Call of the White (10 page)

‘Can you send another letter?' I asked.

‘No. They say it has to be the original.'

‘So, you can't do any fundraising until the ministry find the original letter that they have lost?'

‘Yes,' Era confirmed.

It just seemed barmy. ‘So, is anyone looking for it?' I asked.

‘I don't know. They say they are looking.'

I was looking forward to speaking to the Jamaicans. They had held their big fundraising event, The Cold Front, a few days before and I was keen to know how much money it had raised for them. As soon as I heard Kim's voice I could tell something was wrong. ‘We made nothing,' she said miserably, ‘in fact I think I may owe money.' Silently I rested my forehead on my desk. This was a disaster. Apparently the event had been a sell-out and lots of local artists had turned out to perform but at the last minute the lighting crew had demanded money. Kim had no option but to pay them but when the band heard about it, they also demanded money. There was still some ticket money to collect but it looked as if they would struggle to break even. Kim didn't sound like herself. She sounded like she had given up. ‘I'm feeling very sorry for myself right now,' she admitted.

Part of me was irritated by her news. I had, after all, warned her about relying too heavily on one event. But what she needed right now was motivation and a clear route forward. ‘Forget The Cold Front, you haven't got time to analyse what went wrong because you need to concentrate on finding the seven hundred dollars you each need. What ideas have you got?'

‘A bake sale!' said Alecia with instant enthusiasm. ‘We can sell them on the university campus.'

I paused in order to pose my question tactfully, ‘Can you realistically sell fourteen hundred dollars worth of cakes?'

Alecia thought about it. ‘Me and my mom can bake a
lot
of cake.'

I quietly placed my forehead back on my desk.

The news from Ghana was equally glum. Sheillah had continued to be elusive. In response to my latest email she had replied, ‘God will provide.'

‘But you've got to give God a fighting chance!' I exploded at the computer screen as I read her email. Divine intervention is a risky fundraising strategy even if you provide an outlet or two for the miracle but as far as I could see Sheillah hadn't written a single letter, made a single approach to a sponsor or come up with one decent idea. My patience was spent. It was to be expected that Sheillah and Barbara might not be able to find sponsorship; Ghana was by far the poorest country involved in the expedition and so subsidising the Ghanaian participants had been factored into the budget. It didn't really matter what amounts were raised by candidates in each country as long as everyone was putting in equal effort. This is where Sheillah had failed and I now felt that to fund her trip would be to give her a free ride and that would be an insult to all the other women that were working so hard to win financial support. It would be a shame to have only one Ghanaian in Norway but there seemed little point in Sheillah attending as I already knew that her attitude was completely wrong – there was no way I could have her on my team for Antarctica.

Barbara's situation was different. She had worked really hard and been unfairly thwarted at every turn, but the money wasn't her only problem. Despite my incessant nagging for months, Barbara still hadn't applied for a visa. I got the impression that there was something stopping Barbara applying but, for whatever reason, she didn't want to tell me. ‘I go to the embassy but the guard on the gate turns me away,' she finally admitted. ‘He looks at my papers and tells me they are not complete.' Barbara had been too embarrassed about the fact that she had been turned away to tell me about the problem. Barbara wasn't the only one with visa issues. Alecia and Kim in Jamaica had also left it until the last minute to apply for their visas and were almost out of time.

I woke up early the next morning after yet another bad night's sleep and sat on the edge of my bed staring at the wall. With just a few weeks left before we were due to depart for Norway, my brain swirled with everything that I knew I had to do but I felt empty; I couldn't find the energy to move, never mind think clearly. I hadn't been able to sleep or relax properly for weeks. There wasn't a moment when I wasn't thinking or working on the expedition. The stress was beginning to show in the size of the bags under my eyes and the paleness of my face. I looked ill. It was more than lack of sleep: it was mental exhaustion. I just wanted it all to stop. I wanted to be able to pause time so that I could crawl into the darkness somewhere and rest. But I knew I couldn't stop. So many people were relying on me to find the answers. The only thing keeping me going was the knowledge that there was no other option. I had to find those answers. I had to make this work.

