Call of the White (3 page)

It's 11.30 on a Sunday morning. I've picked up the local paper and I'm having a slow start to the day. I come across an article about an all-women trek across Antarctica and I feel my chest expand. Yes. This is it. I know with absolute certainty that this is what I want. I jump on the computer and flick through the website, knowing I would eventually come to this question. So many reasons crowd through my mind. From my earliest memories of walking the arid hills of Cyprus with my grandfather, to the sea voyage as a five-year-old journeying to New Zealand, to a passionate life in the theatre mixed with travel, adventure, beauty, art and people. Musings on the ideas of immigration and displacement, and the personal versus the social. A sense of love and duty that brought me back to Cyprus and the realisation that life's journey is not a linear path, but one that loops back on itself, yet keeps moving forward nonetheless. I want to be involved as every fibre of my being feels it. This is who I am.

How would you describe yourself?

Happy. Confident. Get on with all types of people of all cultures. Good sense of humour and compassionate. Good in a team, unafraid to lead but willing to follow. Resourceful and able to handle stressful, tricky and even dangerous situations.

Is there anything that you would like to add to your application?

Meet me.

Nicky sounded great. For a moment I wondered if it was possible that I'd found my first teammate in the very first application. Perhaps recruitment was going to be a doddle after all. Over the days that followed, the applications continued to trickle in and I read them all carefully. What became clear is that the applicants all thought they were writing to some big, well-funded operation. They had no idea that it was just one woman with a grand idea behind it all. Looking around at my office – an ageing laptop balanced on a salvaged desk much too big for the clutter-filled room – I couldn't shake off the guilty feeling that I was just a big fraud. I lived and worked in a two-bedroom flat on the north coast of Kent that I shared with my boyfriend, Peter, taking over one of the bedrooms as my workspace. With big plans to renovate, we were still a long way from making it completely habitable. My office had faded woodchip on the walls, cobwebs in the corners and a carpet with swirls of autumn leaves that made it look permanently dirty. The carpet regularly had to be pulled back to allow access to pipes and wiring as the other rooms were slowly transformed. Never a tidy person, I found the disruption caused terminal chaos to an already faulty organisational system. I seemed to spend my life searching for things and then losing them again.

Sitting in my haphazard workspace, reading any new applications became addictive. It was fascinating to be allowed a glimpse into the lives and hearts of women I had never met. I was taken aback by the sincerity and openness of their answers. It was also clear that the expedition had touched on a frustration shared by many women about continued inequality. A lawyer in India wrote, ‘Working in women's rights, I have seen how women do not have the space to dream of being explorers or travellers or are denied the luxury of just travelling their own chosen paths. It would be very fulfilling to be a part of an expedition that can – in its own way – make a difference to how women see themselves.'

Another application from India said simply, ‘This mission will act as a reminder to all parents to be equally proud of their daughters.'

The applicants and their stories made me feel miserably unworthy. Who was I to be choosing from among such an admirable group of people? I wanted to reach out to them all. It seemed criminal that all this potential and strength of feeling was not being harnessed in some way. Often, as well as being profound, the writing in the applications bordered on poetic and I was regularly moved to tears. Up until now, the expedition had been motivated by my own personal philosophy, but now I had a new inspiration: I had to make this expedition happen for these women. Only a handful of the applicants could be on the team but the fact that the expedition was happening at all was obviously extremely important to everyone that applied. The applicants became a potent source of motivation and I kept particularly striking extracts from the application forms to provide additional inspiration whenever I might need it in the coming months.

Throughout school I was a keen football and volleyball player; however, I didn't get financial support from my school, which meant I couldn't take my ambition further. This was just one of the injustices that has given me the determination to fight for equal opportunities and the development of education. I lead a running club. A mixed group of 14–18-year-olds attend, most of whom don't go to school because of their financial situation. I want to teach the importance of health and physical education and that, no matter who you are, you can achieve your dreams. My club is also a way to ignite girls' passion for creating a better life for themselves before having a family.

