May Musings - 19

On the True Nature of a City

Day Two in Dubai was a whirlwind of The Modist’s operations center, studio and offices, followed by a glorious iftar and suhoor in a majlis setting - the traditional seating of the bedouins, a little more jazzed up (exhibit A, pictured).

The entire trip has been a thought provoking experience, providing many moments of reflection as I pack my bags to leave the city. It’s intriguing to note that although I have been here many times before, this trip has somehow been so different. Perhaps it’s because I am not traveling with family, because I am not wearing the more traditional clothing (of a jalabeeya or abaya, that I would usually wear in the Arab world), perhaps because I’m a little older and wiser… it’s likely a combination of all the above. But I’ve had the pleasure and honor of seeing Dubai and the UAE in a light I’ve never seen it before, and that’s largely due to seeing it through the eyes of it’s many types of inhabitants.

It reminds me of an old film I saw by a director named Ali Mostafa that my father took our family to see at the Arab film festival years ago. City of Life was a film about Dubai’s parallel existences. It was almost never shown, due to it’s very real depiction of life in the UAE with all it’s light and shade, however a last minute pardon from the country’s ruler meant it graced our screens. It broke box office records, toured internationally and launched the career of Mostafa, who has gone on to make successful Emirate films across various genre (comedy, thriller, etc). Word on the street is that City of Life 2 is in development, so I look forward to it, inshallah!

The reason why the film is so powerful is that it depicts what I still feel about Dubai, despite having a slightly richer understanding: the lives of folks are so separate from each other. Emiratis, who make up less than 20% of the population of the UAE, may go to the same schools and universities as the expatriates, but rarely marry foreigners, and seem to keep their culture - as rich as it is - close to home, reserving it for family and close friends in a way that is different to say, the Levant folk just nearby. Expatriates love the place for its opportunity and luxury and comfort, but feel slightly out of sorts by not being able to really ever have a path to citizenship, making one feel like a visitor no matter how long they’ve lived there. As for the service folk - the majority from South East Asia and the Sub continent - I wasn’t able in my time here to have a conservation that was beyond the superficial, but it seems to the observer to be a system whereby they are not afforded the same comforts citizens and expatriates enjoy. Why they are not even considered expatriates - given they are here for work - is a clue into the informal caste system that has somehow found it’s way into the development process of the region…

I could wax lyrical about my feelings and reflections. At the moment they are poorly formed, vague inferences rather than solid conclusions. However, what I do know is that I have been treated so kindly, welcomed so warmly and made to feel so comfortable - mashallah - that one thing is for sure. The culture of hospitality is alive and strong, and runs through the Dubai DNA.

(PS - they also seem to revere Sheikh Mohammed and Zaid in a way I haven’t heard of a leader - alive - who is respected in the same way. Fascinating! But for another day - I’ve gotta catch a plane!).

Much love,

Yassmin

Just figuring it all out, ya know 😅😇

May Musings - 07

When a person with privilege is uncomfortable talking about the issues in which they enjoy said privilege, it’s known as fragility. For example, white folk uncomfortable talking about race, or able bodied folk uncomfortable discussing disabilities. However, I’ve recently found myself uncomfortable - or somewhat resentful strangely - on all the discussion around the environment, and I’m trying to figure out why. Is it a erroneous sense of entitlement? Is it the privilege of not being directly impacted by the changes? It is a residual annoyance having come from a background of oil and gas, with years of friends telling me what I was doing was evil? I’m not sure.

It’s also not to say my behaviour hasn’t changed - I use less plastic, own a keep cup and metal straw, rarely eat red meat and don’t own a car - so my daily habits reflect an environmentally considerate ethos. But something about the conversation rubs me up the wrong way and I just can’t figure it out. 

Maybe, it’s because it’s a reminder that there’s none to blame but ourselves? 

I promise, I love the environment. Me in Switzerland pretending to be in the Sound of Music. 

2018: A year of learning to move beyond anger.

I originally published this piece on Medium.

Photo by Sally Ryan

Charlotte Wood recently published an incredible essay about the anger of women.

It got me thinking about my anger, my rage, how I processed trauma; of recent experiences, and of simply existing as a Muslim woman of colour living in the West.

