Hey kids,
This a bit of rant slash snippet of advice for fellow
travelers slash study abroaders. I’ve let a little bit of time pass before
writing this post so I could gain some perspective and a bit of humor about the
whole experience so I apologize for the chronology of my posts.
ATTENTION MOM AND DAD: Before you blow +2,000 dollars on a
plane ticket to South Africa to kill me please know that everything works out in the end and that murder is just as illegal in this country as it is back home. Keep
reading. Love you <3
So basically last Saturday (July 27 2013) my purse was
stolen. (gasp! ominous organ music) Just so you fully grasp the gravity of the situation I will list (in no
particular order) exactly what was in my purse for your convenience and for you
reading pleasure horror:
- Pennsylvania Driver’s License***
- Health Insurance Card (USA)
- Health Insurance Card (South Africa)
- Washington College Student ID
- Rhodes University Student ID***
- VISA debit card***
- Under the Arch frequent customer card ***
- Picture of Jimmy <3
- Key to my room
- Social Security Number***
- Passport***
- Jimmy’s high school class ring (my good luck charm)
- Various receipts
- Extra passport photo
- ~R60 in cash
I’m sure that upon reading each item on that list, your
heart sank further and further towards your toes. Multiply that times
approximately 16 trillion and you are in the ball park of how I felt.
I know that every travel guide ever created in the history
of traveling says NEVER to put everything important in the same spot. I know this. I'm telling you, honestly, I know this. What did I do? I did it anyway and I wholeheartedly understand in retrospect why every travel guide ever created in the
history of traveling says NEVER to put everything important in the same spot.
That being said, in my defense, every travel guide created in the history of traveling don't really consider the fact that for the first 2 weeks or so of arriving some place new, you
kind of need all of those important things with you. Anything I was registering
for in the past 2 weeks needed cash, proof of insurance, proof of identity, my student card etc.
Yes, I had deadly combo of important things in my purse. But they are important
for a reason. Now that I’m in the third week of being here, I barely need
anything other than my key and ID and some cash on a regular basis and have adjusted accordingly. Part of this story is horribly unfortunate based solely on poor timing. Anyway…I’m
done with defending myself. I was a victim of a devastating act of thievery but
I also acknowledge that I was also an agent of that act.
Travel tip: In agreement with every travel guide ever created in the history of traveling, and speaking for experience, as soon as
is conceivably possible (aka NOW), decide what is absolutely necessary to take with you
on a regular basis. Be totally honest with yourself. By all means, prepared for
everything, but also know that it’s okay to, for instance, make a second trip to
a store if you don’t have enough money or proof of ID.
Ok so, here’s what happened:
Saturday, as you know we went on the township tour. When we
got back to campus a few of us went to Pick n’ Pay to pick up some things. I
bought a South African Cosmo, chocolate, a new water bottle and a giant jug
of water. I know I had my purse with me because I successfully paid for my
items. We got back to our individual resses and I cleaned up my room. I hung my
purse on the drunk octopus hook on the back of my door
 |
| just to add some comic relief to the story |
I blogged and slept and generally waited around for dinner.
Lauren came to my room to say she was going down to dinner and I agreed to join
her. Remembering I’d need my key to get back into my room I grabbed my purse as
well as my new water bottle and we headed down to dinner. In the dining hall I
refilled my water bottle, set down my bottle and purse at the table where
Lauren had put her stuff, then got in line for food. At this time there were
about 6 other people besides the staff in the dining hall.
After getting my food I set my tray down at the table and
hung my purse on the back of my chair. Before too long, Becca and Nora joined us
at dinner. I couldn’t for the life of me tell you what we talked about, but we
were cracking each other up. We were having such a good time together, the food
was good, and the next thing we knew we were the only ones still at dinner, our ridiculous laughter echoing in the empty hall.
Now, when a meal ends at Rhodes, the staff starts shuffling you
out. We were suddenly asked to leave the dining hall. In a tizzy, we all got up, bussed our
trays, I refilled my water bottle and we left.
