Women's Work

Happy Birthday, Peter and Peace Corps

2011-01-21T12:43:00.005-06:00

Tomorrow, I turn 48. Brave of me to fess up to that, huh, except that I'm not bothered by my age, nor about where I am at 48.
While I would never have thought this would be the life I lead, I must say, it's not really a surprise.
Sure, I'm not the person I was in high school, or the woman I was when I first met Peter, not even the woman who would marry him just a short two years from the time we met, a young naive co-ed non-committal in my relationship with a then, Peace Corps volunteer.
Peter turns 50 this year, the same 'age' Peace Corps will be. 50 years of existence - wow, what both of these beings have seen in the the past 50 years!
I'm particularly thankful for the Peace Corps, because I wouldn't be here, wouldn't have gone to Botswana, wouldn't be connected to the San women if not for Peter's volunteer assignment 27 years ago.
In 1984, I was failing out of Rider College - going nuts after a very strict upbringing and self imposed perfectionist ideal to perpetually please my parents.
Thankful to finally have a reason to focus and gain my life back, I embraced the relationship with Peter to keep me afloat, alive in a sea of drugs and drinking.
When we first met, we were ready to say good bye. He had just graduated from Villanova and was waiting for Peace Corps to come through. His first choice was Botswana.
He got his wish and we made the best of the summer ahead of us before he left in early September.
It was the best relationship I would ever have because neither of us had any expectations - we both knew that he was leaving. No ties. No strings attached. . . or so we thought.
By the time he boarded that plane for Washington DC, we were in love. We wrote to each other every day. His letter only left Botswana once a week, but every letter was as if we had spent them together.
When I met him, I admired the fact that he had joined the Peace Corps. Thinking he was altruistic, I put him on a pedestal only to have to take him down a few steps. He claimed he was going to Africa because he loved animals - which is still the case, but as I read (and today, re-read) his letters, it wasn't the lion, the elephant or snakes he would tell me about. It was and still is, the people of Botswana that kept Peter engaged and committed.
Peter would use his final PC check to buy me a ring. He had a long recovery from slipped discs jostled and twisted on the very same roads we would travel happily over with our family some 20 years leter. His time in Bots with PC was cut short, but had they not been, he believes he would never had returned or had he come home, he would not have needed to go back with me and the kids later on.
All carefully orchestrated moves by a force greater than ourselves. Peter and I can look back at our lives together and see how each movement and monumental moment made for a life of meaning - which is exactly what the Peace Corps, what President John F. Kennedy had in mind when he created the organization 50 years ago.
I'm glad I have lived through the 'me' generation so that I can face the 'we' generation with some substance, some meaning, some value to offer, for I don't ask what my country can do for me, I ask what I can do for my country, my fellow human beings, my world.
Here's to making this year better than perfect, let's make it an ELEVEN - you know, that's one more than 10!

2010-12-28T10:11:00.003-06:00

"I've learned from experience that the greater part of our happiness or misery depends on our dispositions and not on our circumstances." - Martha Washington

With 2011 fast approaching, I have to reflect on the year gone by.

In 2010,

In February, I closed Women's Work in Cold Spring after nearly four years in business in our former "hometown" it was a difficult decision to make.
In July, I accepted an invitation to go to Pakistan for a buying trip. From that trip, I opened up another part of the world to WW, bringing beautiful Sterling Silver designs and the potential for hand embroidery and leather handbags from gifted designers.
In August, I opened up a store in Sugar Loaf, NY where we were able to reach the Westchester/NJ market. Unfortunately, the long distance and my time constraints limit my efforts at that location and just over the holidays, we have decided to close that store.
In September, I went to Guatemala for a New World Craft Expo where I met El Sol Maya owner who has a team of women weavers and artisans from remote regions. From that trip, we now carry fair trade items from Mayan Hands, UPAVIM, recycled acrylic sign jewelry, recycled pewter jewelry from Honduras, and recycled inner tube bags from El Salvador.
From Guatemala, Goody Goodies now has a new line of fair trade friendship bracelets custom-made to say school names and slogans through Mayan Hands and El Sol Maya to benefit Safe Passage.
My new association with AAUW as member and co-chair of the My Sister's Keeper Initiative helps with WW's mission to bring the plight of women around the world to the attention of women in the USA, not only for awareness-sake but in an effort to empower women and girls to make a difference. AAUW's MSK initiative gave me an opportunity to give a Fair Trade talk at their Professional Women's Group meeting, help to organize MSK Celebration at the Poughkeepsie Plaza and GG was graced with an induction into their MSK Hall of Fame.
WW won recognition as "Best Boutique with Heart" from Hudson Valley Magazine
We had articles in the Poughkeepsie Journal, HVBiz, Hudson Valley Business Journal and Goody Goodies was featured in USAToday!
In December, we saw our Poughkeepsie Plaza sales double from last year, leading us to believe that our move to the Plaza was one of our single best business decisions to-date!

What does 2011 have in store? I'm not sure, but I am looking fore ward and looking forward to the possibilities.

I know I have insights into what makes me happy, what I've enjoyed working on and with whom I want to work.

In 2010, I have seen a huge jump in the level of confidence I have in the market, the products I carry, the loyalty of Women's Work supporters and thus, the competence I feel in continuing and continuing to grow the WW ideal.

While I never started WW in order to advocate Fair Trade, I see how I have defined FT and how ethically the ideal has defined me. Women's Work has become a platform for beautiful, well made, ethically and environmentally conscious products that are produced sustainably. I have grown to not only believe that all products should be made this way, but also to believe each person has an obligation to strive to live this way, to the best of their ability.

And so, in 2011, my presence will be all about hope - not a campaign slogan, not a flippant holiday greeting, but a genuine embodiment of positive living.

To paraphrase Paulo Coelho, "From the Greek - In Pandora's Box, Hope was the only thing that remained, because it was the only thing one could use to combat the misfortune that was scattered throughout the world."

Guatemalan Guides

2010-09-13T16:37:00.007-05:00

All the way back from Guatemala, I cried and cried. I'd missed my family terribly and was happy to get home, but that wasn't it. I also wasn't crying because I'd miss the people and place because of all of the places I've visited, I knew I'd return.

I'm not quite sure what exactly has made me this emotional. Could be the fact that I was insecure about going on a trip without Peter. And returning with miraculously no problems, I was relieved.
In Pakistan, I went without Peter but I had the US government to guide me. The Pakistan Handmade crew totally held our hands from dawn to dusk.

But on this trip, aside from a list of suggestions for hotels, the trip was completely up to us. Up to us to manage where we were to go and what we were to do. I wanted to take full advantage so I tried to plan some activities before and after the Trade Fair. Some plans worked, but others didn't and I was free for the last two days of the trip. I wasn't worried, though. Something always comes along...and it did.
The Trade Fair was a great surprise. Taking my job very seriously, I worried I would only find the typical Guatemalan crafts - weaving, worry dolls and beaded keychains which would mean not purchasing anything, which would be counterproductive. But there was very little of that. There were beautiful, elegant, unusual crafts made from recycled materials. There were weavings that were delicate and different from any other weaving I'd witnessed in the past. There were countries that I had not found crafts from in the past, like El Salvador and Honduras. And so many interesting dedicated designers and artists that I again overspent, but happily devoted my days to walking the show.

During the first evening of the show, I met a vivacious and bubbly woman with the same name as mine (coincidence). She proceeded to pull information from me that I would never ordinarily give up. She was a lot of fun and a fast friend. It would be the next day that I would get to know her friend and companion on this trip, Shelley. Seal and Shelley have great jobs as buyers for a high-end, well established store in Santa Barbara. I was able to pick their brains about so many aspects of their business - a business I could only dream Women's Work would one day grow up to be.
Another coincidence is that both are fans of the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency with Shelley having read all of the books and has a special place for them on her bookshelf next to Nancy Drew. What an honor! We would spend some enjoyable evenings together, so I was glad I hadn't planned anything in particular.
I would buy from four new vendors and have promised to look into products from several others. One of the businesses I was most impressed with was La Casa Guatemala. Sandra, who works for Casa, was telling me about how she would be working on Saturday to visit one of the women's groups who were graduating from an incubator project and would be giving them their certificates. I boldly asked if I could go along. She agreed! And off we went.

I emailed my family that I was once again going to an out of the way place with a woman I just met to meet with women producers - much like my situation when I first encountered the San. And as luck/coincidence/fate would have it, the encounter deeply moved me and I spent the day with my mind racing with ideas about how we could collaborate. Before I left San Pedro and the care of Sandra, I gave her my card. As she shared the card with the others, someone asked what the woman and the baby were doing. I explained about the ostrich eggshell and the San women I worked with. All of a sudden, Sandra realized something. Now, I had told her this story during the Trade Fair and I made her cry. She hadn't put two and two together until just now. Her boss, one of the most respected people in Guatemala for his craft development, had visited Botswana, visited the San Bushmen of the Kalahari. His step father was John Marshall - renown documentarian of Bushmen culture. It turns out her boss and I knew the very same people. Wow, was all we could say to each other. What a coincidence!

But there are no coincidences, just messages, signs that tell you that you are on the right or wrong track, that guide you toward a better understanding and in my case, validation that what I am doing is the right thing for me.
I think I was crying because I had the understanding that most people could only wish for--a life with meaning and a purpose.

New World Craft Trade Fair, New Ground for Me

2010-09-09T09:08:00.004-05:00

I’m in Guatemala for the New World Craft Trade Fair. The Guatemalan government is hosting buyers from around the world to meet nearly 100 businesses located here in Guatemala plus other countries in Central and South America. There will be someone from Cuba here! Now, that’s interesting…

I got in midday the day before the Trade Fair, this gave me enough time to check into my hotel and walk around the city. From the beginning, this trip to Guatemala has been intertwined with coincidence (and we all know I don’t believe in coincidences). I, frankly, have never had an interest in Central or South American crafts. Everybody’s doing it, but the connections just kept coming.

One was Alanna who now works for me. She had gone to Guatemala and was planning to volunteer with a group that works with children who live off the scraps they collect in the dump – Safe Passage. Alanna, I knew, was working on helping children in India who live off a dumpsite. Only after I had met Elizabeth Benjamin and her dad, did Alanna tell me that was the very project that set the India interest in motion. For one reason or another, she couldn’t go to Guatemala but instead stayed on to finish her degree at Marist.

Now, Elizabeth and her dad live in Garrison and had come into Women’s Work one day that I was working there. This would be one of the last times I would be staffing the store, it turns out, because shortly afterward, we closed that location.

Elizabeth’s brother, I come to find out this summer, went to the Millbrook School where the headmaster is a board member for Safe Passages. It was his influence that gave Elizabeth her impetus to volunteer, something she was determined to continue to do when we met. Her father was encouraging her to stay and work with me somehow (I was thinking sales person in the store, but John wanted us to forge another partnership where Elizabeth could live in the USA and work instead of in Guatemala.) John and Elizabeth’s mom were positioned to go to Botswana as Peace Corps volunteers when they found out they were pregnant with Elizabeth. Another coincidence and the one that brought them into the store since he had seen the Botswana Baskets.

So, when I went to Pakistan this summer, and one of the organizers told me he’d put me on the buyers list to take this trip to Guatemala, I said yes. I’d love to go, more, quite frankly, because I want to go on other trips and I will go on this one because there seemed to be a pull for me to be here. And after I decided to go, I decided to go to visit Elizabeth’s project, Safe Passage.
There was a board member in the area whom I had contacted. He responded with the Millbrook School email address. Now, Millbrook is a school we’ve talked about Macallan going to since she wants to be a Vet and it is the only high school in the country with a zoo. I brought Macallan to meet Drew because she wanted to learn more about Safe Passage for Goody Goodies. We had a few minutes to kill so we went into the building right next door to the Deans office, the Arts building. Of course she loved the arts program, she already loved the zoo and after this visit, she had convinced herself that new friends were what she needed. But then another of our favorite pass times came about – the Dutchess County Fair and another of her dreams came true, which was getting a coatimundi who would need much of her time, she wasn’t too disappointed that financial aid and the new school year was upon us too quickly.

So, here I am in Antigua, Guatemala. I don’t have my husband to help me navigate the streets. I don’t have my daughter to share in the shopping experience. I don’t have my son to draw my attention to all of the other things around me that doesn’t involve shopping or women. And I am free to do what I want all afternoon and evening.

I am not happy with my hotel. There are so many in this small city, all hidden away like secrets behind walled facades that only leave telltale signs, literally, some hand scratched, some in wrought iron, some within the windows that are too high for me to peer into. I recognized the names of some, and inquired about room availabilities. I knew one tha t John Benjamin recommended sits right next door to Safe Passage’s Antigua office was reasonably priced but was across town. As my bad directions would have it, I wound up on the very street. Tired and feet hurting from walking on cobblestones (always charming to look at but killer to walk on!) I was looking for a cab to take me back to my hotel. It had started raining with the sun shining (what we were told in Africa was called a monkey’s wedding) when I looked up at a building with some indistinct writing high above the door. This was Safe Passage and I was delighted to find Quinta De Los Flores right next door. They didn’t have any room until the weekend (my previous reservation) and so I’d have to stay put unless I found another place. But I left happy and validated that this trip is on a trajectory all its own.

I wonder why I’m here. I go to the Trade Fair this morning and I’m excited to find new products to complete my new vision of Women’s Work Shop in Sugar Loaf. All new ground this Guatemala, Safe Passage, and House Parties, but somehow I think they are fitting in quite nicely.

Pakistan Handmade - Day 4, Lahore

2010-07-15T21:56:00.001-05:00

This is our final day in Lahore. I wasn't able to meet with AHAN, a nonprofit organization that was well represented in the Expo until today. The team of designers that serviced their booth were all incredibly well spoken and knowledgeable about the design, origin, and capabilities of the many groups represented in this coop. I had interest in several products but because the entire business seemed so together, I wasn't worried about contacting them once I returned to the States. I knew they would not only be accessible, but responsive as well.

Before leaving for their workshop/offices, I was greeted by Steve, the manger of the Pakistan projects. I lamented having to leave in the morning to make a flight when I really wanted to spend as much time as possible working with AHAN. Angling for a way to drive instead of fly, I conveyed my disappointment at having to cut business short.

And it worked! We were able to stay until almost noon, when our guard and driver insisted we leave to meet the others back at the hotel in order to start on our 4-1/2 hour journey back to Islamabad.

But once we arrived at the hotel the other two buyers were no where, literally, no where to be found. Later, it turns out, they had to turn their phones off and hand them in while they toured a museum. Disappointing, because I got very little time with the AHAN team and as it turned out, there were a lot of questions I needed to ask with the products present.

I did get several charming videos that I'll try to upload. Really get the most from verbal descriptions rather than written, particularly since I had little time to get full backgrounds on product and know so little about the culture and the people.

I was so happy to see some furniture too - a chair that can be re-assembled so as to save on shipping.

There was a complete store here. That's what I came away with. If every sector of Pakistan were represented, there would be enough to stock a store full of beautiful and meaningful and worthwhile items from clothes, to jewelry, to housewares, to decor...something I am not able to do with products from Botswana or Southern Africa. Which brings me back to the idea I'm formulating but I haven't vocalized yet.

Border Crossing

2010-07-14T12:22:00.012-05:00

Having never heard of this before, I went into the experience totally unaware, which is a good thing sometimes.
Word came down from above that we would be able to attend the ceremony. We rushed to get there in time. Seems our timing was always a little off. Our van equipped with driver and two guards made our way to the outskirts of Lahore. The markets, broken down buildings, overflow of motorcycles, people, domestic animals told us we were heading into the real Pakistan. I was thrilled.
Many sights could have been a marketplace in any third world country. Surprising how many women we saw here, unlike in Islamabad where few people were on the streets and even fewer women.
We passed a huge trailer stuffed to near explosion full of hay. While the driver and guards were pretty reserved, when we travelled like this, they were animated, obviously eager to help us understand their country and her people better. Their patriotism was heartfelt and I was proud for them.
As we approached yet another police blockade, so common I forgot to mention them, the driver and guards were motioned to get out. The lead policeman was patting down the one guard as he tried to explain something. I realized just before the policeman that he was carrying his gun. The cop became angry then and shouted for us to get out of the van. Our driver and guards shook their heads and stood between the policeman and the van. Later, we found out he didn't like that there was a gun and so he wanted all of us out so that he could frisk us all, but our guards said that wasn't proper, that we were all women and they wouldn't let that happen. So the gun was confiscated, with much talk between the men trying to reassure each other that the gun would be there when they came back to retrieve it. I don't think they believed it would be.
For a second, taller of the guards, the one who escorted me to the bank, kept turning around in his seat. Seemed he wanted to go back for the gun, but there was no one to walk us into the ceremony. We found out later, the other guard wasn't allowed near the border crossing - unclear why.

