Kill or be bitten

Wow! Mozambique. I did not see this opportunity coming at all.

Over the last three years, I have been giving my volunteer hours to Transforming Lives, Fighting Poverty, a Bermuda registered charity that works primarily in Beira, Mozambique. The organization is affiliated with the African Methodist Episcopal Church. Mrs. Joan Simmons is the Chair and heart of the organization. She has a real passion for the work being undertaken in the various communities the charity is serving.

Like I said, if you had asked me at the beginning of August when I was planning my next trip to the African continent, I would have probably said in quite a vague fashion, next year, maybe.

Joan emailed and asked me to help with the interview of a possible country project manager she was thinking about hiring. We talked and felt it would be advantageous to go the Beira to interview and meet Neli. We could also visit the projects that are currently under way.

I kept thinking to myself, can I really do this? Just jump up and travel to Mozambique? Oh yeah, where exactly is Mozambique? I knew it neighbored Zimbabwe, other than that I couldn’t give any more details. After a quick Google search I gleaned a little more about this impoverished nation and its neighbors.

To make a long story short, Joan and I agreed to head on out to Mozambique and check up on things! How do you get to Beira, Mozambique? you might ask. Bermuda – London – Johannesburg – Beira. Something like 21 hours of flying, this does not include the down time at airports. It took two days to get there.

Once we arrived, I was in total awe, as I usually am whenever I land in a new country with a completely different culture.

Our first order of business, secure our luggage and the deal with Immigration. It seems as though we by-passed a number of folks waiting in the hall to be processed. We were escorted to the immigration room where we were given our visas. Pretty painless. Next on the agenda, meet the program manager. She was right there inside the Immigration terminal waiting for us.

Yes, inside the Immigration terminal. Can you imagine? I was floored but nevertheless happy to see and meet her. I’m sure she made our arrival in Beira that much easier given the many, many people she knows.

There were lots of things that happened while in Mozambique. I can talk about meeting Bishop White of the 18^th District. I can mention the various conference events we attended. The people we met and got to know.

I want to jump straight into the adventure of being stranded out in the countryside. We had a rental jeep. We should have known there was a possibility of being stranded when it refused to start on the first night we were there. I wasn’t sure where we were that first night but I remember looking around thinking, this isn’t a good place to be stranded.

Luckily, the rental car mechanic came quickly and we were soon on our way. We figured the car was fixed because we didn’t have any other major problems getting it started until we went out to the land where the farm was being developed.

We arrived. Met the staff, looked around the property. Had a couple of meetings. I was busy documenting everything with my camera, so I was happy.

Just as dusk arrived, we decided it was time to head back to the hotel. With the sun setting, the temperature dropped. I happily jumped into the car and burrowed into my corner beside the door, bracing myself for the bumpy ride out to the main road.

Everyone was in and ready. Neli, who was driving, turned the key. The car engine started but didn’t catch. Try again. Same thing. She gave it a few more minutes and tried again. I remember thinking, this can’t be good!

We sat still for a few more minutes and Neli tried again. This time nothing. We figured it was the battery. Some men (and children) materialized from nowhere, I could have sworn there weren’t any houses nearby. Nevertheless, they were there to push. YAY! We would soon be on our way. Given that the car was a gear shift, I knew it could be done. I told Neli to put the car into first gear and then let out the clutch as we started moving. She didn’t know how to do it. I said, I would do it. So we switched places.

I was now in the driving seat and eagerly looking forward to getting us out of dodge. Push. Push. Push. We weren’t on a road just a dirt track. Despite the pushing, it didn’t start. When that didn’t work the helpers went on their merry way. The kids stayed, I guess for the entertainment value of our predicament.

I climbed back into my warm space in the back of the car and did what any red-blooded woman in my situation would do. I reached into my bag and pulled out my Kindle and started reading. Who needs to be rescued when you have a great book to curl up with?

After a few minutes it dawned on me that we might be stranded for a while. I checked the other passengers to see what provisions we had. A grand total of one protein bar, a small bottle of water – half full (or half empty depending on your point of view) and some chewing gum. Not enough to feed us all. How do I share a small protein bar with others? What about the water? Do we use the bottle top to pour out the water rations?

As the gravity of our situation settled in, I tried not to freak out about the wild animals that could be nearby! What about snakes? Realization dawned on me, we were in a kill or be bitten environment. Just as that thought entered my mind, it seemed as though the attack began.

I went into flight or fight mode. I became hyper aware of my surroundings and I zeroed in on our attacker. No one else seemed to sense what I did. No one else seemed concerned, based on the level of conversation taking place. I knew I didn’t have much time and even more I didn’t want to upset the car dwellers unnecessarily. I sprang into action and the stalkee became the stalker. The monster had found us by scent and I was determined to make sure it didn’t smell my fear.

While the others were talking happily, I went into action mode. I tracked the attacker with my eyes and didn’t let it out of my sight. Then just as I thought it would strike, I sprang into action. I tackled it and brought it down!

My fellow passengers stopped their chatter and stared at me. I could hear their thoughts – what the heck?

Taking a calming breath, I told them we had been sharing the car with a mosquito and I had just save their lives. After a beat, they went back to their various conversations. I know they were secretly happy I had saved them – the fact that they didn’t mention it suggests to me they were totally overwhelmed by my bravery!

Anyway, I went back to obsessing about our food and water situation while looking the epitome of calm as I read my book. I tried to remember exactly where the main road was and how long it would take to walk there. I wondered if they would send a helicopter to search for us when we didn’t check in at the hotel that night and the police were called in.