My first call was to the Commonwealth Foundation, a grant-giving branch of the Commonwealth dedicated to supporting civil society organisations. I had spoken to the Commonwealth Foundation before regarding grant-funding but the expedition didn't fall within any of the foundation's criteria; we were too unusual and unwieldy to be categorised. Undaunted (and driven by a rapidly dwindling pool of alternative options), I explained our current problem and asked if the foundation would be able to fund the cost of flights for the Jamaicans and Ghanaian, making it possible for them to take part in the Norway training. ‘The central purpose of the foundation is to bring together people from all over the Commonwealth,' my contact explained. ‘This is essentially what you are trying to do, even if, strictly speaking, you fall outside our remit.' I held my breath as the voice on the line paused to think. ‘Let me see what I can do.' I crossed my fingers as I put down the phone.

My next move was to contact High Commissioner Burchell Whiteman at the Jamaican High Commission in London, whom I had met the previous summer and who had been so supportive. I wasn't sure how he could help Kim and Alecia but decided to simply explain our problem and see if he could suggest anything. It turned out he was in Jamaica at the time and emailed a reply almost instantly. ‘I can help. I just need to know the dates the applications were made.' I let out a long sigh of relief. This was incredible news. I was so grateful.

I rang the embassy in Ghana handling Barbara's visa to Norway and spoke to the consul, explaining what Barbara had told me. ‘I'm sorry,' said the consul, ‘but I think your team member is lying. We've got a great team on the gate. They have no right to ask for this lady's documents and there is absolutely no way that could happen.' I was stunned. To assume Barbara was lying seemed to be a very quick and callous assumption to make. Despite her accusation, the consul allowed me to arrange a time for Barbara to come and see her personally. I gave Barbara the details and strict instructions to stand her ground at the gate. ‘Barbara, if anyone tries to send you away demand to see the consul. You have her name – use it. Do not leave until you have seen her. If you have any problems, call me.' I was on standby all day, preparing myself for an argument with the consul, but when Barbara called it was good news. She had received an apology, a letter of support and the promise of a visa within a few days.

My positive mood at our great progress was ruined by an email from Kim. ‘Couldn't make it to the embassy to submit my papers today. Traffic too bad,' she wrote. I yelled at the computer screen. With a week to go before she was due to depart for Norway, not to mention the hard work I had put in and the strings that had been pulled on her behalf by an incredibly generous high commissioner, I couldn't believe the lack of urgency on her part. If I had been in her position I would have made sure I got to the embassy. I would have walked if necessary. My frustration was turning to despair.

Another shock arrived the next day. Sitting in bed I decided to answer a few more emails before going to sleep. Peter, already half asleep himself, sat up next to me as he heard me groan at the computer screen. ‘What is it? What's wrong?' he asked. It was an email from Barbara that had been sent to all the candidates. I read it aloud to him:

Dear all,

Due to the fact that I'm not able to secure any sponsorship to be able to join you in Norway, I am forced to opt out.

I have withdrawn my applications from both Norway and UK embassies, as I will not be able to use them to travel. It's a catch-22 situation; I could get the visa, and have no money, or I could get the money and not get the visa in time.

It has been very tough preparing for this event, and I blame myself for any poor planning that resulted in this unfortunate result. I wish that Sheillah would have contributed more, in terms of finding sponsorship, writing and distributing letters, training, etc. Two heads are always better than one; maybe, in the areas that I lacked, she could have filled in the blanks. Ah well, shoulda, coulda, woulda.

Not attending Norway obviously means that we don't get to be part of the selection process which determines the final team. I don't want to give up this chance, but it's out of my hands right now.

