Africa, Pregnant

It’s a funny thing to be in the early stages of pregnancy. In addition to the excitement/panic of the good news, behavior change becomes a big part of daily activity. It is too soon, for me anyway, to feel affection, per se, for this life growing inside of me. A more accurate feeling is protective. The obvious example is giving up food that is harmful, like alcohol and sushi. That wasn’t too hard for me though due to my extreme nausea and resultant sheer aversion to just about everything except peanut butter Cliff bars.

But as I prepared for my journey to Senegal, new concerns challenges came into a previous routine experience. I had to take Lariam for the first time, the dreaded anti-malarial that allegedly makes one mentally insane but is apparently the only one safe for pregnancy. Thus, fetus trumps sanity. Yet, I still feared the impact on this living thing’s health. Talk about swallowing a bitter pill. As it lay in my hand, despite reassurances from my Ob and Hayden’s Googling, there was an unexplained hesitation that sprang up like a wall in my mind. Swallowing took a lot of self-coaxing.

Traveling to Senegal was a decision I made before I got pregnant. My job would always push this part of me. I chose a doctor who would get that. Now that I’m here its small stuff I have to be vigilant about, like remembering to put on bug spray, something I was downright lazy about on any other trip. I normally brush my teeth with water from the sink, having become an expert at not swallowing rather than dealing with the annoyance of bottled water brushing that never gets the toothpaste rinsed off the brush properly. Pregnant, I need to worry about imbibing even the smallest amount of water. What if it has Typhoid in it? I’m in the last year of my Typhoid vaccination. Is that cutting it close, especially since the vaccination isn’t a 100% guarantee of a prevention of the disease?

But then I swing the other way. Africa has a lot one can worry about. If I start parsing the risks, I’ll go insane and I’ll realize it’s futile. For example, how can I eat even a single meal here in Senegal? I have no idea about any of the restaurants’ hygiene practices. Even if I did, I can’t control a mistake in someone else’s food preparation. Or even ferrying out to Goree Island. The ferry station was the worst kind of human traffic jam and I literally had to throw elbows to make it into the station. And then I thought, jeez, there are A LOT of people getting on this ferry. Don’t these ferries in third world countries sink all the time, because no one is paying attention to the weight limitations? Ahh!

So far, if I block that stuff out, I mostly notice that much of my symptoms remain the same here as they are at home. I tire very easily and struggled through an all-day session today. I was also very nauseous today; more so than in recent days. Perhaps it’s something I ate here or more likely it is because Peaceflake grew a new body part and just needed an extra pull from my body today.

When the plane touched down in Senegal, I was at once relieved to land in one piece and delighted to be back in Africa. Then I went to slip on my sandals and noticed that I couldn’t get them all the way on my feet. I peered down and, to my horror, I realized that in 7 hours I had produced yet another pregnancy symptom: cankles! My ankles had literally tripled in size and my feet had puffed out to resemble more paddles than feet. Oy!

But otherwise, I have no regrets taking this trip.

My own private James Gandolfini moment

On the night of the season finale premier of the Sopranos in March 2006, I met Kate and James at the Ear for a pre-game meal. We were in a joyous mood for the event. Speculations ran high. How could this awesome show be topped? How would it end???!

As we were debating the possible plot twists, Tony Soprano walked into the Ear and sat at the table next to us. This is not a metaphor. James Gandolfini took a seat at the table next to us. Those who have been to the Ear know how small it is. So basically James Gandolfini joined us for dinner.

We did the typical New Yorker thing of immediately clocking a celeb, catching each others' eye to acknowledge and then completely ignoring him. It was extremely hard on this occasion, however, because we just couldn’t believe the coincidence.

Finally, James folded. He screamed at us (of course he did, my friends and I speak in screams), “What is going to happen to Carmela?!!” Kate and I died in our chairs. We were mortified and as James realized what he had just done, he turned crimson. Gandolfini on cue and without skipping a beat said, “I kill Carmela in the first episode. Don’t watch it. It’s a terrible show.” Despite our shame, we looked over. He had an enormous grin on his face.

We burst out laughing, relieved. He was lovely for the rest of the meal. James even claims he was flirting with me a bit, which I denied at the time, but now, of course, remember it that way. He engaged with us the way people do in the Ear: camaraderie due to cramped conditions + beer equals a good time always (just ask Fred.)

Trying not to stare at him that night, I remember thinking that he was a gentle soul with very kind eyes and was surprisingly handsome. It was one of my best celeb sightings ever. And now, with this sad news of his passing, it is an even more precious memory.

May 25, 2013

It's only just occurred to me, 5 days after the event, to blog my wedding.

Hayden and I were married on Saturday in Asheville, NC. It was a perfect day - seriously. Perfect. After a thundery week, there wasn't a cloud in the sky and it was 71 degrees with the most important factor of low humidity.

We started the day a little hungover after a fun night at the Champagne Bar. Nearly all of the wedding attendees were present and mingling. It would have been just right if we had ended after the sing-a-long with my parents and friends in the taxi ride home, but then Hayden's friend Brandon showed up very late and wanted just a few more drinks...