By my calculation seven hours later we heard the sound of a car. (Apparently by everyone else’s watch it was only 45 minutes). Unbeknowst to me, Neli had called in the infantry in the form of the rental car company. They sent a mechanic to fix our vehicle. Essentially, we were saved! YAY! Just as I was putting a plan of action in place to have us air lifted out of the country side.

Anyway, once the car started I took the wheel, and drove to the main road and back to the city of Beira. Come to find out we were no more than about five miles from our hotel. If felt like we were in the middle of nowhere, especially considering there were no street lights and I was able to glimpse fires at various compounds we passed along the way.

In case you are wondering, I still have the protein bar.

Note to self, carry protein bars when venturing off the beaten track in Mozambique.

The entire trip was fabulous and we were able to accomplish so much in the short week we were there.

So, where will I be next month?

The day my car caught on fire

So I followed my regular morning routine.

Got up and thought about exercising as I shuffled into the kitchen to ingest my morning plasma – coffee. I got a lot of work done and was able to get dressed in record time as I wanted to make sure I wasn’t the reason my husband was late for work, again.

Today was a very rainy day – the heavens started leaking from about 5:00am and continued for most of the morning. I performed my wifely duties and took my husband to work (no that isn’t code for other wifely duties – I literally drove him to work).

Upon my return home, I happened to sit in the car for a few minutes while I finished a phone call. Absent-mindedly looking through the windshield at the rain beating down on the car hood, I noticed what I thought was smoke emanating from under the hood. I quickly ended my conversation and stepped out and touched the car. It wasn’t hot, so why was there smoke?

As I sat back in the car I tried to think of the best course of action. Should I call the Bermuda Fire and Rescue Service, my husband Mark, whom I had just deposited at work or my mechanic?

It was a tough decision but I went with the mechanic. I called his number, and luckily he answered. I explained that I thought the car might be on fire. He listened. As I was talking, I got a little nervous because I thought, if the car is going to explode, why am I still sitting here? I gathered my belongings; purse, camera bag; shoes; rain coat; box of tissues; coffee cup. As I reached for the grocery bags, I figured we could get new recycled bags, if need be. I dashed into the house and dropped everything on the floor because I now had to focus on what the mechanic was telling me.

“Ma’am. Open the hood.”

“Um, do you remember where the opening thing is? I can’t remember.”

“Look in the glove compartment.”

“Oh, I see it. Okay, it is open. What do I do next?”

“Do you see flames?”

“Um. No.”

“Ma’am, can you start the car for me.”

“Okay.”

“Have you started the car?”

“Yes.”

“Now, walk around to the front of the car. Do you see flames yet?”

“Um. No.”

“Ma’am. Your car is not on fire. You can close the hood.”

“Um. Thank you. I just wanted to be sure because I saw the smoke, or it could have been steam or condensation.”

“That’s fine, miss. Have a great day.”

“Thank you.”

So, technically, the car wasn’t on fire, but it could have been. I next called my husband and left him a message about the fire and what the mechanic said. Mark returned my call to make sure he understood the situation.

Another tough conversation:

“What did the mechanic say?”

“He said the car isn’t on fire.”

“You mentioned the fire department in your voicemail.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I thought I might have to call them but the car wasn’t on fire.”

“I see.”

“Well, bye then.”

“Bye, Aderonke.”

I am happy to report that no fire fighters were contacted at all during this emergency situation.

Paintings

Mark and I made the decision to renovate our kitchen last summer. It was like pulling on a hanging thread of a sweater. You think if you give the thread a quick yank it will come out but after you pull a few times you realize that the sweater is unraveling and you aren’t sure when to stop. If you keep going will there be more damage or will it resolve itself. So you keep pulling.

That is somewhat like how the work at our house began by yanking out the kitchen, the unraveling started. We moved on to the dining room and then the front room. I would like to state – everything and everyone worked well together. I was complimented on how organized it was and everyone showed up when they were scheduled. Did I mention the painter?

When the new kitchen island was put in I was excited. It was almost twice the size as the old one and truly a work of art. There was only one thing that had to be fixed – the color of the wall that had been painted the same color as the rest of the kitchen. It sits between the kitchen and the dining room and it had to be perfect. As we all know, perfection takes a while to accomplish.

After lengthy discussions about possible color options, to speed up the process, the painter went to the paint store and bought back 17 books of color charts. I’m sure he was thinking to himself, I would pick a color, any color, so he could finish this job and move on. From the color charts, I selected the perfect shade. Once it was on the wall, it made the space look extremely blah. Not quite the effect I was going for.

Back to the drawing board. The painter with extreme patience went to a different paint shop for more color options. I selected another beautiful color, he gladly painted the wall. I came home and my immediate reaction was – where did this color come from? He reminded me, while speaking ve-r-r-ry slowly that I had selected it, only this morning. I said, oh, I didn’t realize it was brrrr-o-wwwwn. I can speak slowly too.

I assured him I would go out the next day and look for the right color. I will skip the next three conversations and wall color changes because I must protect the innocent and guilty alike.

I am sure the painter was as tired as I was with the number of changes that had taken place thus far. Undeterred, I kept up my search for the perfect color. I eventually found it and rather than call the painter, I decided to paint the wall myself. By now, I had seen him do this small piece of wall many times. How hard could it be?

I had all the tools I needed and so painted the wall. The end product wasn’t quite what I was looking for but I now had the right color but too shiny. I returned to the shop, they knew me by name and I’m sure were taking bets on the color I would get this time. I ignored the sniggering and purchased my paint with my head held high.

While I was in this elevated space, I decided to call the painter and let him know I now had the correct color and all our problems were over. All he had to do was return to the house and do one last cover-up and our painting nightmares were over. I coaxed a reluctant agreement from him and I’m pretty sure I heard a stifled scream as he hung up the phone but it could have been background noise.