Regards,

Barbara

The email felt like a body blow. I wanted to cry with frustration but I was so tired I was numb. It felt like the whole project was falling on my head. Peter tried to console me, ‘This isn't the end of the world, you still have a great project even if the Jamaicans and Ghanaians don't come.' But for me it changed the whole fabric of the expedition. I tried to get around it in my head, to get used to the idea of them not being there but it didn't feel the same. After the frustration came the anger. I was livid that the email had been sent to the entire team. Why hadn't Barbara talked to me first? Hadn't I deserved even that tiny courtesy? This email would do enormous damage to the fragile confidence of an already jittery team. I returned an email to Barbara immediately and was talking to her first thing the following morning, ‘You should have told me first, Barbara.'

‘I think I just had a panic moment,' she explained.

I could see that a lecture was not what Barbara needed so I swallowed my anger and gave her some reassurance. ‘We all have moments like that, Barbara, but you have to see them for what they are. You can't write emails like this on a whim.'

I asked her to write an explanation to the team which she did immediately. ‘Felicity has given me a verbal back rub and I feel a lot better,' she wrote.

I was also able to give Barbara some good news. The Commonwealth Foundation had been in touch. They were going to fund her flight, as well as the Jamaicans'. She was coming to Norway. All she had to do was get her visa.

For now I felt I had done what I could for Kim, Alecia and Barbara. I needed to turn my attention elsewhere. There were just three days to go until I was due to fly out to Norway myself, and I still needed socks, thermos flasks, ski poles, ski boots, sledges and food for 24 people for up to a fortnight. I was overdue on several press releases and needed to supply the journalists who were due to join us in Norway with their travel information and joining instructions. I had to drive to Cirencester to collect the skis we were borrowing and to Sheffield to collect the sleeping bags and down jackets for everyone. I also needed to find time to print out safety documents, update the website and perhaps, if I was lucky, pack my own bags.

Every morning brought a fresh avalanche of emails and it seemed that every single message required a time-consuming action to be taken immediately. The phone didn't stop ringing either. It wasn't uncommon to be speaking on Skype while my mobile and house phone were both ringing simultaneously. The situation was approaching farcical proportions. So many people were doing so much to help and yet there was no one but me to pull it all together. Everyone needed something yesterday and suddenly it seemed that the world was a pack of snarling dogs all tearing away at me piece by piece. As it was I was working from 6 a.m. until midnight every day and still it wasn't enough. There were other stresses, too. I had been working full-time on the expedition for six months without pay and I was broke.

I had never felt quite this low before and it worried me. My emotions were completely bipolar. I swung from feeling really excited and proud, to feeling despairingly depressed and just a little bit angry. People expected so much and were so ready to criticise, giving me little credit for the fact that I was creating the expedition out of nothing.

Just as I was leaving to meet Peter, who had volunteered to drive all our equipment to Norway in a borrowed Land Rover, Paul Deegan called. I vented my frustrations at him for a full hour. He told me about a famous swim coach who said, ‘Once you're stood on that starting block, you're standing with what you've got.' He meant that at the moment you start the race it doesn't matter what training you haven't done, or the drag-reducing suit you didn't choose; what matters is that you get on with the race. The advice calmed me down as we loaded the Land Rover and trailer. My dad had come to the rescue by providing the trailer at the last minute. He had been struck by inspiration and converted an old trailer tent. It looked like an old-fashioned caravan with the top half sliced off, still complete with cabinets, carpet and a functioning door. It was hard not to laugh at it but I was thrilled; it was ours. Dad had even put stickers along the side proudly displaying the expedition website address in big red letters. The gesture was perfect.

The Land Rover finally trundled off towards the ferry and I dragged myself home. There was a message waiting for me from Charmaine in New Zealand to let me know she was about to get on the plane that would eventually bring her to Norway. It was strange to think that some of the women were already on their way. It felt like putting a coin in an old-fashioned arcade game – once you let go of the coin, the mechanisms are given momentum that can't be stopped. The end results are out of your control and all you can do is watch. I felt like I had just let go of the coin. I wasn't sure who, exactly, I would be meeting off the train in Norway in a few days. Would Barbara be there? Would Kim get her visa in time? It was up to them now.