not always this rosy, but I have worked hard over the past few years to get things in shape and I'm proud of that.
Next up is the silly little mishap. I was taking a friend to the airport and we were in a bit of a rush. As I was getting the cash out of the machine with my debit card and simultaneously checking the departure schedule, I haphazardly forgot my debit card in the machine. I have never done that before and I have been banking since before most of you reading this story were probably born. By the time the flight left and I realized my mistake, of course my card was long gone. I dutifully called my bank to report the lost card and they informed me that they would happily mail me a new card in "7-10 business days" along with the PIN code another "five days later." Geez, I thought, what am I going to live on until then? How am I going to get money? I knew I had about $25 dollars cash in my wallet and that certainly would not last for 10 days. Then, eureka, I remembered my long lost credit card. Surely that could help me out in the interim.
I breathed a sigh of relief, merrily dusted off my long-forgotten credit card and tested it out at a few places around town. I didn't make any large purchases--just a movie ticket, some juice at CVS, and drinks with my old manager. When I tried to refill my Metro subway pass very late last night, the machine didn't seem to like my card, but I chalked that up to a fickle subway machine and didn't give it another thought.
Today, I stayed home all day diligently doing my German homework until I talked myself into going for a 45 minute run. I have had too many days off from running lately (and frankly too many donuts and whipped cream lattes) and so running was a huge effort. I was assigned to bring snacks to my German class tomorrow so I decided to combine running with a stop at the grocery store on the way home. I don't have a car in DC, as is the case for most foreign service officers between assignments. My Africa car stayed in Africa and I will most likely buy another car when I get to Germany. In the six month interim, I'm car-less. The grocery store is on the way home from running so it saves me a few steps. I got all the groceries and I was looking forward to going home and eating a late dinner. Then all hell broke loose.
Hell breaking loose looks something like this: You are standing in line at the check out counter in sweaty running clothes after a hard run and you hand your credit card to the clerk and after she runs it through the machine she says, "Your card is declined." In my story, I am completely stunned so I ask her to try the card again, since I know full well that there is plenty of credit on my card to purchase $34.00 worth of groceries. She tries the card again with the same result, "DECLINED," and this time she says it loudly enough for everyone in line to hear it. Of course I am mortified. She asks me if I have another card to try, as if I carry a whole wallet full of cards for this very purpose. I'm in my running clothes and I want to shout that, of course, I don't have any other cards with me....I'm, in fact, traveling light. For a brief moment I consider asking the manager if I can take my groceries home and come back with an old fashioned check but as the manager comes over, I realize that there is no way in this modern credit abusing age that he is going to let me take home $34 worth of groceries on my good name alone--and I'm sure my sweaty running clothes didn't help my image. I ask the manager to please hold my purchases and I will come back with a check. He looks at me completely annoyed and I can see he does not believe me and curses me silently for all the hassle I am causing. I limp out of the store and head home, empty handed.
As soon as I got into the door of my apartment I got on the phone to my credit card company and for once I only had to be on hold for 6 minutes instead of the 22 minutes I had to be on hold last week when I changed my address. The operator started asking me all sorts of security questions about my account and that really surprised me. Why should my credit card company care about my tiny purchases over the last few days? I soon found out. Apparently because I hardly EVER use my credit card, when the credit card company noticed my purchases, they put a hold on my account because they suspected someone had stolen my card. Apparently, if your credit card practices are such that you are frugal and responsible and do not normally USE your credit card, you will not be ABLE to use your credit card until the company verifies that you have simply changed your routine and your card is NOT the victim of theft or fraud. The credit card operator called it, "Monitoring your account, for your protection." I asked her if she realized the humiliation her company had caused me when I was unable to use my credit card. She said, "Oh don't worry, when you go back to the store, your card will work because we re-activated it. The store will understand because it happens all the time." I wanted to yell back, it does not happen to me all the time.
So, to make a really long story a little shorter, I hiked back to the store, stood in line to wait for the manager and he had to ring up my selections all over again. He grumbled the whole time and he even said, "Well, you took so long to come back that I didn't think you were coming at all." I reminded him that I had to walk each way and apologized for my inconvenience. He certainly did not have that understanding attitude that the credit card operator promised. I resubmitted my credit card and this time it worked. I packed up my now even more precious groceries and walked home.
So, be sure you have a back up credit card, or maybe even call your credit card company in advance and notify them when you intend to change your credit card habits; or you might find yourself on your long-awaited exotic vacation in Jamaica with a credit card on HOLD. Welcome to life in the foreign service and learning new life lessons all the time.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Leaving Sierra Leone
I know it's been a very long time (or as my Dad would say, "A helluva long time"), since I updated my blog. Several of you have even personally written me, asking for an update so here we go. If I get too long on this one, I will supplement it with Part 2.
First of all, Africa changes you. No doubt about it, my memories from Sierra Leone are strong and searing, and I am having some trouble adjusting to life in the developed world again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First a few facts, since I have not written for several months, and many of you might wonder what has been happening in the interim.
In March, our temporary Ambassador left and the other OMS had already left, so that left the running of the Executive Office to the DCM and myself. We had already been without a Political Officer for many months, so the Embassy staff was getting thinner every day. I felt like an old-timer, as the only Americans who had been there longer than me were the Public Affairs chief and the Information Management Chief. Everyone else was new or had left the Embassy. That left a lot of work to just a few people. I worked overtime from January until the day I left. I actually worked six hours of overtime on Saturday and left on Sunday. I never got another chance to get out of Freetown, which I desperately wanted to do. Seeing only the capital city is not the best view of a country.