Hayden went off to his parents for final wedding prep, while I went down for a manicure/pedicure in the hotel spa. I realized that until 3pm I had nothing to do. It was great. I really had time to relax on my own, think about my future with Hayden and eat a cheeseburger.

Simone, my high school friend and present day hero, arrived at 3pm to do my hair and makeup. It was amazing. She took away much of my anxiety, especially about my hair, and did a fantastic job. Kate, Cora, Alexis and little Freddie showed up and we had champagne as Simone worked away. My mom came to help me into the dress and then away we went, along the rolling back roads to the big party.

As we arrived, I started asking questions and Kate turned to me and said, "I got this. I'm a producer. This is what I do for a living." I'm not sure what she did, but I suddenly had my bouquet and was ready. We all walked down the aisle to brilliant sunshine. It was amazing to see all those faces that I love in Asheville. The huppah holders (Kate, Jeff, John and Jodi) were doing their job well, except for Jodi who teetered throughout the ceremony. I grabbed onto Hayden's hand for dear life; he was my rock.

Erin conducted the ceremony masterfully. We figured we chose the right friend. She confirmed that instinct. She kept us all organized and perfect. My dad gave a lovely prayer. My Aunt Beth nailed the Immortal Beloved reading - no easy task! And Art charmed us with the tale of the chuppah tradition.

And like that, the ceremony was over. Picture taking time was fun. At one stage Hayden's trooper of a Grandma exclaimed, "I don't know which one to look at!" Indeed, we had so many cameras pointed at us. Scott, with assistance from Erin who deserved to be retired for the day, took literally 1,400 photos! Those two DEFINITELY have another career path should they choose it. We're not worthy!

The cocktail hour was in full swing as we approached. I settled on a bourbon and strawberry lemonade, which became my drink of the night. Johnny the bartender came running over to apologize for serving me a plastic cup instead of a glass, a detail which I hadn't noticed or cared about.

Next came our first dance to Martin Sexton's Hallelujah, which is a gorgeous song. Hayden managed, with a great display of dexterity, to not step on the dress AND spin me around a couple of times. Success! We had lovely speeches from Art and Kristina, who pulled it all together for us. Kate killed me with her speech and Geoff as usual brought it together perfectly.

Dinner was great, which pleased me and the cakes spoke for themselves (delicious!) We launched the dance party with "I gotta feeling," by the Black Eyed Peas, which predictably got everyone on the dance floor. Craig the cop did an ok job. He could have played more Motown and more hip hop. And indeed there was the growing infamous "Gin and Juice" incident. He refused to play it, despite the fact that all of my Vassar friends and all of Hayden's Peace Corps friends requested it and it was on our "must play" list. It turns out there's some sort of reference to marijuana in the song that Craig the cop took offense to. Well that's nice, Craig the cop, but it's not your place to judge our music.

There were some breakout performances, including:
1. Fred, Andrea, Jessica and Jeff's impromptu family boogie down
2. The Black-Diamond kids' performance
3. Little Noah's unfazed-by-the-crowd-and-attention dance solo
4. Brandon and anyone who would's violent swing dancing
5. And most memorably, Cora's (with assistance from Inti) interpretive dance to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin"

Some people departed for the hotel with the first bus and the rest of us headed to the bonfire, which was ok, although I think most people were pretty exhausted. Also, Amanda gave an impromptu, long and emotionally charged speech.

Exhausted and happy, we departed on the last bus bound for the Biltmore Park Hilton. The bus driver was lovely, but insisted on playing super weird music videos on the bus. We got back to the Hilton and some of us stayed downstairs for a while soaking it all up. Jodi helped me dismantle my hair. Hayden attempted to smoke a cigar. And Fred, of course, was the last one to leave the party.

Expectations

The other day in my fancy hotel in tripoli I went down to the fancy spa and treated myself to a fancy pedicure. It cost about $40 but as we women all can do very well, I justified it based on the following reasons:

a.) need: the polish had chipped and it was therefore a necessity

b.) I need just a touch of pampering. A pedicure is really just a minor luxury. Right ladies? 

Well, it sucked. I should have clued in to the fact that it began with a makeshift footbath in the hallway. The cuticle removal process was more painful than usual. And then, to my surprise, despite the evidence of a nail file, exfoliating scrub and massage lotion, she went right into painting. Oh and the choices were red, redder, red and palest pink. 4 choices; three of which were the same color.

Sensing disaster, but in need of new polish, I let her do it. But then she wanted to do the rest of the pedicure. She wanted to massage and exfoliate and my nails were still wet. Oy. Without a common language I was forced to grunt and flee. Luckily the receptionist picked up on this and didn't charge me.

I was floored. This place looked super schmancy. But I realize I forgot one thing. I was in Tripoli. There is this weird veneer of elegance and, well, money. Underneath that, however, is pretty severe underdevelopment (and insecurity...) Of course I could point to my many discussions about politics and women's rights to make this point. Yet, this moment in the salon, while certainly not more poignant or complex, was perhaps more personal. I wanted to relax a bit and that was shattered by incommunicable incompetence.