As we parked and started to get out, we could hear the loud cheers and cat calls. The World Cup in Africa was still going on and it seemed like we were heading to see a match of sorts. We were surprised to find stadium seating and the pomp and circumstance of a soccer match, but the game was who could kick higher, or strut faster, or salute with more flourish...if only our guard were with us to interpret, even in broken Punjabi, it would have helped. But all in all, the crowds, pretty much responded to the wishes of an elderly gentleman and a jovial court jester of sorts. Both waving gigantic flags and shouting for more.
The ceremony attracted thousands of Pakistanis, with a few of us tourists in the front bleachers to make it interesting. Women pretty much filled the stadium seats on one side while men filled the other. We were careful to wear conservative clothing and covered our heads with scarves. We wanted to show our respect.
But the crowds were plenty friendly. Even after the actual flags were lowered, folded and gates between India and Pakistan officially closed for the evening, the crowds that dispersed around us were not at all intimidating. For the most part, no one even glanced our way. Although, at one point, we passed three little girls who heard us talking. One girl spoke in her best Ameriken accent, "I do believe they are speaking the English" and they all giggled wildly.

As we looked around for the guard, whom I thought was very tall, but just average standing next to the Guards at the Gate (easily 6'8" and taller!), we spotted one of the stars of the Gate Closing. Other people were taking pictures with the other guards, so we didn't think it would be improper to ask if we could take a picture with him. He nodded yes when we asked him and we got some attendees to take our picture. Our guard had appeared by now and he got in on the fun. As we walked to the car, the crowds became quite dense. Out of thin air, I had the Pakistani Flag thrust in my hands. I tried to hold on but it's quite large and I wasn't really sure what I was supposed to do with it. It seems the young jester from the ceremony wanted to have his picture taken with me holding the flag! As the crowd got larger, more and more people were using their cellphones and their cameras to snap our picture. I gave my camera to someone who was able to get a few shots which I thought was hilarious! Hundreds of people now had pictures of me holding that Pakistani flag. Too funny! I had to get some pictures so I returned the flag to the gentleman and took pics of the people all around us. A man thrust his children at me, instructing his little girls to shake my hand. So sweet, really.
The entire encounter was so reversed. Here we were interlopers, voyeurs experiencing their ritual as strangers, but so welcomed into the fold. There was no animosity here on this bridge between countries. While India and Pakistan may truly see each other as enemies, in the USA, many people feel that way about Pakistan, don't they?
Our coming to this country would not be just about bringing opportunities to the women of this country, but it would be a sharing of ceremony, experiencing a passage of sorts and seeing for ourselves how alike we really are. Muslim, Christian, Jewish, Buddhist...no matter. We are all people crossing boundaries in and out of each other's lives every moment of every day. Today, the gate is closed, but tomorrow, it will open again, maybe not to so much fanfare (we are told, every night thousands come to watch the gate closing ceremony, but no one comes for the opening.)
One day, I'd like to come see that gate open. One day, I'll come back...One day soon.

Lahore - Day 2

2010-07-11T06:53:00.006-05:00

All four buyers started our day visiting Kaarvan, one of the nonprofit orgs. present during the Expo.
Their mission is to strengthen the skills and business capacities of women in low income communities so that they are able to successfully pursue entrepreneurial opportunities, participate more effectively in markets and thus, improve their economic realities.
Sounds in keeping with Women' s Work, don't you think?

Their offices were large with room for their basic staff, desks for their in field craft managers and work areas. There were the sample/pattern makers, candle makers and the only room with air conditioning, the accountants. Nice operation. We were surrounded by products in their conference room which brought inspiration for buying. We were also treated to a shopping excursion to visit their store in Lahore. A nice boutique, but unclear whether the lack of electricity was due to a power shortage or...?
I wanted to get some cash while we were out. I was to be escorted across the street by one of the guards. I would prefer someone led the way since I wasn't sure how to maneuver my way across the intersection, but he motioned for me to go ahead, but first, he said, he had to stop by the car. "I must get my gun." he mumbled. I wasn't sure I'd heard him correctly, so I watched as he concealed the gun and then nodded that he was all set.
Once at the bank, there is actually a lock on the ATM door. Interesting, but makes sense. I withdrew money, later to find out it costs me not only a lousy exchange rate, but an exorbitant fee for using an international ATM. Banks the whole world over, suck.
I returned to the Kaarvan shop, loaded up on items I wanted to price and get more info about for purchase.
Such a productive day. I was able to get a pattern made of my favorite wallet that I asked the team to have embroidered so that I had a matching set of bracelets, headbands, purse and tunic. I developed several lines of matching (not too matchy) clothing and accessories to be sent to the States for further fine tuning.
I left to return to the hotel where we were told we would be able to go to the India/Pakistan border crossing ceremony much to our surprise and delight!

Silver Site-Visit Lahore

2010-07-07T06:21:00.012-05:00

During the expo, it became clear that I would work best with Amna Shariff, the sterling silver jewelry designer. Before we left for Pakistan, I had already started gearing up to create a line of ostrich eggshell and sterling silver. Her design sense - modern and simplified incorporated with cultural traditions was evident. I thought she could bring that melding of old and new to the San jewelry.
I wanted to create a line that would be higher-end and still in keeping with the origins of the materials. Ostrich Eggshell is the oldest bead, with the San women the last to be making them as part of their tradition. And working in Sterling Silver is a dying art in Pakistan. The preserving of both cultures seemed to work beautifully together.
Some shifting of schedules, flights, and accommodations were made, thanks to our very amiable hosts, Sue and Halle, and on Monday, I was off to Lahore.
The airport experience was harrowing. I had to be ready by 4 AM so I decided to catch up on emails, blogging and uploading pictures instead of sleep. We were checking out of our rooms at the Serena because we'd be in Lahore for the next two days, so I was packed and downstairs on time. KJ and Cecilia Foxworthy came shortly afterward. Our guard and driver (do we tell you their names or will they have to kill us afterward?) were ready, but no Phil in sight. Hmmm...what to do? Cutting it very close, we finally got a hold of Phil but would we catch the flight? We arrived at the gate, I had my pass, but no one else had tickets - or so we thought...I was told to go in so that I didn't miss the flight, but KJ said to follow them. Let's not get separated and something inside me said the same. So off we went with our guard who would negotiate for us at the ticket counter. Turns out the ticket I possessed had the other three's tickets on it, but not mine. The guard ( I feel funny not saying his name) laughed. "See, Cecilia, you should have just gone in. Now you're the one without a ticket." But soon, the ticketing agent found me in the computer and after printing our boarding passes, we were off. Go, Go, Go, we were told. But first, a very thorough frisking from the female security guard. Then another. We made it to the gate only to find that there was a 2 hour delay. Another passenger grumbled that the flights never left on time. We waited...Mechanical difficulties. Not a good sign.
Once on board, I had trouble with my seat - it was perpetually reclined. Hmm...I meditated hoping to dispel my negative thoughts and fears so that we could get to Lahore in one piece.
After a very hard, like we fell out of the sky, landing, we were finally there. The security team was there along with our drivers and off we went.
Through the city, guided by the driver, we were told about the different areas we would pass. The military state, the parks, the buildings much like Washington DC, even treelined streets with cars sprinkled amongst the schools of motor bikes. It was an interesting sight to see an entire parking lot full of motorcycles. They are very cheap, we are told, so everyone, anyone can buy them.
Once at the Avari Hotel, I rushed off anxious to start working with Amna. We were now over three hours late and time was a wastin'.
The temperature in Lahore on this day was 120 degrees Fahrenheit! Inside Amna's workshop it was that and more! We tried cooling off in her home but with a broken AC, there was no relief.
Her array of finished products, handcrafted findings and beads, and the men soldering, pounding, finishing jewelry was fascinating and so much fun! Amna pulled out treasures and we worked together to come up with new, fresh designs with the Ostrich Eggshell. Imagine having an entire silver workshop at you disposal - it was heaven...
But the heat was hell, so off we went to explore Lahore. I got to see Amna's jewelry exclusive to Kaadi ( very nice chain of boutiques), several other clothing stores and we got to go into the market (something I didn't think the guard would let us do, but there we were) shopping for sandals. The small store had walls lined with every type of sandal. They were less than $10 each and exquisitely embroidered with a stiff but comfortably flat sole. I bought a few for myself and found several I thought would fit Macallan - would she wear them, now that's a different story.
Amna, wonderful hostess that she is, introduced me to her friend, an artist. Little did I know, she was quite famous in Pakistan as a print artist in her own right, a professor of art at the university and on her way to Boston on a Fulbright Fellowship (along with her husband who received a Fulbright Fellowship for Mathematics as well). They would be leaving their beautiful home with glass walls that overlooked an interior courtyard garden for Boston in August. How exciting!
We'd kept our driver and guard on duty for far too long. We finally dropped Amna off at her home and I went back to the hotel with plans to meet up for dinner.
What a long satisfying day!
Now, this is the reason I came to Pakistan.

Pakistan Handmade - Day 3

2010-07-06T06:54:00.005-05:00

As part of the Pakistan Handmade program, the day after the Expo, we met again with the business owners. We would follow up and give positive critiques of the products the Pakistani businesses developed for the US and possibly to place orders.
I was interested in the possibilities of fostering these businesses primarily because this was truly their first exposure to the US market.
The buyers were divided into groups, making sure there was a representative from each venue present. I was in with Stephanie of World Finds' (wholesaler), Jean from SERVV (huge catalog retailer and wholesaler), Michelle from CharityUSA (another huge online retailer) among others. I felt very small compared to them. I only buy for my one store.
It was a great education to hear the buying process. I believe the buyers learned as much from each other as did the Pakistani business owners. The process used by SERVV was precise and thorough, starting with an application that is reviewed by board members. It could take six months to process an application and even then, there is no guarantee they will buy. The price is a big factor with some of the large orgs. since they need to mark things up 4 to 5 times. I didn't know that. I only mark things up 2-3 times but then my overhead is not as great.
I found that there weren't many orders placed, which must have disappointed the participants. I was able to place orders and order samples with a full commitment to move ahead in as a retailer. I was happy that I could at least do that. But then, I am so grateful for this opportunity. I have said time and again, I need producer groups that can make large quantities. Of course, I don't want to overwhelm the artisan and don't want to change their way of life drastically. The last thing I want to do is industrialize cottage industries. That's not my mission. But that's not what many of these businesses were.
This trip had me questioning my mission. I have long said that I want to open five stores throughout the country. I love setting up stores, creating marketing materials that enhance the products' value, connecting shoppers with products in a meaningful way. But as I sat in this room, as we helped these women to flesh out their businesses, talking about what we felt appealed to the US market, I was inspired.
I get requests from newly opened stores, newly formed orgs., stagnant businesses asking how to grow. I am asked how I got publicity, how I found my sources, how I wound up in Africa and now Pakistan. I see so many people questioning their life's path. Looking for answers.
I came home from this trip wondering what it all means.
Sure, I now had fabulous new products - that's the basis, the grounded element for the trip. But what was the reason it was offered, why did it come about? I have a theory. I'll share it with you in my next entry.

Pakistan Handmade Expo experience

2010-07-03T07:58:00.016-05:00

I got to the Expo early. I couldn't wait. The booths were beautifully and in most cases, simply appointed, showcasing the items these women-owned businesses wanted to share with those of us working in the US market.
The first booth was beautifully laid out with many different home accessories and some handbags. The Craft Company's owner, Muna, was still putting some last minute touches to the booth. I apologized for being early - she said, no problem, I've been ready for over an hour.
I had a long talk, got background on her, how she got started, with whom she works, surprisingly enough, she oversaw mostly men. Women don't like to do the kinds of craft she produces. They think that cutting tile to make mosaics is hard labor. Interesting considering the San women I work with laboriously grind, sand, polish ostrich eggshell for hours/days to make their beads.
I wanted to speak to all of the women since I was, afterall, "working" for USAID. I took this first buying trip very seriously. But I quickly realized, by stopping to talk to each owner, I was committing to some sort of business dealing and I wasn't prepared, as is my nature, to hurt anyone's feelings.
As it was, after the expo, we would head out on site visits in other cities. I couldn't decide between Lahore and the silver jewelry designer and the more traditional crafts of the old city of Multan. I let Haale, our coordinator decide. She decided on Lahore. But last minute, I was switched to Multan since she thought the traditional aspects of these crafts would be better suited to my mission. During the Expo, women knew who was coming to their town, to their workshops. I was supposed to go to Multan.
But after meeting Amna and seeing her gorgeous jewelry, I realized how great this relationship could be. She saw it as well and asked that I be switched to Lahore.

There were other businesses I saw that appealed to me. I was surprised by the embroidery - not your mom's embroidery to be sure. There were several clothing lines that I could see in my store and after speaking with the owners, I ordered samples. Beena, looked just like my cousin MaLou. I instantly liked her and felt comfortable with her largely due to this, but as I inspected her handbags, jewelry and shoes, I could see the same sensibilities. I loved one bracelet's embroidery - a raised form with a striking glass bead to enhance the bold stitches. I decided to have her make that design on bracelets, handbags, headbands, and chokers.

Another woman had very simple tunic dresses with modern embroidery around the collar. Elegant, but simple. A bit young for my clientele, but flattering and I LOVED them all. I picked three different dresses, asked her to make samples in three sizes and in heavier fabric since we were now buying for winter and I was on a roll. Rubina was soft spoken and so her husband would chime in. What turned out to be eager exuberance, I first saw as dominance. Was this just another woman who was being suppressed by her husband. No, it turns out. She is a wonderful designer and really knew her skill. He was being helpful, or so he thought. There are worse crimes inflicted by men than wanting to see his wife succeed. I felt a great affinity toward them after spending some time with them.
Then there are the two Entrepreneur projects (another of USAID projects being spearheaded by Aid to Artisan former consultants). These groups were so well spoken, really understanding their audience (me!), the products and producers. Their booths were well appointed and they were prepared with beautiful catalogs and pricelists - market readiness had been well implemented here. They were impressive. I looked forward to sitting down with them and developing many new product lines for my store - I quickly realized, I need to start seriously looking for those other locations for Women's Work in order to fully utilize these connections. I was very excited!

While I didn't find I could buy from every booth, I did try to be constructive and encouraging. Many of the businesses, even the ones I decided to work with had misconceived ideas about how to move ahead with the buyers from the USA. One told me her minimum order was 500 pieces per item. A few charged retail price for samples. Many didn't have catalogs, pricelists, or websites. All had to re-evaluate their prices for wholesale, which I am told is 3-5 times less than retail.

I was surprised by the currency of their designs. Most right on target for the US market. I was surprised that many had thriving businesses with customers in the UK and Japan. And many made samples only for this Expo. Kaarvan made dresses for the first time for this show! I was flabbergasted. They were able to ramp up and deliver in a few short months. Yes, these businesses were ready for the US market. I was humbled by their talents, their efforts and I felt great privilege to be one of the ones to bring them here to you.

Pakistan Handmade Fashion Show and Expo

2010-06-28T20:30:00.005-05:00

It's been a few days since the fashion show, but the participants are still buzzing and I'm hoping on a high from it. I thought the event was impressive! The place was standing room only - how I can remember all of the events I've put on both here and in Botswana that no one showed up for! And every Pakistan media outlet covered it along with some international press. I think that's amazing!
The show warranted attention and the organizers should be very proud of themselves. I for one, had a great time and couldn't wait to meet women that were featured on the runway (and I'm not talking about the Victoria's Secret model!)

The fashion show was actually the first day we arrive in Pakistan. We did have a chance to check in (at 3.30 am!) and relax. Some of the buyers slept. I was too excited, so I emailed, tried to reach Peter and the kids and unpacked.
We met in the lobby and got to go to a couple of stores. We were taken to two wonderful dress shops that carried the shalwar kameez. At one shop, I had a few in my hands and was wondering which one to buy. One of our "guides" on this trip, Colvin said, You know, they're $35. Why don't you get them both? So I did.
I had to buy a very large, unflatteringly huge size. Too embarrassed to tell you - but I heard Sue, another of the coordinators say that the dresses run two sizes smaller. OK. I'll go with that.
Most of us went in order to buy the traditional clothing to fit in, but we were all glad when we turned up at the fashion show looking supportive of the culture - AND we looked fabulous!
We were seated waiting for the show to begin when we were asked to go to the exhibition hall to meet the US Ambassador to Pakistan, Anne W. Patterson. She was entering the booths and at times (probably when the woman could speak better English) she was spending a long time with each participant. I was very impressed that she showed genuine interest and tried so hard to make the Pakistani women feel that their efforts were noticed.