I took a trip to Dakar, Senegal in late March for a two day training seminar on our new Employee Performance software. I had to give a presentation for the whole class and it was very well received, which was rewarding. Tagged on to the end of that trip was a 5-day trip to England. (More on the special purpose of that trip a little later in this Blog...if I remember). I had to fight like crazy to get one day off (it was Easter break so we had two paid days off and the DCM did not want to give me the one day off to bridge the gap), but finally he blessed my leave. I think he realized how much effort I had given to the Embassy over the past months and the training was very important to the Embassy. In this OMS position, it's very clear that training is a complete luxury; especially at hardship posts and small posts and African posts--all of which applied to my particular situation. No hardship post can spare a person and no hardship post can afford to pay for training. Well, if you are in a different division, with different funding, then they throw money at you to attend training all over the world. I don't understand how the local Sierra Leone staff almost ALL attended training and I could not get any training at all. I guess that's just the way the system works.
After Easter, I focused completely on packing out my apartment and getting my office ready to hand over. My replacement was not going to arrive until after I had departed, so basically that meant I had to create new files for her, create a book of duties, clean out all my old stuff, pack my office stuff to be mailed to Germany, and fit all that in between packing boxes at home and working a full time job. It was a very busy and stressful time.
The best part of that time was having friends host going away parties for me. I had a "Pink Lady" dinner party with my running group (in which everyone had to wear pink clothes), a Pink Lady farewell cake at the last Hash run (the cake was almost the size of a banquet table and everyone loved it.....although the frosting has a very funny story attached. The frosting was bright pink and I had two giant pieces of the cake over the span of a couple of days. Apparently the food coloring in the frosting was quite strong and, well, believe it or not you can produce pink poop!) The Embassy staff was too busy and too preoccupied to plan a party for me, so I arranged my own. By the time I invited everyone, it was the week before I left and everything had been packed out of my apartment. Being so adaptable, having no dishes or plates or food, didn't stop me. I catered some of the food, used up the supplies in the pantry, gave away all my open alcohol and even was creative enough to use a pretty shower curtain as a tablecloth, since everything in the apartment was white and bare and the party needed some color. Everyone had a great time. I invited just the people who really meant a lot to me--including the local staff at the Embassy. I took lots of pictures, gave a speech and had others say a few words about me. It was very touching and I was not the only one who shed a few tears.
I left Freetown on a Sunday night at midnight. Well, the flight was supposed to take off at midnight, which meant I had to be picked up at my apartment at 7pm. Unfortunately, the computers and the air conditioning at Freetown airport both chose to go haywire at the same time, so after arriving at the airport at 8pm, I had to wait in sweltering heat until 2am for my flight to take off. It was not the ending I was hoping for, but it did give me a chance to call those people I never got a chance to say goodbye to in person. All part of the adventure.
I took a flight from Freetown to Denver to attend Angela's PhD graduation ceremony at UC Boulder. It was culture shock from the first minute I landed in the United States. I could not get over little things like being able to drink water from the tap and all the streets looking so clean and all the people appearing rich and well dressed. I could not get over all the shiny cars, the affluent society, the lack of diversity. It was wonderful to see my family (and my special significant other), and they helped shelter me from too much civilization. Good thing I was not driving a car at this time; in fact, I have not driven a car since I left Freetown. Wow.
I am now in Washington D.C. for German language training. Adapting to life as a student and life outside of Sierra Leone is a whole new topic, and worthy of a new blog, which hopefully will be forthcoming a lot sooner than the last one. More on that in the days to come.
For those of you who stuck with this long blog until the end, the trip in April to England at Easter was to meet the family of my very special new man, Lee. He has not specifically been mentioned in this blog before, but I want to say that we are very happy together and despite the calamity of distance and long separations, we are forming a strong bond. You will be reading about him in blogs to come, I'm pretty sure of that.
Hope everyone is well. Enjoy life, and no matter what, make the best of things. We only get one ride--make it a good one.
First of all, Africa changes you. No doubt about it, my memories from Sierra Leone are strong and searing, and I am having some trouble adjusting to life in the developed world again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First a few facts, since I have not written for several months, and many of you might wonder what has been happening in the interim.
In March, our temporary Ambassador left and the other OMS had already left, so that left the running of the Executive Office to the DCM and myself. We had already been without a Political Officer for many months, so the Embassy staff was getting thinner every day. I felt like an old-timer, as the only Americans who had been there longer than me were the Public Affairs chief and the Information Management Chief. Everyone else was new or had left the Embassy. That left a lot of work to just a few people. I worked overtime from January until the day I left. I actually worked six hours of overtime on Saturday and left on Sunday. I never got another chance to get out of Freetown, which I desperately wanted to do. Seeing only the capital city is not the best view of a country.
I took a trip to Dakar, Senegal in late March for a two day training seminar on our new Employee Performance software. I had to give a presentation for the whole class and it was very well received, which was rewarding. Tagged on to the end of that trip was a 5-day trip to England. (More on the special purpose of that trip a little later in this Blog...if I remember). I had to fight like crazy to get one day off (it was Easter break so we had two paid days off and the DCM did not want to give me the one day off to bridge the gap), but finally he blessed my leave. I think he realized how much effort I had given to the Embassy over the past months and the training was very important to the Embassy. In this OMS position, it's very clear that training is a complete luxury; especially at hardship posts and small posts and African posts--all of which applied to my particular situation. No hardship post can spare a person and no hardship post can afford to pay for training. Well, if you are in a different division, with different funding, then they throw money at you to attend training all over the world. I don't understand how the local Sierra Leone staff almost ALL attended training and I could not get any training at all. I guess that's just the way the system works.