He came to the house and immediately asked who had butchered the wall. I was indignant but didn’t want to get into an argument with the man who would make my wall beautiful, so I said, ‘I painted it.’ He said, ‘Ma’am, this is a job for professionals.” Swallowing my response, I left him to correct the tragedy that had become my island wall.

I am pleased to say, the wall is beautiful and the perfect balance between the kitchen and dining room. I would like to add that the accent wall in my front room was a breeze. All I will admit is that it was painted only nine times by the same long-suffering painter.

Who knew walls could be so difficult?

Examined!

The good news is that I am a recently minted and polished Project Management Professional. I would like to say I passed the exam on the first try. Unfortunately it took me two attempts, lots of soul searching and ego mending to get it together.

I’m a person who takes exams and studying seriously. I love school! I am the student who will sit in the front of the class, so I can make clear eye contact with the teacher and raise my hand high to indicate that I know the answer or have a very clever, insightful question to ask. These attributes don’t necessarily make me the teacher’s pet, nor, now that I think of it, a favorite classmate. Note to self – work on these areas for the next course.

The PMP exam was challenging (read hard). I feel somewhat vindicated when my best friend from college often mentions lots people don’t pass on their first attempt – I however think, I’m not most people.

I learned of my non-success just before Christmas. Talk about a knock on the head. I was in shock. How could this happen? Did they get the right booklet? Was my name on it clearly? Who graded these papers anyway? I looked at the score and immediately contacted the organization administering the exam and carefully explained that I had passed four of the six parts of the exam, which, in the real world, means I passed. However, in the PMP world that does not constitute a pass. Totally dissatisfied I demanded to speak with the President of the United States but they didn’t have his number.

As I quietly accepted defeat, I had to start telling people because I was extremely loud when I let people I was taking the exam. They now wanted to know the results. I whispered the outcome to a few people. One of them being a lady, Delight, who, took the exam when I did, and laughed when I told her an answer I had selected. Needless to say, she was forced to do the same soul searching I did.

Christmas got a little ugly for me last year. Between my brothers laughing at my discomfort and my husband trying to help me see the silver lining, I was determined to re-sit and pass this darn exam.

Delight, to her credit, found a class for us to take in the US and started the ball rolling. We got to Viriginia in mid-April. The teacher, who explained things in detail before the class, stated that we had to be committed, focused and motivated to pass the exam. I knew I was in the right place. He also added that we only needed to study for 45 minutes each evening and we would be ready.

I’m not sure which planet he lives on but 45 minutes turned into four hours of study each night for me. I had to be able to go over the stuff he taught each day, make sure I understood what he was talking about and then prepare for the next day. Sleep became a luxury that week. I am not sure if I was coming or going most of the time.

I know the night before the exam, I was dreaming (in color) of the difference between quality control and quality assurance. I had formulas floating around in my head and I knew my inputs, outputs, tools and techniques without looking. I was ready.

As I sat in the exam room with a bank of computers and others taking all sorts of exams, I confidently clicked on the first question and read it. My heart sank. I couldn’t understand the question, much less figure out the answer. I wanted to cry but there were no tissues nearby and I didn’t dare stand so, I dabbed by eyes with my shirt sleeve and went to the next question. After the fourth question, I realized I was at the wrong computer, taking the wrong exam. Just as I was about to leave, I decided to look at the title screen – it definitely said Project Management Institute – Project Management Professional Exam.

That sealed it, I was in the correct place, at the correct time, taking the correct exam. Having firmly established this I figured I was losing my mind and had to get a grip. I used all the techniques at my disposal – deep breathing, shoulder relaxation and prayer.

I was now ready – the next four hours were a blur. I know as I clicked on ‘submit’ I was prepared for whatever response the computer spit out. I’m pretty sure I waited three hours for the results but the administrator assured me it was less than five minutes.

Success! I had passed and to add to the accomplishment Delight passed as well. Let me just say for the record, if you ever need a study partner, Delight is your girl. I'm sure she is ready for the next challenge. Yours truly is contemplating a Ph.D. so I can be called Dr. Bademosi Wilson (not sure that is a good enough reason) but I feel that is my next academic hurdle. Yes, you can look for me in the front of the class, I’ll be the one asking the teacher deep and meaningful questions.

A year without clothes

After writing the last blog, like any normal person, I sought the advice of my 357 closest friends on Facebook. I got comments from ‘total genius’ (posted by me) to – ‘are you crazy?’ Not deterred, I responded to the two or three people who, like me, felt it was a wonderful idea and planned to start on January 1, 2011.

With a firm date in place, I looked through my closet and made a list of items I absolutely needed to have before I went on my apparel diet. My plan was to go do some crazy shopping while in New York over the Christmas holidays. I had everything in place, including an extra suitcase for all my new stuff.

I planned my shopping carefully. I made a note of which shops I would get certain items from. I was deliberate and focused. Nowhere in my plans did I take into account there would be one of the worst snow blizzards to hit NYC in twenty years. I could not believe it – not only did the City shut down but transportation was suspended, airports closed and people told to stay at home.

Given that we were already in NY I decided that nothing was going to keep this woman from her only mission – shopping. In the absence of transportation, I decided to walk through the waist high snow piles and bravely face the cold, slush and frozen feet to make it to my destinations. After traversing for 32 blocks, I found my favorite store in the world CLOSED!

What do you mean you are closed? Many others struggled in, despite being told to stay at home. There were retailers committed to the after Christmas sales and returned gifts. I sat heavily on the doorstep of Chico's and fighting tears tried to put a new plan in place. I considered breaking the windows of the shop and bursting in to find my stuff. However, I couldn’t think of a good enough explanation that would get New York City’s finest on my side.

