• About Judith A. Ross

Shifting Gears

Shifting Gears

Tag Archives: Womens Voices for Change

Beyond the Hijab: Woman to Woman in Morocco

07 Tuesday May 2013

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, friendship, inspiration, politics, travel

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

culture, henna tattoos, hijab, Morocco, Peace Corps, women, Womens Voices for Change

Henna tattoos back

Morocco was never on my travel wish list. New Zealand, Iceland, and Brazil were all possibilities. But a visit to a predominately Muslim, developing country in northern Africa? I hadn’t even considered it. All of that changed, however, when my 26-year-old son Karsten joined the Peace Corps.

The fact that he was assigned to work there not only put Morocco squarely on my radar, it allowed me to transcend the typical tourist experience and literally break bread with ordinary Moroccans—people whose language, dress, and culture are very different from my own.

I’ve been home just a couple of weeks, and I’m still sifting through the many sights, sounds, and tastes of my trip, yet there’s one aspect that stands out—the connection I made with the women I met there.

My first introduction to a Moroccan woman was, oddly enough, during a video chat. My husband and I were conversing with our son shortly after he had arrived in Sefrou for training, when he invited his host mother, Fatima, to join us. At this point, Fatima had already nursed our son through one illness and had given him his Moroccan name, Karim.

In what remained of my high school French, I tried to thank her for taking such good care of “mon fils.” While my French vocabulary failed me, my facial expression and our immediate connection did not. “Avec plaisir,” Fatima replied with a smile that blew through the miles and burst through the screen like a warm breeze.

A year later, Karsten now lives in Tinghir, a city located south of the High Atlas Mountains, where he teaches life skills, like typing and AIDS awareness, to a co-ed group of local teens. During the week my husband and I visited him this past April, he and a Moroccan counterpart organized games and exercises to help his students develop confidence and communication skills.

“There is definitely a feeling of sisterhood among the women here,” he told me one morning as we walked through town.

I felt the truth of that observation almost immediately. On the first full day after we arrived in Tinghir, I found myself sitting upstairs from Karsten’s place in his landlord’s apartment, surrounded by a group of women wearing the traditional hijab (head scarf) and ankle-length skirts or dresses.

Laila, who speaks a little French, was decorating my hands with henna. Rachida, who had her young daughter in tow, spoke to me in English. The rest, friends and relatives of my son’s landlady, chattered away in the local Berber dialect.

Without my son present to translate, I did a lot of nodding and smiling. But Rachida clearly wanted more than just small talk.

“What do you think about the head scarf?” she asked me. (Most of the mature women I encountered in Morocco wore the traditional head scarf and a long dress or skirt — at least out in public —but not everyone does.) I told her that I thought it was fine if a woman chooses to wear it. She nodded her head and said that the “choice” was sometimes dictated by a strict father or husband. I had the feeling that Rachida was talking about herself. She clearly regretted not continuing her education. Once they are married, she told me, “Moroccan women are responsible for everything.” It was a lament I was to hear from other women as well.

I felt the full force of Rachida’s assertion a few days later when my husband, Karsten, three of his male friends, and I drove through a nearby town, passing cafes overflowing with male customers, while the few visible women were on the road, laden with babies, groceries, or bundles of alfalfa they carried home on their backs to feed the family donkey.

On that day, my femaleness, even more than my Western appearance made me self-conscious. I felt truly alien, oppressed by the difference between this place I was visiting and the place I call home.

Yet those differences seemed to dissipate whenever I was with a Moroccan woman; even if my daily outfit of jeans and a long-sleeved T shirt clashed with her long dress and hijab, even if we couldn’t communicate through talk, her friendliness, interest, and generosity fostered a feeling of camaraderie that coursed through our time together.

Where did this feeling of sisterhood come from? Part of it, I’m sure, had to do with the high esteem these women have for my son and the respect he shows them. In fact, one conversation I overheard between Peace Corps volunteers during an earlier leg of our trip was focused on ways they could teach their young male charges to treat girls with more respect.

Moroccans are naturally hospitable, and making strangers feel welcome is an ingrained part of their culture. Family is very important there as well, so having “Karim’s mama and baba” in their home was considered something of an honor. Beyond that—and I don’t know this for sure—I believe that our mutual femaleness in a male-dominated society triggered the sense of sisterhood that Karsten observed, and that I experienced.

For example, one morning, Aisha, Karsten’s landlady, showed me how to make the flat, round loaves of bread that are served with almost every meal. As she demonstrated her muscular kneading technique, rotated loaves of bread in and out of the oven, and cut up vegetables for a tagine—all accomplished with her 2-month old daughter strapped to her back—we also managed to commiserate, in our mutually limited French, about the challenges of nursing a newborn throughout the night.