After Easter, I focused completely on packing out my apartment and getting my office ready to hand over. My replacement was not going to arrive until after I had departed, so basically that meant I had to create new files for her, create a book of duties, clean out all my old stuff, pack my office stuff to be mailed to Germany, and fit all that in between packing boxes at home and working a full time job. It was a very busy and stressful time.
The best part of that time was having friends host going away parties for me. I had a "Pink Lady" dinner party with my running group (in which everyone had to wear pink clothes), a Pink Lady farewell cake at the last Hash run (the cake was almost the size of a banquet table and everyone loved it.....although the frosting has a very funny story attached. The frosting was bright pink and I had two giant pieces of the cake over the span of a couple of days. Apparently the food coloring in the frosting was quite strong and, well, believe it or not you can produce pink poop!) The Embassy staff was too busy and too preoccupied to plan a party for me, so I arranged my own. By the time I invited everyone, it was the week before I left and everything had been packed out of my apartment. Being so adaptable, having no dishes or plates or food, didn't stop me. I catered some of the food, used up the supplies in the pantry, gave away all my open alcohol and even was creative enough to use a pretty shower curtain as a tablecloth, since everything in the apartment was white and bare and the party needed some color. Everyone had a great time. I invited just the people who really meant a lot to me--including the local staff at the Embassy. I took lots of pictures, gave a speech and had others say a few words about me. It was very touching and I was not the only one who shed a few tears.
I left Freetown on a Sunday night at midnight. Well, the flight was supposed to take off at midnight, which meant I had to be picked up at my apartment at 7pm. Unfortunately, the computers and the air conditioning at Freetown airport both chose to go haywire at the same time, so after arriving at the airport at 8pm, I had to wait in sweltering heat until 2am for my flight to take off. It was not the ending I was hoping for, but it did give me a chance to call those people I never got a chance to say goodbye to in person. All part of the adventure.
I took a flight from Freetown to Denver to attend Angela's PhD graduation ceremony at UC Boulder. It was culture shock from the first minute I landed in the United States. I could not get over little things like being able to drink water from the tap and all the streets looking so clean and all the people appearing rich and well dressed. I could not get over all the shiny cars, the affluent society, the lack of diversity. It was wonderful to see my family (and my special significant other), and they helped shelter me from too much civilization. Good thing I was not driving a car at this time; in fact, I have not driven a car since I left Freetown. Wow.
I am now in Washington D.C. for German language training. Adapting to life as a student and life outside of Sierra Leone is a whole new topic, and worthy of a new blog, which hopefully will be forthcoming a lot sooner than the last one. More on that in the days to come.
For those of you who stuck with this long blog until the end, the trip in April to England at Easter was to meet the family of my very special new man, Lee. He has not specifically been mentioned in this blog before, but I want to say that we are very happy together and despite the calamity of distance and long separations, we are forming a strong bond. You will be reading about him in blogs to come, I'm pretty sure of that.
Hope everyone is well. Enjoy life, and no matter what, make the best of things. We only get one ride--make it a good one.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
People Contact & The Ability to be Generous
I went home to the U.S. over the holidays for the first time since I arrived for my posting in May 2008. I had been to Thailand and England between then and now, but that was vacation and a totally different experience. It was quite amazing to be landing in New York on Dec. 16 and think to myself, "Wow, I'm in my home country." My first thoughts were of how organized everything looked--even from the air. The U.S. is patch-worked into these neat little boxes of industry and residential space and every square inch of land seems to be developed. In Africa, it's a hodge podge of development--if there is any development at all. Everything is disorganized and scattered and broken and dusty. The U.S. is gleaming and clean and sanitized. But that is not what this blog is about, really.
Over the holidays, I was surrounded by loving family and friends and I had a wonderful time. But I realized something. Apart from my family, I really didn't have much contact with any other people. I cannot tell you any funny stories about clerks in stores or random people on the street because I didn't have enough contact with them to remember them. It seems in the U.S. that people are pretty isolated from each other. Maybe it's because everyone has enough money to be self-supporting so people don't need each other. Maybe it's because Americans value their privacy and don't readily engage with people they don't know. Here in Africa it's totally different. I can tell you that even for a person like me who has only been here 18 months, I have lots and lots of people who know me and greet me every day. In the morning my housekeeper Mariama comes each day at 7:00. We discuss what will be prepared for dinner that evening and if I want to bring anything for lunch at the Embassy. Sometimes she even makes me breakfast (like crepes on the patio) before I go to work. I have human contact from a wonderfully warm person right at the start of my day. Today for instance, Mariama informed me that Adama--our good friend who had her first baby last Friday, was sad and hungry. Apparently the people she stays with have not been making meals and she does not have enough food to eat to make breast milk for the baby. I gave Mariama some money (about $8.00) and told her to take the day off and go to Adama's and cook for her. She later told me that she made food for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Quite a long way to stretch $8.00. I had the opportunity to be generous in a way that I never would have in the U.S. Adama called me later and thanked me over and over for my kindness.
On my drive to work, I know almost all the people who live on the roads I take. They all wave and give me a big good morning smile. Some of them even know my name. There is a group of ex-combatants (child soldiers from the recent civil war --who have grown into young men now) who live (probably more like hang out) on a stretch of road near a restaurant I frequent. Each time I drive by, they call out my name "Miss Becky" in excited tones and wave enthusiastically. I first met them through a Lebanese friend of mine who gives them a small bit of cash every now and again (about $2.50) and also gives them large bags of rice a couple of times a year. His father started the practice because the Muslim faith says you should help the poor. So now I help them too. I didn't really take much notice of their familiarity, but recently when I was driving by, I had a new Embassy employee in the car with me. When we drove past, they called out my name and waved wildly like they had just sighted a movie star and my new employee turned and said, "Does the whole town know you by name?" Not quite, but I'm working on it.
