Beautiful Salone

On 27th April 2011, Sierra Leone celebrated its 50th Independence anniversary and although the debate about what there is to celebrate still goes on as do the celebrations (if you had no idea, few nations know how to party like us), it got me thinking about what it is that makes my country special. No doubt many people feel this way about the place they call home but for me there is, has always been something magical about Sierra Leone.


Growing up in the Capital City, Freetown, my childhood was nothing short of idyllic, I grew up surrounded by a loving extended family and attended a school I looked forward to going to (inspite of my frequent canings – I admit I was handful) because I would get to spend time with my friends and work hard in order to be top of the class. There were activities and events throughout the year to look forward to from schools’ thanksgiving ceremonies which involved getting dressed to the nines and marching in the streets of Freetown for all to admire, to ‘Jumps’ as the daytime parties were known back then. School sports days were an exciting time where you’d get to compete but again always an opportunity for a new hairdo, new specially-starched uniform and a chance to show off to friends and family.

It was all about traditions and we loved looking forward to these at different times of the year, at Christmas it was about the family get-togethers, scrumptious meals of jollof rice (rice cooked in a tomato stew) with chicken stew, krio salad (a salad that is packed with what seems like 101 ingredients and named after the descendents of slave returnees) and roast-beef (not to be confused with British roast beef – these were beef kebabs marinated in hot scotch bonnet pepper, tomato puree and peanut butter). Christmas day started with church, and church traditions, and ended with visits to the various grandmas and aunties’ homes in the centre of town – where the action was. With each visit came more food, more laughter, and more celebrations. There were masquerades where figures referred to as ‘debul’ dressed in elaborate costumes, covered head to toe, would dance and perform tricks in the streets. As children we were told they had special powers and were not be stared at - of course we obliged and marvelled at them as they performed magic. They had names likes Mama Para (the really tall one – probably on stilts), Gunu-Gunu, Paddle and Kaka-Debul.

Boxing Day involved outings to the beach – with delicious food, home-made ginger beer and sweet bottled drinks like Vimto, Mirinda and 7-Up packed in Coleman picnic coolers, we’d head off to the likes of Sussex beach again with family and friends. New Year’s Eve (‘watch net’) would involve going to church and as we got older maybe a party or two afterwards. New Year’s Day was also a beach outing day, who could blame us in a country where the Atlantic oceans stretches over 300 miles. On Pray day as Eid-ul-Fitr is known in Sierra Leone we’d receive food from our Muslim neighbours who had been fasting or better still attend the numerous parties and celebrations they had. At Easter we attended church and spoke solemnly of the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ but for children the highlight was kite flying. These came in all shapes, colours and sizes and we competed with each other to see whose would go the highest, who could bring whose kite down, Easter without kite-flying just wasn’t Easter.

When I left Freetown and moved to London, I recall feeling constantly nostalgic for my old life. The traditions just weren’t the same in England; and although I was young enough to be able to adapt, my childhood lost its sparkle, I envied my friends who’d stayed who probably envied me for being in the ‘First world’. It was even harder for my cousins who moved to the UK in their teens, they felt as though the rug  had been pulled from under their feet, like a parent interrupted a ‘sweet’ party and sent everyone home. Although they got on with life, there was a greater yearning for the life they’d left back home. They’d recount exciting stories of Inter-Sec Sports where the various secondary schools in Freetown competed, the latest fashions, popular boys, even the newly opened nightclub Bacardi’s they’d sneak to occasionally and I would sit and listen with envy.

Visiting Freetown at Christmas time now became our new tradition and one that we equally looked forward to; as we exited the plane, thoughts of poor cabin crew service and ghastly food would evaporate as we felt the blast of humid air in our faces and walked across the tarmac towards eagerly awaiting family members and random strangers who just liked the buzz of an airport. The partying would usually start the same night – with phone calls to the few friends still in town confirming the best parties for us JJCs (Johnny-Just-Come - a term used to refer to Sierra Leonean holidaymakers) to attend. The next morning our aunt would treat us to oyster stew which we'd eat with kotor bread (traditionally baked half baguettes sold at local Fulani-owned stalls). We'd also sample all the local snacks throughout the holiday the granat cake (peanut brittle), breadfruit chips; we'd enjoy fruits we never got the chance to eat in London like chuk chuk plum (a prickly fruit), guava, small pink apples and countless other exotic fresh fruits. At the end of our two week holiday we would return to the UK, saddened by the thought of leaving sunshine and incessant fun for cold winter days that started in darkness as we dragged our feet to school and ended in darkness as we made our way back.