I must be clear. I do not think less of anyone for being angry. Often, almost always, the anger is justified. The world is not fair, trauma is real, and anger is an incredibly valid response to the pain the world, society and individuals, inflicts on us. Anger can drive change, and often does. It catalyses action in ways many other emotions do not. It is the fuel behind many an engine of transformation. It has it’s place, and is so deeply part of the human experience that to deny it completely would be folly, and perhaps, dangerous.

But like fire, anger can be the candle that lights a room, or a burning inferno that destroys a home. For the first time in my life, this year, I felt my anger spiralling out of control. I felt it consume the oxygen in the room, slowly creep under the doors. The flames of my fury licked at my window frames and threatened to engulf the safe house I had built myself to survive.

I frightened myself.

Charlotte Wood’s piece refers to this:

I won’t forget the look I’d seen on her face. It was fear, of drowning in her own rage.

My housemate, incredibly thoughtfully, bought a gift for my birthday. ‘It’ll help you get the anger out’, she said. It was a session at The Break Room, where you can break things, and feel good.

It was a wonderful sentiment, but I was strangely and involuntarily repulsed. My housemates were confused; they felt my rage. Surely smashing crockery was the perfect way of unleashing it. ‘I’m afraid of my own anger,’ I told them. ‘I don’t like the person I become.’ They didn’t understand, but how can they understand that sometimes we are most afraid of ourselves, of the darkness only we know exists?

We went anyway, despite my sullen mood and protestations. It was a wet Melbourne morning, the weather matching my demeanour. I watched the others take baseball bats to mugs, throw plates against the walls, hurl glasses with pure abandon. Loud metal music drowned the sound of chaos.

I felt sick.

Housemates 1 & 2 insisted that I have a go. I smashed a few mugs. I felt a tendril of satisfaction. Then, I felt sick.

Allowing myself to be violent in response to anger felt like opening the door to the room on fire, the room which once held a candle. The fire was hungry for the rest of the oxygen in the house, and once that door was open — even just a crack — well, that was all the invitation it needed to consume the building.

Maybe I was wrong. Perhaps breaking things would starve the fire, remove the oxygen.

I still felt sick.

My anger was justified, I felt. I had been treated unfairly, I felt.The world was systemically set up against me, I felt. My anger felt safe.

I found allies in the anger, other women and people of colour who were also deeply enraged. Rightly so, because my feelings weren’t off base: the world was set up against people like us. My anger alienated some, but drew in others. I found community, in anger.

Anger, for a brief moment, was liberating.

And then, it wasn’t.

The fire had consumed all the oxygen.

I couldn’t breath.

---

I don’t like being angry, certainly not when it is without restraint.

I don’t like the person I become.

But anger is an energy, a fuel, and perhaps like energy, it is neither created nor destroyed, but only transformed into something different. Petrol engines transform chemical energy into mechanical energy. Perhaps there was a way for me to transform my anger into another form of constructive energy, into an emotion that does not consume the very essence of who I am.

---

I’m occasionally reluctant to talk about how faith plays a role in my life. Having grown up in quite an anti-religious society, I know how faith based discussions are received. Religion, like Islam, is often mocked and ridiculed, sometimes by the very same progressives who fight for the rights of those who practice the religion. Irony aside, it is obvious that we all have our own framework for understanding the world. Fabulous; the plurality of experiences makes our world the wonder that it is and coexistence is divine. Mine is, and has always been, faith.

My faith allowed me to believe there was nothing I could not handle. That every obstacle was an opportunity for growth. That I could use the fire of anger; contain it, tame it, channel it. It taught me how to use the fire to light 100 candles, rather than let it run free. It didn’t work alone — faith worked in conjunction with therapy, a strong support network and moving countries. But it gave me the fortitude to ask myself how I wanted to use my anger, and what I was going to do about it. I am an engineer, after all. Energy is only useful if it can be channelled constructively.

So yes, I have anger. But I am no longer angry, Alhamdulilah.

I am not so frightened of myself anymore, and god, how that helps me breathe.

---

The first day of the year often brings with it an opportunity to rest, reflect, restart. As corny and passe as that might be, I revel in and enjoy the chance to stop, pause and think. To give myself the time to listen; to myself, to others, to what the world is telling me beyond the conscious, perhaps.