All this got me to thinking that it's going to be much different at my next post--Berlin. I'm going to be in the middle of a big city, I won't speak the language and I will be just another anonymous white person among a crowd of urban professionals. We will all look and act alike and no one will take much notice of each other. This is sort of the feeling I got when I was back in the U.S. I never thought of our culture as aloof before, but after being in warm, friendly, small-town Freetown, I can see the vast differences. I think I prefer it here. There is so much cultural diversity and people really go out of their way to be a part of your life--if you let them. I love it here and I'm really going to miss it.
Over the holidays, I was surrounded by loving family and friends and I had a wonderful time. But I realized something. Apart from my family, I really didn't have much contact with any other people. I cannot tell you any funny stories about clerks in stores or random people on the street because I didn't have enough contact with them to remember them. It seems in the U.S. that people are pretty isolated from each other. Maybe it's because everyone has enough money to be self-supporting so people don't need each other. Maybe it's because Americans value their privacy and don't readily engage with people they don't know. Here in Africa it's totally different. I can tell you that even for a person like me who has only been here 18 months, I have lots and lots of people who know me and greet me every day. In the morning my housekeeper Mariama comes each day at 7:00. We discuss what will be prepared for dinner that evening and if I want to bring anything for lunch at the Embassy. Sometimes she even makes me breakfast (like crepes on the patio) before I go to work. I have human contact from a wonderfully warm person right at the start of my day. Today for instance, Mariama informed me that Adama--our good friend who had her first baby last Friday, was sad and hungry. Apparently the people she stays with have not been making meals and she does not have enough food to eat to make breast milk for the baby. I gave Mariama some money (about $8.00) and told her to take the day off and go to Adama's and cook for her. She later told me that she made food for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Quite a long way to stretch $8.00. I had the opportunity to be generous in a way that I never would have in the U.S. Adama called me later and thanked me over and over for my kindness.
On my drive to work, I know almost all the people who live on the roads I take. They all wave and give me a big good morning smile. Some of them even know my name. There is a group of ex-combatants (child soldiers from the recent civil war --who have grown into young men now) who live (probably more like hang out) on a stretch of road near a restaurant I frequent. Each time I drive by, they call out my name "Miss Becky" in excited tones and wave enthusiastically. I first met them through a Lebanese friend of mine who gives them a small bit of cash every now and again (about $2.50) and also gives them large bags of rice a couple of times a year. His father started the practice because the Muslim faith says you should help the poor. So now I help them too. I didn't really take much notice of their familiarity, but recently when I was driving by, I had a new Embassy employee in the car with me. When we drove past, they called out my name and waved wildly like they had just sighted a movie star and my new employee turned and said, "Does the whole town know you by name?" Not quite, but I'm working on it.
All this got me to thinking that it's going to be much different at my next post--Berlin. I'm going to be in the middle of a big city, I won't speak the language and I will be just another anonymous white person among a crowd of urban professionals. We will all look and act alike and no one will take much notice of each other. This is sort of the feeling I got when I was back in the U.S. I never thought of our culture as aloof before, but after being in warm, friendly, small-town Freetown, I can see the vast differences. I think I prefer it here. There is so much cultural diversity and people really go out of their way to be a part of your life--if you let them. I love it here and I'm really going to miss it.
Monday, December 7, 2009
The Story of Mohamed
I went running on the beach after work yesterday. Traffic was terrible getting from the Embassy to the beach and my usual 25 minute commute took almost 40 minutes. That doesn’t sound like much of a difference, but that put me at the beach later than I prefer. What the delay meant was that I could choose to cut my run short because it would get dark sooner than I planned, or I could stick to my original schedule and run the last bit in the near dark. On this particular day, I had a challenge from my coach so I decided to keep my training schedule and risk the last part of the run in whatever darkness would hit at the end of my session. What, you may ask, has any of this to do with someone named Mohamed? Well, I’m trying to set the scene so you can understand my particular frame of mind when I met Mohamed.
Now back to the run. I have been running consistently 3-4 days a week and trying to improve my stamina and run times. Lately for each session, I have been running 20 for minutes, walking for a minute and then running another 20 minutes. I felt good about that. My coach thought I could do better. He challenged me to do 20 minutes running, reduce the walking to 30 seconds and then run the remaining 20 minutes. I thought this was ridiculously difficult, but decided I might give it a try. I didn’t make my mind up to try it until I was all the way through the first 20 minute run and about 25 seconds into the walk when I thought, oh heck, if I’m going to try this, I only have 5 more seconds to walk! So I took a deep breath and started running, hoping for the best. I felt great and kept going. About 8 minutes from the end of the run (and the place where my car was parked) it started to get pretty dark. My feet were having trouble finding the road and hoped I wouldn’t step in any large holes or trip over a speed bump. The lights from the approaching cars helped some. Remember, in Sierra Leone, there is virtually no power and hence, no street lights. Then, I actually started to run faster—that was definitely not part of my program--but I still felt good and really wanted to get back to the car in one piece. At last, there was the car and I scrambled in. I don’t know what felt better; the fact that I had run nearly 40 minutes non-stop (that measly 30 second rest hardly counted) or the fact that I had survived the darkness without injury, or the fact that I was safe in the car. All in all, I was excited and tired and just wanted to get home after a long day.