Years later when I moved back to Sierra Leone, the country took on a whole new meaning for me, the partying was now infrequent but I appreciated its natural beauty more than I’d done as a child. Sierra Leone is stunning in a word. Its landscape, green and hilly, the ocean is visible from most parts of the Capital City, did I mention its miles and miles of white sand beaches? The people are warm and friendly and even though they seem to revel in a bit of ‘kuss-kass’ (drama), their bark is far worse than their bite. A 5ft nothing elderly lady can challenge a burly taxi driver, knowing full well he will concede in an argument over the elevated fare he tried to charge her. There were times when I would drive through the streets and find myself shouting at people ‘fool-man’ ‘your idiot’ ‘oosai yu pull yu licence’ (where did you get your licence from) as I knew I wasn’t about to be pursued by some nutter and become the victim of road rage. Insulting people (‘for koss’) is an integral part of who we are and often times the ones with the loudest mouth are the most cowardly ending a verbal fight with words like ‘nar way nor more....’ (if it wasn’t for the fact that....). As an adult, I got to travel outside Freetown visiting Makeni and Port Loko where I found people equally approachable and welcoming. I found it comforting that I could also speak to my people in Krio (the lingua franca) – it meant that we could somehow relate to each other, even though not everyone in the places I visited spoke it, there were always a few who did.

Sierra Leone’s architecture is also worth a mention, from the traditional colourful Krio houses in the Capital City and the Krio villages in the Peninsula to the modest wan-flats (bungalows) and huts in the villages, to huge beautifully designed houses scattered in the suburbs of Freetown. Sierra Leone's architecture is an assortment that captures the imagination and tells the story of the country’s rich history.

Recently I stopped by an Italian colleague’s office to ask him a work-related question and spent thirty minutes listening to him tell me about how beautiful Sierra Leone is; he had spent a couple of years there working with the UN peacekeeping mission. He told me that the ‘patch granat’ (roasted peanuts) that were sold on the beaches were the best he’d ever had, not too salty, just right and so crunchy. The lobster he had at Bureh town beach was the largest, most tasty he’d ever had and did I know that River No. 2 was just so beautiful, the white sands and clear water, he’d never seen anything like it. (I smiled and told him there was one just like it in Jamaica). He went on about the food, oh the food, and how his house-help used to make fresh shrimps which were so huge, he made a fist to demonstrate and they were just so delicious. The people were so nice, he was invited by colleagues to their houses to eat and this was so unusual because he’d lived in Liberia and Guinea and Angola and this had never happened in those places. As he continued waxing lyrical about Sierra Leone, I smiled, nodded and remembered why I love my country so much.

Africa and the single narrative

I've been trying to read a horrid little book (well not so little but very horrid) that was recommended by a colleague of mine as a background to the conflict in the Democratic Republic of Congo. The book, Blood River by English journalist, Tim Butcher is peppered with racist stereotypes about Africa and its people and is evidence of a lack of understanding or perhaps desire to understand the problems that plague the DRC. His account is superficial at best but if I'm honest I would say shallow and racist with comments referring to 'the natives and their kalashnikovs', depictions of the 'emotionless' corrupt Government minister, and references to the 'dark continent', its 'dark past', 'dark present' etc etc. The book offers no hope, no depth and clearly no understanding and what makes it infuriating is that rather than telling 'his version' of a story, Tim Butcher seems to be offering up a so-called factual account of what he describes as 'the World's most dangerous country' with over-simplistic and inaccurate pronouncements including one about Tutsis being taller and thinner and having finer features than their ethnic neighbours. The irony of it all is that Butcher's journey which culminates in the writing of this book was a mere 45 days long, aided by the UN and various NGOs and a lot of money and by his own admission he lacked skills in the languages spoken by the so-called 'natives' whether French, Lingala or Swahili. Yet the book was well received and received high praise for giving 'A fascinating insight into Belgian colonial history and Congo today'. Reading this book, or attempting to, reminded me of a confrontation I once had with Rod Liddle, another English journalist who having spent two weeks in Uganda, returned to the UK to write some ridiculously inaccurate and damning account of the country, its people and its problems, all summarised in less than 2000 words.