With a last forlorn look at the beautiful red sweater in the window – the one the matched my eyes – I reluctantly moved on. I tore up my plan and meandered my way back to the hotel. I was so dispirited I didn’t have the heart to look for anything else.

I returned to Bermuda empty handed and without anything new. I was now ready to begin the New Year by shopping in my closet. I would have to find things for every season, every occasion and every meeting in the back of my closet. I would have to rely on my previous impeccable taste to ensure that whatever I currently own would work.

One of the first things I discovered in my closet was a pair of silver flat loafers. For the life of me, don’t remember buying them and I’m pretty sure that until I found them I would have sworn I didn’t own a pair of silver flats. Is there such a thing as a silver flats fairy? Well, she visited my house and saved my life.

I found that when all else fails flat silver shoes work – and if they don't no one will ever say anything about them. I found that my silver shoes go well with jeans, black pants, khakis, long skirts. You name it I’ve made them work for me.

It is now June and the first half of the year is almost over. Other than silver shoes, what other opportunities have I had to bring out the best of my closet? I have a metallic gold shirt. Yes, I wore it to a client event. I remember buying the shirt and at the time it dazzled me but in the harsh, cold, reality of my closet it asked questions, ‘what were you thinking?’ ‘are you seriously planning to wear me out and to an important client event at that? Ignoring the questions, I took the tags off and paired it with a navy suit and bronze shoes and refused to look myself in the eyes as I checked my appearance in the mirror.

There was the time I found a pair of sandals I had no recollection of buying or even wearing. But judging from their somewhat dusty state, they have been in my closet for many moons. I pulled them out and got a few complements. Note to self, bring out those puppies again.

In the last six months I have had a few close purchasing calls. There was the time I was in Virginia and accidentally tried on a pair of shoes. They were beautiful and fit me perfectly. I had to walk away with the shoes I wore into the store. I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that they would have come home with me under normal circumstance.

Then I celebrated my birthday. What to do? What to do? I usually treat myself to something each year – a cute pair of earrings, a nice outfit or a pair of shades that will take me through the summer. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It took all my courage to resist the temptation but I made it.

We are now in June and I am as strong and resolute as I was in January. I will not yield to temptation. I will remain focused and know there is a bigger picture. I know I will make it through this year wiser, stronger and in need of a new wardrobe.

I have recruited a few people along the way. I won’t call their names but they know who you are. I appreciate the strength you have given to me when times looked bleak.

If you haven’t already – join our crusade, save some money and appreciate your wardrobe. It’s not too late!

Shopping for world peace

I haven't written since the summer. You know, life gets in the way of writing. Let's see, what have I been doing lately that is taking all my time?

- I am producing a great radio program - go to www.heartofthematterradio.com to listen to past shows.

- I am studying for the PMP exam. I take the exam on December 8.

- Work. If I thought I was busy before, I am flat out right now.

- Recreation and sleep, not sure what they are but I understand from others they are great concepts.

Now, the reason I'm writing. I watched the NBC Nightly news this evening and their last feature was called the Great American Apparel Diet. Basically, women are de-cluttering their lives and committing to not buying clothes for a year.

Wow! What a novel idea! What a notion! What a great opportunity.

Is this something I could do? Is this something that I could commit to? I like the idea. I like the idea a lot. IF I do decide to do this, when should I start? It stands to reason January 1, 2011 would be as good a time as any, you know, don't want to miss the Christmas sales. I can be judicious in my buying over the next few weeks and get a few things that I absolutely need. Some great pyjamas, summer and winter, a few white shirts (I always pick up a few each spring), a nice pair of black jeans (they are always in season) and a to-die-for suit that will satisfy my need to buy all things Jones New York.

As I put together my list I wonder what other areas this new found resistance to buying clothes will spill into? Can I stop buying purses for a year? Should I not get books and simply read all those I have in on my too-cramped bookcases? Unlike many women, I don't have a problem with shoes.

I just called my sister-in-law and explained the concept to her and she readily agreed. Without convincing, without blackmailing, without begging. She has agreed. So it would seem as though I have no excuse but to buckle down and find a way resist the 30% - 50% off racks.

One thing did cross my mind - how will I bond with my friends if we aren't shopping? Does this mean we will have to have meaningful conversation about important things - things other than, "this top looks like you and will go well with those orange pants you just got."

I think I will start making a list of things we can talk about instead of shopping:

- world peace

- what does happiness look like?

- what are you reading right now?

- what was the highlight of your day?

In good hands ...

I am sitting on a plane on my way back to Bermuda. I’ve been missing in action for two weeks now. When I say missing, I didn’t check voice mail messages, I breezed through email and didn’t answer any calls of distress.

I was on vacation.

I want to share the highlights of my trip with you.

My mom’s 65^th birthday surprise.

Visiting the birthplace of my maternal grandfather, meeting and getting to know long, lost relatives.

Seeing my husband after a two week absence.

All in good time. I have to share the most pressing of experiences with you. I met the Deputy Prime Minister of Israel, quite innocently.

Mark, who is a serious theatre buff wanted to see two or three plays during our rendezvous in the Big Apple (is it still called that?). I protested (the plebeian that I am) and agreed to see one, any one but one.

Mark, in his wisdom, patience and calmness selected the show, I mean, play that would change our view on plays for the foreseeable future. We would go to see David Mamet’s Race, starring Dennis Haysbert and a few others. I know Mark selected this particular play because I think Dennis (yes, we are on a first name basis) is lovely (“are you in good hands?”).