She finally got to our "delegation" (like the sound of that, don't you?) and shook our hands, asked our names, then was going to leave when someone prompted us to tell her about our businesses and why were were here. She stood and talked to us for quite some time. She did say, "It's all well and good what you people are doing, but I was up in Boston trying to convince big business to come here to Pakistan. " Well, that says a lot about our dedication to Fair Trade and in this case women's empowerment, doesn't it, making us the ambassadors to US market you truly want?
I hope Pakistan Handmade uses the press generated to really force businesses to see that if a few small/medium businesses were willing to "risk their lives" to help a country in crisis, then maybe they should/could also. Because let me tell you people - we are being totally taken care of and while security is high, we don't feel a bit of anger toward us. Of course, it's only our first day here...

Flight to Pakistan

2010-06-27T08:13:00.005-05:00

Finally arrived in Abu Dahbi and able to stretch my legs. Small, small seats, much tighter than going to Africa - or maybe just cramped because I couldn't relax for fear I'd bump the person next to me.
Perfectly nice young man from India who didn't snore, rest his head on my shoulder as he slept, hog both arm rests nor did he sit so that his leg touched mine. Very nice young man.
I should have slept for as long as he did, but no, I watched a movie (started with Invictus then thought Peter will want to see this, so I switched to another one) then another. Then they had technical difficulties and many of the screens around me were blank.
The most annoying thing was that some people had horrible sneezing fits but didn't couver their mouths. I saw the women later and I had to frown. I couldn't wait to douse myself in Vit.C and take a long hot shower, ew!
The funniest thing was a woman in traditional shalwar kameez who found me fascinating. She stared and stared openly, even smiling on occasion or crinkling her nose at me. but never attempted to communicate with me otherwise. She stared into my face - not up and down like she was evaluating my dress, not disapprovingly, not shyly. As if she were with me - you know what I mean. Even going to board the plane, she cut in front of me in line to give our tickets and then proceeded to stand next to me as if she were waiting for me. Of course, if she were in front or behind me, how could she watch me? No, she wasn't watching me, she was looking into my face. I don't really know why, so I pretended I didn't see her. She left the plane with a nod as if she was saying, I'll see you later. Oh well...
Still and all, a pleasant enough trip (so far).
I arrived at Abu Dahbi and while I suppose it's a big airport, it's not that big that you would have to walk miles to get to your gate. There were people with varying levels of western and eastern dress. I noticed the help desk had a woman with beautiful eyes shining behind her full black headpiece/veil and black gown. She said hello can I help you with a sweet sing song that made me smile she seemed so happy. I was early for the next flight. Just wait here, she said. I wandered around noticing how similar yet different things were. For example, there were actually chaise lounges, making it pleasant should you have a cancelled flight or a long layover. In JFK, they discourage you from even sitting, let alone lying down! There were large screen TV's to help while away the time. And - get this! There were computers with FREE internet connection. Not only that! No one on the computer stayed any longer than was necessary, gladly giving up their time so that others could use them. How long would those computers last in JFK - two weeks? maybe...
I sent my family another email, mainly coz I now had no cellphone coverage and I didn't know when I would. Besides, I thought it was so cool to email from the free internet cafe! And to be honest, I wanted my sister-in-law in particular not to worry. I called her and my nephew before I left JFK. I heard their answering machine go on and then burst into tears. I left a message that blubbered something like I'm at the airport on my way to wah! Islamabad, Pakistan, WAH! I'll call you when I get home in a week. Blubber, blubber. I'm not sure why I'm crying, but I can't stop...I finally just hung up.
I don't know what came over me. I hadn't cried like that since I met the San in the Kalahari. Sure, this trip was very similar. I was going on a trip without my husband or my children. I'm going on a journey that wouldn't be just far in distance, but in sentiment. I was going to Pakistan and I wasn't sure what I'd find there.
As I looked around the waiting room ready to board the plane for Islamabad, I picked out the other Fair Trade delegates. It wasn't hard. They were the tired, dirty, but upbeat conservatively dressed westerners - anxious, but eager, they were just like me.
Several of the 14 (one must have dropped out last minute), hadn't made the connecting flight due to a storm in Chicago (I believe) and so, there were only 10 of us here on this flight.
At Abu Dahbi, at this major crossroads, I waited with the others, waited to get on a plane to take us to a land we knew little about to work with women whom we'd never met.
And there it is, call for flight 100 to Islamabadand. As I got up to board the plane, a phrase came to mind.
"Here we goooo."
yup, here we go.

Packed for Pakistan

2010-06-26T19:14:00.002-05:00

Hell yes, I'm going!
Actually I'm here - but because I wasn't able to upload this blog post I wrote on the "road", I'll post it now. I think it's important to get it all down in chronological order. So here goes.

June 23, 2010
Ah, airport bars. Peter and I know them well - with and without kids in tow.
I'm sitting just before the departure gates in a branch of a restaurant I remember from my life at Random House many many years ago (mid-1980's). I'm waiting for my flight at 10.50pm, getting here usually takes nearly 3 hours, this driver took around 2 - smooth ride with no traffic - good sign.

Also a good sign is that I went straight through the Etihad check in. I did have to rearrange some things - my carry on was over the 50 lbs. limit. It turned out to be my laptop, so I just took it out at the check-in person's request. Easy remedy and because she was so pleasant, there was no stress involved in the transaction. Just goes to show you how a smile and a helpful attitude can alleviate any tense situation.

I also had a little laugh with her from the start. Where is your final destination, she asked me? I hesitated. Islamabad? I said, slowly. Are you sure, she said? We both laughed. I wasn't sure if she meant what country or what? She had my ticket in her hands, I thought she would read it. Maybe she was just checking to make sure the ticket was correct. Or maybe I wasn't sure where I was going, what I was doing. Maybe it all just starting to sink in?

I'm heading off to Pakistan (not on vacation, not to relax, not even to work in Botswana) but to a country portrayed in the media as dangerous and a country filled with people who hate us. I've spent the few weeks mulling that situation over in my head. As she handed me my ticket and I wheeled my bag to the loading area (more security measures, I suppose), I knew where I was going. I really did. What I would find there when I got there, not that's a different story.

Waiting in line to drop off my luggage, a couple I spied earlier sitting on their luggage to get it closed walked right in front of all of the people in line - well, not all of them. They cut in line right behind me, cutting off 15 or so "Middle Eastern" people behind me. The baggage handlers were not amused. They directed them to the end of the line scolding them all the way. Wow, just a glimpse of racism. The perception of Westerners toward Middle Easterners was evident right here, right now.

As the baggage handler returned, he very sweetlly took my bag and said, "I'm sorry for that interruption." As I stepped away, he said, "Have a wonderful trip." and he meant it.

I had been sitting in a car for several hours. I welcomed the hustle of the other travelers. I love shopping in the South African transit hall, I thought I'd wander, giving up some tempting seats that were probably rare to find open, but I didn't want to sit. As it turned out, I didn't want to shop, either. The mall choices are pretty crappy. Cheesey high-end and horrible low.

I decided to see where my gate was - I'm that kind of person that needs to see where they need to be. I hate to be late and tend more toward being realy really early so that I'm not rushed. I'm nearly two hours early for my flight, so I look for somewhere to sit and have a beer. The last one I'll have for a while since I'm going to be in a Muslim country. I found the perfect spot (well, it would be perfect if there were internet I could access, but the beer and my seat at the bar makes it damn close.)

The Palm (and Palm II) were THE publishing lunch places in NYC in the 80's. A see-and-be-seen scene for the top book editors and their authors. This was the chain, but it did bring back my younger days, straight out of college, with a dream of one day writing the great American novel. As a receptionist at Random House at the time, I believed in my future. One day I would be the toasted author, sitting at the Palm as everyone made a fuss around me.

OK, that dream has long died. But as I'm off to the next natural step in my career, I see the irony and the promise. I am far from that naive young woman who spent her entire paycheck at Ann Taylor, eatting out at trendy restaurants, getting her hair done at Bumble and Bumble and wanting to be somebody...

The only thing that hadn't changed over the years was being with somebody. And that somebody was Peter. No, I don't miss being 20, the confusion, the disappointment, the wishing, the wondering...No. At 47, I know what I want. And today, the only thing missing in this picture was Peter.

I have been with him for longer than I've been without him. He has been there to share in my greatest moments and been there to hold me in my greatest defeats. And as I sit there, at the bar, drinking my most excellent Palm ale, I can't help feeling that he was very much there with me. I raised my glass to him and his constant support and appreciate all that he does for me, all that he gives me. I can't help but wonder what he and the kids are doing at home.

On this trip, I have only myself to take care of - no kids whining about waiting, no double-checking on Peter to make sure he had our passports, no overloaded bags carrying things for the kids to do on the long flight, no wondering how the dogs were at home...none of that.

I had only me to take care of. I was going on this trip alone - well, not totally alone. No matter where I go and what I do, I always have Peter there to cheer and to lend an ear (ooh, that was bad). As I go off to Pakistan, he's home taking care of the kids, the inlaw (and her sister, my mom and aunt live with us!), the dogs, the home. While I go off for Women's Work, he's home doing it.

Thanks Peter (and my wonderful self sufficient, understanding, encouraging kids!). Thanks for giving me the courage and the conviction to go on THIS buying trip and being with me in spirit. "Cheers" I toast my husband as I finish my beer and head off to the final security check. Cheers.

Passport to Pakistan

2010-06-03T10:28:00.004-05:00

I've got a dilemma. I was invited to attend a women's expo and fashion show in Pakistan to help the women to create products marketable in the USA and possibly to develop a long term business relationship.
I read the invitation and jumped at the chance. Everything in my being accepted this as a natural course, an eventual progression for my business, my career.
All has been going smoothly, although slowly on my part. I misplaced my passport, was unable to print and thus sign the agreement, the visa application and last night, had difficulty taking and printing a profile photo in order to move on the paperwork. No big deals. No frustrations. Just a slowing of the process. I have all of the paperwork now and shortly will make copies of everything before I send it off later today.
And with each moment I delay, I have to wonder. Is this the right thing to do?
Sure, I want to work with women who NEED the income, NEED to elevate their status to gain respect from men, to gain some leverage in their lives. I want to work with THOSE women. I want to find a worthwhile producer group. To share my now seven years of experience in developing products with another group with other skills/talents. I want to take this opportunity to experience a different culture, afterall, I'm a writer/journalist first and foremost. How can I pass it up!?!
Because of my kids, that's how. I participated in the security briefing for the trip. I have never had a security briefing before, not even when then President Bush came to Mokolodi in 2003. We were told that the country is considered high risk with pockets of violence. Islamabad is where the government resides and so has some dangers but is pretty well protected. The fashion show and expo will all take place in the very nice hotel where we will be staying. I've stayed in 5 star accommodations thanks to my travel writing so staying in a very nice hotel is not a draw for me. I started to shake at the thought of armed security accompanying us everywhere we went, out of necessity, not vanity or protocol. I started noticing my breathing and my heart racing as she told us that should we be evacuated or if there is a problem, the security team was not to be questioned but their instructions followed to the letter. That it's hard to plan the itinerary since daily actions hinged on whether or not we would be safe. Site-visits were being planned, but not to be too disappointed if they did not happen depending on the threats we may have that day. All sobering thoughts.
I went to college, worked and lived in Manhattan. When you travel the world - hell, when you travel outside of the East Coast, the thought of gun violence is synonymous with Manhattan. But I never saw any in the 12 years I was there. I am a journalist and I am fully aware that violence sells newspapers and that is what is covered on the news. Does that mean it is as prevelant as it appears? Apparently in Pakistan, it is.
As each hour ticks away from the moment I decided for myself that I would go, I hear those "rational" voices in my head. I also hear the voices of concerned friends and relatives. My father-in-law, who had been in Pakistan many years ago, told me that the morning they arrived, he picked up the newspaper. The headline was of Americans who were killed while visiting Islamabad. My mother-in-law asked him what was in the news. He folded up the paper and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all." and they attended their conference, required to stay in the hotel unless the group traveled outside of it, were escorted by armed security details and each day, they went a different route to the school they were accrediting. But do you think I should go? I asked him. I would go, he said. Do I think you should go, I can't tell you that, was his response.
In times of indecision, I fall into fear-mode. I relinquish my inner voices and look to the outer ones, which seldom serve me well. I am questioning whether this trip is necessary. If the invitation, perhaps, was a wake up call to me, to get me to act on something I wanted, but didn't know how to achieve. Sometimes, opportunities are just that - cues and clues to what you really want but didn't know you wanted it or how to get it.
What if something does happen? Would my children understand that this is something I HAD to do? Or would they feel as if I abandoned them, chose my NEEDS over theirs? Would they question my loyalty to them, my devotion, my love? I know that every day we face these questions, sure, with more mundane situations, but they are posed to us, each and ever moment of each and every day. What to do, what to do?
I will do what was clearest to me to do. I will send in my passport, my signed contract, visa application and send it all off today. I will wait to see how things unfold. I think that our course in life is changeable (we do have free will), but I also think we have a course in life and there are higher beings that set us on our way. I have been very well taken care of thus far. I trust I will be during this trip as well. I will see how things go.
And today, I will be excited about going to Pakistan. (...and should it be cancelled, I'm sure I will breath that sigh of relief...but today, I'm going to Pakistan!)

The Fair Trading of My Life

2010-05-20T06:59:00.006-05:00

I'm just coming off the board of the Fair Trade Federation and realizing how entrenched in Fair Trade my life is. I guess I take it for granted that my life is mainstream, but upon closer inspection, it's not.

I started this campaign to make the Poughkeepsie Plaza a Fair Trade Mall because I believe that there's a calling for social justice, environmental stewardship, responsible spending here in the Hudson Valley. With six colleges, Woodstock and New Paltz, just an hour from Albany, this area is teaming with intellectuals, hippies, politicos and young idealist college students.
And that's who shops my store and who would support a destination mall that promoted fair and just payment for labor, the use of sustainable resources, the protection of the environment in the process, while preserving culture.

As I was being interviewed by a grad student doing her dissertation on Fair Trade, I heard myself talking about what the making of a Fair Trade mall meant to me. That there would be at least 50, but I'm hoping 75% of the businesses would carry at least 2 items that are Fair Trade. But as I elaborated, I realized I didn't just want to create a clever marketing ploy, but really support my efforts in a much more substantive way.

By spreading the Fair Trade "status" to other retailers, I knew that would be good for Fair Trade but it also could create competition for me. I was willing to risk that because I really want to see Fair Trade's ideals succeed. What I came to realize is that by making the entire mall, then one day Poughkeepsie, and at some point the Hudson Valley Fair Trade, I was setting myself and my family up to live a fair and just life, to have a fair and just lifestyle.

It's all well and good to talk the talk (god I hate phrases like that, but in this case, it's very true), I wanted to walk the walk. I started buying clothing to stock in the store because I need to wear clothing that doesn't use slave labor in its making. I carry coffee and chocolate, two things our family NEEDS on a daily basis, so that we consumed products that didn't contribute to the unfair wages and in some cases child labor practices in farming coffee and cocoa.

For the women I work with in Botswana, there is no slavery involved. They make jewelry to earn extra income, to live a better life. What I've learned from being involved with Fair Trade is that there are women who are forced into sex slavery by their families so that they can earn money for food, to keep from starving to death. There are greedy candy makers who want a larger profit with no regard for how they get the cocoa, even at the expense of young children. I've learned that women in many countries are beaten, kept from learning to read, enslaved by their families and then their husbands with no way to express themselves or get out of the situation.

Yesterday, a beautiful, well dressed, vivacious woman (one of many), came into the store. She coyly asked if I had any products from the West Coast of Africa. I scanned the store - I had dolls from Sierra Leone, some brass figures from Benin, a mask from Ivory Coast...but I didn't see any of them. I said, no, but I do get some things here and there...Are you from there? I asked. Yes, I'm from several countries (mother from one, father from another, husband yet another) but I live here now, she said with pride...and her story began with her rebellion as a child questioning the way things were. She would be beaten, told she was ugly and stupid, experienced genital mutilation but not without argument and so the beatings continued. She was married off to a man who worked for the UN, but would beat her on a daily basis, walked out of the hospital when she gave birth to a girl (subsequently, she had three girls with this man and she was beaten each time for her unwillingness to give him a son), and one day, she went on holiday in the United States, just her and her daughters and she boldly filed for divorce and then for asylum. She was granted both and five years later, her daughters only know the semblance of the life she led. She told me "I know that I am not stupid, that I am not ugly, and that my life is worth more than what other people's thoughts of me." "The only thing that stops you from doing, from being, is you." "My mother told me that if you wake up and say 'What a beautiful day!' that means you are alive and you are living, living your life."

The sexual inequalities I felt growing up a Filipina-American did not compare to these women. This made me feel that much more certain that my decision that very morning to accept an invitation to join a buyers delegation to Pakistan to work with and potentially buy from women artisans there, was the right decision.