This simplistic approach to a hugely diverse and complex continent seems to follow the style of colonial accounts of the 'dark continent' and its population who were summed up as either docile or savage, but always primitive . Although the modern narrative is less openly racist, the suggestion that you can sum up a country, however small with one account and especially when you have no real grasp or understanding of its cultural or social dynamics is no different from what European 'explorers' and colonisers were doing when they reported on Africa.

I recently watched a film called Kinshasa Symphony about a symphony orchestra in the DRC's capital and beyond the poverty what I saw were hard working, incredibly resourceful people who had developed a passion for classical music and who were striving every day to make their lives better. It was a simple story yet one that we never seem to hear when we see or read accounts of Africa.

The vey talented, Nigerian author, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie gave a talk two years ago on the danger of the single story, in it she eloquently speaks about the impossibility of engaging properly with a place or person without engaging in all the stories of that place or person: http://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_the_danger_of_a_single_story.html

In fairness, foreign writers are not the only ones guilty of perpetuating the one-dimensional view of Africa and while I think it's wrong to expect any writer to paint a full picture of a country or a place, I do think is important for African writers to make it clear that they are simply telling one story, one little part of a very large and complicated jigsaw puzzle. Unfortunately because of the lack of a positive discourse on Africa, there is a tendency to turn writers, whether they are writers of fiction or not into 'experts' on the continent. These same writers seem to lap up their newly-acquired status, making gross generalisations about countries with countless ethnic groups and languages, while accepting their new role as an 'authority' on x, y or z country. This would never pass for so-called developed countries, considered by their very nature as far too complex to be summarised by one work or one writer, so it saddens me that it still passes for Africa.

I read a book last year which infuriated me to no end called 'Say you're one of them' by a Nigerian-born Jesuit priest; not only was every single one of his stories about children in various parts of Africa devoid of any hope, but what made it worse was that the cover of his book had the following quote from a review: "Akpan reveals Africa's pain, pity, joy and grace, and comes closer to the truth about modern Africa than the entire outpourings of the western mass media.". I appreciate that this is just one person's opinion but the effect has been to somehow sell this book as an accurate account of African children's lives. One of Amazon.com's readers wrote that the book had opened their eyes to how children in Africa live and suffer. The reader is based in the United States of America and having read this book had concluded that this was the reality of all African children.

As Ms Ngozi Adichie states "the consequence of a single story is that it robs people of dignity, it makes recognition of our equal humanity difficult [and] emphasizes how different, rather than how similar we are". Moving to the UK from Sierra Leone as a child, I remember having to contend with established stereotypes from the playground about living in a jungle or swinging from tree to tree and living among animals. That story which my classmates had all seen on television and read in books had absolutely no bearing whatsoever on my reality growing up in an urban centre in a middle class family. To this day, all the Africans I know have never been to, nor seen a jungle, and that includes those who grew up in the village but as African children moving to Europe or America, that was our single story - animals and the jungle.

Anyone who chooses to embrace a single narrative of any place in my opinion, contributes towards the false accounts that are at the root of our ignorance of one another today. Historical accounts are full of lies and half truths because stories were told by individuals who had their own agenda. We now have an opportunity to ensure that many stories are told that reflect not only the cultural diversity of places and people but also that celebrate the beauty of the human race. In all my travels, I can safely say that for every difference I see in people, there are countless similarities because even though our circumstances vary, fundamentally we are all the same.

Skin bleaching - whose problem is it?*

In a short piece written a couple of months ago for http://www.rollingout.com/ , Amir Shaw argued that reggae artist, Vybz Kartel’s horrific bleaching was proof that self-hate permeates the black community. While I agree that Vybz Kartel must suffer from psychological problems which allow him to put his health at such an obvious risk for the sake of looking like a member of the living-dead, I reject the idea that it somehow reflects a problem that is facing our entire community.

Skin-bleaching is revolting; we can certainly argue that it’s a form of self-hate because of the shocking effects that it has on the person’s skin. Those who bleach their skin expose themselves to serious damage from the sun, having killed off the melanin-making cells which act as a natural barrier. Bleached skin becomes thinner, sometimes almost transparent and always has a redness/soreness which makes it obvious that the person is bleaching. Some of the bleaching creams that contain mercury can cause poisoning that leads to a damaged liver or kidney failure. Hydroquinone which can be found in a lot of these creams was banned in Europe because studies showed it can cause cancer. There is no doubt that the effects of bleaching can be horrendous and deadly, which makes you wonder what kind of person would go through such serious health risks just so they can come out looking like a zombie (Vybz Kartel) or a ghost (Latoya Jackson)?