Once Mark arrived in New York, our first stop was to collect the tickets for the Saturday matinee. We studied the seating chart and I asked a question about a box (the tickets were the same price as for the Orchestra.) The seats aren’t as good and you are at an angle.

We fatefully picked 106 C and D. The seats were six row from the front without being right under the actors’ feet, we could see the stage comfortably and it all looked perfect. Tickets purchased we went about our business.

Come Saturday morning we had a number of chores to accomplish before making our way to the stage, as it were. In fact, we walked 700 blocks, or so it felt, to get to the theatre on time. During our errands Mark had collected a bag (reusable, no less) full of stuff. I didn’t get too curious about what was in there, lest he ask me to carry my share of the burden.

After a brief discussion with the ticket checker, I said I was going in search of the comfort facilities so as not to have to disturb my row mates, the cast and crew should the urge suddenly to go to the potty come over me.

Mark insisted I take the bag and check it. I took it downstairs asked about the checking process, learned the cost was exorbitant ($2.00 – surely it is cheaper to hold it on your lap during the play) and took it back upstairs with me.

I made my way to our seats, climbed over the early birds who were in the aisle seats, handed the bag back to Mark and sat down. He looked at me incredulously and ask why I didn’t check the bag. I told him it was too expensive.

- How much?

- Two dollars.

- You are telling me we spent in the region of $250.00 to see this play and you can’t come up with $2.00 so we can be comfortable and unencumbered? Is that what you are saying?

As I tried to think of an appropriate response, a man came to the aisle and said, you have to stand.

Mark, ever the wit, said, “who’s coming, the Queen of England?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, a woman and man squeezed by us. They were well dressed and polite. Due to the location of the bag between my legs and the base of the chair, the man stood on my toe, but I won’t blame him, after all, I really should have pinked up the two bucks!

Shortly after we resettled and I found a suitable location for our luggage, I turned and noticed the row behind us was almost empty save a few tough looking fellas. As I looked closer I realized they had ear pieces in their ears and were talking into the lapels of their jackets. I roughly jabbed Mark with my elbow and whispered my discovery.

Stunned, I took a closer look at the couple who were ensconced beside Mark. Who were they and why were secret service agents breathing down our neck?

The play started and we didn’t have time to speculate further.

The couple, Mark and I noticed, spoke a foreign language. So the play progressed and the man, leaned over and asked what sequins were. I told him and we kept watching the show.

During intermission, Mark asked the guy where he was from. He said, Israel. Fair enough. I leaned over Mark and said, “we are from Bermuda.” Mark said quite loudly in my ear, “he didn’t ask you where you are from.” I said, but he wanted to know!

So we were chatting, them saying that Dennis Haysbert looked very presidential on stage, apparently, '24' is aired in Israel. We told them about the Allstate commercials he is also famous for and me asking casually when they were leaving, you know being neighborly trying to gather as much information as possible while keeping one eye on the secret service folks, making sure I didn’t destroy any international agreements or eradicate years of peace-keeping between Bermuda and Israel.

Just before the intermission ended, the couple to my immediate left returned and were talking about the Mossad officers behind us. I asked them if they knew who the folks to our right were. They said, yes, the Prime Minister of Israel – she had seen him on the news. I turned to Mark and told him, and just like a bad sitcom, the curtains rose and Mark looked totally shocked and I couldn’t stop laughing!

Mark then turns to the guy, (Mr. Prime Minister) and says, am I safe sitting here? More suppressed laughter from me, tears running down my cheeks at this point because if some Palestinian fundamentalists were to gate crash the party, yours truly and her life partner would become “collateral damage”.

Remember I told the head of state that we were from Bermuda? Don’t know you Bermuda featured briefly in the play. When our tiny island nation was mentioned, our fellow play goer from Israel nudged Mark and said, that’s where you are from.

As the play ended there was a lot of activity around us as the secret service moved into position to allow their charges to move carefully and safely to the exit. Everything went like clockwork as Mark and I made our way outside.

When we reached the front door the true magnitude of who we were sitting beside, hit us. There were about three NYC police cars and almost twice that number of black bullet proof limousines waiting at the curb. I was like, “WOW!!! OH MY GOD!” Mark kept saying, “this is surreal!!!”

We stayed outside for a few minutes, as did half the theatre, to see exactly who warranted the type of security evident inside and outside the playhouse. A few people came up to us, because we were recognized as the couple who sat next to the head of state. We told our side of the story to all and sundry.

Later that evening, the phone in the hotel rang, and guess who it was … no just joking!

We didn’t get any calls but I did tell Mark that he had had a thorough back ground check done by Mossad. They had to know he didn’t have any terrorist leanings in order for be considered safe for the Deputy Prime Minister of Israel to sit beside.

We learned through our research on line (thank God for Google) that the man is in fact Israel’s Deputy Prime Minister, Leader of the Labour Party and the Minister of Defense, Mr. Ehud Barak. He was the head of the Israel Defense Force, so in fact, didn’t need the secret agents, he could have taken all comers alone.

I have neglected to mention the drama on stage – the play was excellent and very well done. I loved the back story and would recommend it … as for Dennis Haysbert, this was his first play, on Broadway no less, and he did an outstanding job.

... and yes, with Mossad around, we were in good hands!

The Four Flood Week

Nothing good can come from a conversation that starts, "Aderonke, on your way home, stop at the supermarket and pick up a mop because what we have at home isn't working."

This is how the conversation started with my husband, who was at home with the appliance installation team.

We had purchased a new set of appliances, washer, drier, fridge and stove. We felt we had done a great job, there were no arguments in the store or afterwards about which models we were buying. He got to select the washer and drier, after all, he does the laundry week in and week out. He selected the fridge because that is a 'guy thing', or so he insisted. I selected the stove because it has a beautiful blue oven. There, that was easy!