A friend from Mali asked me why I was helping women in Botswana. They are rich. No, the women I work with are not rich - perhaps by comparison since they are not starving to death. They are providing a better life for themselves, their children, their family and their community, sure, but they are not rich. And I think that is why I became involved with them. They were just like me.

At the time, my involvement with them was due to a trip I took without Peter and the kids to experience buying day in the Kalahari. This trip to Pakistan will be my next step in my work supporting Fair Trade, the next step in my journey for self discovery. This time, I'll be reaching outside of my comfort zone and seeing a way of life I'd only heard about. This will be the only other time I will travel without Peter and the kids and I'm looking forward to finding out who I will be afterward and acknowledging who I've become.

Women's Work

2010-05-09T10:54:00.005-05:00

I'm posting on Mother's Day because I think my shop's mission is all about being a mother. I made some tough choices over the years including deciding to leave a job I loved at Scholastic to become the primary caregiver to my children. I chose to move out of Manhattan to raise my children in a safer environment. Later, when we moved to Botswana, I chose to leave everyone and everything we knew to open the World up to my kids. Now, with a store that I am consumed with and a mission of fair trade, I choose to give them an example of a life worth living.

Yes, I show them that each of us can make a difference. But what I hope I'm giving them is a world that is fair and just, not only for those who have, but for everyone.

I don't think that in my lifetime the notion of fighting for the equal rights of all will be accomplished. But maybe in my children's lifetime. Maybe their children will not know the term Fair Trade, because all trade will be fair. All children will have the right to an education. There will not be slave labor inflicted to make their t shirts, chocolate, and roadways. I want to leave my children a legacy of caring for others, sure, but more importantly, a better world, a fairer life, a just existance for all.

And that's the work of mothers, I think. So, Happy Mother's Day to all my Women's Work friends, family and affiliates!

Earth Day Blessing

2010-04-22T11:39:00.008-05:00

While in Botswana, I was lucky enough to work directly with many women's groups. There are many wonderful aspects of each of their cultures, but the culture I identified with most, was the hunter/gatherers.

The Kuru Artists were made up of a group of distinct San people who had a particular gift of self expression. Whether it was painting, handicrafts, dance, song...these natural born story tellers were able to convey their sentiments to their audience - whether or not they spoke a single click or pop! The artists painted or created linoleom block prints of nature and their interaction with "her". The San Bushmen depicted hunting scenes. The San Bush women depicted gathering scenes. Cgoise, one of the older artists, has a beautiful oil on canvas painting where women in modern dress, pick berries from desert bush. Its significance is evident. It touched me profoundly.

When I went out into the desert to meet the ostrich eggshell beaders for the first time, I identified with them. They wanted to stay home to care for their children. So did I. They wanted to help support their family by getting paid for something unique and beautiful that they created, so did I. They wanted to find a happy medium between the expectations and demands of the world and those of their children, so did I. I wanted a sense of purpose, a place of belonging, a way of life that was of my making, and here it was.

Remote as that village was, I never felt so connected and so welcome. No electricity, water, roof over my head, and still I was safe. Never having met any of these women previously, I was moved by the sense of the familiar, familial and they soon became my extended family.

Picture a place where there is nothing between you and the next tree but some shrubs and a vast expanse of red sand. That tree is nearly 15 miles away. Picture the night sky, inky blue with twinkling diamonds sprinkled from one edge of the horizon to the other. Picture a group of chattering women surrounding you with bundles of babies and ostrich eggshell beads enfolded in blankets. Picture a fourteen year old mother crying as her jewelry is returned to her. During this buying day, the buyer from the nonprofit returns her necklaces because they do not meet the quality standards. Nonchalantly, the other women begin unstringing, restringing polishing and piecing beads together to make more acceptable designs. Why is the girl cry? Was she embarrassed? Was she hungry? Was she sick? Or, more probably, she was afraid of being beaten by her child's father if she didn't bring in money for his drink.

I don't remember this incident because I identified with the young mother. I remember it because of that sense of community. That sense of unconditional support and understanding. I remembered it because I wanted to be a part of their group. I wanted to support them and have them support me.

Earth Day has been celebrated on April 22 for the past 40 years. For the San, earth day truly is everyday - as much of a cliche as that sounds, if you waited for rain to bring life to the parched plants that you relied on for food, lived with little shelter from the grit of sandstorms, and felt the burning earth on your tired calloused feet, then appreciating the earth's blessings would come every moment of every day.

And as a woman blessed by the San presence, I see the value in appreciating the earth's bounty each and every day. I am thankful for the gathering of women I am fortunate enough to be associated with, many women that unite under the auspices of Fair Trade at my store and beyond. But mostly, I am made aware of the fact that no matter where we are on this big beautiful planet, we have a connection, we are connected on April 22, 23, 24 and so on from the beginning of time - and that's the blessing I learned from the San Bushmen, the first people.

My Botswana Snow Day

2010-02-25T14:30:00.007-06:00

I'm sitting in our house on this snowy Thursday working on our book, checking emails, posting on Facebook, enjoying being home with the kids. Thursdays are my day home from the store. Even though I don't usually go into the store on weekends, I don't consider that a free day, just the weekend.

So, here we are, all together since this is the second snow day for the kids. I like it. It reminds me of Africa.

We were together a lot. The schools go all year with four months on, one month off. I thought it was great because Peter and I were both self-employed and it allowed our family time to travel as I wrote articles I was assigned and we all enjoyed some pretty awesome adventures!

As I said, I'm writing this book about our life in Botswana. To get back into Botswana, I thought I'd Google the game reserve we managed. Didn't find much, but as is my nature, I didn't stop digging until I found something interesting.

Peace Corps blogs are the first things I find of any worth. Sweet accounts of the slow pace, the cultural differences, the major milestones occurring back in the States making the homesickness that much more palpable even for voyeurs, anonymous and undetected.

I'm crying just thinking about our time there. My memories flood my senses. Things we had gone through are as vivid as if they occurred yesterday. Why is it so tangible for me? Why are the feelings so raw even after nearly four years away? Who am I that the country, the culture, the community never really left me? Why do some people finish their "stint" and move on while people like Peter (and, inadvertently, me) never ever leave?

Oh, don't get me wrong. There were many many days and nights in Botswana that left me wondering how I got there, wondering why I stayed. A black widow resting in my son's motorcycle helmet, scorpions falling from the ceiling onto my daughter's head, snake after poisonous snake curled up on our bed, in our yard, at our window, across the road - yes, a 15 foot python trying to get warm! And then there' s the runaway crocodile that roared like a lion, the charging elephant protecting her young, the hippo munching on grass right outside our tent, and just as bush legend would have it, the hyena that circled our campsite, which our children believe was the very one that swiped a teenage girl from the campfire as her parents helplessly watched.

But the woes of Botswana weren't really the animals, although it would come down to our animals, our dogs being shot by our neighbor that would finally prove to be the last straw. It was the lack of money, ways to make money for foreigners and residents a like that didn't make our life there viable. It would be the distance from one place to the other that would make accomplishing tasks nearly impossible. It would be the cultural differences that would prove puzzling and hindersome. What was the right thing to do? Our children imitate the young boy who came up to us as we stood in line for meat pies. "I'm hungry." he said, "Buy me a pie." So, we did, whereby, the entire line of Motswana customers and the pie-clerks turned on us. "If you buy him a pie, he will pester everyone on this line every day." What to do?

Today, I remember how much I loved living there. Why are we here? I ask myself. Why couldn't we make it work? Sure there are people - Peace Corps Volunteers that leave their host country never to return. But there are oh so many that cannot let it go. Peter, having been stationed in Botswana in the early '80's couldn't shake her from his being. For nearly 20 years, he looked for a way to return until he finally found the job on that fateful game reserve in 2002.

I sit in our comfortable home as my children warm up after playing in the snow and have to smile past the tears. Two different dogs surround me as I write, much the way Oz and Otse did in Botswana. Hell, this is the very same upholstered chair and ottoman that the three of us occupied in two different houses in Africa. Only, this time, we're in a heated house with sheet rock walls and hardwood floors.

This time, I am not writing about the newest bed and breakfast opening in the South African bush. I'm not compiling pictures from the San Bushman Dance Festival I had just covered, or writing about the latest developments at the HIV AIDS conference I just attended. This time, it's personal.

And because it is personal, I have that much more to say than "just the facts, ma'am". I want to bring you to Botswana with us. I want you to see what I saw the way that I saw it. I want you to want to be there too and understand full well why we left, why we remain involved, and why our experiences are significant in today's environment, economy, with today's lifestyle here in the USA.

Here I am writing in a snow storm in Poughkeepsie, NY, about as far away as you can get from our tin roofed, cement block two bedroom double garage door home in Ghanzi and I'm immersed in Botswana...and for today, I can take the day off from my store in the Poughkeepsie Plaza, from our life back in the States, and have a snow day, where I'm in Botswana, in 2003 once again.

Writing a Chapter

2010-02-11T14:09:00.003-06:00

I'm starting to write chapters for my book.
I have finally gotten around to reading "The Poisonwood Bible" by Barbara Kingsolver. Since Peter and I have discussed writing the book together - from his perspective and mine - I like the way this book is laid out. (Of course, it's fiction and ours is not).
I love the different voices giving a chronological view of their life in Africa. Only when the mother "speaks" do you get a sense of the future since she is telling the story looking back.
That's what I have to figure out. Whether or not to tell the story as it unfolds or knowing what I know now, how the story came together in the past.
For a book proposal, you need to have an outline. A list of chapters and a synapses of the chapters. How-to's explain that this is not concrete - the book can change, but it's good to show the progression of the story to the agent, to the publisher.
The story is not always so clear to me. I can't always remember the progression, but rather major happenings that changed my mind, my views, my life.
Writing it down loses something for me. It makes me define some things that I don't know if I feel comfortable making black and white. Putting words to a memory also gives meaning to something that once only had feeling. What if I don't always feel this way? Will the memory now be altered and forced to conform to my latest version on paper (or in this case, digital memory)?
My cousin had an interesting take on Julie and Julia, a memoir made into a movie. He didn't like Julie - thought she was self indulgent. Was not surprised to find that she is now divorced from her husband, the patient saint in the movie. She didn't deserve him, my cousin said. But a memoir, no matter how honest and candid, is only a snapshot of what's really going on. Like all forms of expression, it conveys a message. A book cannot be a rambling mass of words, images, and occurrences. It needs to focus on a one sentence catch phrase. It needs to sum up for the reader one clear concise selling point. Sure, a good book appeals to many different people, who all walk away with a different emotion/idea. But a well crafted book has one central, one main, one distinct voice that gives the reader one finely tuned note.
When you write about yourself, about a time in your life, about something that matters greatly to you, you are at your most exposed. Like a painter's self portrait, a memoir is that glimpse at the true you as you see you.
What if you tell the story, but your reader walks away with a different plot? What if you tell the story and your readers sum you up based on that snippet in your life? What if it's self indulgent, as my cousin summarized Julie of Julie and Julia. What if...
A memoir is just that. It's how you remember your life. In my case, I want to share it not because I am a special person, not because I had extraordinary experiences, not because I want recognition. In my case, I want to share it because it COULD be anyone's story. Anyone/everyone can fulfill their heart's desire. They can take that leap of faith, not falter when an opportunity comes upon them, and trust in their own instincts to follow their heart, fulfill their dreams.
I'm struggling now. I'm stalling actually writing this book. A little bit afraid of all of the usual stuff people are afraid of, plus some things that only I could concoct. . . But as I write things down - sometimes they are just lists of what I'm grateful for, sometimes they are monologues to my brother who has passed on telling him my greatest fear and biggest wish, and sometimes they are the messages great and small that come my way - I see that writing it down helps me to make things clearer.
Writing down chapters I hope will someday be included in this book or perhaps another, I gain a new perspective on myself. Self indulgent as that may sound, it is something everyone should do - record chapters to document moments great and small for themselves, maybe for their children to read one day and maybe, just maybe, for a greater audience of readers who will find a sliver of understanding, a kindred soul, a stroke of inspiration.

Global Women's Work

2010-02-01T20:32:00.004-06:00

A young woman entered my shop. Monday was particularly busy after Sunday's newspaper article. I even kept track of people who came in for the first time due to the article, who had seen the article and bought something and those who had been in for the first time without seeing the article.

"I cannot believe I am standing in a store called Women's Work" she told me in her charming Bangledeshi accent. She had just decided to put more effort in her cousin's business. Her cousin 'lives in India where there are so many poor, poor women you cannot even imagine.' she told me. Her cousin teaches them how to do different things so that they can get a job. Because the women are many generations of homeless, they don't even know how to clean properly, use an iron, sew. Her cousin, with her own money and that her of husband, bought these things and takes in these women and teaches them to earn a living.' Smiling from ear to ear, 'and here I am in Women's Work.'

She will bring me some of the things the women have made. Over time, she had taken their things and sold them for her cousin. But now, her cousin asked her to put more effort into it. The women need some success to feel hopeful. They need to sell some things to encourage them to make more. This is a life, she told me, that can change for this woman and her daughter and daughters yet to come. Prostitution, rape, acts of violence are part of their world, their way of life. With income coming from another source, with some self respect, self sufficiency, self reliance, this can be stopped.

Many women came into the store yesterday thanking me...Once, I stammered, "oh no, no need to thank me," I started to say. 'Thank you for having a store like this in Poughkeepsie." she finished. "Oh, yes. Well, it only seemed right."

From the first sale we had in 2006 days after we landed back on New York soil after our life in Botswana, the Unitarian Church Fair Trade Bazaar welcomed us wholeheartedly. That was this very same community.

Today, I got a call with a long lag time. The number on my cell said unavailable which usually means it is from overseas. I don't get as many long distance calls as I make, but lately, people had been seeking me out. This call was from an American who had lived most of his adult life
in Mexico. He was inviting me to come and help the women in his village. I had to smile.

On Sunday, a woman called me while we were doing the show in Long Island. She didn't know if I could help her, but...that's how the requests, inquiries, phone/email/postcards/packages start...an email on Saturday trailed off with, "I'm not sure how to articulate what I am asking now..."

People wanting to help, wanting a venue, a reason, a way. Sometimes, I can't help. Sometimes, all I can do is offer advice. Sometimes, it feels so right and then the project, the idea, the emotion/drive falls away. Sometimes, it all clicks and it all comes together - complete and satisfyingly easy.

I never know what's coming my way. I have gotten much better at dodging trouble - you know, the scenarios that seem too good to be true, and after a long and painful progression, you realize it all too late. The ideas that seem to fit your current state of mind, only to find out that it was a square peg you wanted so badly to fit into a round hole. Or the right premise, but the wrong promise.

I am open to the signs that come my way. I sometimes even write them down. "Today, out of the blue, three people mentioned New Paltz." that kind of thing. Later, you can take a look at those messages and see where you went "wrong" or go "aha!" I knew this would work even way back then!

One sign that keeps creeping up on me is India. I've never had an affinity to India, but time and again I am confronted by it - in Alanna's relationship with the children of the dumps in former Calcutta, in my buddy Jay's connection with the women who weave the trash bags, the popular treeless gift boxes from Sustainable Threads, most recently the young woman and her cousin helping women find work. I say this now because in a year, five years, ten years from now and I've got a store in India, we can all ohh and ah at my astuteness.

I wonder how people find me. Why they choose me even though my website is Botswana-centric, my story too, totally about the San in Botswana, about the ostrich eggshell jewelry. I am astounded that people approach me not just to buy their crafts but also for guidance, kindness, friendship and affirmation. I say I wonder how they find me, but really, I know.

There is a collective mindset that exists and connects all of us.

I chose the name and focus of Women's Work in 2005 because I believed that by targeting women, helping women, empowering women, I could affect the the elderly (our past) and the children (our future), all being taken care of by the caregivers, the women. CARE also adapted that notion in their latest campaign. And over the last two years, women have been the target for many organizations, telling me that my idea was the right one.

Retail/Wholesale in these economic times has been particularly difficult. Many good businesses have had to close. And while Women's Work isn't doing well enough to afford me a salary, I have done what I can to make sure it stays open - for the women artisans, those looking for ways to help, those looking for answers and those needing inspiration to set them on their way.

Cold Spring to Poughkeepsie

2010-01-21T08:45:00.008-06:00

Patrice came in to tell me she would take the job!

We had spoken the week before about her revamping my Cold Spring store - creating events that showcased Equal Exchange's Rooibus Tea and my connection with the No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books; bring Goody Goodies to a new level, where the org would actively promote fair trade products in support of fundraising efforts; formalizing my new idea of supplying fair trade essential and carrier oils and also having a "bar" where people could make their own skincare products...so many ideas I have that stay just that. Patrice could be the person to actually make them happen...

It was the idea of hiring her that prompted my serious look at the store in Cold Spring.