I think it’s possible to argue that at the outset people who bleach their skin may simply want to achieve a different look, one they consider more appealing in a similar way that people lie in the sun or under a sun bed continuously simply want what they consider to be a more attractive skin tone. However when you consider the effects of bleaching and when you see the end results, I think any sane person in their right-mind would reason that it’s simply not worth it. I think that it’s valid to say that as a general rule, people crave the ‘exotic’- something that stands out from the norm; for English people who naturally have pale skin, ‘exotic’ is looking more like the southern Europeans with their olive skins that tan easily. For some black people, it’s achieving the look of someone who is lighter and therefore more ‘exotic’.

To suggest that black people bleach their skin because they want to be white would be the same as arguing that white people tan their skin because they want to be black. If that suggestion sounds absurd then why are we so quick to label the entire black community as ‘dying to be white’? Does that not perpetuate a racist notion that we all harbour a secret desire to be like our former colonial masters?

In the same way, the proposition that we often hear that women who wear hair extensions or weave-on do so because they want to be like their white counterparts is equally nonsensical especially when you have white women today wearing hair pieces because either their hair is too thin or they want to achieve a different look. Why is it easier for us to accept a simple and trivial reason for various beauty choices on the part of white people but not for our own community? Are we not giving credence to slavery for having broken us by suggesting nearly 200 years after its abolition that everything we do is informed by slavery?

Personally, I reject the idea that our community is in any more of a crisis than the white community. Why do the same theorists who tell us that black people do x y or z because they want to be white not also suggest that white men prefer blonde and blue eyed women because they harbour a secret desire to be part of an Aryan race similar to the ideals of Nazi Germany? Likewise we never ever hear stories of white societies being under threat because white women are marrying or having children with black men. Surely if we’re suffering from these so-called threats, they must on the other hand also be experiencing the effects of them as well.

I think we should be aware of our past, but there is clearly a danger that we are allowing it to dictate who we are today. We have much to celebrate in terms of our achievements. When people like Vybz Kartel behave in such a shocking manner, we should be quick to condemn them without somehow tarring our entire community with the same brush.

I can attest to the fact that the people I know and admire do not bleach their skins. They are educated and exposed enough to appreciate their beauty and to not run such unnecessary risks. I’d be lying however if I said they were all happy with their skin complexion or texture; but I think that a desire to have smoother or more even-toned skin doesn’t translate to hating one’s race. The women I know do wear make up in a bid to achieve a flawless look…and nothing more. Some of the strongest and self-conscious women I know may wear a weave on a given day and on another would undergo a complete transformation with braids or a short cut.

I believe we do our community a disservice by letting the minority, especially an uninspiring, unexposed, ignorant minority like Vybz Kartel and those who practice skin-bleaching, speak for the rest of us. We have achieved a great deal and I’m pretty certain that there are far more people in the black community who do not bleach their skins than who do. Skin bleaching is not an epidemic that affects us all. In its extreme, it is a shameful reality for some that we need to condemn without making it ‘our’ problem.

Kartel is a troubled man but he looks nothing like my brother or my father or my husband and for that reason I’m happy to identify his bleaching as his problem not mine, certainly not my community’s.

*Article first published in Rethink Caribbean

If I see one more ‘woe is the single woman’ article…..

I’ve just read three articles dealing with the woes of being a single woman, the first written by a single woman who spends the entire article talking about how much of an over-achiever she is, apparently with the pedigree of an Arabian thoroughbred, only to finish pathetically dreaming of a ‘found glass slipper’ and a kiss to awake her from her slumber, dreams that apparently get her through life’s drudgery.


Article no 2 is written by an expert in getting married, having done it (albeit unsuccessfully) three times, she feels qualified to tell single women what they’re doing wrong. Essentially, it’s all about changing who you are so you can achieve the wonderful state of matrimony.

The final which I’ll admit I couldn’t bear to finish reading was about the lack of single men in New York but again the crux of the argument was that you dear single female reader are the problem….the sole reason why you are still unhappily single.

