Confessions of a Hostie 3

by Danielle Hugh

  We spend several hours with the children - singing songs, reading books, and interacting. I've been to countries where the kids suffer malnutrition. That is heartbreaking. These kids all appear healthy. That is something.

  The children are mesmerized by the toys we bought. The toys will stay at the kindergarten, we hope. The clothes, including sheets and adults clothing, are given to local tailors. They will use the material to make an array of clothing and bedding items. I am sure some will be sold, but at least the money will come back to the community. When you donate things it is difficult to control what happens with the items after they are dropped off. In this instance we have the opportunity to hand the toys directly to the children. The looks of appreciation on their little faces are priceless.

  Voltaire once wrote: Appreciation is a wonderful thing. It makes what is excellent in others belong to us as well.

  don't lose sight of the bigger picture

  We leave the kindergarten late in the afternoon, after the last of the children have left. Some of the kids are picked up by a parent or a relative, but most walk unaccompanied back to their respective homes. Remember that some of these kids are as young as five. Outside of kindergarten I would imagine they would spend most of their lives unsupervised. I would later see many of the kindergarten children, as well as even other younger kids, playing in the laneway behind the kindergarten. I never saw a toy or even a ball. The kids just played amongst themselves.

  Most of the kids I know, back home, can't even keep entertained while their IPad or other electronic gadgets are being recharged.

  The son of the kindergarten coordinator tries to convince us to have a beer with him. It is an odd request. We are here to help the children, not to party. He is insistent. Patrick is hesitant, being a non-drinker, but Franco and I finally agree to have one drink with him. The young man's English is not very good, so understanding him is difficult. When he insists on a beer we thought it might be from an outside vendor or even in the young man's home. He takes us to a bar - of sorts.

  We are led through a series of internal corridors lined with people drinking. The walls are unpainted tin, timber, and iron - I think. It is so dark that I can barely distinguish anything. I feel very uncomfortable, as too does Patrick. We come to a dead-end. A barred gate is closed and locked. I look through the bars; the lighting so dim it is difficult to ascertain what and who are in the room or rooms behind the bars.

  A man comes to the gate, but does not open it. He takes a drink order through the bars from our young man, who turns to ask for money for the beers. I hand over enough Rand to well and truly cover drinks for everyone: three beers and a Coca-Cola for Patrick. The man behind the locked gate returns with the three beers and the change. Although it is almost pitch black dark, I watch the proceedings like a hawk. The young man hands a beer to Franco and then me, before handing me the change. I saw him slip some of the money into his pocket before giving the remainder of the change to me. It is not a lot of money, but it makes me nervous.

  'Where's Patrick's Coca-Cola?' asks Franco.

  The young man forgot to order it, holding out his hand for more money.

  This time Franco hands over the money. When the drink and the change is handed back I again see the young man slip some notes into his pocket. He deliberately didn't order the Coke so he could fleece more money from the change given.

  I want to get out of there; so too Franco and Patrick. With the young man stepping away from the barred gate, I take a closer look behind the scenes as my eyes have adjusted somewhat to the darkness. It looks as though people are gambling. As we prepare to step away, a fight breaks out. A body is flung against the bars. With drinks in hand, we run.

  I saw no evidence of electricity anywhere in 'the bar' area, yet the drinks were icy cold. Whether they had a generator to run a fridge or somehow bought in ice, I don't know. I was just glad to get the hell out of there.

  I did not draw attention to the young man taking some of our change. I would be surprised if Franco or Patrick did not notice what was going on. In the scheme of things the money was barely enough, combined, to buy one cup of coffee. We can only imagine the life this young man has. He sees us, being outrageously wealthy through his eyes, come into the slum for a few hours and think we are going to change the world.

  I don't agree with what he did, but can understand his motives.

  As we prepare to leave Soweto I notice a man selling carved rock sculptures, being small representations of African animals. He has a tiny foldable card table with only six or seven sculptures. I have seen hundreds, if not thousands, of these type of souvenirs at markets throughout Africa. What makes this different is the vendor tells that these sculptures were hand-carved locally, right here in Soweto.

  I ask who the sculpture is. I am told it is a woman who lives only a short walk away. I buy the largest and most intricate piece, a rhino, and insist we meet the sculpture of this artwork. The directions to her home are simple. We can see it down the laneway, almost opposite the kindergarten. Franco, Patrick, and I go to the woman's home. She is very old, only having several teeth, and she cannot speak any English. Patrick cannot understand her either.

  I show her the rhino statue I had just bought. She smiles. I slip her some money. She invites us into her home. I thought she might show me the machine or tools she used to sculpt. I could not see anything.

  Communication is an issue, but I smile to politely follow her around her dilapidated tiny home. It is more crooked than the kindergarten and much smaller. There is a little paint on the walls, but not much. It is as if whoever started painting it ran out of paint. I cannot see how this shanty is waterproof as I can see daylight through the cracks in the walls. I have seen larger and more comfortable doghouses than this. Even so, she is proud to show us her humble abode.