Many factors needed to be addressed:

1. Sales - The Poughkeepsie Plaza store showed me that while we in the USA were still in recession, there was money being spent. The Poughkeepsie Store generated great sales during the holidays! The Cold Spring store did not.

2. Distance - Cold Spring was over 45 minutes away. The day after there was a burglary, when there is snow, when a customer wanted to come in on days we were closed, there was very little I could do about it because we lived so far away.

3. Book - We finally got a book proposal out to an agent. Now, we actually have to write a book! When would I do that with two stores to manage and work in?!?

4. Loyalty - Cold Spring is where Peter, the kids and I have always considered "home". 66 Main St's landlord was our neighbor while we lived in CS and a good, understanding, supportive landlord and friend these past two years. Portia has been an excellent sales person, working full time while we were in Africa two summers ago. I couldn't have wished for a more capable and knowledgeable assistant manager. After 4 years on Main Street, fellow shop owners have been my closest allies which is why I ran for the Board of the Cold Spring Chamber of Commerce. How do I walk away from all of these people?

I don't.

My difficult decision to move the store, which is what I have to do, comes due to all of these factors and so much more. While Women's Work will not have a presence in Cold Spring as of February, I will see if any of the other stores would like to carry some of the products I had done so well with like the Heirloom Rice, Project Have Hope Beads, Equal Exchange coffee/tea/chocolate, to name a few...

From Poughkeepsie, I can post flyers and market events so that the much larger population base here can be made aware of the many happenings in Cold Spring and Garrison - charming, sleepy historic villages that are well worth the day trip from Poughkeepsie and beyond.

And with 66 Main Street's door closing, I can move forward with some of my other projects hopefully with Patrice and most definitely taking all that I've learned from the inception of WW in 2006 to today.

Ma Jong

2010-01-03T19:33:00.005-06:00

After many dates made and cancelled, my mother finally committed (half-heartedly) to January 3 as a day to commemorate my father's Death Anniversary and a good excuse to have her friends over to play Mah Jong.

I half-heartedly followed her lead, as well. Afraid to commit to a date, to a party for many reasons including snow, fear the house would not be unpacked enough to show people, unpacked enough to find what we needed to throw a party and some reasons I am embarrassed to say here.

As some guests RSVP'd regrets, some came the day before and after the loose invites went out. As an email went unanswered, I quickly made a phone call full of apologies for not responding to a question about final date and time of event. As snow fell again for the fourth day in a row, I wondered if anyone would really come.

As we set up the tables and tried to determine which rooms would be used for buffet service, which for dining, drinks, and the mass that goes along with the commemoration, I realized that my mom and her friends often play Mah Jong until the next morning - shrieking and hooting and hollering all night long. "Why did you make it Sunday instead of Saturday?" I asked, more than a little annoyed. "The Priest couldn't make it Saturday." she answered timidly. "Oh." I responded unpleasantly.

So, as the Priest, a fellow Filipino, was the first to arrive, arranging his makeshift alter in our living room, I groaned to myself. When she said there would be a mass, I went along with it. When I realized it would be "Religious" I regretted my approval.

I raised my children to believe in a higher force, explained to them about my semi-Buddhist beliefs, shared with them my idea that each person is blessed and we should all be grateful for what the Universe gave to us. There was a time in Botswana when religion was an issue at Markham's nursery school. He pointed out to us that the sunshine streaming down in rays through the clouds was the light of God. Ugh! I didn't even have my son Baptised Catholic since I didn't agree with many of the policies of the Catholic Church. But here we were, with a Priest in our house and I could only imagine he'd bring "Jesus" into our home! Ugh!

But he is a nice man and he was kind enough to come to deliver mass to my mom and her friends, and so I was as respectful and friendly and welcoming as I could be. And as he started mass, I realized...

I knew the prayers he recited. I knew when to stand up and when to make the sign of the cross. I had to correct my son's attempts at it, telling him to use his right hand because he didn't even know that. And as the mass went on and he continued to speak, I listened.

Today turned out to be the perfect day for the celebration of my father's death, according to the Priest. Today, was the day the wise men finally found Jesus. They brought gifts of Gold, Frankincense and Myrrh, finding him in Bethlehem days after his birth. They came late because they were deterred by their expectations, arriving in Jerusalem and approaching the King's palace, not following the Star. They only found Jesus after retracing their steps and once again looking to the light of the star to guide them.

On the Alter my mom created on our old chipped stained coffee table we bought for a few Pula at an auction in Botswana, there was a baby Jesus in a cradle. Just before Christmas, a husband and wife entered my store. "Are you Corazon Dinio Durkin? " the gentleman asked. "Well, no." and I hesitated wondering where this was going. "Why do you ask?" I responded, trying to not sound too much like a jerk. "Let's see...I have a baby Jesus..." My mom had asked him to repair this baby Jesus, all cracked, leg nearly broken off, fingers missing. I remembered it in the manger my mom would put out each year during Christmas. He had fixed it and wondered if I would bring it to Cora. Sure, we were now living together so it was easy. But he had brought it into my store and I kept forgetting to carry the heavy bulky parcel home. And when I finally did get it to my car, that's where it stayed for a few days as I kept forgetting about it in the back seat. When my mom finally got it, she was tickled to see how beautiful the Baby now was.

We had barely unpacked from our move in November when Peter and I would flee to Boston for Cultural Survival Bazaars. There was no Christmas Tree until days before Christmas and there weren't many decorations. Certainly, no place for a large nearly life-size Baby Jesus.

As the mass continued, everything seemed to fall into place. The date was fitting because not only did the Baby Jesus come to rest in a home that was welcoming (room at the "inn), this Priest, with his wise words found us, giving us gifts and telling us to follow the light - the light that is found in the children, the true light that guides us to the true gifts, and a better understanding of faith. My father, the Priest said, had a way of always uniting family and friends and he did it again today. Brought my mother's Mah Jong friends together again, welcoming them to our new home, and reminding me, in particular, of the wonderful community my father had created in Poughkeepsie, in his house, in our home.

As the familiar sounds of the Tagalog exclamations rang down the hallway, the clacking of the Mah Jong tiles being slapped down, stacked, and shuffled, I feel my dad finally followed the Light of God and it shone down on our home and it was found in the warmth of family and friends congregating together, giving our children the protection, adoration, and love that extended family gives willingly, unconditionally and with great gusto.

For 2010, I see a future filled with promise based on acknowledgment and knowledge of the past.
Happy New Year, everyone!

September 11th

2009-09-11T06:51:00.003-05:00

My son's assignment was to write a paragraph about how the events of 9/11 affected our family. Peter and I both recounted thoughts, events, emotions. Our neighbor was Captain of the firehouse across from the Towers. My cousin's husband worked for Port Authority. My sister had monthly meetings at Windows on the World.

Luckily, no one we knew was killed. It was Matt's day off. Carlos was late (again). And my sister's meeting went uninterrupted the day before.

We were spared.

In Botswana, having drinks with friends, someone brought up Sept. 11. A solemn silence fell over the crowd. One by one, unprompted, people shared their thoughts - what they were doing when they heard, how it had changed their view of America, of Americans, and even though no one they knew was killed, they mourned two years later.

Today, I am grateful that my family and friends were safe. With thousands of innocent people murdered and hundreds more killed trying to save lives, I am so lucky to know no one who died. But those that did parish, they did not die in vain.

Around the world people united against terrorism. In one day, on 9/11, we were all victims of terrorist acts. What the Taliban set out to do was to show the world how vulnerable Americans were. What they hadn't anticipated was that that vulnerability made us stronger.

On September 11, 2001, Americans weren't seen as greedy, self serving, selfish, egocentric Capitalist Pigs. When those towers were struck and civilians targeted, we were neighbors, cousins, sisters...we were people.

On September 11, 2009, I will shed a tear of regret for all of those lives lost, and another of gratitude for the lives saved.

Calendar's Now on Sale

2009-09-09T08:34:00.003-05:00

This has been a long a tedious process with many rewards and issues brought to light. With the pages mapped out and the photos almost nearly in place, it is really shaping up to be a beautiful year of Fair Trade practices and accomplishments.

Fair Trade Calendar Results

2009-08-26T09:34:00.004-05:00

So, the calendar competition is over with amazing photos to show for it. Not only will the 12 pics that received the most votes get featured each month, but every entry will appear throughout the 2010 calendar. I can't wait to see what this design firm, Design Action a worker-owned collective will do with the photos and Fair Trade info we're providing them.

Tex Dworkin, working for Global Exchange was the originator of this idea and has been spearheading all - from conception to finished product to sales and marketing. I'm a worker bee...and glad to be.

While I would have looked into environmentally friendly paper and soy-based ink, I don't know that I would have had sources like Consolidated Printing who coerced New Leaf paper to greatly reduce their price to make the calendars more affordable as a fundraiser. Or that I would have been astute enough to hire a design firm that is worker-owned, which translates to fair trade right here in the USA.

I also just finished a nearly 3 hour conference call with the Fair Trade Federation Board members. Phew! Talk about everything you need to know about Fair Trade! While I won't go into details about the meeting, I will say, there are varying levels of Fair Trade and many mindsets. Not a hard and fast rule, necessarily and certainly when talking about practices. Which leads me to this blog...

I am coming to the realization that we all have a place on this planet and that the die-hards can co-mingle with the novices and each can learn from the other. I find that in the shop, I tend to get defensive. Oh, you're just like 10,000 villages. No, I'm not. Sure, we have a common goal - provide a safe, secure, sustainable environment where the neediest are given some attention for their labors. With that, we also want to make sure there is some environmental stewardship for everyone's future.

But the women I work with are small groups, working from their homes, working when they can. I have come to the conclusion lately that creating a factory setting where they produce for a wide number of retail stores would do San Bushmen women in particular more harm than good. While my friend's paper bead org in Uganda has over 100 women as members, with thousands more making hundreds of pieces of jewelry from recycled materials for other orgs. Ostrich Eggshell is precious, with eggs only hatched three months out of the year. Recycled paper is in abundance. The San women live in settlements that they are happy to call home. They have many of their needs provided for them in one way of another and so don't truly NEED cash, they could use more, but they can survive with limited amounts. The women in the Acholi Quarter are relocated refugees who must live in shanti towns. They live in a cash society. They need to make money to buy food, put their children to school, live...The women have different situations and so does each wholesaler. Our jobs are to educate the public with awareness, let people know what the living conditions of people are in third world countries and through the sale, offer a way for us to help.

But I don't want the idea of charity to enter into my business. I firmly believe that a business relationship is what is needed to honor the skill and artistry of the crafter/producer and that a fair payment is what will enable artisans to sustain their skill, not a hand out. I'm not a religious person, but gotta love the "teach a man to fish" analogy. Give a woman a dollar and she'll eat for that day, provide her a means to sustain a business and earn a fair wage and you feed her and her family forever. With her elevation in financial means/status, she brings a world of hope and promise to her children and her children's children

I have a greater appreciation of what that means in terms of people like me who have small groups that we work with directly and those who work with larger groups providing products to "chain" stores. As it is, I will be opening another store this holiday season with the promise of keeping it open should there prove to be a market here in Poughkeepsie.

With Fair Trade ideals just coming to Main St America (god I hate catch phrases like that!), there's a lot of room to grow, a lot of ways to see the end results and in the end we will all be better off realizing that people live at different standards around the world and how much we can help, what we can do, and how we do it is going to change and differ depending...It all depends on us.

New York Gifts

2009-08-19T06:41:00.008-05:00

I had an amazing day at NYIGF yesterday. I helped Virginia in her Brushkins booth where there was a steady stream of buyers from Florida, California and many regionally. Several people were buying for their internet business and a few looking to start one. Sales, I am told, were small orders, but there were many. Escama's owner, Andy said that their first NY show where they introduced the line of bottle top bags was mind blowing and after six shows, this one quite nearly reached the same totals. Exciting stuff.

I left there feeling promise that the market was on an upswing. Promise that my store would again be doing well. Promise that the ostrich eggshell jewelry and our line of safari would be embraced at the show. . . my mind was racing.

I would love my own booth - the excitement of planning, the control of creating yet a new venture, the promise of sustainability for the programs I put in place in Botswana. I wanted to share the warmth of the shop, bring awareness of the women I work with, and harness and prove the viability of the products.

I couldn't wait to return today to take in more information about how other people were working the show, gain some more insight into what was missing, what people were buying, how to sell.

I wanted to find new products to make the store fresh and profitable. I wanted to make good connections for new vendors and possibly, connections for my own businesses.

I loved being in the thick of the sales, the mindset of retail, enveloped in fair trade practices and theory. I wanted another day in the buzz.

But then I took a deep breath and I stopped myself - defended myself from myself.

I keep talking about promoting the women's products, bringing awareness of their way of life, preserving the craft and their culture and making all of us a little more financially secure. Will my shop do that? Yes, to some degree. Will my wholesaling do that? Yes, a little bit. But what would do that the biggest and best way? My book.

For the past two weeks I've been obsessed with change - buy a new house, open a shop, get a job...All of those things are great distractions, great excuses, and tangible endeavors, but none of those things would accomplish the biggest and best change for all of us. The answer to my restlessness is the book.

I had entitled the book "Women's Work: My Life's Work" but that's not true. Women's Work (the store, the concept, and quite literally the meaning of the phrase) has always been a vehicle for my true life's work. I believe my greatest passion and my one and only talent is my writing.

To put my life's existence out there - to write this book, I will be fulfilling my life's work. But what if it's no good? What if no one wants to read it? What if it never gets published? Then, will my life be a failure? Reasonable Cecilia says no of course not! But Irrational Cecilia often prevails...

But not today, IC, not today. Today, I write the book.

Saving Fish from Drowning

2009-08-11T10:32:00.010-05:00

My children and I were sightseeing with some friends when we found this pool of water in a rock along the Hudson River. We were surprised to find many fish stuck in the rock. The water must have receded and the fish got trapped. Macallan, quick on her feet, began to catch and release the live fish in the hopes she wasn't too late.

I uploaded the pic on my Facebook page and entitled it, "Saving Fish from Drowning". I was moved by the phrase.

Much like those fish, I see people in developing countries trapped by their situations. It wasn't their fault that they were trapped, nor mine, but if you find them and can help them, shouldn't you?

One of the fish, a catfish was struggling to stay alive. But Macallan knew from her dad that catfish have barbs that can hurt you. She tried to get a hold of it without hurting it or herself. I brought over a stick but there was no way to use it. Macallan just had to persevere attempting to capture it without it sticking her. She got it in her hand, it wriggled madly, threw itself from her grasp and landed on the hard rock before slipping into the river. "Oh!" Macallan exclaimed, afraid she had hurt it. But I reassured her it swam away as fast as it hit the water. "See?" I pointed out. "It's gone." Doubtful that she had not caused it more harm than good, it took her a good half hour to snap out of her funk.

I feel like that sometimes. Wondering if my interaction does more harm than good, if I have a hand in them hurting themselves...

In the same pool was a tiny frog clinging to the sides. Now, he didn't need saving. He could hop away, free from danger. The kids were careful to take a few pictures and then left him alone. He eventually ducked into the murky puddle and swam out of sight.

I hope I can do that with the producers. I hope I can see those that are able to hop to safety, appreciate their existence, let them alone, and acknowledge that they can care for themselves.

Frogs are indicator species. Not so long ago, frogs had been disappearing. On this trip along the Hudson, we saw many. Let's hope that is an indication of the plenty that is coming our way. May the frogs be a symbol of the self assuredness, ability, and good fortune that is hopping, better yet, that we are hoping is coming our way.

Thursdays in the Shop with Macallan

2009-08-07T11:35:00.004-05:00

A wonderful day in the shop yesterday.

I met a woman with a store outside of Philadelphia who appreciated the fair trade aspect of the products and also the beauty and craftsmanship of the jewelry!

I met three lovely young women, two of whom had lived and worked in Uganda for four months through their universities and one who had just returned from two weeks in South Africa. One of the women lives in Fishkill and says she often brings her friends into the shop. She is leaving in a matter of weeks for a year in Egypt and upon her return she will attend Pace University for her international law degree. Wow!

Julia Frazier came by. It's been far too long since we've seen each other. She was astounded by how "big" Macallan had gotten. She leaves for England to defend her dissertation and hopes to leave within weeks of her return to take a job with a nonprofit in the Congo!