First of all let me say that I’m not single but I’m hoping you’ll be willing to hear me out before making a decision about my credibility on the issue of singledom. It might help you to know that I’m not a ‘smug married’ and I was raised by two, no three single women. First my grandmother, then my aunt and finally my mother. All formidable women who just got on with the business of life and raising children with the help of their extended family

Now, I don’t know exactly where it started but some, no make that a lot of women have managed to convince themselves that being single is some kind of a curse. Perhaps a male-dominated society has been telling them this for so long that they’re starting to believe it. Or maybe it’s their smug married female friends who are often so miserable in their own lives that they like to pretend they are somehow better off. Trust me they’re not!

I know I’m not saying anything new but I feel that it needs to be said on this 8th day of March 2011, International Women’s day – Ladies you can be single and happy!!! There are good marriages and bad marriages, likewise single life can be fulfilling or it can be lonely as hell. The advantage is that as a singleton you get to choose whether you’ll lead a life that makes you happy whereas to be married and happy depends on your spouse not being an arsehole!

While I enjoy being married, I recognise that it’s not for everyone. Marriage is an institution that requires an enormous amount of sacrifice/compromise and in my experience and those of my friends, the wife is the one who does most of the compromising/sacrificing. There are no doubt exceptions to the rule but the fact that a majority of women have to give up their surname and identity to take on their husbands should already ring alarm bells that ‘ain’t nothing equal about this set-up’. Also it may be as a result of our disposition as women, and again I speak for myself and the 80 or so married women I know, but we tend to just get on with what needs to be done and that ends up meaning doing everything ourselves. We become primary carers of our children, which often means professional compromise; we take on the lion share of the housework and we comport ourselves in public like ‘married women’. This means most of us lose the male friends we once had because we are acutely aware of what is expected of us as ‘wives’. Our husbands on the other hand have flourishing careers, supportive wives, cared-for children and homes that they can happily come back to at the end of a long day at work followed by nights hanging with the boys or girls. For all intents and purposes there is nothing, other than the ring that would suggest that their status has changed.
Before you get the picture of a gloom and doom marriage, let me attempt to qualify this though by saying what you give up on the one hand you gain on the other. There’s the wonderful feeling of being with the man you love (I’m making an assumption here of course that people marry for love); marriage also means someone to have sex with when you choose and how you choose, with or without the end result of children and last but by no means least companionship.

As a single woman the greatest benefit is freedom, to do, to be, to go without having to answer to anyone and although society would have us believe that women are incapable of enjoying sexual freedom apparently because of some hormone called oxytocin , I can say with absolute certainty that this is not true for every woman. Admittedly not everyone is liberated enough to pursue or enjoy sex outside of a committed relationship, those who do, do exist and are increasing in numbers so long live the female sexual revolution! Being single also means absolute selfishness, taking care of numero uno, guilt-free shopping and countless hours beautifying yourself without fear of being judged by a hardworking husband/breadwinner.

Granted we’ve seen enough Hollywood chick flicks and read enough ‘self-help’ articles to be able to list the drawbacks of being a single woman and even name the films that illustrate them; from ‘27 dresses’ to ‘The Back up Plan’, ‘He’s just not that into you’, and who can forget the dreadful ‘The Ugly Truth’. The gamut includes the date dilemma for a friend’s wedding, the realisation that all your friends are settling down, the desire to get pregnant and of course good ole plain loneliness. Without wishing to trivialise these issues, I think that the anxieties that come from them are for the most part self-inflicted.

We can choose to be happy and single. We can choose to go to a wedding alone or with a friend, male or female. Likewise we can decide to have children outside of wedlock or to adopt and finally why not opt out of loneliness? We can choose not to be lonely with or without a partner. Why allow society to define what happiness means for you when we are all so different? In fact I’m convinced that it’s all a ploy by men to lure us into marriage by convincing us that we want it more than they do….when in actual fact, they need it far more than we do. Single women need to take what their married peers say with a pinch of salt, yes of course they’re happy some of the time but then so are you! The rest of the time you struggle with various issues ranging from professional to personal. They likewise struggle with issues of inadequacy….am I sexy enough? Is he looking at other women? Are my children happy/well-balanced? We all have our issues….'local and global’ as a friend would say so let’s all stop pretending that marriage provides some sort of a catch-all solution.