Nora and Becca live in Beit,
whereas Lauren and I live in Jameson. We weren’t ready to go to our respective
resses just yet so, still giggly from dinner, we stood outside on the porch for
the next hour just talking and laughing with one another. Finally we decided we
had dawdled enough and should probably go get ready if we were gonna go out
again later. As Lauren turned towards the finger print pad for the door, I reached
to find my key and realized I’d left it hanging on the back of my chair with my
purse. Frustrated, I looked back at the dining hall. The windows were dark and
we had seen the last staff member lock the doors behind us. Frustrated and
annoyed with myself, but not yet paralyzed with desperation (that phase comes
later J)
I decided there was nothing I could do about it just then. Feeling more
embarrassed than anything, I sought out a sub-warden to let me into my room.
Nobantu (the sweetest girl in the world) happily let me in and Lauren, Becca,
and Nora came into my room.
We spent the next couple hours just talking and bonding my
room. A proud moment for me and actually one of my favorite evenings so far. Erika,
Patrick, and Caitie came over later too. We only got shushed once by my
neighbor and at some point I was told my male visitor had to leave, but that
was the only negative part of the evening. So many thoughts about my res….but this post is already kinda long.
Anyway, Nora, Becca, Erika, Lauren and I went out a little
while after the pow wow in my room. Lauren, bless her heart, spotted me some
cash. Feeling a bit naked without my purse but still confident it was only a
matter of asking for it in the morning, I was determined to have a nice night
out. Overall, the rest of the night was fun but uneventful.
The next morning
I woke up at 7:30 (when the dining hall
opens for breakfast), threw on jeans, and still wearing my pajama shirt
confidently tromped down the stairs. I walked through the open door of the
dining hall and strode to the table we had used the night before. There was no
little black strap adorning any of the chairs. What’s more, there were people
sitting at the table and I didn’t wanna be super creepy. A little panicky but
still absurdly calm I asked the food server if she’d seen the bag. She didn’t
really speak English. For some reason I thought a lot of hand gestures would
help when I reexplained my situation. Baffled, she called over a dish washer and I
explained again. I remembered him as the guy sweeping up behind us and putting
chairs on tables the night before. There was no way he hadn’t seen it.
Except….he hadn’t. My mind exploded trying to choose the right mental swear
word that could match the magnitude of the panic that was hitting me at that
moment. Still in shock and choking back tears I asked if he was sure and then
asked what the hell I was supposed to do next.
Looking like a complete idiot I searched every chair, the
floor, all over. Then feeling more embarrassed than anything, I hurried back to
my room and search every inch of it even though I knew I had last had my purse
in the dining hall. I had been so certain that I’d have my purse. I had made a
mistake. That was it. But no. My mind hadn’t even considered the possibility
that it was lost forever. I couldn’t go back to sleep; I had to do something,
but there was seemingly nothing to do.
A couple of us had arranged to meet for brunch, which was
supposedly served in my dining hall at 10:30. We had been misinformed. We
gathered on the porch where we had laughed so lightheartedly the night before
and looked in through the same darkened windows and the locked doors that
stared unforgivingly back at us. To town for brunch then! Caitie, bless her
heart, assured me she could buy me brunch and that everything would be okay. The
first of what would be many of my angry and helpless tears began to fall down my face. I just needed
to stay busy. It would turn up. There was nothing I could do. Desperate hope
and a little coffee would make everything okay.
Of course, at 10:30 on Sunday in Grahamstown, everything is
closed. Not at all the same situation, but the continued feeling of
disappointment just made me feel worse about my purse. We finally stopped at
Spurs – the American style restaurant on High Street, and the only thing open. Of course, by this time it was 11:15
and they had stopped serving breakfast at 11. Great.
Admittedly, it was a nice breakfast and everyone was so sweet and tried
to cheer me up or just get my mind off of my purse, but any second I got to let
my mind wander, my lost purse entered my head. One second I’d be laughing, the
next I’d experience an avalanche of “What the f*** am I gonna do?!” But I don’t
think I had fully accepted my situation just yet. I still had a ridiculous
notion that the dish washer had made a mistake and that my purse would be on my
bed when I got home.