Surprisingly, this feeling of oneness wasn’t just limited to encounters with adult women. The hugs and kisses I received from the 12-year-old daughter of Karsten’s Tinghir host family made me feel like a revered and much-loved aunt. And then there was our 10-mile trek to Todra Gorge with Karsten’s Leadership Club.

The walk, which wound through the local oasis and up a dusty road to the gorge, took about four hours. While some of the boys reached out to me, I spent most of the hike surrounded by teenage girls who were determined to teach me a few words of Berber. By the time we reached the gorge, I had a vocabulary list. By the end of the day, I had been given cookies and candy, offered the use of a coat and some lip gloss, and had acquired several new Facebook friends.

I was lucky enough to see these girls on two more occasions, when we accompanied Karsten to his classes at the cultural center. I will never forget Hayat, who was both patient and persistent when teaching me how to introduce myself and ask others their name in her native language. And I will cherish my conversations with Kaoutââr, who will soon be leaving for the university to study medicine and whose nose is constantly in her schoolbooks. Nor will I forget the feisty Soukaina or the other Hayat, a tall, lanky athlete in a headscarf who can out-throw, out-catch, and out-run all the boys when participating in my son’s American football club.

Several times during our visit, Karsten mentioned the Peace Corps mission to help “promote better understanding of other people on the part of Americans.” I’d say they are achieving that mission.

The next time I look at a photograph of a Moroccan woman, I won’t see a stranger, I’ll see a friend.

Henna tattoos palms

 This post was also published today on Women’s Voices for Change.

Advertisement

This Year Will Be Different

20 Tuesday Nov 2012

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, friendship, mid-life transition

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

empty nest, family, friends, Thanksgiving, turkeys, Womens Voices for Change

This family of turkeys has been patrolling our neighborhood for weeks. There are five in all, and lately, they have taken to roosting outside our ground-level basement window.

We first spotted them over the summer: two adults, three chicks. Now we can’t tell who is who.

They stick together these five. And when they appear in our yard, I always check to make sure each one is present and accounted for.

They remind me that this year, Thanksgiving will be markedly different for Paul and me. Like other years, we will be sharing the meal with friends, but for the first time ever, neither of our sons will be at our table.

Older Son will be celebrating with his girlfriend’s family in Connecticut, and Younger Son will be cooking and eating dinner with a group of fellow Peace Corps volunteers in Morocco.

While this change makes me a little sad, I’ve begun to embrace the new order. Planning a meal and hanging out with friends —without the pressures of family— is a lot of fun. And this year, just like our sons, Paul and I will be doing that too.

I know I will miss them. Especially Younger Son, who is so far away and won’t be home for Christmas either. But I also know that the love they feel when they sit at our table will be with them on this day too.

Both of our boys have grown into loved men. They carry home with them wherever they go.

For that, I am truly grateful.

****

This post was published today on Women’s Voices for Change.

A Blog of One’s Own

22 Wednesday Aug 2012

Posted by judithar321 in friendship, inspiration, writing

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

blogging, BlogHer 2012, Econesting, Groovy Green Livin, Moms Clean Air Force, Womens Voices for Change

Whenever I think about connections between women, I remember coming home from school to find my mother drinking coffee at our kitchen table with her friend Rolande. From my first-floor bedroom, I’d hear the low murmur of Rolande’s French-accented English, punctuated by my mom’s musical laugh.

These days we can connect with other women all over the world via email, instant messaging, video chats, and by commenting on each other’s blog posts. Women we’ve never met face to face have become our friends, colleagues, mentors, and students. We talk, argue, and commiserate as we share stories, opinions, successes, and heartbreaks. Yet we still value, and even crave, that old-fashioned face time.

A few weeks ago, in New York City, BlogHer held its eighth annual conference, and those sessions felt like my mom and Rolande’s kitchen-table conversations—on steroids. BlogHer is a community and media company created in partnership with women in social media “to create opportunities for women who blog to pursue exposure, education, community and economic empowerment.”

Both genders are welcome at the conferences, but most of us at BlogHer ’12—more than 5,000 of us—were women. We were gathered there “to talk about everything from pop culture to parenting to politics,” said BlogHer co-founder Lisa Stone in her opening address.

Indeed, among the bloggers that I met during a “speed-dating” session were a dominatrix with an IVF baby; a mommy blogger; and a woman who teaches sign language to help new moms communicate with their babies.

Why do all these different women blog, and what do they have to say? 