As I left the beach road, I could see a line of card stopped ahead of me. The same traffic that had delayed me earlier had obviously moved to my current location and I was dead stopped a long way from home. I was cursing my bad luck and feeling even more anxious to get back to my cozy apartment where there would be a hot shower and dinner on the table made by my wonderful housekeeper Mariama. So I was sweating hot in the car that was not moving an inch, when a large black man walked by my open driver’s window and said, “Hi Madam Becky.” Now, contrary to popular belief, I am not personally known to everyone in Freetown. Obviously this man knew me from somewhere. It was dark and I could not see his face very well but he greeted me again and said, “Madam Becky, it’s me, Mohamed.” Of course that meant that I should also know him but I could not recall from where. Finally I asked him, how we knew each other and he told me he used to be a security guard at my apartment. That explained some of my memory lapse—on this night he was not in uniform but in street clothes. He told me he was on his way to his new job and a few other details about his life. I learned he didn’t have enough money for a taxi (they call it ‘transport’ here) so I offered to pay for his taxi. It’s not very expensive (about $1) and I can afford it so I gave him the money. He remained standing next to my car talking to me as I sat in traffic. I decided to be helpful and offered to drive him to the closest taxi junction so it would be more convenient and cheaper for him to get to work. He was very grateful and climbed in the passenger side. The traffic was still not moving at this point, so Mohamed began to talk again. I should mention here that almost everyone in Sierra Leone is poor--desperately poor. The things you and I take for granted, they cannot even begin to afford, such as a $1 taxi ride. I asked Mohamed an innocent question: Why was he not working at my building any more? His answer turned out to be a long story which broke my heart. Mohamed said that one night when he was on duty at our security gate (a run-down shed, really) he fell asleep sitting in a chair, and the head of Embassy security reassigned him. This happens all the time, I am sorry to say. The guards work 12 hour shifts, 5 or 6 days a week and they are always tired and hungry. Sometimes the only food they get all day is from one of us at the apartment complex. For the privilege of working 240 or more hours a month, they earn 200,000 Leones. Presently, $1 is worth about 3800 Leones. That comes to about $52 per month. Mohamed said he has a wife and 5 children to support. Imagine how far that money has to go. Mohamed said when he lost his job at our apartment building, the security firm relocated him to a complex much further from his house. Because of the distance from his house to the new location, he cannot afford ‘transport’ to get to work so he has to walk—probably about 4 miles each way. His story got worse from there. I began to feel a little guilty about my nice apartment and my hot food waiting on the table. Mohamed said the house he was renting is owned by two sisters who are fighting over who gets to manage the building. The sisters somehow decide they don’t want to rent to Mohamed anymore (because one of the sisters wants to live there) so they threw Mohamed’s possessions out of the house and told him to find another place to live. His family had to be split up between various friends and family until they can find a new place. He recently found a place, but it’s 2,400,000 Leones –up front-- for the year’s rent. That is also typical here. Sierra Leoneans pay all their rent a year in advance. I cannot fathom how someone who makes $52 per month can possibly afford $631 for annual rent all in one lump sum…so he explained how he planned to accomplish this. He told me he sold all of his possessions that are worth anything: tv, dvd player, etc. He was still 400,000 short so he told me the only thing left to sell was his bed. I was in disbelief. He will have to give up a good night’s sleep just to keep a roof over his head. Logical me wondered how he will manage to stay awake at his new job if he can never get proper sleep at home. I thought of how ironic it was that this whole saga started because Mohamed fell asleep in a chair at the Embassy compound. Now it looks as though that chair might be the only place he can sleep again.
All during the story, Mohamed moaned and told me how worried was about his finances and how much he missed his family. Because they are all split up around town, he does not get to see them very often. He also explained that he cannot afford ‘transport’ to go and visit them. I felt terrible; all this because I went running on the beach in the near dark and got stuck in traffic. I felt like I should do something to help Mohamed but all I really did was listen. I knew that his story was typical of almost everyone working at the Embassy in a low-paying job. I hate the fact that the Embassy contractor does not pay them a decent wage, but that is the prevailing wage all over town. The security guards are very lucky to even have a job; most of the people in Freetown are unemployed. I have no earthly idea how they provide for their families.
Mohamed never really came out and asked me for money. I gave him ‘transport’ money of 10,000 Leones, which is about 5 times extra what it will cost him to get to work. I hope he appreciated my gesture and can use the money for some good.
I desperately want Sierra Leone to advance so the people can enjoy a better standard of living. But I cannot do that all by myself. I have given money to people who have sick children, money for school fees, and money for people to visit their families far away in another province. But I cannot help everyone. I wish I could. I wish people in developed countries could witness what I see every day: children as young as 5 with younger siblings tied to their backs as they help their mom sell things by the side of the road; children as young as 2 or 3 who sit alone playing in the dirt as cars fly past right next to them; children who don’t have the privilege of going to school --carrying water jugs on their heads wearing very tattered and dirty clothes; handicapped people who do not have anything more than old wooden crutches to rely on for transportation—they use these for their whole lives; children who are sick with malaria who die because their parents don’t have enough money for medicine. This is life in a third-world, poverty stricken, war- recovering country. I read some of these facts before I came, but nothing prepares you for the abject poverty you see every day. You never get used to it. If I see Mohamed again, I will give him a little more money and tell him I will pray for him.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Life in Freetown
Hi everyone,
Below is an email I wrote recently to a fellow OMS colleague who was inquiring about my position here in Freetown because she is contemlating bidding on my job. As I wrote the details, I thought maybe some of you might like to hear my thoughts on Freetown after living here over a year now. Hope you are all well. Enjoy.