  We thank the lady for showing us around her home, slipping her some more money. I am confident she is not a sculpture artist at all. I think the man who sold me the rhino palmed me off to the first person he could think of. She was probably a relative. Even so, she was generous to allow us into her home and the money I gave her will certainly help her life. I also have a beautiful souvenir - plus a story to tell.

  We leave Soweto on sunset. The red hues of the sun glisten off the assorted garbage and rubble holding down many of the roofs. It should not be a pretty sight, yet it is. African sunsets are spectacular no matter where.

  Earlier I'd suggested to Franco if we could take Patrick to dinner. Franco thought it a good idea. Patrick devoted most of the day to us, getting nothing financially from the day, although Franco had slipped him some money to pay for the car's fuel. Patrick is not from Soweto, having no family there. Like us, he considers himself fortunate. He is giving something back. He is also a student of life. He knows Franco and I travel the world, often seeing things he could not fathom. He is quiet and respectful, yet asks questions from time to time. They are fantastic questions. I love being asked smart questions. He is a shrewd young man going places. He is happy to come to dinner with us, suggesting going to downtown Joburg.

  I have only been to downtown Johannesburg on a tour bus. It has an unsavory reputation, but according to Patrick it is improving. The government is making a concerted effort to encourage businesses and locals back to the area. Patrick tells of a very good steak restaurant. South Africa does brilliant steaks. Franco and I instantly say 'yes'.

  The restaurant is buzzing. Franco and I are the only non-Africans. We attract a few glances, but not unwelcoming stares. I feel quite safe and the atmosphere is fantastic.

  We are lucky to get seats. The restaurant is similar to an American diner in its setup, with booths as well as tables. We get the last available booth, ordering steaks all round.

  I've chatted with Patrick throughout the day, finding him highly intelligent, thoughtful, and astute. I am as keen to learn from him as he is to learn from me. Very few 22 year-olds have impressed me as much as he. Only a few weeks ago I spent time with
Helen's niece Holly. She is the same age as Patrick, yet they are worlds apart - and not just geographically. Holly has all the materialistic things the modern world can provide, but lacks awareness of others. Her life stops and finishes within her own little world. Patrick has little material luxuries, yet has his eyes wide open. He searches, he learns, and he grabs life with both hands.

  Patrick is destined to be a great man.

  chase down your passion like it is the last bus of the night

  I sit up with a jolt. The room is pitch-black except for the glow from the bedside clock: 2.15 a.m. I chuckle out loud - this time it is 2.15 exactly. I may have had only four or five hours sleep, yet I feel refreshed, fulfilled. I have achieved something. Yesterday was a huge day, but memorable. Franco and I sat with Patrick for several hours at the restaurant. We were exceptionally tired, yet sometimes exhaustion must take a backseat to great conversation. Patrick talked of his goals, his dreams, his vision was to help others. This was not rhetoric, he was totally selfless in his motivation. I was so impressed. His words will stay with me.

  After Patrick dropped Franco and me back to the hotel, I went straight to my room. I fell asleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow.

  2.15 in the morning is a great time to reflect on the day in Soweto. At times it is a surreal life I lead: one day on a beach in Hawaii, a few days later knee deep in snow in northern Europe, and days later waking up in a five star hotel in Africa to travel to one of the poorest shanty towns on the planet. It can be daunting.

  I see the best and worst of humanity - and it is not always about money or the lack of it. I've come to realize that attitude is more important. I went into Soweto learning to look beyond the dilapidated shanties - beyond the dirt floors, beyond the poverty. The smiling faces of the children is the most memorable imprint. These kids have next-to-nothing, yet they are happy. They expect little and appreciate everything. I can't help but look at someone like Mrs. Bacher to realize she is the opposite. She expects everything and appreciates little.

  It angers me that the likes of Mrs. Bacher would carry on about things so petty. It makes me want to be a better person, to disregard the unimportant. Next time I get agitated because the girl at the coffee shop gave me a cappuccino instead of a latte I'll brush it off as an honest mistake, next time a passenger touches me to get my attention I'll become less distressed, next time I serve the likes of Mrs. Bacher or work with a Wendy I'll stop to take a deep breath and then put things into perspective.

  I have a privileged life. Most I know do. I am fortunate to travel extensively, having the opportunities to see the many faces of humanity. The more I see, the more I comprehend.

  A day with learning is a day well spent.

  Recently I read an article about a supermodel. As I read I thought how lucky she was; perfect skin, perfect body, a perfect smile on a perfect face, but was it a perfect life? In her eyes she did not have a good life at all - and most of her gripes were about her own appearance, lamenting about how many physical faults she had. It came across just how unhappy this girl was. I thought: if a supermodel is not happy with the way she looks, then what hope is there for the rest of us?

  There will always be aspects of life we are not content with, yet all of us, even the supermodel, have facets we enjoy and embrace. I, for one, am so happy with my lot in life. Being a hostie doesn't define who I am or how I live my life, but it is a lifestyle enabling opportunities I might never have had the chance to explore. I've also met the most incredible people. That I am grateful for.