There are times when I refer to myself as a single woman, partly because I forget that I’m married, partly because I think my subconscious is trying to preserve my identity in this ‘institution’. I love being married because I’m with the man I love but I wouldn’t chose marriage just for the sake of it and I sincerely doubt I would do it again with someone else.

No doubt being single comes with difficulties and the grass is always going to appear greener on the other side but from someone who is on the other side, let me assure you that it isn’t. No matter how ‘loved up’ you are, marriage is hard work and a constant battle of wills.

By all means aspire to it if that’s what you want but it helps to know that there are women like my mother, aunt and late grandmother, who were/are perfectly happy single and had/have very fulfilled lives.

Wouldn’t it be a testament to how far we’ve come as women to have more and more women happily embrace being single and telling the self-styled relationship gurus to stick their ‘how to get married in 30 days’ advice where the sun doesn’t shine?

Today, I’ve decided to raise a glass to my fabulous single female friends – long and happily may you live!!!!

It's LFW darling

So London Fashion Week came to a close yesterday and the baton will now be handed to Milan for  its 'Pret-a-Porter' collection... that's 'Ready to wear' to you and I darlink which runs from February 23rd to March 1st, and finally Paris the Capital of haute couture will be wrapping up the season, i.e Spring collections between March 1 and 9th. Quel dommage! I'm hoping this little paragraph which did require some 'googling' demonstrates that unlike most 'haters' of fashion, I'm not completely ignorant of the beast, I just don't like it! Let me qualify that, I can't say I despise fashion per se, rather if I had to choose between Style and Fashion, I'd go for the former any day. Granted the two sometimes meet but judging from this season's trends, I'm beginning to think less and less so.
Something else I find irritating about fashion is its ability to make people do stupid things, wear obviously ridiculous clothes and excuse such behaviour by telling dismayed onlookers that it's in fashion, as if that were some kind of excuse to lose one's self-awareness.
The other day Vivienne Westwood had the gall to criticise Kate Middleton for having no style and while I agree that the soon-to-be Queen of Great Britain-in-waiting's dress sense leaves a lot to be desired for someone her age, I take heart that atleast she doesn't look hideous half the time, which unfortunately I can't say for Ms Westwood. She's the British designer famous for bringing punk to fashion, who is hugely innovative and revels in breaking the rules, yet she herself looks absolutely hideous 90% of the time. It's one thing designing clothes for 20something year old anorexic-looking models, quite another trying to pull it off when you're 70, and très wrinkled sweetie.
At times watching fashion shows feels a little like reading 'The Emporer's new clothes' all over again where everyone seems to be pretending to be in awe of some new designer collection and the more discerning and plain speakers among us are thinking 'but its the same as last year and the year before'. Whether it's the chat shows with their 'what's new this season' or the glossy magazines, fashion pundits in every media seem to make a habit of trying to pull the wool over our eyes. This Spring 2011 trends apparently include floral prints, stripes, playsuits and bell bottoms - 'Hang on' ...I hear you shout, '...but those were last year's trends too'...and probably the year before. Yet nobody seems to bring this to the so-called designers and fashion pundits' attention that not only are we regurgitating 60s and 70s trends that our parents followed, we are also repeating them year after year and pretending they're new and fresh each time.
And then we have the style genius that is Mr Gok Wan who tries to tell every woman in the UK that they can look beautiful naked...Not! This man has a lot to answer for because thanks to him young girls walking the streets of London, Manchester, Liverpool and every other major UK city think they can D.I.Y their way to a fashionable wardrobe and the results are ofcourse disastarous. Gok's Clothes Roadshow, a series on British television advocates women sewing on things like buttons and tassles, and wearing their cardigans backwards to create a designer look for less. Yes yes I know, it sounds ridiculous and it is, picture the tired old trousers that have had sequins glued on by some incompetent teenager because Gok says so. To some extent we can excuse the young because invariably they have great bodies and few brain cells but when older 'ought to know better' people take blind fashion advice, it just makes me want to weep.
I understand the lure of fashion, it requires little effort, you can just pick an item or two and wear it in exactly the same way as you saw Kate Moss wearing it at that red carpet event, except you don't have her body and you're not on the red carpet, you're walking down the high street and finally, I think most importantly the 'knock off ' which you've bought is made of cheap polyester and has been sewn together by little nimble fingers somewhere in India, her's is made of pure silk and looks expensive because it is expensive!