Here’s to a 2018 where I learn to live beyond a destructive anger. A year of directing that energy to raising others up, to building, to maturing. A period of time to be treasured, as all time deserves to be.

Ameen, Inshallah.

Into the Middle of Things

Hello there! Well it has been a while. I read once it was bad form to apologise for not having posted for some time, but I think in this case I feel like some sort of acknowledgment of my absence is warranted.

It has been a 'busy' few months, although I do dislike using the word 'busy'.  Busy doesn't tell us very much, does it?  It is like 'fine'; an empty word that describes the status quo and adds no real value to a sentence.  It is there as a social nicety, which is something I suppose.  'What has been keeping you busy?' has been my go-to question of late, rather than 'what do you do?'.  It makes for a more interesting conversation.

Occasionally, I include a twist and amend it with 'what has been keeping you busy mentally?'

In my case, it has been a couple of months of growing up.  Mentally, I have been devoting a lot of time to issues around gender, access to opportunity and diversity across decision making places. I've also been thinking a lot about unconscious bias, how that plays a role in our society and how we can move past it...

Big issues, big questions. Too much for one blog post perhaps.

So instead, let me pepper you with some links to say hello again, and hopefully the next update will not be so far away.

***

I was recently alerted to this wonderful website: 'Into the Middle of Things', where Australians from around the country are interviewed about their life.  The first one I saw was below and it is a beautiful few minutes with Abe, a Sudanese-Brisbane lad:

Born in a Sudanese jail in the midst of a civil war, Abe escaped a possible future as a child soldier and managed to make it to Australia as a refugee with his seven brothers and sisters. The secret emotional and mental toll of this is still catching up with him today.

***

Shonda Rhimes is an awesome strong black woman and is doing some cool things with the various TV series she writes.

"I get asked a lot by reporters and tweeters why I am so invested in 'diversity' on television,"  Rhimes said, according to Medium's text of her speech. "'Why is it so important to have diversity on TV?' they say. I really hate the word 'diversity.' It suggests something other. ... As if there is something unusual about telling stories involving women and people of color and LGBTQ characters on TV."

Rhimes offered an alternative to the term "diversity," saying she'd rather describe what she's doing as "normalizing."

"I am making TV look like the world looks. Women, people of color, LGBTQ people equal way more than 50% of the population. Which means it ain't out of the ordinary. I am making the world of television look normal," she said.

***

Some awesome women learning to be engineers in remote areas in the Philippines. LOVE IT.

***

Did n bit of a run down on various topics with the Triple J Hack crew for the Friday night Shake Up. What are your thoughts on some of these issues? Listen to the podcast here.  Also did some radio in Arabic! Check it by clicking here.

***

Loving this insta: Did I ever tell you I really used to love drawing cartoons?

90s Superboy cover for DC's Convergence! :)

A photo posted by babsdraws (@babsdraws) on Jan 14, 2015 at 6:06pm PST

***

So anyway, what has been keeping YOU busy mentally?

Page 1 of 365

Subhanallah, another year has past.

Change, that was the overwhelming theme of 2014.

New city, new job, new focus...

Change brought many a new beginning.

It was also a year of lots of movement.

150 flights, all over the world. Humbling, really.

All blurred into one long cassette tape of memory.

New people, new perspectives.

What did I learn?

I learnt that the older I get, the greyer things become.

That we cannot judge what is in another person's heart, and it is not our place to do so. What should be of concern with is getting our own heart in order.  Controlling our reactions and responses to events is the only choice we have;  a powerful choice and realisation.

I learnt silence is okay, and sometimes time-out is okay too, even though the adrenalin junkee inside may shout otherwise.

"GET UP!"

"Keep moving..."

"Keep doing..."

These things are important, for idleness can always been a poison.

However, thinking, real, deep, critical thinking doesn't happen when we're on the go.  It didn't happen when I was binge watching The Good Wife or dancing in my bedroom when I got up in the morning.

It happens when I find silence and let my thoughts wander.  When I choose to reflect consciously...