We arranged for the appliances to be delivered and installed and as a free service they cart away the old stuff. A piece of cake - or so you would think.

I understand, from second hand information that there was a challenge getting the fridge in through the kitchen door so they came in through the front door. Problem solved. The fridge and stove went were installed smoothly after that.

They had to disconnect the old washer and take it out. Apparently, at this point my husband left the guys to do their job and went upstairs. From all accounts, the next thing he heard was yelling and the guys were calling him. He bounds down the steps at full speed to find water gushing from the washer tap into the kitchen and dining room. He dashes outside to turn off the water supply to the house. That accomplished, he calls me to get the plumber's number to fix the situation.

I decided I would call the plumber myself, maybe he would respond faster hearing a desperate woman crying on the phone. The ploy worked, he was at my house in less than half an hour - can you believe it?

When I called to check on progress, I didn't get a lot of information from my husband, not a good sign. I then called the plumber but because he was standing in my house, in an inch of water, he wasn't talking a whole lot either.

I finally get home that afternoon with three types of mops, because I was assured each was for a different function. I sat in the car for a few minutes to brace myself for the disaster that awaited me in the house. Water was all over the place, furniture had been moved into the front room and a heater was in the middle of the floor. I can only guess that my husband decided that would be the fastest way to dry the floor without a working mop.

I turned off the heater, took out some towels (at this point my husband said, I'm off duty now, you can take over, and retreated to his man cave.) I surveyed the damage and fighting back the screams started working. I had the mess cleared up in about 15 minutes and turned on the fan to dry the rest.

I didn't mention the huge hole in the wall where the tap for the washer used to be. Apparently the installers broke the tap and the plumber had to break into the wall to get to the pipe. I shudder to think about this.

Anyway, as we rested for the night, I thought to myself, it could have been worse. I'm not sure how, but I'm sure it could have been worse.

I awake the next morning and trudge down to the kitchen to make coffee - as is my routine every morning. As I walk into the kitchen, my slippers are immediately soaked. I look down and see there is a huge puddle of water near the fridge. A few expletives escape and I rush to find the towels and the mops and the bucket. I start cleaning up the water and realize it is coming from the water connector to the fridge. As soon as it is a reasonable time I call the plumber. He insists he will be there shortly - I should leave the key in a safe and obvious (but not too obvious) spot.

When we return home that evening all is dry and the fridge is working perfectly.

Later that night, as I am washing dishes and notice there is water on the floor near the sink. I am thinking to myself, I can't believe I did this while washing dishes. So I open the cupboard and lo and behold, everything under there is soaked. I pull out the junk that is stored under the sink and try to find the leak, it is coming from the pipe.

I call the plumber, at this point, I'm thinking of proposing to him so he can legally move in with us. He assures me he will be there in the morning, place a bucket under the sink and just leave the key ... yeah, yeah I know the drill.

As we rest for the night, I think to myself, it could have been worse. I'm not sure how ...

I awake the next morning half expecting to find the kitchen flooded, it was just as I left it.

I came home that night, it had rained heavily during the day, and I thought to myself, the plumber probably didn't make it. To my surprise, he had been, worked his magic and left.

I am thinking to myself, surely this is the end of the flooding at my house. So I go up to my bedroom and start changing out of my suit and notice there is water on the floor near the window, surely leaving the window open that tiny crack couldn't have let that much water in that it flooded in my bedroom. I stand there staring at the water on the floor trying to decide if I should run for the towels, the mop, the bucket and the fan or should I scream or just climb into bed.

I called Mark and showed him the water. He just shook his head and headed back to the man cave.

As I cleaned up the water - of which I have now become an expert - I said to myself, it could have been worse. I'm not sure how but I'm sure it could have been worse.

To Kathmandu and back

The adventure begins

It has been a while since I last wrote.

So I think it only fair that I begin at the end and move backward through time. I am currently sitting in Business Class on Gulf Air en route from Kathmandu to London, via Bahrain.

Yes, I’ve been to Kathmandu and back!!!

The journey begin in January when I attended my first Appreciative Inquiry Workshop with Jim Lord and Gordon Johnson at the Fairmont Southampton. The experience was so life altering, I knew I wanted and needed to learn more.

Fast forward a few months, lo and behold, an AI conference was going to take place in Kathmandu, Nepal. It sounded so far away and so exotic, I thought, I should go but no – could I really see myself going to Kathmandu, a place, I wasn’t quite sure how to find on the world map much less tell you much about it?

Then I made up my mind I really wanted to go, one thing stood in my path – a passport. That is a long, nerve wracking saga best told after many glasses of wine because I know I would start crying, otherwise.

I finally sorted out my passport nightmare which required the cooperation of countless civil servants, three countries and a judge.

I discovered that my mom was taking a course in Farnham, just outside of London, the same dates as the conference in Kathmandu. Wouldn’t it be great to travel as far as London together, that way I could go on to Kathmandu. So said, so done.

I booked our flights to London but still hesitated over whether or not I could really go to Kathmandu. I mean, who goes that great distance for a conference? Finally, after talking it over again with Mark, he said, “Go!” Ten days before the start of the conference I booked my tickets from London, made sure there was room at the hotel and a seat for me at the conference. All the stars aligned and I was ready to think about what I needed to pack for one of the greatest adventures of my life.

Traveling east

Mommy and I got to London – we had a wonderful time together, caught up with Amanda and her mom that will be the subject of another blog! Still in disbelief I readied myself for my sojourn east.