I started my own blog because, after decades of writing for other people’s publications, I needed something of my own—a place where I could express my own thoughts and opinions in my own voice, and even (gasp) have a bit of fun. 

The blog has offered me a chance to reflect out loud about the everyday stuff of an almost 30-year marriage, an empty nest, and tie my concerns about climate change to what’s happening in my own backyard.

Casey Carey-Brown, the mommy blogger I mentioned, describes her experience at the conference  and why she blogs this way:

“I found myself surrounded by thoughtful, vulnerable, honest writers and heard over and over how they are in this because they have to be. Because they love it. For the life that it brings. The life of reflection. Of higher standards for yourself. The struggle and joy of being able to work at your craft and always get better. Always be better.”

Other women I met blog for more concrete, practical reasons. Lori Alper, of Groovy Green Livin told me in an email that she blogs because it “allows for a learning and connecting with an ever-growing  fabulous community of  like-minded men and women.”

Lori began blogging on the heels of another career. A former lawyer, she started her blog because two of her children were born with life-threatening food allergies.

“After spending a great deal of time educating myself on non-toxic living, my family began experiencing first-hand the benefits of living an organic, non- toxic lifestyle.  I knew I needed a larger forum to learn and share. I decided to trade in my attorney suit and follow my passion—and Groovy Green Livin was born as a way to educate myself and others on how to live as naturally and toxin-free as possible.”

Meeting women like Lori, whom I’ve gotten to know online through our mutual work for Moms Clean Air Force, was among my main motivations for attending the conference. I also met and hung out with several other bloggers and staff from Moms Clean Air Force—one of whom, I learned, is a fan of this blog!

I also shared a drink with two women whose blog I had begun to follow only recently: Carrie Tuhy and Mary Lou Floyd from Second Lives Club. These accomplished women post essays about women who are embarking on dramatically different lives than those they lived when they were younger.

Making eye and voice contact, and engaging in a lively back and forth with such vibrant, intelligent women has inspired me to dig deeper, focus on what feels authentic, and to be both fearless and passionate when expressing my opinions and ideas.

The conference sessions provided valuable takeaways and motivation for moving forward. 

I attended BlogHer sessions on writing; on forming and using online organizations to make change; and how to price and value your services.

Two themes that came through in almost every session I attended were:

  • Women have a powerful voice. President Obama’s willingness to open the conference via video is proof positive that what we say and how we vote really does matter. (Mitt Romney, who was also invited, was unable to participate.)
  • Bloggers and writers want—and expect—to be valued and paid for their work. This ambition came through loud and clear in almost every session I attended. The writing sessions addressed issues such as transforming blog posts into printable essays (most print publications pay their writers) and how to approach editors at paying sites, such as Women’s Day.

There were also keynote sessions featuring Martha Stewart and Katie Couric, and a panel with Soledad O’Brien, Christy Turlington Burns, and Malaak Compton-Rock. For a terrific synopsis and a “shoes-eye” view of those sessions, I suggest you read this post by my friend and fellow blogger Ronnie Citron-Fink.

The formal sessions. coupled with many small conversations, helped me clarify my goals. I realized that while my own blog allows me to feed my more creative side and speak my mind, I also want to be part of something bigger than myself. I left the conference even more determined to continue and expand my work for clean air and children’s health.

And while the conversations I had with others at the conference weren’t as personal as the ones between my mom and Rolande those many years ago, the support and friendship I felt as I pushed back my chair and left BlogHer’s enormous kitchen table was every bit as real.

This post was originally published by Women’s Voices for Change.

On Luck, Gratitude, and Wild Turkeys

13 Monday Aug 2012

Posted by judithar321 in adult children, environment, friendship, inspiration, pets, travel, writing

≈ 10 Comments

Tags

blogging, BlogHer 2012, Brooklyn, city/country, fashion, gratitude, luck, New York City, online connections, wild turkeys, Womens Voices for Change

Last week I joined 5000 other women at the 2012 BlogHer conference in New York City. To make the event more affordable, and to have a little family time, Paul and I drove down together and stayed with our son in Brooklyn.

The thought of rubbing elbows with people I’d only known through online exchanges was pretty thrilling. And I was looking forward to making some new connections and taking home some helpful tips and inspiration from the sessions.

But I was also nervous. There’s nothing to make me feel more like a country bumpkin than a trip to the Big Apple.

Because I generally travel with my extremely competent male entourage, finding my way from Brooklyn to the conference on my own would be a new experience. In fact, when my son heard my plans, he joked about making me the kind of placard that kindergartners wear while on a field trip. “My name is Judith, if lost, please call….”

Jokes aside, his excellent directions enabled me to arrive at the conference without a hitch.