I realised my way of thinking is through writing.   All the silence in the world is futile for my clarity without a way to record it, have it played back to me and be able to reflect on it again and again, until it makes some sense.  The very act of writing, of seeing the words articulated on a page or screen gives them a legitimacy that the fleeting nature of my thoughts lack.  The fact that I didn't write enough this year perhaps contributed to the feeling of not-being-present... and so I resolve to return to the habit of writing in 2015 inshallah.

Every new year brings the opportunity for reflection, refocus and recalibration of who we want to be and where we want to be at.

I cannot say with any certainty where I want to be at the end of this 365 day chapter inshallah.

What I do know is that I hope, with the grace of Allah, I find humility, the space to think and write critically, the ability to impact, influence and hopefully, inspire towards a world of greater equality of opportunity and diversity of voices in the public domain. 

Who knows what 2015 brings.  All we can try to do is be truly present for it.

Bless.

Salams,

PS.

Every year I start with a song.  2014 was started with Pharrell's Happy, before it got overplayed on the radio. This year, I chose Bluejuice's 'Work'.

Enjoy! http://youtu.be/pjchHtygrNo?t=1m8s

Back to Sudan: No, I did not get Ebola

Ah, it seems sometimes I avoid writing because I am a little afraid of what will come out when I start...

Oh Sudan, how you tear me in two.

***

I just got back from a whirlwind trip to Sudan, the land of my birth.  I was there for a total of 4 full days; three days and two half days. If you consider all the flying, I was almost in the air as long as I was on the ground.  I returned for the weddings of cousins and to see my Grandmother, a lady who I have lived with and who has taught me so much (the School of Life, as she refers to it).

As the plane came in to land (Alhamdulilah), I thought of the last time I was in Sudan. Coming out of university, going to study Arabic: it was a time of hope, of growth, of the Arab Spring, of something new and exciting. They were memories of rose tinted (or sand blasted) glasses, gleaming with the nostalgia of a time gone by, before #riglyf or the ruin of Syria...

It was not until my return to the hustle and bustle of the extended family home, the dramas surrounding preparations for the weddings or the two hours the hairdresser berated me for the state of my hair (HOW DARE YOU LEAVE IT CURLY?! Don't you know a woman's hair is the crown of her beauty? Don't you want to be beautiful?! How do you think you will find a man? Don't you want to feel attractive?) that the other memories of Sudan began to resurface.

(My favourite comment the hairdresser made: Oh look, I know you think you're an engineer and you're with all these men so you shouldn't take care of yourself, but girl, don't kid yourself. Men want a womanly woman. Just remember that.  When I made noises about having a man not being the most important thing in my life, she fell quiet for a few minutes.  A few blissful minutes of peace, before the barrage began again, with a different tact: Didn't I want to show everyone else in the house I could be beautiful? I could only muster and agreement-sounding moan).

Returning to the other memories of Sudan: although I'd forgotten, it was the only time in my life that my actions were constantly not enough, not right, not adequate - in a big way.  Having not been brought up in Sudan but being of Sudanese origin, I was expected (by this age) to espouse the 'correct' and perfect Sudanese way of being a woman.  This, as hard as I might, was not yet achieved.  Sure, if I worked at it as hard as I did my engineering degree, I'd probably be a hell of a lady by Sudanese standards, but to be perfectly honest - it just didn't rate with the priorities.  That doesn't stop the judgement though...

What were these 'correct' rules that were meant to be espoused? Some simple examples include:

- To make the perfect cup of tea (when to serve, how much sugar, how much to pour, the correct herbs to be added and to do it all with the utmost grace and such),

- To look like the perfect lady (preferably short, thin, not too thin as to look malnourished because that is undesired but not too large as to look like you weren't in control of your portion sizes (and definitely not muscled, lord, that was for men!), with neat manicured nails, smooth, moisturised skin - the whiter the better - with as few markings as possible, straight hair that would be coiffed into rolling curls and once whooshed out of the hijab it had been covered in under 40 degree heat all day, would gleam like the sun and smell like fairies; make up that looked good but not too fake, henna that was done well and not fading, clothing that was attractive but not too tight and shoes that were classy but would withstand the mud... you get the gist)

- To be able to cook, well (No elaboration necessary. Isn't this a prerequisite for every culturally diverse woman?)

- To be interested in womanly things, not politics and cars and football and engineering and the things that were reserved for men...