The entire journey to Kathmandu was very smooth. I spent four hours in Bahrain. I took the time to really look at the people and observe their national dress and customs. The thing that struck me was that there were so many men at the airport. I mean the ratio was like nine men to every woman. I had never seen anything like it. I tried to make myself as inconspicuous as possible which was a tad difficult as I was the only woman of African descent at the airport.

I boarded the flight on the final stage of the journey. WOW! Kathmandu. I still didn’t know as much about the country as I should but I figured what I didn’t know I could learn while there.

I arrived at the airport after sunset so I couldn’t see the mountains or much of anything, really. That was fine, I later learned that Kathmandu Airport is one of the hardest airports in the world in which to land. The highly skilled pilot has to navigate three mountain heights and almost nose dive at the last minute onto the runway. Glad I didn’t know that as we approached the runway.

The airport wasn’t what I expected, the lighting was less than optimal and I got the sense that there were some stresses on Napal’s precious resources.

I made it through Immigration without a hitch. I went in search of my luggage. Success! It was there waiting for me. I then walked out to find my prearranged transportation. Nothing. No Soaltee Hotel sign. No Yeti Travels sign. No AI Conference sign. So like the seasoned traveler I am, I returned to the arrivals hall to look for approved transportation to the hotel. One guy holding a sign tried to convince me that I should be taken to some institute or the other. I suggested to him that no, he really wasn’t there to collect me.

The transportation official gave me my slip, I paid and was taken to a waiting cab. All I will say is the taxi was 20 years past its prime and the seats were 30 years past their prime. I chose not to dwell on that but instead tried to get a sense of my environment.

Pure and utter chaos is the phase that springs immediately to mind. I remember sitting there in shock at the madness of the drivers on the roads. Motorcycles were speeding in and out of cars as though they owned the road. There was incessant horn blowing, cars aiming for buses and then at the last minute veering off to narrowly miss another vehicle.

I wanted to ask so many questions of my driver but he seemed to give his total attention to the road and being the conscience passenger that I am did not want to distract him with silly questions, especially since there were no street lights and we were navigating partly by stars, or so it seemed.

We arrived at the gates of the hotel, there was a cursory bomb check of the car and we were allowed to enter the premises. I got out and stretched my legs and wobbled my way to the front desk. Everything was ready for me and I even had a note waiting from a lady from Canada who I had agreed to meet while at the conference.

I went to my room, unpacked and then headed to dinner. Was not sure what time it was or what day, given that it was dark, I figured it was a safe bet to eat dinner. The meal was to die for – Chinese, no less.

Making new friends

As I was sitting there eating and reading my book an American gentleman walked up to me and asks me if my last name is Wilson. I look up from my book very curious – am I famous in Kathmandu, after all? Is this one of my fans? Who knows I’m here besides my family, anyway?

He said he had just arrived and came on the hotel bus and they were looking for me at the airport! I explained that I hadn’t seen the sign for the bus so jumped in a cab and made my way to the hotel. He was sitting at a table with about six others so after I ate, I went over and was introduced to everyone and warmly greeted. We all shared our enthusiasm for being at the conference and I bade them a warm good night.

I have to tell you Kathmandu is off by 15 minutes or 45 minutes, depending on how you look at it, from the rest of the world. Not that that helped with my jetlag. I knew I was exhausted because I did not sleep on the flight from London to Bahrain. I slept from Bahrain to Kathmandu but that wasn’t nearly enough shut-eye time.

Imagine my surprise when I found myself wide awake at 3am (Kathmandu time). As much as I tried, I could not go back to sleep so I figured I would watch some Bollywood and check on emails. I talked with my brother and nieces who were at home for the evening and the girls were doing their homework.

The international language of women

I got dressed eventually and made my way downstairs. I met up with a lady, Mariam from Bahrain, who had been sitting at the table I was introduced to the night before. We sat, talked and drank coffee. She invited me to go shopping with her and Barbara. I didn’t know who in the world Barbara was but the magic of shopping grabbed my attention and it really doesn’t matter what nationality you are or what language you speak shopping is an international language in and of itself.

Barbara (an American living in Bahrain) soon joined us and off we went. Mariam and I relied on Barbara’s experience, after all she had been to Kathmandu previously and therefore the expert of the group. Barbara’s sole mission was to find a jacket similar to the one she had purchase 12 years before and desperately needed to replace it.

I have to say, the traffic hadn’t changed from the night before. The atmosphere in Kathmandu is very thick; heavy pollution and dust permeate the air. It is not uncommon to see people with masks on in and around the city.

After a few minutes I got a low-grade headache and my eyes started burning. I was not going to be taken down like that, though. I had to represent my countrymen and show that Bermudians could hang at high altitudes and defeat dust with the best of them – blink, blink, blink, cough, cough, cough!

We spent a few lucrative hours shopping and bonding. Three women from different backgrounds and cultures getting to know each other in Kathmandu. What an experience!!

Mariam and I went on to become almost inseparable during the conference. She and I ventured out together without Barbara and were able to navigate the traffic, bovine and dogs with the best of them.

The Conference

I suppose I should mention the conference at some point, after all this was the point of my journey across ten and a quarter time zones. The registration process was very smooth and I took my seat with the rest of the delegates. I started talking with the people in my immediate vicinity and quickly made friends. Sahadev and I found each other – he had been to Bermuda and had been alerted by Gordon that I would be at the conference.

The President of Nepal opened the proceedings followed by David Cooperider. WOW! What an experience. During the morning break Sahadev and I chatted. I casually asked him if he knew the President who was strolling around shaking hands. He said no but come on. I followed him and we walked up to the President and Sahadev, speaking in Nepolese, told the President I was from Bermuda. He briefly shook my hand and moved on. I wish I knew a few Nepolese words so I could at least said, hello, how are you? Next time!