Another encounter that makes me feel the shop is vital and worthwhile is when three women (and a man) came into the store midday. "This is my all-time favorite store" a beautiful woman who was impeccably dressed said as she escorted her guests in, "we just have to go in here!" Her one friend saw a bag (basket with straps to carry on your back) and fondled it briefly. "It's a shop full of African stuff," her other friend said. "and you're looking at a bag from the Philippines." This comment was made significant because the women were African American. They explored the store a decent amount of time and left without much interaction with me or Macallan. The one woman had apparently been in many times before and basically knew the layout better than I did. She guided her friends around like an expert - which made me appreciate my store manager, Portia, that much more. When "strangers" know your store better than you do, that means the store is in good (great!) hands while you are away. They left without buying anything, but I got much from their visit. By the end of the day, we'd had something like 70 people come through the door, not a bad Thursday with an OK sales total. And out of the blue, the three (plus the gentleman who must be a saint) came in with a flurry. I heard a voice proclaim, "If it's still here when I walk by, I'm going to buy it." As soon as she walked in the door, she could see it was still hanging on the hook. "I was going to get on that train (back to NYC) and be very sorry I didn't buy this bag." She told me with the basket in hand. "I know how that is." I responded. She bought it and was very pleased with herself and her purchase. "Thanks for coming by." I said to anyone who would listen. "Next time you come up" the leader of the visit began to say, but I didn't hear the rest since they were already down the block rushing to catch their train.

A great day because of the many wonderful supportive people we met and because I get to share it with my daughter. She probably will never inherit this business since she wants to be a veterinarian, not a shop owner, but she will inherit the goodwill fair trade practices bestows on the world for the women who produce, the women who shop and the women (Macallan, Portia and myself) who bring these values to the world we encounter daily - all of us doing our part to make a difference.

Elephant Dung Prints Just In

2009-08-05T09:38:00.004-05:00

We met Emmanuel Mukwiro in Botswana last year. He had a stand by the side of the road where he was selling baskets, wood carvings and his wonderful prints.

I spoke to him at length about his business and his artwork. He was from Zimbabwe, able to cross the border to sell his crafts. He supported his extended family, basket weavers and woodcarvers. He had a wife who stayed behind in Zimbabwe to care for his two children.
Since we were in Africa for two months, I placed an order with him and set a date when we would return to pick up the prints. We found him several weeks later, just where we met him. He was a bit flustered and upon shaking his hand hello, I realized why. He said he had been in a terrible bus accident on his way back to Zim. The bus turned on its side and he hurt his hand badly. Wanting to complete my order, he got the help of his brother and they managed to have the prints ready. His hand was bandaged and bent. I hoped he'd be fine soon. I hoped the accident, or more common, the treatment would not hurt him for good.

I've been buying from Emmanuel thorughout the year. This is the latest order, a large one with sizes as small as 3" x 4" and as large as "13"x 15". I was happy to send him the money - I know how tough it is right now in Zimbabwe.

His prints sell particularly well at the Cultural Survival Bazaars where people take the time to find genuine arts and crafts. You can't see from these pictures how the elephant dung (OK, it's not all made of elephant poop. That's just what it's called since it contains natural fibers, but there is some elephant dung in there, I guarantee.) is used within the print. Emmanuel's images are enhanced and made that much more charming with his titles. This one is called "Collecting Water for a Wedding."

Cultural Survival at Tiverton, RI

2009-07-26T06:55:00.003-05:00

The sun was shining, the temperature was mid-70's and the crowds were out and shopping.

Before we were set up, a couple came to the booth. A big burly man and his wife were excitedly asking questions about the ostrich eggshell jewelry. "We didn't get a form yet, they told me. Will you put this necklace aside? We'll be right back." The bazaar hadn't officially opened and so a volunteer wasn't yet set up to hand out purchase forms. They had to hunt one down.

Now, we all know, the first rule of sales is not to let your customer out of your sight. I should have gotten them a form, but I had more to put out and it's the type of event that draws people who are supportive, so I put the necklace aside and let them go.

A flood of women came by. Chatting, pointing, touching everything they could reach. A flurry of buying and I knew it was going to be a good day. One woman, there's always at least one, befriended us right off the bat. Peter says I draw it out of people. I don't know about that. But she was very friendly and spent a great deal of time in our booth. At some point, someone else needed our attention and after waiting on those customers, she was still there. "I'm waiting to see if that woman is really buying that necklace." she confided in me. "I will buy these things but if she puts that necklace back, I want it." I had to smile. "Another woman took a necklace right out of my hand and bought it!" she told me indignantly. I apologized. "Oh no. It's not your fault. I just didn't move fast enough." Gotta love that!

The "other" woman did decide on another necklace and my new-found friend snatched it up. "Write me up before she changes her mind!" she and I conspired. One day, she'll email us about going to Botswana. I just know it.

The rest of the day brought interesting conversation, some die-hard and new fans of marula oil. I brought black soap products and a couple bought several bars of soap saying they didn't know you could get it in the USA!

Toward the afternoon, a young woman came by the booth. At first, I noticed her lingering just beyond and when her companion (her father?) caught up with her, she whispered to him, "I think it's her." She approached me with such eagerness I met her halfway. "We met at your house in Ghanzi." she began. I tried to place her - was she a Peace Corps volunteer, a wayward tourist, a friend of a friend... As she continued to describe our meeting, she finally saw recognition in my eyes and told me her name. "Of course." I said and it was like we were long-lost friends. In reality, we had only met once for less than an hour. She had come with our friend because their car was broken down and we never heard from or had seen her again - until yesterday...

Several people had come by surprised we were from Cold Spring - we were nearly 5 hours from "home". One woman goes to church with my mom and aunt. Another is working in Garrison at an acquaintance's home. Such a small world, made smaller by a common interest - fair trade.

We don't make a tremendous amount of money at these Cultural Survival Bazaars, but we have made some good good friends, some supportive customers, and some great connections. And the beauty of the work, the surroundings, and the many people who make the event a "success" is a great enough reason to keep going. . . going to the events but also keep going with the sales and awareness of fair trade products.

In the Spirit

2009-07-15T15:49:00.006-05:00

The Spirit of Women's Annual Meeting played host to us last week in Washington DC. Our participation came out of the Snowmass Institute in Texas after meeting Spirit of Women's founder, Tanya Abreu.

Coincidences, Good Fortune, Wishes Granted...call it what you will, the universe guides us with gifts of plenty.

First, Tanya invited us to set up a cash and carry booth, wanting to expose the participants of SoW's Annual Meeting to fair trade and us to over 200 hospitals with gift shops spread out throughout the country. I couldn't go at first, since I had signed up to teach a summer camp that fell during this week. I tried to work out many different scenarios so that Women's Work would be there even if I was not...but in the end, my course was cancelled and I was able to attend.

Second, with sales in the shop so low the past few months, I had to wait until the last minute to buy more product. I ordered various things and prayed they would arrive on time. The paper beads didn't show up until after we'd left for DC and they were sent to my store instead of my home. This turned out to be a stroke of good luck since I had cleaned the store out of every last paper bead and now at least there were long strands and chunky necklaces for the Cold Spring shoppers.

Third, sales were horrible and I was losing sleep. Having to try to make money to pay bills, I had very little time to work on the book. Wanting to get out from under the pressure, I cried, wrote in my journal, and finally talked to Peter about what we were doing and where we were going. We decided I should try to spend as much time as I could writing my book and he would work in the shop. He was determined to sell the $10,000 wagon wheel table handcrafted from Zimbabwe which would pay off a lot of my credit card debt. He didn't sell the table that day, but we were given a very nice gift from his father - out of the blue and without provocation he wrote us a check for the "magic" number...

Four, Peter didn't sell the table, and I didn't write the book. When he got home, I told him why I didn't get anywhere with it. I couldn't/wouldn't write about our time on the game reserve. I didn't really see it as MY story. I knew it was the part of the book that would be "sexiest" for an agent to sell, but I just didn't see how it would progress the story of the women...and that's when Peter said it, "If I were writing this book, I'd be able to write it." Bells, whistles, angels sang from on high. Yes! He would be able to write about the 10 foot escaped croc he wrangled, the 15 foot python that sunned itself across the roadway, the elephant hiding behind a skinny thorn tree, President GW Bush slipping him a donation after he took Colin Powell and Condeleezza Rice on a game drive. So, that's when we decided to do a he said/she said book. Brilliant plan and do-able for both of us, but an idea that wouldn't come to fruition until we were both ready.

Five, on our way home from DC, Peter and Markham weren't feeling well. We decided to stay over at Leon's. I called and Leon said he was going to Peter's brother's for the girl's birthday. We've missed most of their birthdays - living in Africa, going to Africa for the summer, so it was great to just stumble onto their celebrations and share their special day.

Things most definitely happen for a reason. One last example, occurred over the past two days. My aunt had postponed surgery time and again, fearful of the procedure and of what the Dr. might find. She finally made an appointment but it was for a Thurs - Thurs are the days I work in the store and I would be the one to drive her. Not wanting to give her another excuse, I said I'd take her (anyway) and I'd just have to find someone to work for me.

As luck would have it (since I'm broke and can't really pay someone else to work), the Dr. rescheduled for Tues and I was able to take her to her appointment with no extra expense. But I must say, after several days of being away from home and taking the weekend Off from work (sort of), I'm frazzled. I have three projects coming up that I play an integral part in and so much other work to do...but I need to be with my aunt and so everything else has been squeezed in between dropping her off at the hospital, visiting her in recovery, picking up my mom to go see her, picking her up the following day and filling her prescription before heading home.

All that AND my husband has had a fever for three days now and hasn't been able to help with laundry, grocery shopping, food prep or care of the kids. My son has been throwing up, has a fever and a bloody nose. Between their two fevers and his bloody nose, I've been doing laundry, laundry and more laundry - fingers crossed, I too don't get sick! Hectic is an understatement for my life since DC, but I've been able to juggle things and I'm trying very hard not to freak out.

But back to my aunt...she was frightened to enter the hospital. So much so, she even made sure she saw her nieces and nephews "just in case". I can't help but wonder what she's afraid of? It's a minor procedure - thyroid removal and a biopsy. She is an extremely religious woman - carrying rosaries in her bag, reading from the bible all day long, praying constantly, going to church EVERY DAY, participating in bible study several times a week. Doesn't that kind of faith dictate a life without fear? Don't you then believe that "God" will take care of you?

I am not religious in an organized way. I actually shun Christianity and Catholicism in particular. But I am deeply religious in that I believe there is a higher universal power. I may falter, but for the most part (lately), I have been fearless. I see my life as blessed, that I am being taken care of, that I am given what I need which most of the time is also what I want.

The spirit (of women, but no exclusively so), is all around me, guiding me, comforting me, shielding me. If I turn to a good book, it is a Deepka Chopra book, not the Holy Bible. If I speak to a higher force, it is usually a collective being or on some occasions, my older brother or my father who have passed on. If I feel crazed, I know I can manage because I have faith, faith that my life has a purpose, a greater purpose than one that serves just me, faith that I am worthwhile and therefore, I have faith that everything will work out in the end.

Times they are a changing

2009-06-10T06:42:00.003-05:00

I spent Tuesday evening going from store to store looking for a dress for my daughter's Moving Up ceremony. For those without kids, moving up ceremonies are when kids change schools - elementary to jr. high, jr. high to high school. Where did the time go?
I reluctantly encouraged her to find her own dress (with my approval or should I say guidance) only saying no to one dress she only half heartedly asked for since she knew full well I wouldn't let her go out in THAT! But we had fun. We eventually found a dress that fit her very slim figure and my sense of appropriateness...a made-in-China shiny thing that as a fair trade vendor made me shudder, but we bought it and left the mall happy.
As she twirled and primped and blabbered away, excited by the Dinner Dance that went with this coming-of-age which includes a "boyfriend" which I write here in quotes, but shouldn't be since they hold hands and kiss on the lips hello and good bye...I realize, my daughter has grown up.
She is nearly as tall as I am. I have trouble deciding which flip flops are hers and which are mine (no problem with shoes, though since she wears cutesy ballet flats and I wear Merrill's). Peter and I pull g-strings from the laundry and I shudder at the thought that she feels the need not to have panty lines!
But for the most part, it's been a smooth transition, this baby to teen. Macallan's made it easy...or have I grown too?
In Africa, it is said that San bushmen children don't cry. There are may implications but one that was explained to me was that if they did, a predator (not the predators we think of here that sexually molest children, but a lion or hyena or a leopard) may get them. Another theory is that life is so hard, the San try to make the first few years easy so they make sure the child doesn't cry.
I don't know the answer, but I know I heard plenty of San children crying and saw many parents hitting them. Times change and so must we.
My ideas of having children quickly changed when I had them. The plans I had, the idealist views...children taught me to be flexible. Africa taught me to be prepared.
With my store, my latest baby, I've watched her grow too. I only go in twice a week now, working from home so that I can be with my biological children. Just like with my kids, I have people I trust to take care of them when they are not with me (Portia has been a godsend as store manager and now Stephanie will be on hand to help out too). I have to let a little of my influence go and trust I've laid the groundwork for good work.
I see the store in her teen years, much like Macallan. They both look me in the eye and show me their indepenance, their strengths and their inner and outer beauty - somethings I rightly take credit for and somethings I can just sit back and look at in awe.
I received a message from a woman who stopped by the store this weekend. She LOVED everything about it and had a great idea...I get these calls I'd say once a week, much like with Macallan. I get told on a regular basis just how special she is. Now, I'm the store and Macallan's "parent" and I take those compliments to heart. But I know I only deserve some of the credit. I brought the store to life and gave life to Macallan, that I will take credit for. But what they did with that 'life" was totally up to them and for that I just sit back and enjoy with wonder.
Times change and so have we. There was a time when I feared the time when my daughter would be old enough to date, when the store would be old enough to have a following. But I don't fear that any more.
Their growing up allows me to free up my energy, to grow as well. I can let them grow, let them go.

No Mickey Mouse Operation

2009-05-26T13:29:00.010-05:00

How often do you act without thinking, go with your gut, and follow through?

Fear, much to my dismay, rules me, like a storm. I try to conquer it, but once you hear the rumblings, the doubt, she's like that bolt of lightning collecting energy, ready to land her blow - KA BOOM!

Not this time. A few days after the Snowmass Institute, I got a call from Tanya of Spirit of Women. "I'm ready to board a plane, but I was thinking...we're having this heart health conference in Orlando next week, why not come Tuesday, I'll be free for a bit in the afternoon, I'll have time on Wed and you can be back on a plane home by Wed evening."

"OK." and off I went.

I got there between rainfalls - overcast and threatening, but I was in Florida - all by myself.

The last time I went on a trip without Peter, I ended in up in the middle of the Kalahari Desert about as remote as I've ever been or ever want to be...and yet, I was far from alone and far from "civilization". Actually, I had come home...

This trip, in wet, humid Orlando, deep in the heart of Disney Country, I was far from alone and about as "civilized" and over developed as I'd ever want to be...and while no great Epiphany struck me, the entire trip from start to finish was easy.

And because nothing went wrong - no stress, no doubt, no tornado hit the hotel while I was in the elevator - you know what that told me? The trip was a success and this idea Tanya and I have (which is still too fresh to talk about), is a good one.

...and a big one, one that's greater than the sum of us both...

The sales part of the trip was enjoyable and easy, although not a blockbuster, certainly. But the trip was for Tanya and I to get acquainted. And we were comfortable with each other. We shared ideas that almost too eerily were the same. It was like we'd been working in parallel, making plans for the time we'd meet and be able to work them out or when they'd work themselves out through us.

The Magic Kingdom - I never got there - but Rosen Shingle Creek worked her own magic on me.

The Big Time in Texas

2009-05-12T06:30:00.006-05:00

After going to the Fair Trade Federation Conference in Portland, I saw that there's a whole big country out there that we haven't explored. Needing/wanting to take the crafts to another level, I was eager to get out there.
Women's Conferences would garner likely sympathetic souls and so I started Googling. I found three and emailed all of them. A few hours later, I got a response. Peggy Ireland said that she and her husband were so excited by fair trade, had wanted to get more involved and here I was! She generously discounted our vendor fee and was so enthusiastic, I told Peter, this is going to be great!
As time went by and the economy took an even greater nose-dive, I started to doubt my instincts. Elation turned to dispare? Not being able to make my bills again in April, I wondered what I had gotten Women's Work into once again!
I scrambled to find other venues. If I'm going to go that far, we really need to make the most of our time, our money. I found a Green Festival at a nature museum. Seemed like a nice fit. We tried contacting other stores with limited luck in even talking to anyone - man, are we bad at sales! We crossed our fingers and hoped we weren't making a mistake.
Swine Flu - first death - Texas.
We didn't take the news as badly as some, but in the backs of our minds we had to think about it. While in Texas, the first event was not only hampered by news media urging people to stay home, but a violent storm that stayed back for several hours before dumping over a foot of rain on the Earth-Friendly event. We were indoors -we were OK. We even got to see a snake lay eggs. So cool, but the sales were only so, so.
Once at the Snowmass Institute in the opulent Renaissance Hotel in Fort Worth, we were a lot disappointed when we learned there would be less than 200 attendees. I thought there were supposed to be 3,000! I tried not to freak out. But at this point, what could you do? As we started setting up another vendor came up to us. "What's Women's Work?" she asked. "Fair trade crafts from women." was my short answer. "Oh." she said and picked a space directly across of us. Turned out she was a recruiter for nursing staff - bet she thought I was her competition. No, she told me later after coming over many times to shop and buy, she knew that participants were always looking for something to bring home and we were the only vendors that had cash and carry. BONUS!
A different set up than other selling venues we've encountered, participants come only during their breaks from the conference (duh!) and so there was a lot of down time, at least theoretically. Reality was that we had no breaks because when there were no conference guests, we had vendors buying! Many came many times, so much so that we joked that a few of them were cut off! I'd have to say that the vendors made up a bulk of our sales, not to mention, inspiration.
As a result, they would direct the hospital administrators, heads of nursing staff, and others to our booth - we were quite the buzz.
At the end of our first day, after many people told us to connect with her, Tanya Abreu founder of Spirit of Women finally blew in. A tall woman with a presence that filled the room, she evaluated our booth and us in one fell swoop. "You two shouldn't be schlepping this around. You should have other people selling for you. I want you at our event in Washington DC." and it took off from there.
I love when people "find" us and it's their idea to carry our products or buy things with their own slant. A manager of a prosthetic breast forms company bought paper beads in pink for Breast Cancer Awareness month. Another woman wants the crafts to go into their women's center gift shops. And another will be in touch to buy crafts as a fundraiser for a women's shelter she is involved with.
Our very first conference and it was a huge success, but then, everything in Texas is BIG!

