Monthly Archives: January 2018

General Musings, Metaphors and Stories

To pee or not to pee

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Living in a hot and humid environment has made me realize just how rubbish I am at drinking water.  In this heat I need to be drinking at least 4 pints a day, some days I don’t manage even half of this.  I have a little device which attaches to a drink bottle and it flashes annoyingly when the drink bottle has not been tipped up.  It didn’t last as the rubber quickly eroded in this humidity and now it’s forlornly flashing on its ownsome in my bedside drawer.

In my previous corporate life, I never made time to go to the bathroom so unless I was in a long boring meeting when the only way to stay awake was to drink copious amounts of caffeine laden coffee while stabbing myself regularly with a pen lid, I would go the entire 12 hour day perhaps only visiting the bathroom once.  It didn’t occur to me that this was not normal and not good for my body.

Ironically, this poor behavior started in Uganda and I can trace it back to dealing with and managing the relationship with President Museveni.  When we first start working together I’m summoned to State House whenever he has a question or just wants to chew the fat about our project, or other matters.  Very quickly I learn this means to cancel all plans, bring a book and 200litres of patience.  The security guards confiscate all mobile devices,  pagers or laptops (unless previously agreed) at the gate.  Frustratingly this means I cannot do any meaningful work,  the wait is often 4-6 hours,  the ladies bathroom is a walk away and I always worry I’m going to miss the meeting window.  So I learn to ‘go’ before heading to State House and then I drink nothing until after I’ve seen him.

As time goes on,  I start to earn his trust and I’m invited to his Rawakitura farm in the Kiruhura District of Uganda- a 5 hour drive from Kampala, 3 hours of which are on bumpy, dusty, murrain track.  Once there and the charade of checking for bombs and explosives has been conducted, we sit on white plastic garden chairs under a large open 2 sided marquee and wait to be summoned to the front to talk to the President.  I’ve already been warned to bring a toothbrush and change of clothes and to be prepared to sleep “up-country” as there are many more distractions for him at the Farm.  But on my visits there I was always able to get back to Kampala, sometimes with my life in my steering wheeled hands, particularly as driving in the dark outside of the city is not advised.  On my visits I see no conveniences but as I’m now well practiced in not drinking any fluids there is no need for me to enquire where they might be.

Eventually, I’m bestowed the honor of going to the  boma.  This is where the prized Ankole cattle are kept, where the President is most relaxed, where real business gets done.  On the day in question there are a small handful of us and I’m the only woman in the group.  We sit on the ubiquitous white plastic garden chairs close to two 10 ft circular brick watering holes. Museveni is in his herd boy dress and his avuncular mood is infectious.  Drinks are passed around, I take a bottled water but do not open it. He gestures and the ballet begins.  From the left side come approximately 20 of the most beautiful bovine beasts I have ever seen, they amble to the watering hole,  guided by their herdsman; with their gleaming skin and muscled flanks, they revel in their power and grace.  It seems that they  know they are pristine, much-loved Ankole cattle owned by the most powerful figure in the land.    Museveni asks questions about each animal, the herdboy answers, then the next 20 of the herd are ushered in from the right hand side and so it’s goes on, left to right back to left, interminably.  Part way through a frisky bull decides to mate with a willing cow, directly in my line of vision.  The President delights in this show of virility and there is much innuendo and laughter,  a lot of which seems to be pointed in my direction.    It feels like it’s some sort of test and I try to not rise to the bait however I’m  marginally uncomfortable given my singular female  status.   By now the President is seated to my left and shortly after the bull has dismounted and been led away, he stands up and walks about 10 paces away.  With his back to me he casually pees into the bush while still talking to the group.  What to do?  Where is the protocol on where to put ones gaze as the Head of State unzips his breeks and relieves himself in your line of sight?  I stare straight ahead and try to appear nonchalant.

Later on I’m thrown out of my inner turmoil as he directly asks why I’m not drinking.  I explain that the female anatomy means it’s more difficult to relieve oneself in the bush and I receive a long and, I think, well-meaning lecture on the perils of not staying hydrated.   He’s amused as my response includes a joke regarding him not having this issue.  Suitably chastened I drink the bottled water and later I’m pressed into having a two cups of tea. Like all leaders he misses very little and I know to refuse would offend his hospitality.