It wasn’t. I even went back down to the dining hall and
asked the dish washer if anything had shown up. Nope. I ran into my across the
hall neighbor on my way back to my room. My head was reeling and I blurted out
my issues all over her. Of course....There was nothing she could do. What was I doing?
Back in my room I just collapsed in on myself. I FB chatted
with Jimmy. Again what was he gonna do about it? I talked with Caitie and she,
having experience with a similar situation, told me I should probably tell
Aidan (for your ref: our international office contact at Rhodes) and my Mom.
I tried logging on to PNC online to see if there was any
strange activity with my card and OF COURSE the website was "experiencing technical
difficulties please try again later even though your heart is exploding and you
are probably developing stress ulcers. Thank you”
The optimistic side of me wanted to wait one more day before
telling Aidan. The embarrassed side of me wanted to never tell anyone. The
desperate side of me was trying to figure out how to buy a gun without any
money or proper identification in order to kill myself. The ridiculous vain
stupid side of me was fretting that I’d have to find a new nifty little purse
and I couldn’t replace Jimmy’s class ring and I’d have to get a new frequent
customer coffee card. Priorities, right? At this point I was still sure this was
a huge misunderstanding. I was being really really hard on myself for being so
stupid.
I had to do something. I made a list of everything I had had
in my bad. I made LOST posters complete with illustrations and sadness to hang
up near the dining hall. I bothered the dish washer guy again just in case. I
then ran into a subwarden who suggested I go to our public safety unit (CPU –
campus protection unit), which I did. They hadn’t seen it, but they took my
information down anyway. I saw my sub warden, Buks, again on my way back into
my res. While admitting to her that I hadn’t had any luck with CPU I started
crying. I got embarrassed and angry that I was crying in front of a stranger,
which, because I’m a girl, made me cry even more. Buks gave me a hug and mumbled
something reassuring.
Travel tip: Never
under estimate a hug from a kind stranger. Hugs can be rare things when
traveling alone.
Back in my room I decided I had better tell Aidan. The more I thought about it, the less certain I was about the situation. I think at this point I started referring to my bag as "stolen" not just "lost". Possibly to make myself feel better about my hand in losing it. Either way, I emailed
and FB messaged him about my situation, my embarrassment, and my uncertainty
about what to do next. I decided wait a day to tell my mom (love you!) for my
own pride and to save us all a little grief. Also I was fairly certain my family had
just left for a weeklong vacation in the Outer Banks. Hey have a great time at the beach! Oh btw…funny story actually…
No. Didn’t wanna be that guy.
Aidan replied with one of the most professional and reassuring
plans of action ever. Phew! In one message I felt a lot better about my situation
because 1) I learned that I am not a unique case. This has happened before and while it was a
pain in the ass everyone got sorted out in the end 2) it proved there were
things I could actually do about it. It would be a pain in the ass but I could
spring into action. I set up an appointment to meet Aidan and discuss the plan
for the following day and call my mom. First
Voicemail: Hey Mama, how’s the beach? Remember all the trouble we went to get
my VISA on time….?
By now, I officially accepted that my bag was gone forever,
that I had had a part in losing it, and that I would also have a part in replacing
everything in it the next day.
Soon after that, PNC let me on their website and I saw that
no one had been using it except for me. Little victories!
Deep breath. Still feel awful? Yup. Me too.
I left my room to go to dinner and the door across from mine
opened really quickly. My hall mate wanted to know if I’d had any luck. Busy
telling her my bad news, I absentmindedly closed my door behind me. Hearing the
lock click into place behind my head, a symphony of swear words swirled into my
brain to the tune of “You’ve Got to be Kidding Me Right Now” and “Ain’t Nobody
Got Time Fo That”
I sat dejectedly at dinner, obsessing about my own stupidity
and thoughtlessness. I asked the dish washer guy again about the bag. I don’t know I expected. He kind of looked at
me like, “For the love of God stop asking”.