Ama, Ghana

I had breast cancer three years ago and underwent surgery, chemo and radiotherapy, which were all successful. I am free of cancer now, and healthier and fitter than I have ever been. When I saw an article in the
Cyprus Weekly
about the expedition, I was immediately drawn to the idea and felt it would be the most amazing accomplishment after everything I have been through.

Rosie, Cyprus

I am a Khasi tribal female (belonging to a matrilineal society) from the beautiful and enchanting hill city of Shillong, in the state of Meghalaya, in north-east India, on the border with Bangladesh. Even though I come from the most remote corner of north-east India, which is affected by insurgency-related problems and mainly regarded by the rest of India as backward, I would love to prove to the world that the majority of people living in our state are friendly, peaceful, fun-loving, God-fearing and decent human beings.

Sirrah, India

However, while some forms filled me with renewed belief in the beauty of the human spirit, others made me wary of the bizarreness of strangers, or left me completely baffled:

With my experience I will prove to be an aggressive member resulting in the team's success in achieving the ultimate goal. Good at building team spirit even in adverse situations (if otherwise mean to the team, Ha ha ha....!)

Love Life. Love dogs and cats and animals. Love musical instruments, my family and friends. Biggest fear at the moment: attack from a shark.

As the applications continued to arrive, I wrote to the high commission of each country that would be represented on the team and asked for a meeting, in the hope that I would be able to request information on the major national media outlets and other contacts that might be useful. The responses varied widely from country to country. The High Commission of India left me in the hands of a minister of undefined responsibility (his business card said simply ‘Minister' in capital letters under the impressive gold embossed seal of the high commission). He listened politely, drinking sugary tea, as I told him about the expedition before dismissing me with a weary shake of the head, terribly sorry (so he said) that he couldn't help. At the Singapore High Commission I was met by the first secretary, who seemed convinced that the expedition was a ploy to criticise the Singaporean government. After weeks had passed without a reply from the High Commission of the Republic of Cyprus I rang to check that my letter had been received. The switchboard put me through to the high commissioner's office and a man answered. I was a little taken aback when it turned out to be the high commissioner himself. He hadn't read my letter, but put me through to his press officer, who sent me a contact list of every media outlet in Cyprus, as well as the contact details of several Cypriot government ministers who might have an interest in my project.

That same week I received a slightly bemusing letter from the New Zealand high commissioner that was less than enthusiastic, seemingly due to weariness. ‘New Zealand receives many requests for support,' it read. ‘While New Zealand identifies with the aim of raising awareness of the value of the modern Commonwealth, I regret to inform you that the New Zealand government is not able to lend your expedition its support at this stage.'

Having experienced such a mixed response, I wasn't sure what to expect when I received an invite to meet High Commissioner Burchell Whiteman at the Jamaican High Commission in London. While working at the Royal Geographical Society on the same street, I had walked past the high commission twice a day on my way to and from work and had often noticed the Jamaican flag flying high above a red-brick staircase. I always get a ridiculous thrill of excitement walking past embassies and high commissions – as if they offer a more literal doorway to their country. The high commissioner was a slight man with a clipped, greying beard and heavy eyes that made him look as if he were on the brink of sleep. He sat me down with tea and biscuits and looked through the expedition information I had given him as I talked about my plans. Occasionally, he exclaimed in amazement or shook his head in disbelief, always with a smile, pointing out that the highest point in Jamaica was more than 2,000 feet below the altitude of the South Pole and that Jamaicans were more accustomed to temperatures of 30 degrees above zero than 30 below. When I had finished, he picked up his cup and saucer and took a thoughtful sip. I resisted the urge to fill the silence.