The consequence is a long and most uncomfortable drive back to Kampala.  My battered Toyota LandCruiser is not known for its comfortable suspension and each lurch and bump is a test of my pelvic floor.

Made worse by the fact I know he knows that I know that his power reaches beyond the normal transactional business of a tamper-proof automated electoral voting system.

Yes, doing business in Africa requires tolerance, perseverance, patience and heaps of flexibility, as well as the ability to adopt all the characteristics of a camel.

 

Life change, Workplace change

#Me too

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This week I read the transcript and then listen and watch Oprah Winfrey accept her Cecil B. DeMille award at the 2018 Golden Globes. Wow! This woman can tell a story. Her powers of oration do not automatically qualify her as a suitable presidential candidate but as a speaker of her truth she has no rival.

Winfrey, is without doubt an inspirational figure in the current mêlée of victim, accuser, bully, predator, opportunist, rapist or in my experiences, boss.

My #me too experiences are unfortunately many as I grew up in an era when men thought it was their right to touch and feel, suggest and leer and on occasion physically force themselves on the female form. This was the time when as a young girl, I could open the cupboard and be greeted by the images of semi-naked/bikini clad girls on my Dads beer cans. Where I would beg the babysitter to let me stay up to watch Miss World, broadcast on the BBC. This was the time when a grope was a way of saying “I fancy you” and standing on a crowded underground tube train could engender the indelible feeling of hand on thigh, bum or even boob with no chance of reprisal. My first ever communications role was for an automotive company which produced ‘tasteful’ naked girly calendars to rival Pirelli and they expected us to distribute these without a bat of an eye or blush of cheek.

Looking back I realise I had a high moral code, borne from earlier childhood experiences, which prevented my capitulation. Others were not so fortunate. In my early career  I join a FTSE building supplies and manufacturing company as their Head of Communications.  Within a week I discover that I can not eject the sub-standard (and expensive) video and media supplier as their account director is “very close” to one of our Executive Directors. I like her personally but can not abide such shenanigans particularly on my patch. Despite instigating a performance review and subsequent 4-way agency pitch in a tight cost cutting environment, I’m informed by the ‘Heid yin’ there will be no change of supplier. Later, the HR Director propositions me, offering me role protection in return for sexual favours.  This is brazenly done in his family home after luring me there to drop off some ostensibly urgent work papers as I travel home. ( His wife and two children are conveniently out at the time) He is robustly rejected on this occasion and on several others before I find myself being made redundant at a time when the organisation needs my change communication skills more than ever.

Dusting myself off,  6 weeks later I join a Global British IT institution where for several years I work closely with the CEO and his Executive team. I love this role and the company until I have to take out a legal deposition as the CEO has physically sexually attacked me in a hotel room where we’re supposed to be discussing next steps after a successful management conference. Unfortunately, this is not the first time this has happened but it is the first time that he is so physical and it’s very frightening. By this point the pattern is becoming too frequent to ignore . Helpfully the lawyer points out that the deposition only has a 3 month time limit after which it’s considered to be null and void.  This is the catalyst I need.  As it’s becoming more difficult to do my job effectively, I speak to another Executive and interview for a new role. It means a promotion and an international move. When successful I’m given the CEO’s full blessing. We both know, without words, this is an elegant solution.

The trouble with such experiences is the far-reaching impact. I suffer badly from imposter syndrome as a result of such attacks. Am I not as good as I think? Did I only get the role because of how I looked? Did I only get my promotion to get me out of the way? Did I deserve this (unwanted) attention? What do others think of me? What do I think of myself?  The accompanying feelings of fear, disgust, anger, worry, concern, guilt pop up frequently.  These thoughts and feelings have followed me throughout my career and despite some extraordinary opportunities and off the chart performances and deliverables, I still live with residual doubts.

It’s all too easy to take the blame, to stay quiet, to move on without a fuss. During my career, we women, paid less, working more, have had to fight for our right to perform in what was previously largely considered to be a men’s club. If you want to get to the table with those boys you either had to bend over or be flexible and prepared to move. As I hopped from one role to the next it didn’t occur to me that this was not my fault. That this abuse of power was not ‘just normal’. That I had a right to be protected and supported when these men decided to take full advantage of their seniority and power.