* * * * * * * * *
Hi Lynn,
I am happy to share all my experiences about Freetown. I really love it here. However, I am a simple girl who was anxious for an expanding cultural experience and that is exactly what Freetown delivered. It’s about as different here as you can get from a civilized place.
This is my first tour, so like you, I do not have much to compare it to. However, I did visit Embassy Monrovia when I assisted with the Sec State visit in August, so I can at least compare it to another West African post. Monrovia had the feeling of being slightly more dangerous—they suggested I not run on the beach at any time. I run on the beach here in Freetown almost every evening after work and feel completely safe. I think the people here are more friendly than Monrovia. Our Embassy building is only two years old, so everything is nice and new and modern. Embassy Monrovia is old, but they are building a new one. Our post has about 23 direct hire Americans. We only have two OMS’s—one for the DCM and one for the AMB. Our AMB has been away from post which means that the DCM is the Chargé and that means I have a lot more responsibility—which I love. A small post such as Freetown means that you get a lot of varied experience and you also get to meet a lot of interesting and high level people. The Front Office is the hub of the activity at the Embassy, so if you like meeting new people and learning new things—with no two days being the same, then you will love the job. My boss leaves in August next year.
Although Freetown is the capital city, it has more of a small town feel, and before long everyone in the diplomatic and NGO community knows each other. I find it cozy and welcoming. I have many good friends here and we take turns hosting dinner parties and Sundays at the beach. You are right, there is not much to do, but getting together with good friends can be very rewarding and I am going to miss all my friends very much.
The shopping is extremely limited and I buy most of my things online. I had not done that before but it’s worked out ok. Embassy employees pay shipping to Dulles, VA and then State Department pays from Dulles to Africa, so the cost to send things here is minimal. My family and friends send me packages of goodies and they appreciate that they don’t have to spend a fortune. You can return things for free from here (from places you order from online like Target or Amazon), so that’s good if something does not fit. The down side is that the mail takes from two to four weeks to arrive, so you cannot be in a hurry for anything. There are restrictions on some items—like liquids and glass containers. Coming from Stockholm, you will learn to live without a lot of conveniences. For instance, we do not have fresh milk here. I think for me, I learned to appreciate the essence of West Africa and I try not to think about the things I am missing.
Culturally, it’s challenging to live here. On the way to work, you will see children struggling to carrying water on their heads. You will see poverty and starving dogs. That can get to you after a while. We get two R&Rs during a two year tour. I took my first R&R after 11 months and that was too long. I suggest leaving post about month eight or nine for sure. I went to Thailand and almost cried just to stay in a nice hotel. You will appreciate civilized things much more after you live here.
Medical care is non-existent for the quality of care you are used to. We have a small medical clinic at the Embassy where they can treat most simple ailments. Anything complicated or serious and you are medivaced to London immediately. I feel very sorry for the Sierra Leonean’s. They die every day for lack of available medicine and competent medical professionals. The maternal death rate is 1 in 8; that means that for every eight woman who give birth here, one woman dies in childbirth. The average life span for males is 42, which means that a man’s life is half over at the age of 21. You do not see many old people on the streets here.
Speaking of street life—it’s quite vibrant. You will see chickens and goats and sheep and children and mothers with babies tied to their backs and broken down buses, and cars going the wrong way and children in school uniforms and motorcycles all sharing the same roads at the same time. There are no sidewalks, no stop lights or stop signs, no shoulders on the roads. The roads are terrible; potholes, ditches, erosion, you name it. You must have a high clearance vehicle that is build to last. I have a Toyota 4x4 and it works great. You get used to the driving and after a while it’s actually fun.
It’s convenient one stop-shopping at the Embassy for a lot of services: you can go to work , go to the doctor, get fuel for your vehicle and go to the bank—all in the same building during the working day. We also have a tennis court, a gym, a pool and a basketball area. The Ambassador promotes wellness, so three days a week at 4:00, the Health Unit sponsors an exercise class or a walk up the big hill near the Embassy.
The beaches are absolutely fantastic. I probably went on and on about them in my first email, but if you like beauty and nature and serenity, then the beaches here are really wonderful. They are great for your peace of mind and to relieve the stress of the environment and the working stress at the Embassy. No movies here, except for your private DVD collection. A lot of people order TV series online and then everyone shares them. They do have one golf course here which is very convenient and is utilized by a lot of people.
Basically, what I can tell you is that you learn to appreciate the simple things in life; you learn to be generous to others because people here need everything and we have so much compared to them. I have a housekeeper that also cooks for me and the cost for such a service is very low compared to the U.S. I also have a driver to help out in the evenings and he is also very cheap.
I feel like I am making a real difference here. I feel like I am meeting influential people and learning about the diplomatic world from a small perspective. I have learned to accept the face of poverty and although it still breaks my heart, I have learned that the host country must do more and I cannot do it for them.
Hope that answers a few more of your questions about life in Freetown. Feel free to inquire about anything I left out. Best of luck bidding!
Becky
Becky Cheney
OMS - Chargé d' Affairs
U.S. Embassy Freetown
Below is an email I wrote recently to a fellow OMS colleague who was inquiring about my position here in Freetown because she is contemlating bidding on my job. As I wrote the details, I thought maybe some of you might like to hear my thoughts on Freetown after living here over a year now. Hope you are all well. Enjoy.
* * * * * * * * *
Hi Lynn,
I am happy to share all my experiences about Freetown. I really love it here. However, I am a simple girl who was anxious for an expanding cultural experience and that is exactly what Freetown delivered. It’s about as different here as you can get from a civilized place.
