Scribbles » women

Living in Italy: Gallantry and women

Peter — Tue, 14 Apr 2009 23:43:00 +0000

After the Abruzzo earthquake Italian Prime Minister Berlusconi was quoted saying the victims living in tent cities should think of themselves as being on a camping holiday. He hit the news again a day ago by telling a female doctor “I wouldn’t mind being resuscitated by you”.

The press took it badly, but Dr Carrieri from Milan took up the Prime Minister’s defence, saying he had paid her a “gallant” compliment to “take the drama out of the situation”. (Full)

Which makes me think of men, women and Italy… After living in Italy for two years, I still find it remarkable how women are given remarks by Italian men. Women who lived in Italy for a while might easily see them as compliments, but foreigners would surely be surprised if not insulted:
Not only is staring almost an art, but it is also usual to be greeted in a shop with a “Ciao Bella!” (“Hi beautiful”) and to get a “Arrivederci, cara” (“Bye, sweet”).

It is usual to be talked to when sitting (as a woman) alone at a table in a restaurant or bar. Getting whistled at is a daily occurrence, remarks about the way a woman looks or dresses are common. Most women don’t react, or (pretend to) see it as a compliment. Only they can tell if deep down inside they do. But if you, as a female tourist, visit Italy, don’t be surprised…

I Am an Aid Worker. And a Woman. Help!

Peter — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 23:24:00 +0000

In the previous post, Shylock explored, in a ironical, cynical, self-criticizing way, what personal future we, aid workers have. We wonder the earth, gradually getting used to travel all the time, often in harsh places, and very often in search of a thrill. Gradually we get addicted to it all.
But is there life after this.. after this life of a gypsy? Do we become gypsy disasters after years of behaving like a disaster gypsy, roaming from one emergency to the next?

No matter how much we chuckle reading the previous post, in the end, it is not funny. Far from it. Many humanitarian workers have a problem to find ‘a life after this’.. But it is even more sad to realize how few actually “have a life even now”… Even now, many forget, or at least compromise, their personal life because of their addiction. The addiction to the horizon, to the adrenaline.

And now I want to you stop for a moment, no matter what you are doing. What I am going to tell you, is very close to my heart…

No matter how you twist and turn it. The professional world is still a man’s world. This world in general is still a man’s world. It has been for hundreds of centuries. From the time men dragged women into their cages by their hair, we have come a long way, but we are not there yet. “There” being “offering equal chances, and equal opportunities to women”.

Here is how I see it. (and don’t forget I am a man, and no matter how hard I try, I will always be a man, even if I try to look at things from a woman’s perspective):

I look around me, and see people -men and women- alike, with loads of personal challenges through the work they do… But then I look again, and see that in most management functions in this business – the humanitarian world -, men hold the key functions (and most of them come from the first world, but let’s leave that aside for a moment). I look once more, and see most administrative support positions are filled by women. Many women in this business are strong, well educated, hard working people. Many of them are young, full of energy, inspiration and aspirations. The new generation of women have been encouraged (and enabled) by their parents to get a good education. They are ambitious to develop themselves personally and professionally. Many of these young women whizz through their twenties like a breeze, and some climb up (if all goes well), the professional ladder.
All of a sudden they find themselves in their mid thirties, somewhere in the professional chain and ask “hey where is my personal life gone to?”. And that is where the challenges start.

If all goes well, they find a partner. If all goes well. As we – men – are not always too happy to live with a partner who has a demanding career. Even fewer like it when that career takes ‘our woman’ away on duty travel. Heaven forbids that ‘her career’ would even have her live far away from us, in some dark and remote humanitarian crisis area.

“If all goes well” they find a partner, as too often at their mid thirties, what men are “available” on the “partner market”? Those coming out of their first long relationship, and not looking for something long term. The ‘celibataires eternelles’ or ‘commito-fobes’. Those who have not made up their mind what the hell they want. The ‘players’. And those already in a relationship. Or those who have failed in relationships so far.. (and all of that is a whole different discussion which I would love to have over a glass of Prosecco).
So “if all goes well”, a partner is found. And then? “A career” you say? In this world where, no matter what, a woman is still supposed to not only bare the children, but also spend most of her time raising them? Where a woman is still supposed to do most of the household stuff? [if you are a man, think about it... If you don't agree with me, think again... Who spends most of the time with the kids, working for/in the house? You or your partner?].

So, what then? Most women are the ones making the compromise then.. Either give up their career, or work part time, etc…
If they don’t, the juggle of kids, house, husband and career becomes a full time challenge.

The other evening, I went with E. over all the women we knew. And we tried to flag those we thought had found a good balance between kids, house, husband and career. And are successful in all. We found one. One woman out of the dozens of women we know, we found one.

That is a sad observation. And even more sad, when we realized that lady does not work in the humanitarian “business”.