So I’m emboldened and heartened by the ‘Me too’ movement. With clearer sight of right and wrong both men and women have more visible guidelines for what is appropriate and inappropriate in today’s workplace. Flirting is fine as long as both parties are mutually interested,  both now know where the line is and the potential consequences of crossing it. However, I fear that old habits can be hard to break and the male power and ego dynamic which lurks in so many large corporations means it is likely to take a generation and several prosecutions until the message is rammed home.  In no circumstances should a lewd suggestion or hand be placed on an unwilling subordinate. In no circumstances should any woman be made to feel lesser, inferior, because of a mistaken misogynistic, outdated male view-point.

This is why Oprah and the female celebrities before her, are so important. They raise the profile and awareness that this behaviour, it’s not okay. No matter what cultural or belief system you are raised in, it’s never okay.  The people of the world, no matter where they’re located, are beginning to hear and see that society is changing and its possible to take a stand.  And the brave women who speak their truths need to be supported and listened to for they are today’s pioneers and change catalysts, shining beacons of worth and courage.

The more we open our hearts, tell our truths, let go of the inner disgust, fear and self-blame, the more we forge a path for the sisters of tomorrow to walk head high, and become the leaders they have every right to be.

General Musings, Life change

2018

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It’s the first day of 2018, a host of resolutions,  a sense of renewal and the determination to change are the drivers for this post.

2018 is a mere date change.  Yet its promise of future, of potential possibilities is enticing.

If there was a score to be made I would achieve 10 out of 10  for living these past few months in my head; ideas, concepts, shared learnings, potential, all swirling around.  And with the exception of November where I designed, developed and delivered an intercultural values, norms and subconscious bias workshop to a group of Eastern Caribbean and British co-workers,  there has been little co-learning or sharing of  skills and knowledge (a strong personal value).  This blog has been silent, the pages left blank as the priority has been working my way through inertia, culture shock,  daily life and busyness.

It’s so easy to get lost, so easy to get stuck.  Despite good intentions, I’ve spent more hours thinking of what to write than getting on and getting it down.  I’ve read LinkedIn posts and thought of responses which may counter-argue or enhance the points being made and yet remained silent.  I’ve stayed indoors instead of going out.  I’ve prioritised small actions and deeds instead of making good on ideas which may bring results. I self-justify; ” I’m travelling (UK twice, then USA) or moving home and life (an international then 3 months later, domestic relocation) or focusing on helping  Craig and Roscoe settle into their new positions in a new country and environment.  I’m at the emergency hospital 4 times so have to care for the injured Roscoe, I’m at the vet three times so have to care for the poorly Monty” .  Yes, I get 11 out of 10 for excuses. Where is my medal?

Truth is these are my choices.  Directly or indirectly this is how I’ve chosen to spend my time.  There is no blame, no circumstances that help me expunge  how I’ve lived these past few months.  I’ve been stuck in my bubble, wallowing in its silence and peace.  A less stressful, slower life beat.  An opportunity to pause, to breathe, to observe.  I focus on family, I make good on my promises.  I am grateful and fortunate yet at the same time still unfulfilled.

Truth is this Presbyterian Scottish work-ethic  is hard to shake.  It’s a struggle  to accept that I’m not out in the world, helping businesses, corporations and their people succeed.  I value my contribution to this part of my life almost as much as I value my contribution to myself and my family.

Previously I’ve found it hard to stitch these two parts of my soul together.  And when I’ve  tried, the result was a distant relationship with husband and child, then corporate burnout followed closely by cancer.  I’ve spent the last two years looking inward and living my lessons learned,  recreating strong connections to Craig and Roscoe,  focusing on becoming healthier and better, letting go of the old corporate BS while retaining all I’ve absorbed and learned along the way.   Slowly, I’m knitting together an alternative with the unshakable belief that when we take control of our choices it’s possible to change for good.

So the symbolism in a change of date, the opportunity in a move from 7 to 8, creates the impetus of changing how I manage to connect these two parts of me in a way which is sustainable and healthy.  And the purpose of writing this publicly means my feet are to the fire and I become accountable for making it happen.

In 2018 I’ll  be sharing my successes, failures and learnings  in this blog as I attempt to successfully combine working in a totally new environment with my commitment to my family.

If you want to know how I’m doing, follow the blog.  I promise it won’t be dull…