This is my first tour, so like you, I do not have much to compare it to. However, I did visit Embassy Monrovia when I assisted with the Sec State visit in August, so I can at least compare it to another West African post. Monrovia had the feeling of being slightly more dangerous—they suggested I not run on the beach at any time. I run on the beach here in Freetown almost every evening after work and feel completely safe. I think the people here are more friendly than Monrovia. Our Embassy building is only two years old, so everything is nice and new and modern. Embassy Monrovia is old, but they are building a new one. Our post has about 23 direct hire Americans. We only have two OMS’s—one for the DCM and one for the AMB. Our AMB has been away from post which means that the DCM is the Chargé and that means I have a lot more responsibility—which I love. A small post such as Freetown means that you get a lot of varied experience and you also get to meet a lot of interesting and high level people. The Front Office is the hub of the activity at the Embassy, so if you like meeting new people and learning new things—with no two days being the same, then you will love the job. My boss leaves in August next year.
Although Freetown is the capital city, it has more of a small town feel, and before long everyone in the diplomatic and NGO community knows each other. I find it cozy and welcoming. I have many good friends here and we take turns hosting dinner parties and Sundays at the beach. You are right, there is not much to do, but getting together with good friends can be very rewarding and I am going to miss all my friends very much.
The shopping is extremely limited and I buy most of my things online. I had not done that before but it’s worked out ok. Embassy employees pay shipping to Dulles, VA and then State Department pays from Dulles to Africa, so the cost to send things here is minimal. My family and friends send me packages of goodies and they appreciate that they don’t have to spend a fortune. You can return things for free from here (from places you order from online like Target or Amazon), so that’s good if something does not fit. The down side is that the mail takes from two to four weeks to arrive, so you cannot be in a hurry for anything. There are restrictions on some items—like liquids and glass containers. Coming from Stockholm, you will learn to live without a lot of conveniences. For instance, we do not have fresh milk here. I think for me, I learned to appreciate the essence of West Africa and I try not to think about the things I am missing.
Culturally, it’s challenging to live here. On the way to work, you will see children struggling to carrying water on their heads. You will see poverty and starving dogs. That can get to you after a while. We get two R&Rs during a two year tour. I took my first R&R after 11 months and that was too long. I suggest leaving post about month eight or nine for sure. I went to Thailand and almost cried just to stay in a nice hotel. You will appreciate civilized things much more after you live here.
Medical care is non-existent for the quality of care you are used to. We have a small medical clinic at the Embassy where they can treat most simple ailments. Anything complicated or serious and you are medivaced to London immediately. I feel very sorry for the Sierra Leonean’s. They die every day for lack of available medicine and competent medical professionals. The maternal death rate is 1 in 8; that means that for every eight woman who give birth here, one woman dies in childbirth. The average life span for males is 42, which means that a man’s life is half over at the age of 21. You do not see many old people on the streets here.
Speaking of street life—it’s quite vibrant. You will see chickens and goats and sheep and children and mothers with babies tied to their backs and broken down buses, and cars going the wrong way and children in school uniforms and motorcycles all sharing the same roads at the same time. There are no sidewalks, no stop lights or stop signs, no shoulders on the roads. The roads are terrible; potholes, ditches, erosion, you name it. You must have a high clearance vehicle that is build to last. I have a Toyota 4x4 and it works great. You get used to the driving and after a while it’s actually fun.
It’s convenient one stop-shopping at the Embassy for a lot of services: you can go to work , go to the doctor, get fuel for your vehicle and go to the bank—all in the same building during the working day. We also have a tennis court, a gym, a pool and a basketball area. The Ambassador promotes wellness, so three days a week at 4:00, the Health Unit sponsors an exercise class or a walk up the big hill near the Embassy.
The beaches are absolutely fantastic. I probably went on and on about them in my first email, but if you like beauty and nature and serenity, then the beaches here are really wonderful. They are great for your peace of mind and to relieve the stress of the environment and the working stress at the Embassy. No movies here, except for your private DVD collection. A lot of people order TV series online and then everyone shares them. They do have one golf course here which is very convenient and is utilized by a lot of people.
Basically, what I can tell you is that you learn to appreciate the simple things in life; you learn to be generous to others because people here need everything and we have so much compared to them. I have a housekeeper that also cooks for me and the cost for such a service is very low compared to the U.S. I also have a driver to help out in the evenings and he is also very cheap.
I feel like I am making a real difference here. I feel like I am meeting influential people and learning about the diplomatic world from a small perspective. I have learned to accept the face of poverty and although it still breaks my heart, I have learned that the host country must do more and I cannot do it for them.
Hope that answers a few more of your questions about life in Freetown. Feel free to inquire about anything I left out. Best of luck bidding!
Becky
Becky Cheney
OMS - Chargé d' Affairs
U.S. Embassy Freetown
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Hidden Rewards
From time to time I write about things that have some relation to Foreign Service life but are not necessarily things you would consider part of this journey. Moving around the world with no idea where you will first be assigned presents challenges and changes that you cannot imagine when you first see the email telling you you have been selected to join the Foreign Service. I guess life is a revolving process in general and Foreign Service life is no exception.
Today I delved into a project I have been avoiding for months. You know what I mean; everyone out there has a drawer or a room or a stack of something sitting in a corner that they keep meaning to get to but somehow never seem to find the time. Actually we all know the answer to why those things don't get done but we would rather not face the truth: that there are so many more fun and interesting things we would rather do with our time. Putting these tasks off only makes things worse and makes it all the easier to avoid; after all, we have created lots of practice avoiding those chores and now we are good at it. Well, for me, that task is unpacking the three large wardrobe boxes in the hall of my apartment. Now, I have lived here for 16 months and those boxes have been there the whole time. Luckily for me they are in the hallway leading to my bedrooms, so my guests have not had to witness my laziness directly. Nonetheless, it hit me the other day that in just a little over 8 months I will be packing to leave here and there is no good reason those boxes should not be unpacked by now.