So, all you ladies out there. And specifically those of you in the humanitarian world! In my “The Dudettes” short story I tried (in my cynical and ironical way) pay a tribute to you all. But come and have your say too. Am I seeing things in a too dark, negative way? Am I seeing things too much from a “male” perspective? You tell me. So com’on all you strong women out there, have your say! Click on ‘comments’ below this post to see the other comments, and to chip in with your thoughts…

The Dudettes

Peter — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 01:41:00 +0000

(Peterpedia: “a dudette: female version of a dude”)

“Who the f**k has put pink paper in the printer?”, I hear one of the guys shouting in the corridor. Loads the cupboard doors bang as he is looking for the normal plain white paper… Loads of cursing..
I duck.. I did not put the pink paper in the printer, but I know who did.. Well, I kinda know.. I also know she got away with the blue paper, too. And with the light-green.

But that was two weeks ago, and none of the technicians was around then. Mats, Zouhair and me were the only men in the office. All the others were out. In Iraq, Iran, Kuwait, Jordan, Turkey. We were the only three men… Three men against the rest of the world. And ‘the rest of the world’, as far as the office was concerned, was female. I mean, what were we supposed to do? Against all those women? They took over the place. They overrun the office. A palace revolution! And those in power wanted “pink”.

Traditionally, we have always been a “real men’s outfit”, since we started with our team, FITTEST, several years ago. FITTEST. “Fast IT and Telecoms Emergency and Support Team”. Pretty sexy, no? We are the ‘special forces’ of the humanitarian organizations. We’re the ‘dudes’ they send in when an emergency occurs, before anyone else is sent in. Or is allowed in. Somalia flooding, Darfur refugee influx, Pakistan earthquake, Tsunami, Iraq war, Hurricane Mitch, Afghanistan war, Angola, .. You name it. We’ve been there, done that.. And not only “been there”, but also “been there before the rest”. We’re the dudes who fly in with equipment to build the basic infrastructure with electricity, communications, IT services, so that other relief workers can do their work. I mean in short, in case you did not get my drift yet: “WE ARE THE DUDES !”

Think of us as razor short hair, safari jackets, bagged tropic trousers, sturdy mountain boots, minimum six feet tall, bronzed by the sun in seven continents, honoury member of frequent flyer schemes on at least ten airlines. And that only in the past three months. You get the picture? That’s us. I mean, “WE ARE THE DUDES. Yeah!”..

And now, these women… Grrr.. These women… This girlie figures, with their high-pitched squeaky voices, platform shoes or tower heels, and their (flap with your hand with a floppy wrist) their, their… delicate manners, manicured nails… We need four of them to lift one of our toolboxes… And we carry two. In each hand that is. Ha! But now, those tiny things… They took over the office. They run the outfit now…

“Can anyone tell me where the FFFF**K I can find plain white paper?”, I hear from the corridor again, “I refuse to print my mission report on f**king pink paper!”. One of the women chuckles: “Pink Rules!”

It was not so long ago when we had no women in the team. As the unit grew, and we moved our base from Kampala to Dubai, we needed more support staff… In came Judith, then Anisa, then Lorraine. Sure, understandable, these were all administrative staff. We could even get used to the idea they did all of our finance and travel. But then Amel joined in, and took over procurement. Bouran came in and she took over the management of logistics and warehousing. And so on. And so on. They moved in swiftly and quietly. They worked long hours, without making a lot of noise, like we, the dudes did. And before we knew it, we had more than twenty of them.

Twenty women. They became the backbone of the office. Brave women, standing up against ‘The Dudes’, twice as tall and three times as wide as them. They looked up, with their finger pointing sky-wards: ‘No, you will NOT get your ticket before you fill in your previous travel expense claim !’. or ‘No, you can not get into the warehouse to take whatever you want. Fill in this request form, and we will get it to you’. Finger sky-wards… Each time, the FITTEST technician would look down at those tiny little things and grunt his teeth “These… women… “ but in the end they would all shrug their shoulders, and .. comply.

It was an interesting process to see these two parts of the team becoming one, as time went by.. The male and the female part. The mountain boots and the high heels. The ‘North Face’ and the ‘Louis Vuitton’s. Not only did we, the dudes, start to print on pink, but the ladies also got us to wear pink FITTEST T-shirts. But the dudettes also started to wear the macho yellow-print-on-dark-blue with just as much pride. Symbolic of the female side of the dudes and the male side of the dudettes joining together..
Not only did Astrid help the guys pack their suitcases when they were late for a flight again, and would Anisa and Lorraine always succeed in putting together a surprise birthday cake, but soon they also joined us on missions. Cecelia in Kinshasa, Larisa and Nadia in Baghdad, Sophie in Banda Aceh and Beirut, Ekram in Khartoum and Damascus.

Cheers to you, the dudettes of the world ! This is an ode to you. Combining being a mother and a wife, with a professional career. Juggling your professional time between all three jobs: two at home, and one at work. My hat off to you. It is much easier being a man in this world, than a woman. It is always much easier to be a dude than a dudette.

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