Right after dinner Lauren Becca and I met Gillian, Nicola,
Erika, and Katie (and I think a few other people…sorry I had other things on my
mind….) at the arch to walk to the cathedral in town – Cathedral of St. Michael
and St. George. We had been told they do student services on Sunday nights, so
we decided to check it out. I walked the whole way there, head down, fighting
the cold and the tears.
Now I by no means mean to make this a post about my
religious views or my belief in miracles etc, but for me the service that night
is a significant part of the my journey to finding my purse. A few things you
should know: My beautiful amazing mother is an Episcopalian priest. Some of the
times I’ve felt closest to her have been driving to church with her or watching
her preach. St. Mike and George’s is denominationally Anglican/ Episcopalian.
Episcopalians are amazingly laid back, loving, and accepting Christians (in my
humbly biased opinion).
Now that you’re up to speed, you may understand better when
I say that walking into this cathedral felt a bit like coming home. A priest,
who introduced himself as Andrew, took each of us by the hand and welcomed us.
When he met me and he said his oldest daughter’s name was(is) also Rachel. (His
younger daughter is named Nicola. She was right behind me! Funky. ) Being at
this service was the first time since I’ve been here that I have felt genuinely
welcomed and invited to participate without judgment or expectation. Some of
the service was a bit unfamiliar and there was perhaps a bit too much singing
that I couldn’t follow, but so much of it was from a world I knew. It made me
really miss my Mom.
Then and there I just let myself feel really bad about
myself and my sorry-ass situation. I ugly cried right there in that church. I
think I scared the poor guy sitting next to me. At some point in the service,
we were asked to forgive ourselves and forgive others. And I sat there and I
sat there trying to forgive everyone and anyone involved with the disappearance
of my purse and just tried my darnedest to let it go. I tried so hard and I’m
totally convinced I actually did let myself forgive, but I did feel just enough
different after the service. I don’t know why I have such strong feelings
towards my experience in the church that night, but I somehow feel there is
some connection between going to the service and what happens next.
Still feeling pathetic for having cried in a public place of
worship and getting snot all over my shirt sleeves I returned to my room to
stew in my own misery. For the second night in a row I had to ask my subwarden
to let me into my room. Nobs and Buks gave me sweet, much needed words of
encouragement and I climbed into bed.
About half an hour into my pity party, I heard a knock on my
door. Another sub warden was there to tell me her friend had just seen a little
black purse outside. I thanked her and ran as fast as I could down the two half
flights of carpeted stairs to the front door. There. Hanging innocently on the
arm of the bench, facing the door, was my little black leather purse.
I snatched it up, unable to believe it until I held it in my
hands and inspected the damage done to my property. I held close to my chest
and, not wanting to cry outside, alone, bra-less, in my pjs, in the cold, I ran
back to the safety of my room. Miraculously, mercifully, the only thing missing
was my money – about 60 rand in all, the equivalent of about 6 dollars, which
was a relief seeing as I had often carried much more money. My passport, my visa,
my VISA debit card, my IDs, my coffee card, my sweet boyfriend’s beautiful
smiling face, his ring, my key, everything else was still there. Clearly
touched and examined by hands that were not mine, but replaced nonetheless.
I cried and laughed simultaneously from sweet perfect
relief. But under the relief was a profound feeling of betrayal, anger, and
violation. I was so so so so lucky to have my possessions back but I was also
so so so aware that that was only because someone, somewhere had decided to
leave it for me to find. I cannot express the dirty, I’m-watching-you,
manipulated feeling I experienced. Never before had something like this ever
happened to me. One act had made me feel so utterly victimized and powerless.
It was a scary horrible overwhelming feeling I never want to know again.
I’ve tried to leave the whole experience behind me, but not
the lesson. I’ve taken measures so that the same thing doesn’t happen again.
Soon I’ll be able to laugh about the whole thing. But not too soon…..
So now I’m a cautionary tale. I’m not the first. I won’t be
the last. Be careful out there, kids.
Don’t be stupid, but don’t give up hope either.
Thanks for reading <3