Celf Awareness

2009-04-24T07:42:00.002-05:00

What an awesome program we participated in yesterday! Students and their teachers/chaperones came streaming into Pace University Gymnasium equipped with environmentally focused questions to ask each exhibitor.

We were asked to write our own questions, which Celf organizers tweeted. Goody Goodies were: How do you know you're buying fair trade, slavery free chocolate? What makes these soccer balls sweat-shop free and eco-friendly? Ask us how you can become famous just by doing something you love. Do you know the answers?

While many students typically came to get their answers and left without much thought, far more stayed and had more meaningful questions and I hope walked away inspired to seek out fair trade products, to make the world more just and fair, to do something they love.

And while we spoke to 1500+ students, Macallan sat in the High School auditorium to participate in Rachel's Challenge. Rachel was the first person killed by the gunmen of Columbine. Her parents, I'm sure, tried to piece together some semblance of meaning from her untimely death and now dedicate their lives to her memory and her unfailing human spirit. Seems in her journal entries (the very journal found in her backpack the day of the shooting with a bullet hole ripped clear through) and an essay written a month before, she shared her idea of creating a chain reaction of kindness and respect.

Her father developed a school program that uses Rachel's spirit as inspiration for students. According to Macallan, the presentation showed how in retrospect, they see that her life had culminated in her death. Only after she died, did they find a note she had written and taped to the back of her dresser. The note was an outline of her hand and inside she scrawled that this hand would one day touch millions. A man 1,000 miles away, kept having dreams. He finally contacted Rachel's father and described this image he had that he claimed had something to do with Rachel. That's when everything took shape - Rachel had drawn a picture of weeping flower. When the tears (13, the same number of people that died that day) hit the ground, more flowers grew. Her father knew then, that he had to do something.

If I am to follow my idea that clues are given to us and we must follow, I see my work heading toward impacting youth. Recently, old Scholastic buddies have re-surfaced on Facebook. There was a time when I lived and breathed educational materials. That was the job I loved and had to give up after having Macallan and moving to Garrison (coming full circle?). With me concentrating on writing my memories in the past few weeks, the regret lingers and holds strong. I loved writing for students. I miss it.

At the Trunk Sale in Brooklyn, two young women came to the sale. They have since come to me asking what they can do to help. And before them, a Princeton student contacted me wanting me to make arrangements for her to go to Botswana to apprentice under Kushonya (Master Basket Weaver) and also spend some time with ostrich eggshell beaders to learn that craft...Impacting students. I think I need to get back to that love and bring all of our experiences to a generation that can and will do something about it. Can and will make the world a better place.

My Life's Work: Women's Work

2009-04-19T12:20:00.005-05:00

I've spent over one year and these two beautiful Spring days working on my book. I'm so close to having a finished book proposal that I'm celebrating with a little outdoor time and a little gloating.

Here is the premise of the book tentatively entitled: "My Life's Work: Women's Work":

Five years since that fateful day in the Kalahari, I sit here in NY with the same tears in my eyes. I know now what I couldn't’ have known then. I was given a gift.
Today, as the US economy fails, our friends and families worry about housing costs, savings, price of fuel, I feel thankful for the many lessons given to us by the San Bushmen. As perpetual Hunter/Gatherers, everyone today faces the same struggles as the San. The Gatherers pick up and make a home wherever the Hunters can find food, a livelihood. Like the San, a home is a temporary shelter that can be taken away by a storm, a fire, another person. The San believe the Earth gives us what we need and so whatever they have, they are grateful for.

From our adventure, I think people can gain some insight into life in a third world country, inspiration to follow their dreams, guidance to live simply, and if nothing else, spend a few hours being entertained by two naïve people running away from the rat race only to be blindsided into acknowledging the human one.

Not fair

2009-04-17T14:56:00.004-05:00

I was feeling hopeful and so I started making phone calls. Two of the women I do the most business with did not answer their phones. I guess they are out of range. My ostrich eggshell contact (who shall remain nameless until I can employ her full time) has been out of cellphone reception for weeks now. I'm getting frustrated. I have orders to keep and my stock is dwindling to just a few pieces. . .

I called a woman who had contacted me weeks before. I had encouraged her to send me pricelists but still no email. I am desperate for stock so I give her a call.

She was wonderful - articulate and knowledgeable, spouting those charming phrases that to me and apparently 7 million readers who love Alexander McCall Smith No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency books find so endearing.

She worked "herself to death" with UNDP and other organizations in order to make "funds" to start her business. "How can one live knowing that others are sufferrrring?"(Setswana calls for "r" rolling that I just could never master.) She had "starved" so that her business could "live", she said, and "now with a recession, what hope do I have?" But she endures and with my kind help she hopes her sweat and tears will pay off.

How do you pay for the crafts that you buy? I asked her. "I have employed the women." She said frankly. "I researched and asked knowledgeable people how best to do business. I asked the women. And we all said, the best way to do business is to make everyone responsible. And so I employ women - at first there were 10 basket makers, now there are 6. At first I hired 3 ostrich bead makers, now there is one, with 2 that work part time. But if you have an order, we will work night and day, night and day for you to fulfill that order." I smiled, they would too. "I don't want you to do that." I told her. I would buy what they had if she can send me a pricelist and we can go from there.

So many people wanting to do what they can for others. She started her business "small in 2006." She said, "I strrrugggled for two years, only to be rewarded with a recession. Ah, that is life."

Familiar with her plight because it is much like mine. I too started the store in 2006, hopeful that I had great products and could fill a niche market. How could I fail? I was doing it out of love, out of a desire to help others? But a recession hit, hit hard. It's funny, coz I finally got a sign put up. Gorgeous sign (thanks to Todd Jones) so well worth the wait...but wouldn't you know it, the very month I had it hung, was the first month in nearly three years that my store couldn't pay for itself...

What does THAT mean?

It means that no, things aren't "fair" but it's up to us to make it less so. And that's what Fair Trade is all about...finding the best solutions to a more equitable existence.

Calling all No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency Fans!

2009-04-15T14:10:00.004-05:00

Check back to find out the details for our No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency Tea Party.

We're gearing up for the latest release of Alexander McCall Smith's Precious Ramotswe series, "Tea Time for the Traditionally Built" due out on April 21. With ceramics from Botswana, Rooibos Tea from South Africa and the books available, we are planning on a party to bring Mma Ramotswe fans together.

American Idol and Women's Work

2009-04-02T11:17:00.004-05:00

When we were living in Africa, we could have gotten satellite tv transmission, but we didn't want to spend the money. So, we asked our family to send us DVDs to watch. As a result, our children know Austin Powers movies by heart...good family viewing, right?!?
Since we've returned to the US, we religiously watch American Idol, particularly with our teenage daughter. I love that bonding and for what it is, you gotta admit, the production value is excellent. This is also our model for the TV show Peter is working on. Good family viewing so that grandma's and dad's will have something to discuss and enjoy together with their tough to please teens.
This year's show, more than previous years' is more about the singing and less about the human interest. But oddly enough, there were more single moms on the show than before-hmmm...
Last night, and I'm hoping I'm not giving anything away, Megan was booted off. Each week, this beautiful, bubbly, sweet tattooed young woman (I think she was only 23!) sang in her odd jazzy unique voice that often times did not work with the song choice (see, I could be a judge!), but she was beautiful and each week she hung on. What I noticed in her and another of the single mom contestants was that they were singing their hearts out but their hearts belong elsewhere. They missed their children. Each week you could see that heartbreak and as a mom, I thought, they are both saying, it's OK (which as Megan's exclamation last night as she heard the news) because she just couldn't wait to get home to her baby.
This is a show and a very well orchestrated show at that, but I believe the emotions of the contestants are genuine. I believe that they are singing for their careers, if not their lives, as is dramatically proclaimed by Ryan Seacrest. And so, I think they all realize what this exposure would mean for them as singers.
And with each of these single moms, I think they couldn't compete - not because they weren't able singers, but because their hearts were somewhere else.
This is the basis of Women's Work and every day I see the sacrifices women make. The importance our children have in our lives keeps us from fulfilling our dreams. Not that it's a bad thing - not that we who struggle with it resent it, at least I hope that's not what we feel - but our lives, values, priorities change with the birth of our children. For many of us, they will always come first.
I applaud the talents so many women possess and empathize with their choices to find a place for those skills within the values of caring for our children. Can Megan still sing? Sure she can. She just won't be doing it right now, away from her child for weeks at a time...

Facebook | My Links

2009-04-01T18:35:00.000-05:00

Facebook | My Links

Women's Work Overtime

2009-03-25T10:17:00.008-05:00

I may not be in the store much lately, but I'm definitely working overtime. Got to since sales are sooooo low in the shop.

It's been great because that one house party is still (after over a month!) bringing more sales outside of the store...hmmmm, wonder if it's telling me something...

We've done Greenflea again on the upper westide (across from Museum of Natural History). Was supposed to be a warm sunny day, wasn't, but still a good number of people shopping including Catherine Zeta Jones, Jack MacBryer (Kenneth from 30 Rock) and Christina Lahti with her really cool cattle dog. Sales were fine but we love the atmosphere. I miss the city.

We're off to Portland, Oregon for the Fair Trade Federation Conference and Expo. I sent out a mass mailing hoping to lure retailers to the Expo on Saturday. Would be great to wholesale the canvas bags and ostrich eggshell jewelry. I also thought it would be right up my alley to write again. Besides the memoir, I want to start writing about other fair trade vendors, particularly those that were in the Peace Corps and there are plenty of them! What is it that makes people join PC? I think they are unique and interesting people, but I know I'm prejudiced since I married one.

We're also preparing for the upcoming Dumbo Trunk Sale
April 4-5; 11-5; 20 Jay St.; Studio 310A; Dumbo (Down under Manhattan/Brooklyn Overpasses)

It's the First Ever Studio Sale at ModernPress, my sister's full service design/print studio (modern-letterpress.com)

Get gorgeous stationary supplies, beautiful samples, and find out how you can design and create your own custom invitations/announcements/cards with the help of Carolina Della Valle of Modern Press: a full service design studio and printshop offering letterpress printing, embossing, diecutting, foil stamping and last but far from least, laser-engraving and laser-cutting on a variety of unique materials.

Women's Work will be on-hand selling jewelry and loose beads made from- recycled paper made by women in Uganda, recycled glass and brass beads made by women in Ghana, ostrich eggshell from San Bushmen women in Botswana, batik bone from Kenya, and delicate clay beads from Mali.

We've got fabric pouches and totes from Uganda, mudcloth from Mali, kuba cloth from the Congo and handpainted table cloths, runners and pillowcovers from Botswana,
and I'm bringing linotype prints from the San and elephant dung prints from Zimbabwe...with more, much more...(womensworkbw.com)

Joining us will be Macallan and her full array of Goody Goodies Edun Live Organic T's, new elephant beading kits, and fair trade goodies sold by kids, for kids who are orphaned by HIVAIDS in Botswana, Malawi, Zimbabwe and beyond! (goodygoodies.org)

Come check it out.

I'll be in touch after Portland. Hopefully there'll be much to tell you about!

Women's Work on the Road

2009-02-22T17:44:00.006-06:00

Business is slow. Interestingly enough, and proving my theory that there are still people who have money, furniture and larger pieces of art are still selling, but little things are not...

So, we are going to do NYC Greenflea on the upper eastside at least once a month and Golden Nugget in Lambertville, NJ here and there because the more people I expose to the idea and the products, the more I sell.

Another aspect of selling that we had not explored before, house parties. Our friends, Pat and Todd had a wonderful party the other night. Pat carefully invited a nice group of her closest friends and had us introduce ourselves via one of Peter's wonderful powerpoint presentations which Macallan contributed to. With her there to talk about Goody Goodies, the evening was that much more meaningful. The sales were great - selling more in a few hours than I did all week in the store! The evening couldn't be more perfect particularly because we were able to truly bring awareness about fair trade and the women we work with to like-minded neighbors.

The economy is also forcing us to resort to something I haven't done before. We're going on the road - OK, so we do the Cultural Survival Bazaars, but they are driveable selling venues. These are not.

The first Fair Trade Federation conference I will attend will be this March 27-29 in Portland, Oregon. I've never been to Oregon, but I loved Seattle when I was there for Scholastic before we had kids. It was awesome. When we were planning on coming back to the States, one of the places we fantasized about moving to was Washington State...Portland is supposed to be a lot like Seattle. I can't wait. But I can't go there without wholesaling our products, otherwise I can't justify this trip to myself.( http://www.fairtradefederation.org)

Then, we are going to Fort Worth, Texas May 7-9 for the Snowmass Institute's Women's Health Conference where I will be the only vendor selling crafts. The organizer is extremely excited about the fair trade aspect. I'm looking forward to exposing healthcare professionals to our products.

We hope to get more venues, but we're also booking a booth at the Sweetgrass Festival in South Carolina in June 5-6 which is in conjunction with the Spoleto Festival. Should be a blast!

Fair Trade at the NYIGF

2009-02-13T09:57:00.002-06:00

In January, I helped prepare a friend's booth space and attended the NYIGF. It would be my second time to attend and my first to see what it entails to work the other end. It was an interesting lesson.
In this economy, I decided not to have my own booth. I had gone to Botswana this summer in the hopes of finding more wholesale possibilities and growing Women's Work beyond the storefront. I was able to find three producers including the pottery, the canvas and the skincare/natural papers/ceramics which all could be made at greater quantities. But after much deliberation, the show would have been an expensive risk that I couldn't justify.
While I think everyone I know that did have a booth was grateful for orders (any orders!), it was a slow show. What was evident as I walked around was that the Handmade section was busy with many first time inquiries and orders. Every time I went to visit my friend Harish and his wife Poonam of Sustainable Threads, a slew of buys would come. I was so happy for them.
At Pier 90, there were a surprising number of buyers out there - I don't know that I would venture there if I didn't know Project Have Hope was there. She was also located near Africa Now! a joint booth funded in part by USAID. Global Mama's was represented and so were various basket weaving groups, shea butter producers, drum makers etc, mostly from Ghana with many producers on hand. In cooperation with the Trade Hub, a store in DC was offering distribution of the crafts/products. So, at the show, you could either order from the producer directly or order from the shop. A perfect model in order to encourage sustainability in the African producer group and foster relations with a retailer. How do I get the producers I work with such exposure? I'll have to keep investigating.
Peter and I discussed where we were going with the crafts. With each new opportunity that confronts us, we take the time to look at all of the possibilities and try to remove our old prejudices and our over-riding egos. While my ego would love to do the gift show, the success of my business must rely on the realities...the world is going through a much needed downsizing, re-evaluation of values, and much needed check and balance. The producers can only produce so much - the last thing we want is a factory of ostrich eggshell beads. And what am I really trying to accomplish? The answer is evident, but the process is muddled. . . as clarity comes, so will my next posting.