So onward I went to dive into clothes I had not seen since I packed out of Austin in March 2008. What a revelation! It was as though looking through all those old clothes, I could see my life flashing before me in a wardrobe sort of scene setter. I guess I was trying to find myself for the past few years because some of those clothing choices were really ugly to be honest. For instance, I had several blouses that were orange. I don't even look good in orange. And what about clothing with color names that don't make sense? There was a cozy corduroy shirt that can only be described as the color salmon--definitely a color for a dead fish and not for me. And what about that day-glow lime green Polo sweater? Even though it was on sale, what was I thinking? You could see me coming down the road a mile away in the dark in that thing. There was some good news. I realized that most of my clothing was Ann Taylor and Polo and Gap--fairly decent brand names, so I have had decent taste even if I don't always get the color right. I purchased most of those clothes on sale or at the outlet mall because I well remember how poor I was during that time, but nevertheless I managed to look ok, despite a very tiny clothing budget. Another bit of good news was the clothing sizes I found in the boxes. Literally everything was too big for me. I tried on a couple of pairs of pants--sort of hoping I might be able to retain them and increase my wardrobe here in shopping-deprived Sierra Leone, but every single item was too large. I am happy to relate that all those miles of running have paid off because I am definitely a slimmer me than I was 18 months ago. Then there were the nostalgia items: Ryan's high school graduation robe complete with Valedictorian metals and National Honor Society sash. I had two lovely gowns; one from Allison's wedding and the periwinkle blue formal from Angela's wedding. Somehow the movers packed Laura's prom dress in my boxes and at a size 3/4 it's definitely too small for me. I found my grandmothers pink sweater that I gave her just before she died, my other grandmothers christening dress from 1905, several German dresses from Bavaria and even my old bowling shirt circa 1980. (did you know that I have bowled several 200 games and even a 600 series?) All those memories had been waiting for me and all I had to do was unpack them. To celebrate the big mess of hangers and stacks of clothes I have ready to give away, I happened to notice a wad of something in the pocket of that hideous orange stripped shirt I mentioned earlier. Guess what? I found $60.00! So to all of you out there who are avoiding that area of your life that needs doing, maybe you should think about tackling that project; you just mind find more rewards than you anticipated.
Today I delved into a project I have been avoiding for months. You know what I mean; everyone out there has a drawer or a room or a stack of something sitting in a corner that they keep meaning to get to but somehow never seem to find the time. Actually we all know the answer to why those things don't get done but we would rather not face the truth: that there are so many more fun and interesting things we would rather do with our time. Putting these tasks off only makes things worse and makes it all the easier to avoid; after all, we have created lots of practice avoiding those chores and now we are good at it. Well, for me, that task is unpacking the three large wardrobe boxes in the hall of my apartment. Now, I have lived here for 16 months and those boxes have been there the whole time. Luckily for me they are in the hallway leading to my bedrooms, so my guests have not had to witness my laziness directly. Nonetheless, it hit me the other day that in just a little over 8 months I will be packing to leave here and there is no good reason those boxes should not be unpacked by now.
So onward I went to dive into clothes I had not seen since I packed out of Austin in March 2008. What a revelation! It was as though looking through all those old clothes, I could see my life flashing before me in a wardrobe sort of scene setter. I guess I was trying to find myself for the past few years because some of those clothing choices were really ugly to be honest. For instance, I had several blouses that were orange. I don't even look good in orange. And what about clothing with color names that don't make sense? There was a cozy corduroy shirt that can only be described as the color salmon--definitely a color for a dead fish and not for me. And what about that day-glow lime green Polo sweater? Even though it was on sale, what was I thinking? You could see me coming down the road a mile away in the dark in that thing. There was some good news. I realized that most of my clothing was Ann Taylor and Polo and Gap--fairly decent brand names, so I have had decent taste even if I don't always get the color right. I purchased most of those clothes on sale or at the outlet mall because I well remember how poor I was during that time, but nevertheless I managed to look ok, despite a very tiny clothing budget. Another bit of good news was the clothing sizes I found in the boxes. Literally everything was too big for me. I tried on a couple of pairs of pants--sort of hoping I might be able to retain them and increase my wardrobe here in shopping-deprived Sierra Leone, but every single item was too large. I am happy to relate that all those miles of running have paid off because I am definitely a slimmer me than I was 18 months ago. Then there were the nostalgia items: Ryan's high school graduation robe complete with Valedictorian metals and National Honor Society sash. I had two lovely gowns; one from Allison's wedding and the periwinkle blue formal from Angela's wedding. Somehow the movers packed Laura's prom dress in my boxes and at a size 3/4 it's definitely too small for me. I found my grandmothers pink sweater that I gave her just before she died, my other grandmothers christening dress from 1905, several German dresses from Bavaria and even my old bowling shirt circa 1980. (did you know that I have bowled several 200 games and even a 600 series?) All those memories had been waiting for me and all I had to do was unpack them. To celebrate the big mess of hangers and stacks of clothes I have ready to give away, I happened to notice a wad of something in the pocket of that hideous orange stripped shirt I mentioned earlier. Guess what? I found $60.00! So to all of you out there who are avoiding that area of your life that needs doing, maybe you should think about tackling that project; you just mind find more rewards than you anticipated.
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