Well almost.

Sadly, he didn’t give me any fashion advice that would enable me to survive a 45- minute subway ride without looking like I’d slept in my clothes.

I’d agonized for days over what to wear. And I chose my two favorite summer dresses, both with fabulous belts. The problem was that one was cotton, the other linen, and no matter how well they traveled when carefully folded in a suitcase, they both became a wrinkled mess after I’d sat in them for any length of time.

But my dress worries vaporized when Paul and I came back to Brooklyn after meeting for dinner in the city. Our car was not where we left it. It had been towed — a front wheel was allegedly outside of the legal space. When we got it back, it was making an ominous new noise.

Which leads me to the string of bad luck we’ve had over the past couple of weeks. A few days before our New York trip, Paul was driving his van home from a job. It was raining hard and his windshield wipers suddenly went dead. He had to pull over and wait for the storm to pass.

After our trip and the second car fiasco, my prescription sunglasses and then my swim goggles disappeared in quick succession. Like the car, they were suddenly gone from where I surely had left them. Apparently there’s a black hole for eyewear.

Then, when it seemed like we’d lost or broken everything we could in one week, I saw a family of turkeys crossing our yard. “Get the camera!” I whispered to Paul. He brought it over, turned it on, and announced, “It’s dead.”

Luckily, my iPhone was handy and still working (for now at least).

I was transfixed by this momma and her five babies as they made their stately way across our yard and into the garden.

Karina was transfixed too.

So here’s the current tally: two broken cars with one very expensive repair, two pairs of lost eyewear, and a deceased camera (did I mention that the electric toothbrush is also on its way out?).

So yes, we’ve had a run of bad luck. But the fact that it’s the everyday, garden variety kind of bad luck and not real trouble makes me enormously grateful.

Grateful that my husband can fix a lot of things.

Grateful that my friends are willing to step up and provide help and advice. (Thank you Jane and Heather for the camera recommendations. And huge hugs to Kathleen who made sure I attended the conference with nice-looking business cards.)

Grateful that lost items, unlike people and friendships, are easily replaced.

And grateful that we arrived home safely and can sit on our deck and enjoy Mother Nature’s daily parade.

Vase by Elizabeth Cohen (http://elizabethcohenpottery.com/)

A blog about travels near and far, daily life, and issues that are bigger than all of us.

Recent Posts

  • Intentions
  • From Concord to Concordia: A Late-Life Migration
  • Dear Mr. President, Please Don’t Extinguish My Energy Star
  • I Vote for Clean Air
  • Love at Last

Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 385 other subscribers

Blogroll

  • 3191 Miles Apart
  • 66 Square Feet
  • Athenas Head
  • econesting
  • Food and Fiction
  • Lost in Arles
  • Second Lives Club
  • Slow Love Life

Places my work appears

  • Center for Effective Philanthropy
  • Harvard Business Publishing
  • Moms Clean Air Force
  • Talking Writing
  • Women's Voices for Change

Archives

  • August 2017
  • May 2017
  • March 2017
  • October 2016
  • February 2016
  • December 2015
  • November 2015
  • July 2015
  • June 2015
  • April 2015
  • March 2015
  • February 2015
  • December 2014
  • November 2014
  • October 2014
  • July 2014
  • June 2014
  • May 2014
  • April 2014
  • March 2014
  • February 2014
  • January 2014
  • December 2013
  • November 2013
  • October 2013
  • September 2013
  • August 2013
  • July 2013
  • June 2013
  • May 2013
  • April 2013
  • March 2013
  • February 2013
  • January 2013
  • December 2012
  • November 2012
  • October 2012
  • September 2012
  • August 2012
  • July 2012
  • June 2012
  • May 2012
  • April 2012
  • March 2012
  • February 2012
  • January 2012

Categories

  • adult children
  • aging
  • art
  • books
  • discipline
  • environment
  • friendship
  • health
  • inspiration
  • marriage
  • meditation
  • mid-life transition
  • music
  • pets
  • politics
  • travel
  • uncategorized
  • work
  • writing

Twitter

Error: Twitter did not respond. Please wait a few minutes and refresh this page.

Create a free website or blog at WordPress.com.

Privacy & Cookies: This site uses cookies. By continuing to use this website, you agree to their use.
To find out more, including how to control cookies, see here: Cookie Policy
  • Follow Following
    • Shifting Gears
    • Join 197 other followers
    • Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
    • Shifting Gears
    • Customize
    • Follow Following
    • Sign up
    • Log in
    • Report this content
    • View site in Reader
    • Manage subscriptions
    • Collapse this bar
 

Loading Comments...