Zimbabwe's Crisis Hits Close to Home

2008-12-02T21:12:00.006-06:00

For those of you who have been to my store, you have undoubtedly seen the beautiful bead and wire creatures made by Bernard Domingo from Zimbabwe. Domingo had recently been given asylum and was working toward bringing his family here. As we celebrated Thanksgiving, he raved about the food, so much so that over the weekend, he said, "I will give you money for food and I would like you to make a meal like that for my children." Of course, we agreed. We all left for Boston for the Cultural Survival Fair Trade Bazaar where we had great sales and had a wonderful weekend. And as Domingo returned to Mt. Vernon, he got a call from his family. His eldest son who was suffering from Cholera had become ill once again. He was in the hospital over the weekend, but with so many people dying around him, Domingo's wife Veronica brought him home to recuperate...he passed away shortly after. Domingo called me and sobbed, "I'm confused." Asylum, which would bring his family to the US would also be the reason to separate them. He would not be allowed to return to Zimbabwe. "I want to go." He told me, but I said to stay. If he leaves and isn't able to return, all would be lost. I said I thought he should work on his paperwork and find a job and a home in order to send for the rest of his family. So many stories in the newspaper are about far away places that have no relevance in our lives...this one touches everyone who has been to my shop, making the world, her problems, and the people that reside halfway around her our neighbors, family and friends. http://news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20081202/wl_nm/us_zimbabwe_crisis http://http//news.yahoo.com/s/nm/20081202/wl_nm/us_zimbabwe_crisis

Another example of Women's Work Fulfilled

2008-11-07T14:20:00.005-06:00

I wanted to jot down my feelings about this election, it's a momentous one.

As an American public, we had endured a long and grueling process, but a rather civil one considering...And with so many provocative twists and turns, the media certainly had plenty of fodder and as a result, plenty of airtime to fill full of junk.

I was a die hard Hilary campaigner in the beginning. Hell, can't have a shop named Women's Work and not be pro-woman! But when she lost the nomination, I grieved, but like many of her following, got behind Obama, resigned to win this election. How could we let the Republicans get in there for another four years? We couldn't.

And so, I threw myself into Barack Obama, who did not disappoint. After vocalizing all of the reasons why I was initially behind Hilary and not him - his inexperience, his preacherly way of delivering speeches, all fluff with no substance - he proved me wrong. As if he heard my complaints, shortly after being nominated for the Democratic ticket, he addressed my apprehensions and exceeded my expectations. Throughout the campaign, Obama would shine in my eyes compared to his Republican opponent. But for the very reason I wanted Hilary to win (the fact that she was a strong woman) is exactly the reason I was horrified that the Republican party would elect Sarah Palin as their VP.

It made me so angry to think that they really truly believed that this puppet, this airhead, this beauty queen-has-been, this hick, this seemingly religious fanatic ('coz it turns out she was just playing to the moral majority - anything to win!), this woman would appeal to American women! Indicative of the past 8 years of treating Americans as pawns, the Republicans truly thought she and this shell-of-a-maverick going by the name of McCain were their winning ticket. How absurd and that's exactly what the American public said on November 4th. I am once again proud to be an American.

As many of you well know, Peter and I actually met GW in Botswana. We hosted his visit to the game reserve when Peter was still park manager. He was a likable guy, not very presidential (good and bad), and definitely someone you'd love to have a beer with - but not run your country! And so, this election, our first since we returned to the USA was an important one for us. Toward the end, we took to saying, "Barack or Botswana." Markham, our son, asked me this morning (two days after the election), "So, does that mean we're not moving back to Botswana?" I happily told him Yes!

But I digress...back in Botswana, we made some great friends. We had children the same ages so our friendship came naturally, but also sharing the same values, we bonded. When this election started to take shape, as I stated earlier, I campaigned for Hilary. Our friend (who shall remain nameless since he still works for "the government") said he was taking his precious days off and going to frigid cold New Hampshire to go door to door for Obama. "Hilary's a screamer" he would tell me. Peter and I laughed his comment off. After all, he was critiquing a possible boss, not the same criteria we all would use to pick our President. But he did say something that made me consider his choice. He said he had been in the presence of greatness. Never in his life had he seen someone with so much charisma. It seems we all witnessed that same man toward the end of the campaign. The best person in my opinion had been chosen after all... .

..These are ramblings of a woman with her own platform (it's my blog, I can say what I want to)...and what does it have to do with Women's Work? I'll tell you.

Yesterday, while I was in the shop, I was closing up when a local gentleman walked in. He was starting to do his Christmas shopping and wanted to see what I had since he tried to buy as much as he could in town. (Good for him!) As he looked around, he giggled, "Got anything from His country?" I knew exactly what he was talking about. "As a matter of fact, I do." I said. He said, "You should put that in your window - something like, Yes you can...buy something from Kenya!" and so this sale started to take shape.

I had wanted to acknowledge the win and was toying with one idea and another...but this encounter was exactly the impetus I needed. I wrote some copy, made up some ads...1/2 Kenyan, sure! 50% off all things Kenyan. And it went on from there. As I wrote the copy I would formulate into a press release, I had the final connection. Women's Work would honor the woman whose efforts would one day produce a President...who was this woman? I was shocked to find out...

My new found inspiration (Barack) has led me to my newest and one of my greatest idol to-date (according to: http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1729524-1,00.html). Stanley Ann Soetoro was the working woman who would break molds, challenge convention, a practicing anthropologist, she not only studied cultures, but applied her practical altruism respectfully and effectively when setting up micro loans in Indonesia, exposed her children to the world, and gave them a positive outlook to see how they could make the world a better place.

As a mother of two racially mixed children, I wonder how my actions affect them. I often question whether Peter and my decision to leave America in 2003 was a good one or one that would scar my children irrevocably. I wonder what our self-afflicted although not entirely self-imposed vow of marginalized poverty will do to our children's values, and how they will understand our choices. In the end, like Obama and his sister, I hope Markham and Macallan remember our joys and pain, adventures and journeys as positive ones, actions/choices that shape their lives for the better. Who knows, maybe, from my work, my daughter or son will one day be president - or at least know that whatever they choose, their mother will be standing behind them, supporting them and loving them for who they are and have turned out to be...As I am known to say, that's women's work.

Women's Work salutes S.Ann Soetoro and thanks her for her many contributions to the the World...most especially, our new President.

Kenya Dig It? Yes We Can!

2008-11-07T14:11:00.004-06:00

Despite his Kenyan background, his color, his inexperience, his rumored associations, the American public spoke and clearly said, "We can do it" and we did.

For the first time in American history, we will have a leader of color, not because of his color, but because he was the best person for the job.

Oh yeah, Barack Obama'a election touches all of us in unique and powerful ways. Read my next entry to get my full take and I'd love to hear yours. Enter a comment below.

And/Or come to Women's Work (storefront or website) throughout the month of November 08 to celebrate not only the results, but the working woman who raised him.

*For all of the single moms, seemingly single moms, wives, sisters, daughters, friends you know who work so hard to bring opportunity to their children, Women's Work recognizes YOU!

Barack Obama's Kenyan Father took off when he was just a boy -

So, we'll take 50% off everything from Kenya

and 25% off everything from Africa

for the remainder of November '08. *

Would Barack be the man he is today had his father stayed, who knows? What we do know is that with his mother's social consciousness, he is the promise for great change, for hope, for inspiration for us here in the States and many around the world.

Read this beautifully crafted article for more information about Stanley Ann - ( http://www.time.com/time/nation/article/0,8599,1729524,00.html )

Botswana at last

2008-10-28T16:18:00.003-05:00

Hurry up and wait...that's exactly what happened. We made it to Botswana, ran around (thanks to Tony lending us his car and a place to stay) and we commenced to do nothing. OK, so we had meetings. We talked to Local Enterprise Authority several times, the Competitiveness HUB, USAID, Botswana Tourism, and many friends about our idea to market Botswana. We were so gung ho! It all seemed so promising from the States, but reality is a bummer and we didn't get anything more concrete than a handshake and business card.

Marketing Marula Oil was one of our main objectives. We have set the foundation for branding here in the States through sales, advertising and articles. Word of mouth had grown not only through my online business with plastic surgeons discovering that I carry the pure oil and recommending the "miracle" oil to their patients. Masseuses had found out about the oil and were buying wholesale amounts for use on their clients. And several boutique bath and body products used marula oil bought from me. I wanted to spend a lot of time with the women in Lerala, but it just didn't work out. There's something holding this product from expanding - production, funding, community infighting, personality conflicts, the list goes on and on and I'm stuck on the receiving end, not able to receive any oil! From my website a cosmetics company found the oil. They hadn't heard of it before and wanted to test its properties. Wouldn't you know it, the oil sample I sent them was old. The product tested poorly and they decided not to use it...if the community trust in Botswana could only bring their production up to par, they could do well for that entire community. I've got some on the way, but I was really hoping to rest my business on the oil and now I'm having to re-evaluating our relationship.

We were able to place an order with the famed Gabane Pottery. Martin and his wife Katherine have been steadily growing that business so that they have a nice group of women to help them produce the ceramics. Again, I was looking forward to getting these mugs to the US. There is a great need for fair trade mugs to go with the fair trade coffees/teas, and they certainly are beautiful. We have great footage of Martin taking us through the process. Can't wait to incorporate it into the TV shows we're working on. I ordered so much from them and all in the midst of the new President issuing a statement to all of Botswana Government Departments mandating that local producers be utilized for office supplies/needs. And so, Gabane Pottery was supplying many of the big departments with tea sets (Botswana's English rule until the 60's left behind rituals like high tea that is embedded in much of Bots' culture even today). From the look on Martin's face, I had very little confidence that my order would be done in the 6 weeks I had left in the country - but he provided me wrong. In the end due to many banking problems, I couldn't pay for the full amount and also couldn't carry the heavy ceramic mugs, platters, coffee pots and jars back to the States. It is the end of October and I still haven't been able to make full payment, resorting to Western Union since our bank in Botswana won't allow us to transfer money from the US. I still have no idea how I'm going to get 100lbs of pottery to Cold Spring, NY or if they'll make it.

I brought some in my luggage and have sold all of the mugs (at a loss since it cost so much to ship). A few pieces shattered - could it be from the air pressure or the valet who dropped my bag helping us to our car at JFK? Who knows? All I know is that I'm chomping at the bit to get the products I ordered and anticipated having in the store during this holiday season. After all, this was the reason for the trip, no?

Or was it? We wanted to have wholesale products to market, to do shows with/for and that just wasn't panning out. Knowing full well that if it wasn't coming to us easily, then it probably wasn't meant to be, we kept an open mind and tried not to stress over plans unfulfilled...what then? What were we doing in Botswana...we couldn't wait to find out.

Rover

2008-10-22T08:00:00.006-05:00

I can't believe it's been nearly two months since we were in Botswana. Our summer in Southern Africa seems like years ago. I started this blog to catch everyone up on our return to Botswana, but with all that happened and is happening now, I just can't get it all down, and as a result, the blog goes without. . .I will try to write more often, particularly since I live, breath, and do things only in the name of Women's Work.

Let me start off from the beginning.

June 29, 2008 - South Africa

We wanted to save some money, so instead of paying the $300 more person to fly into Botswana, we landed in Johannesburg, South Africa. Our friend Tony was taking care of (trying to sell) our Land Rover, with no luck. Peter thought this was a blessing since we would need it...first of many things that didn't go our way.

So, we're at the airport trying to find out where our ride is and having a tough time getting any answers since our cell phones don't work in South Africa. There are actually telephone shops in the airport, not shops that sell phones, but telecoms where you can make phone calls but not on a payphone...something we don't have here. Anyway, unable to get a call out, Peter spent a lot of time trying to figure out what to do. The woman working in the shop felt badly for Peter. She even let him use her personal cell phone since we couldn't get through to Botswana on the regular phone. When we did finally get a hold of our friend, she even gave him her personal cell phone number and took messages for us. . . ah, the kindness of strangers.

Turns out, the Land Rover had broken down two hours away. Tony's girlfriend and a driver were worried that a car with Botswana plates broken down on the side of the road would be a target for car jackers. They couldn't get cellphone coverage to call for help or to call Tony and waited by the car afraid for their lives...how horrible for them!

We would not know any of this for hours. But when word finally got to us, we had to spend what we thought would only be one night in Jo'berg. Our new friend, the telephone salesperson finally called someone she knew who had a Bed and Breakfast.

We were on our way to a quiet charming bungalow. Macallan and I went first - Nepal, the B&B owner (from Nepal, thus the nickname) could only fit the two of us and some of our oversized luggage in his station wagon. Reassuring Peter that we'd be safe with him (afterall it was Jo'berg), we were welcomed to the B&B by the other guests, who helped us carry our bags. We were so tired, we actually slept in. It's cold because it's winter in Africa, so we bundled up in the blankets and fell right to sleep.

When I awoke, I found an amazing sight. With Macallan and Markham reluctant to leave their friends for the summer, this trip started off on a sour note. It didn't help that we were stranded...but this would make up for it all. There, propped up against the sliding glass doors to our room were two small dogs lying in the sun.

I had to wake Macallan, I just couldn't wait for her to see. We returned to Africa and were welcomed back by the very reason we left. The straw that broke the camel's back for us was our neighbor shooting our dogs. Feeling unsafe, we packed up and headed to the States, none of us saying proper good byes to the country we had called home. Now, returning for the first time, a dog that looked just like Macallan's dog Otse waited for us to awake. I cried watching Macallan being greeted by this dog, licking, whining, tag-a-wagging. The Land Rover broken down, us having to "make a plan" as they say in Africa, strangers to our rescue, and animals, animals, animals, all par for the course for Durkins' course in Africa.

We were home.

2008-10-05T17:08:00.001-05:00

As I watched and took pictures of the crowd before me, a child shroud in brown, layered and hooded in mismatched hand-me-downs caught my eye. She was shy and reserved, not making eye contact with me or anyone else there. I wiped the tears from my eye. I wiped some more. What I thought was from the wind, dust and bright sun, turned out to be tears of realization, sadness and joy. I was sobbing and it would take me years to find out why.
Those tears were for the women I saw, the women I'd met along the way, the woman I would become. That child was the spitting image of my nephew, whom I had barely known before leaving him and all of my friends and family behind for a life, up until that moment was undefined. Now, I knew why I had come and what I had to do. My mission is to bring the sadness and the joy I felt on that day and for many days to come to anyone who would listen.
After many spiritual starts and stops, I have found my ignition. I have seen my life's worth and am grateful. That work is to be instrumental in making people aware of the kind of person they can become. That the world can be opened up for inspiration and know that many of you will unfold and follow. That there is a way each of us can make the world a better place, a place that we would love to be a part of and a place safe and nurturing that we can raise our children in. And that world doesn't exist inside or outside the United States, but inside us-each of us. A safe haven, harbor, home exists within us all.
Over the years, I've made many of you aware of the San Bushman's plight, introduced the idea that women around the world are struggling for/with the same things we struggle for/with each day--the wish to bring up our children ourselves, our way, with our values and concerns. The hope to provide nutrition, neutral ground free of bias, hurt and pain, along with enough resources to nurture them so that each child can grow up to reach their full potential. And because I firmly believe that this is a message I've gotten across to all of you, I know you will not let my dream of awareness and awakening and activism die.
If you wear a piece of jewelry, display a basket, recommend some marula oil or tell others about the work of women's groups around Botswana and beyond, if you never let a day go by without being grateful for what you have, knowing there are many without, if you see for a moment that you matter and we all matter and together we can make a world of great matter. And if for each day you are on this earth you believe that each breath taken, each word spoken, each deed done brings a benefit to us all, than my efforts will not have been in vane.
http://womensworkbw.com

Women's Work Fulfilled

2008-10-04T09:31:00.002-05:00

The journey had started years before, after we had moved out of New York City and up the Hudson River to the small village of Cold Spring. It was there that I decided that I was missing something. I looked for it in my involvement in various school groups, non-profits, Zen Buddism practices, in Reiki, and in Astrology and found some semblances of reason and hope. But it took me until I set off for a weekend out in the middle of nowhere with a woman I had just met to experience a culture so foreign to me that up until living in Botswana I had not known existed. But once there, the setting, the people, the cause, the very idea of being able to bring income to people who wanted only to continue with their way of life, finally rang true.
After that day in the desert, I found what I had been looking for.

The Story of Women's Work

2008-10-03T14:59:00.002-05:00

In 2003, my husband Peter found a job posting on Findajobinafrica.com (Really, there is a site!) The job called for a manager of a game reserve. We applied as a management couple, and much to our surprise, we were accepted. So we sold the house we were never going to leave and everything in it and flew to Botswana with our 3-year-old, our 8-year-old, 13 boxes and our dog. Our time at the game reserve was wonderful, but unfortunately we came to realize that the reserve was not what we thought it was. Making the decision to leave our thatched roofed cottage with rhinos grazing on the lawn, warthog rooting in the garden, and spitting cobras raiding the hen house, was a difficult one, but one we still believe was the right one to make.
We moved into a nice neighborhood in Gaborone and started our own business. I returned to journalism and wrote magazine articles on travel, as we marketed and advised on eco-tourism ventures. While working on a story about Gantsi Craft, I got the opportunity to go on a craft buying trip to a remote Bushman settlement and had a life changing experience.