I'm not suggesting that noone is able to pull off fashion trends, simply that those who do, use their heads. They are able to mix and match items, cheap and cheerful with key quality pieces and the result is often that we assume if the shoes are from Ted Baker, the dress must be too, even though it only costs 14.99 from H&M. I think smart stylish people also realise that they can't pull off any look, no matter how hot and 'on trend' it is.

For the rest of us, my advice would be leave the clogs to Alexa Chung, the hoof-style boots to Solange Knowles and please please please remember that if you do not follow the Sikh religion and you're not a man, then there's absolutely no excuse for wearing a turban.

Oh do get off that soapbox!

The Times front page headline reads Saudis told Obama not to humiliate Mubarak followed by Hugh Tomlinson's report of the phone call made by King Abdullah to President Obama telling him that if they tried to force Mubarak out of Egypt in the face of popular protest, his government would retailiate by propping him, i.e. Mubarak up. And so it would seem our journalists are up in arms, outraged on the public's behalf as though this was the most scandalous thing since the last Wikileaks bombshell. Which leaves me wondering do people fully understand what happens in international politics?

Leaders threatening each other is hardly news and I for one didn't need to read any Wikileaks report to understand that politics is a dirty game where seemingly chummy Heads of States have utter contempt for one another. Is it not obvious that powerful countries achieved their status by less than pleasant means? Or that despotic regimes count so-called democratic leaders among their supporters? Perhaps I'm cynical and maybe people do go around thinking that our leaders are all fine upstanding citizens whose actions are purely altruistic. Somehow I doubt this very much. I think the public is a lot more discerning than the media would have us believe so their outrage at the USA being influenced by the oil-rich Saudis seems a little feigned to say the least.

Let's assume for a moment that we do all expect Western Leaders to uphold their democratic principles in all political matters, whether domestic or foreign. We know they can be very vocal in condemning the likes of Robert Mugabe for human rights abuses or supporting military coups of those they deem to be dictators(or as Bush would say 'against US'), and perhaps we find that laudable yet we can't ignore that when it comes to oppressive regimes like China and Israel it is always business as usual. What I find hugely duplicitous is that our so-called independent media perpetuate these double standards rather than acknowledge that politics is and has always been a dirty game. This may be part of our ability as Westerners to constantly maintain the moral high ground, albeit in our own minds. We're constantly told and we believe that we are free unlike the oppressed populations of the world. We elect our leaders and hold them accountable but do we really?

There are countless examples of actions that have been taken (see War in Iraq) and are still taken by our elected leaders which we have either no knowledge of, and which if/or when we do, we are rightly outraged by. Admittedly on fundamental issues such as our freedoms, to associate or to express ourselves in the media or in public, we are far more advanced than autocracies like North Korea or Iran, but we shouldn't fool ourselves into thinking that we know of, or could possibly approve of all the decisions that our governments make. Politics is a ruthless business, where power is the single most important factor and governments will carry out some of the most despicable acts in order to maintain or acquire such power.

In the game of politics leaders are ousted at a whim  because they do not suit a country's purpose as was the case with Haiti's Jean Bertrand Aristide, genocidal regimes are protected as the French did in Rwanda during Operation Turquoise and when governments refuse to play ball, crippling sanctions are imposed as was the case in Zimbabwe which end up affecting the ordinary man more than the despotic leader. Who on earth are we kidding when we try to hold Obama accountable for Mubarak's refusal to step down from power? The US's influence in Egypt is worth nothing as long as the 82 year old leader has the support of a mighty power like Saudi Arabia. As long as leaders have financial and often military backing from one country or another, whether openly or as is often the case 'behind close doors', they will continue to do exactly as they please even if that means defying their people and/or the international community. Politics will continue to be about a power struggle where sometimes the power shifts from one nation to another.

Oftentimes I wish people would simply call things like they are and stop pretending we live in some kind of Utopia where our leaders have our best interests at heart. What the phone call from King Abdullah and the subsequent 'delicate' diplomacy on the part of Washington proves is that the Saudis have the upper hand. Simply put, America will have to dance to their tune because clearly they have something that America wants.....or rather needs.
So my humble appeal to the next journalist who choses to pick up this story and run with it as though it were the 'scoop' of the week, do get off your soapbox for one minute and fully appreciate what being the leader of any nation means and if you already know this which I suspect you do, then try and find another story to demonstrate your moral indignation. I hear Britain's decided to triple its aid to Somalia. Now there's a story worth investigating.