‘Jamaicans are adventurous people,' he said finally. ‘I remember a man who came to visit me who had been involved in a project to take medical supplies to a remote part of the Himalaya. It had taken them weeks to drive there and they had barely been able to get the permissions they needed. When they got to the tiny clinic they were surprised to find a Jamaican nurse working there. So you see, Jamaicans are everywhere. I think you will find someone.' The high commissioner gave me a list of potential contacts in Jamaica and introduced me to his press attaché, who promised to put news of the expedition on the Jamaica Information Service, a news website that feeds the Jamaican press. As I stepped out of the high commission and into the rain I felt pleased. The meeting had gone well and I think I knew, even then, that Burchell Whiteman would prove to be one of our most faithful supporters.

Up until this point, the Commonwealth Women's Antarctic Expedition hadn't actually had any approval from the Commonwealth itself. The Commonwealth is a many-tentacled beast that can sometimes seem as hard to grapple as melting ice. The nucleus is the Commonwealth Secretariat in London, which is the diplomatic and political heart of the organisation, as well as its most tangible point of contact. Then there is a spongy plethora of associations, programmes and initiatives that surrounds it, including Commonwealth associations of professions as diverse as tax administration, human ecology, dentistry, forestry and archiving. I wrote to Commonwealth Secretary-General Kamalesh Sharma, and his reply was encouraging. ‘I commend you warmly for this exceptional initiative and the effort being made to enhance intercultural understanding and to raise awareness of the work and value of the modern Commonwealth,' he wrote.

As July turned into August, my only real problem was that I just didn't have enough applications. There had been a steady trickle, but very few struck me as realistic possibilities. When I allowed myself to dwell on the issue I felt a brewing dread. I'd been so confident that I would find women with the mental strength and determination needed, but what if I was wrong? I renewed my publicity efforts and was rewarded with two more significant media interviews. The first was with an early-morning radio show in Singapore. The show would catch listeners on their way to work so I was keen to make a good impression, but the time difference meant that I had to be on air at 3 a.m. my time. I set my alarm for 2.50 a.m., hoping I'd left enough time to shake off the gravelly, just-woken edge to my voice. When the alarm rang, I made a cup of tea, hoping to trick my brain into thinking it was morning. I gazed out at my dark, quiet street, sipping my tea and waiting for the call. The phone sounded ridiculously loud when it rang, and the breezy presenter on the line seemed equally out of place. As she prepared me for the interview, I could tell from her voice that, although the appeal of the story was clear, she could not conceive of anyone who might actually want to ski to the South Pole. It was obvious that I was the ‘oddball' story of the day.

On air I was asked to explain what it was like to ski for days on end in a place where there is nothing to look at. I started to talk about the need to spend a lot of time inside your own head on long expeditions, the difficulty of finding something to think about, and that sometimes I would spend a whole day simply thinking about what to think about. Suddenly, I realised I was rambling so I abruptly stopped talking. The presenter scrambled to fill the unexpected silence, ‘Well… aside from the schizophrenia, what kind of person are you looking for?'

I tried to give a neat and interesting answer, but instead it all came out as incomprehensible gabble. ‘After all, I've never led a team like this before so this is new for me, too!' I prattled. My brain couldn't believe what was coming out of my own mouth. I sounded insane. As the presenter dutifully wrapped up the interview, I sat with my head in my hands. On the basis of the interview, the only people who would let me lead them anywhere were the equally barmy. I felt like I'd just been on national radio to announce that I was heading to the moon in a watering can powered by a firework, and would anyone like to join me?

The second interview was with
The Telegraph
, a Calcutta-based newspaper. I took the train into London to meet the journalist in a busy cafe on the South Bank. He clipped a small microphone onto my shirt and asked why I had decided to organise the expedition. I felt under pressure to produce some wise and profound words, but the truth was that the strain of organising the expedition was so immense that I could barely put sentences together, never mind interesting sentences. I felt that he went away disappointed and slightly bemused. I could see in his face that he clearly couldn't believe that an expedition with such ambitious aims was just the daydream of this one woman sitting in front of him – surely there was a support team and a publicist and a web manager and high-level liaison with the Commonwealth Secretariat and the British Council and the governments abroad? Well, no. There was just me and my computer and 24 hours in the day.