  Over the years I've had so many people ask for advice on how to become a flight attendant. Rarely am I asked: What is it really like to be a flight attendant? There is a definitive difference. Most want to hear about the cafes in Paris, the bars in New York, or the shopping in Hong Kong. Few wish to hear about cleaning toilets, mopping up vomit, or waking up at 2.15 in the morning so jetlagged and disorientated you have no idea where you are.

  I try to paint a balanced insight into the job and lifestyle. It would be dull to write about flights with no incidences or events, although there are plenty of trips where little happens. Not every flight has someone arrested or a medical emergency (thank goodness). I talk with many other flight attendants from an array of airlines. Many have had similar experiences to myself, some have not. Even my friends in my own airline have differing experiences on flights to me. My friend Mary-go-round was on three separate flights where a passenger had passed away. I recently flew with a senior guy who'd had nine deaths onboard during his flying career. I have never had a death onboard (touch wood), although I've been involved in treating several major medical emergencies.

  Mary has never had a passenger handcuffed on any of her flights, yet I've had three flights where this has occurred. Just as some flight attendants perceptions of the job may be different to my own, so too is what can, and does, happen onboard.

  It is tough giving advice to those wanting to be a flight attendant, especially internationally. Everyone has different expectations, different objectives. What suits one may not be right for another.

  What I can say with certainty is: Whatever you want to be, don't choose a profession - choose a passion. Never ever underestimate the value of loving what you do.

  If that passion is becoming an international flight attendant, accepting the good with the bad, then 'go for it'. I have no regrets.

  I hope Helen's niece Holly one day gets the opportunity to live the hostie lifestyle. I don't think she is ready right now. She would fail to see past the five-star hotels and the glittering signs on the shops near those hotels. She would fail to see the genuinely nice passengers onboard. She would fail to look outside her own little world. Maturity and experience may change her mindset. I hope so.

  As I mature I actually appreciate my job and lifestyle more.

  There are so many cliques I can think of: You can't put an old head on young shoulders. You can only get experience from experience... you know what I mean. It is true though. I had some of the wildest partying times when I was 22 and, although those days are fewer and further between, I now appreciate the good times so much more.

  My recent trip with Kathy, with her 40 years of flying and still-loving-it-attitude, has shown me that the positive aspects of the flight attendant lifestyle far outweigh the negative.

  Abraham Lincoln once said: In the end, it's not the years of life that count, but the life in your years.

  I love life, I love my job. I have lots of life in my years.

  I am just about to press my uniform and apply make-up in readiness for 14 hours inside an aluminum tube. There'll be demanding passengers, screaming babies, those complaining about not getting a meal choice; there might even be a Mrs. Bacher-type onboard. I'll take it all in my stride. For every passenger who upsets all and sundry there'll be dozens of lovely passengers; those who sit there quietly, don't complain without justifiable provocation, smile when spoken to, are attentive to the menu selections or safety instructions, are aware of others around them, and understand the pros and cons of airline travel.

  I am sure you are one of those lovely people.

  Next time you jump on a plane I hope the friendly face of the flight attendant is mine.

  I'll look forward to seeing you onboard.

  Safe and happy travels

  Danielle Hugh

  THE END

  DISCLAIMER

  The episodes featured in this book describe my experiences working as an international flight attendant. Although the stories are true, to protect confidentiality some events are not in sequence, character names have been changed, and only generic information about airlines and hotels are given. I have avoided revealing any information that could put any colleagues, or myself, at risk. I love my profession, not desiring to jeopardize my job, my friends, my fellow workers, or my employer.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Danielle Hugh has over 20 years of globetrotting around the world as an international flight attendant, wi
th no plans of easing off just yet.

  "If you stand still too long you collect dust" said Danielle's grandmother.

  Danielle tells of having the most amazing grandmothers: "One of my grandmothers had little education, yet was highly intelligent, compassionate, feisty, and forthright. My other grandmother was university educated, astute, articulate, and loved to travel. In an era where global traveling was expensive and problematic, she did some astonishing trips. I guess I know where my spirit of adventure comes from. Sadly I lost both grandmothers just before joining the airline over 20 years ago, but I carry their memory with me. This book is dedicated to them.

  Danielle is a keen observer of people and situations - loving observational humor. A natural progression is to write about her experiences, trying to see the funnier side of life.

  She describes writing the 'Confessions of a Flight Attendant' series as "an absolute joy. When a flight is delayed and the rest of the crew are grumbling; I grab a latte, turn on my computer, and type frantically. I love it. There is no such thing as a wasted moment when you are passionate about something."

  Danielle's passion for her job, lifestyle, and writing is obvious... a lot more writing is to come...

  ALSO AVAILABLE (or coming soon)

  The original 'Confessions of a Hostie - True Stories of an International Flight Attendant' and the sequel 'More Confessions of a Hostie - The Second Sector' are offered for download from all the usual eBook retailing outlets.