Hanging up my Superwoman cape

She's a successful professional working her way up the corporate ladder, cooks like Nigella, runs a small cupcake business on the side, is on the Parents Teachers Association committee of her children's school and is teaching her one year old baby sign language. This may sound like a comic book heroine but I'm guessing we can all recognise one or more of the modern day Superwoman’s traits and for some of us she may reflect the Over-Achiever we've become. My question though is how healthy is it to want to achieve so much?


There's a Boot advert  released in December depicting two women who are running errands whilst clearly suffering from very bad colds. They bump into each other and recount all the things they have to do which includes completing a presentation for a meeting, packing for a holiday, picking kids up from school and taking them swimming, nursing a husband who is sick in bed and all the while confirming through blocked up noses that they are fine...yes fine. I used to like this advert, in fact it used to make me laugh but not anymore. Now I want to weep when I see it and short of that, I find myself shouting at the TV "Don't encourage them!" Them ofcourse being women who seem to think that it's a badge of honour doing everything and not acknowledging that they sometimes need help or simply to take time out for themselves.

In addition to all that she does, Superwoman’s mission would be incomplete without some serious gloating or one-up man ship. It’s simply not enough to be a size 0 two months after giving birth as well as of course already giving your partner a run for his money in the bedroom and completing a marathon in record time, she also has to tell other women about it ….especially the 'failures'…you know the ones who are having trouble shifting the flab three years after giving birth and are looking like a hot mess on the personal grooming front. What better way to drive them to suicide than to reveal your six pack abs whilst whipping up a three course meal and extolling the virtues of home schooling. Recently Mrs Bloom…. (Orlando’s wife) decided to post a flawless picture of herself breastfeeding her newborn baby accompanied by comments that she gave birth to the almost 10lb baby without any pain relief. Great.....so thanks for that Miranda; that just made the day of that new mum suffering from post natal depression having spent 12 hours in labour with an epidural. And then there’s Gisele Bundchen….yes the supermodel who told women last year that they should all be forced to breastfeed for at least six months because ofcourse she did just that no doubt whilst travelling between Milan and Rio on photo shoots. Another wonderful moment for womankind….just what we needed especially when thousands of women are having a hard time not producing enough milk for their newborns and feeling inadequate as a result.

The truth is being an over achiever, Super mum, Super wife, Super Manager comes at a heavy price to our health. Our constant running around and giving 110% as the expression goes may not manifest itself immediately but it will invariably lead to stress which does have an impact on our short and long term health. Some serious side effects of stress include hair loss, insomnia, high blood pressure and even stomach ulcers, and I can testify to knowing  a number of women who have suffered from one or more of these. What's more so many of us appear incapable of just relaxing….you know that party trick where you do absolutely nothing! In short, our quest for perfection is making us socially inadequate at best and sick at worst.

I'll admit to having donned my Superwoman cape with pride in the past but think my ‘light bulb moment’ came when I woke up one night wondering and asking my sleeping hubby whether our daughter had eaten lunch before going to a party the day before. That’s when I realised that this business of trying to do everything and do it perfectly was getting out of hand. Not only was my question absurd at 2 a.m., it also revealed that rather than having a restful night’s sleep I was busy worrying about all the things I had not been able to control/do perfectly. I concluded that rather than lose my sanity trying to create an unrealistically perfect world, I had better lower my expectations. So whilst I am not hanging up my chef’s apron completely or giving up blogging or my business or doing a good job at work, I am loosening my control on these things. If work doesn’t get done within the dedicated hours, i.e. 9am-5pm with a full hour’s lunch, then it will simply have to wait until the next day. I’m going to re-acquaint myself with the freezer section of the supermarket when I just don’t have the energy to prepare a nutritious meal from scratch. My kids do not need to have organised activity every weekend, sometimes they can just play with the toys they have or here’s an idea…learn to entertain themselves. If I can only get around to blogging once a month….then so be it. I’m sure the world will survive without my pearls of wisdom for a few weeks. And as far as the business is concerned I will learn to delegate more and then just let it go!!!!!! Because let’s face it while Superwoman goes about saving the world, who on earth is saving her?