The first day of the conference went very well. I am truly appreciative of the fact I attended and met the many practitioners and novices who made their way to Nepal.

Climbing Mount Everest

One of the things I wanted to do was to experience the flight past Mount Everest. Mariam did the home work and told me where I had to go and what I had to do to sign up. Off I went, we were booked to take the flight the next morning. We had to be in the hotel lobby by 6am and we would be transferred to the airport, the flight lasted 45 minutes and we were assured we would be back in time for breakfast and the first session … easier said than done. All I would say is that we got back in time for lunch.

Now, the flight. There were about 28 seats on the flight and only about 14 people on the plane. We each had a window seat, which made absolute sense to me. We took off and after a few minutes the flight attendants turned tour guides came and pointing out the various mountain peaks. I didn’t even know there were other mountains near Mount Everest. Talk about a rapid geography lesson. I wish I could tell you I remembered all the names, no such luck. I do remember Everest, though. The tallest in the Himalayan chain.

So the plane goes in one direction and then turns around so the people on the other side of the plane can see the mountains. How cool is that?

The return journey gave me an opportunity to examine closely the area we were flying over. There are some seriously remote villages in the foothills of the Himalayas and I wondered how people got to their homes, how long it took to get to the nearest city and if you had to walk all the way in. I heard the story of a man who lives outside of Nepal, when he returns home it takes a week for him to get to his house!

My thoughts then turned to the more serious, suppose we crashed into the mountains? What a concept. Okay – let’s go to the dark side for a minute, I mean planes crash all the time.

I tried to recall everything I had every heard about surviving a plane crash in the mountains. I think you are encouraged to stay with the plane and don’t go wandering off in search of civilization. I also remember the story of the guy who crashed into the Andes and had to eat his fellow passengers.

I looked around the plane, I was at the back and thought to myself, I’m willing to eat these people, if it comes to that. Satisfied that I had made the right decision I allowed myself to relax and think about possibly climbing Mount Everest one day. I let that thought linger for a while – can I really climb the mountain? Should I have it as a life time goal? Can I convince Mark to do it with me?

As I started laughing hysterically I allowed the crazy idea to evaporate and replaced it with more realistic thoughts – should I buy more pashminas?

I haven’t mentioned Kwan who is from Thailand. We met Kwan in the hotel lobby while waiting for the bus to the airport. We befriended her and funnily enough she and I ended up on the same plane while Mariam and Barbara were together until Barbara made the decision to return to the conference because the plane hadn’t left by 9am and this was the time we were supposed to be back in session.

Keep in mind Kathmandu is not a large airport, especially the domestic side we were in, Kwan and I lost the other two for about an hour. Don’t ask, I am still not clear on what happened. We eventually found each other and all was well with the world.

Flying Business Class

There are so many other highlights of my trip, I can’t believe it is over … as I mentioned I am sitting in Business class on my way back to London. How did this happen, you may ask yourself, especially knowing my penchant to be economical, or as my brother would say, cheap.

Well, Marian was also scheduled to leave today – Friday. Her flight was later than mine but she changed flight so we could travel together. Wonderful! Another lady joined us in the taxi to the airport, Angela from South Africa. The three of us quickly became fast friends and were soon laughing and talking our heads off as though we had known each other for years.

When we arrived at the airport, we learned Mariam was traveling in business class. We asked to be upgraded but the man checking us in could not commit. We made our way through the various check points and went to the Executive Lounge. Mariam couldn’t get us in so Angela and I went to the restaurant and had instant coffee while Mariam was in the Lounge. She eventually came back with the Gulf Air Country Manager who is from Bahrain, Mariam, who I’m convinced is a member of the Royal Family in Bahrain, worked her magic and presto, Angela and I were upgraded to Business Class and Mariam was upgraded to first class!!

Upon reflection

I look back at my time in Kathmandu fondly. The country is extremely poor. There are women and children on the street begging, it breaks your heart. There was a woman sitting on the street who had leprosy. I walked past her and the sight of her disfigured face, hands and feet tore at my stomach. There was a bakery a few paces away I went in and bought bread, rolls and a few other things and took it back to her. At least this way I knew she would have food. You never know what happens to the money you give to people. Others may take it, but at least with food, she and her family can eat.

I saw another sight that will stay with me for a long time – some cows were traveling in the back of an open truck. One of the cows was standing and it looked as though it was giving birth. I pointed this out to Mariam and we looked closer and realized that the cow wasn’t giving birth, it was disfigured and there were two legs sticking out of its butt. We saw another cow a few minutes later with a leg sticking out of its back! How is all this possible?

My last full day in Kathmandu started at the conference. I was beside Mariam and casually mentioned that there were still a few items I had to purchase before I left this amazing country.

We listened to a gentlemen, Albie Sachs, a judge from South Africa tell his story. He had lost his arm during a bombing of his car that was designed to take his life. His story was riveting. I wish I could do it justice, I can’t, so I won’t retell it. I do know he wrote a book, if you get a chance Google him.

A final shopping excursion

As we approached the first morning break, Mariam and I looked at each other and with just sign language we decided this was the perfect time to go and have a last look around the city we had grown fond of and return to the shop where we felt the best deals could be had.

I have to mention, I have become known as The Banker on this trip. Mariam and Barbara put me in charge of price negotiations. They couldn’t buy anything until I had had an opportunity to get the best prices. By the time we left I had it down to a fine science.

I sit here half way to Bahrain and know I made the right decision to come half way around the world.

I don’t know when or if I will be back but Kathmandu will go into the archives of my mind as one of the experiences that will help to define my Appreciative Inquiry journey.