Exhibit A: My gnarly foot made worse by coloring outside the lines and no filing.

Libyan Women's Rights

Today I listened to 25 Libyan women discuss women’s rights. There were some points that were non-negotiable. For example, there is no question that Sharia law will be the law of the government. We may debate this from the outside, but in this conference room, it was not debated by these women. 

The biggest consternation came on the topic of hijab – the head scarf and covering. Libya is certainly becoming more conservative. In many ways this is a reaction to the Gaddafi regime. Hijab was frowned upon if not sometimes forbidden. Therefore, several of the women linked hijab wearing to the revolution. They were now free to wear it!

Here are some of the comments:

“I don’t care if you wear hijab or not. It is your choice. I want to dress modest. But I will not wear the full covering some women wear.”

"It is clear in religion that we must wear hijab."

“Wearing Hijab is between me and Allah”

While I enjoyed the raucous debate, I didn’t feel I had a dog in this fight. For me, as long as someone isn’t telling me to wear it (ahem, Iran), I think women should be free to choose. I have nothing against women who choose to wear hijab.

However, I did drop my jaw at the suggestion that women support polygamy. Here’s the dilemma: polygamy is accepted in the Koran. Men can have four wives.

Judgy von judgenstein!

Ich don’t think so!

Shocking!

Furthermore, it turns out that the alarm I had been sounding from my last trip was misrepresented. I came back with the dramatic tale of the Prime Minister’s first official act. Despite all of the democracy building and security chaos, he passed a new law decreeing that men no longer need the permission of their wives to take another wife. Obviously, my Western, Judeo-Christian values reject that. But here’s where it gets complicated…

Apparently he did this because there was overwhelming support from men AND WOMEN. Indeed, an unmarried woman in Libya is dealt a pretty crappy hand. She cannot move around on her own or even open a bank account. In Libya, women need the permission of their husbands or fathers or, eek, brothers for many things. So my moral judgment is diluted by the reality for women here. Who am I to get on my high horse? I don’t have to face that reality!

The debates continue within Libya and between Libya and the region and Libya and the world about the rights of women. One thing I noticed though was that, although there may be some nuances about the exact rights to be included or excluded, there is a common conviction that women are equal to men and should be treated that way.

PS: Did you know that in Libya, men and women have equal pay?!!!

Women's Leadership Training - Libya

Yesterday, I gave part of my women’s leadership training to 20 women leaders in Tripoli. It was, as always, a fascinating day of conversation. I am always amazed at the strength of women. It emanates when they are gathered together. They come from a variety of backgrounds from across the country. Most wear hijab, but a few do not. Some are in their 50s and some are in their 20s. Some speak English, but most do not. All are pretty educated and passionate.

As we reviewed the basic definitions of sex and gender (“women have babies: biological fact, women must be the main caretakers of their families: socially assigned gender role), there was an immediate surge toward debating gender equality concerns. Many issues raised were the usual facts of gender discrimination: women work longer hours for little credit and men are the decision-makers. But a unique spin on the usual frustrations of gender inequality was the post-Arab Spring atmosphere. There has been some news that post-Arab Spring is not exactly the picture of democracy that the West was hoping for. Egypt is an obvious example, where Morsi continues to retract rights of everyone, especially in the public sphere.  The debate about women’s rights in Egypt is underscored by very public and verified physical and sexual assaults.

In Libya, while a majority of the post-Arab Spring’s spotlight is focused elsewhere, there has been a steady erosion of women’s rights and freedom. Women were active during the Revolution. For the first time in Libyan history, women were out on the streets, regularly protesting and fighting for their freedom. Now this space is shrinking. There are legitimate fears that a lack of centralized security makes it dangerous for women, so there is self-imposed restriction of movement. Few women travel on their own and especially at night. One woman told me, “I used to go out up until 11pm before the revolution, but I am on my own in Tripoli and now I try to be home by 7pm.”

There is also, however, a growing conservative movement, influenced brusquely by Salafist extremists, who have instigated tales of women being hassled when on their own, especially those who do not appear “Islamic” enough.

Perhaps less obviously but potentially more devastating is the systemic erosion of women’s rights that is happening in Libya. When the new government formed last year, one of the first official acts was to allow multiple wives for men. One would think that in the dawn of Libya’s democracy there would be priorities ahead of this.

It continues. 

Last week, a new law was passed to re-instate the High Electoral Commission in Libya. In the prior version there was a clause that stated that women must be present on the HNEC. That clause is absent for the law that just passed. Voila, the absence of women is now an institutional fact, or, more accurately, the presence of women is no longer required.

The energy of the women in the room is unbridled, but the space to channel this energy is closing. It is a race against time. Yet, much of the conversation is about what happened or the current state of things in Libya. Can these women look to the future? Can they pull together and plan an equality offense?

The role of the two week training is to empower women through skills building and networking. Today’s review and debate about equality will be followed by a comprehensive list of desired topics: leadership, communication, ethics, crisis management, advocacy, etc.

Along the way these skills will be greatly enhanced by the rich conversation, debate and experience of these 20 women.