- To be the a witty conversationalist but also to talk about polite topics and not stray into overly satirical humour (not sure it translates...)

Alas, I may be being somewhat facetious.

However, the truth of the matter (as far as I can see) is this...

Sudan, north Sudan in particular, is a deeply traditional, communal society.  Societies that are tribal and based on community in the way that the Sudanese are can often be deeply judgemental.  In this world, a woman's reputation is her only weapon, her beauty of uptmost importance and her ability to hold a household and care for a family paramount.

Many of the things I have learned to value here in Australia - the community work, the breaking of the barriers in the industry I work in, the influence in public conversations - yes, that is of passing interest to the families in Sudan, but really, honestly?

It doesn't rate in comparison. 

So I go from being someone who is confident in their ability and place in the world to someone who feels like they don't know the rules at all really, and the rules I do know, I don't adhere to very well at all.

The kicker? This is supposed to be where I am from.  This would be where I was from, if my parents hadn't decide to make that audacious journey to the other side of the globe in 1992.

So, Sudan is a place where I feel I have roots - deep roots - my only roots.

It is a place I feel I must

Yet although I know I must learn to love Sudan, because it is a place that keeps me grounded and connected, it is also a nation that makes me feel judged and inadequate.  It is a place whose values and traditions I know I should espouse, and yet, I find myself disagreeing with.  The issue then becomes that yet if I reject these based on the Australian values embedded within me, well it means I am then becoming 'westernised'.

'Westernised' being synonymous with losing my identity, not being 'true or genuine', or almost taking the side of the oppressors.  It isn't a rational fear, as those aren't all rational reasons or statements, yet, somehow, it is there.

The implication is that somehow, by trying to be different, I am implicitly forsaking my Sudanese identity and redefining myself as a true coconut - black on the outside, white on the inside.  The implication is that taking the identity of the 'white' and the associated individualistic, capitalist nature, is clearly the wrong thing to do.

It can't be.

I am Australian, Muslim, born in Sudan with mixed heritage. I get to pick and chose what I want to take on, right?  Yet, every time I go back, I feel guilty about my choices.

Why? I don't know, but this cannot go on...Surely, something has to make it through this madness.

You see, even by calling it madness, I am wracked by guilt.  Doesn't Sudan have enough haters, my conscious asks me.  Do you really need to be like all the others and hate on it as well? What makes you any better than all of them... why aren't you backing Sudan?

My conscious can be a right burr sometimes.

Oh Sudan.

New beginnings (a.k.a "wtf is happening!?")

A few months ago I wrote a relatively honest and slightly exasperated piece reflecting on uncertainty about the future: whether to take the safe route or do things in a riskier manner. A few weeks later, I made a few decisions that are all coming into fruition, just in time for the new year.  I thought I might share some thoughts around it all...

***

In a couple of weeks inshallah, I will be finishing up with my current employer and moving to work with a big oil and gas company as an engineer. (Yeh, desk jockey for now).

Inshallah, I will leave behind the FIFO life (for the time being), the lifestyle that has given me so much story fodder over the last 18 months, for something a little more regular.  I'll move across the country to start a life in a new city (and possibly soon after, a new country) and generally leave everything I know to an unknown future.

All in all, pretty cray! 

Those who know me well know I am pretty terrible at making decisions that affect my future. I think about things for a long time without always coming to the rational conclusion.  I dilly dally for far too long, because I hate the idea of making a choice that might close a door that I might decide I want to go back to ('someday').

It isn't necessarily a flattering aspect, and it is something I am working on...

Any how.  I have loved the role I am currently in: met some amazing people, seen awesome things, learnt a hell of a lot and generally had a ball.

However, for a variety of reasons, I decided to do what scared me, bite the bullet, jump into the deep end, etc etc.  

Make the decision and not look back. 

Funnily enough, making the decision was the hard part.

Once it was made, the weight came off my shoulders.

I think I learnt that sometimes, we just have to make a choice.

Whatever choice we make will be the 'right one' for that moment really, because it leads to experiences that make us who we are.

A'akila wa tawakal, is what we are taught as Muslims. Pretty loosely translated it means: Do your thang, do your best...and the rest is up to Allah.

***

So that is where 2014 starts. 

New job, new city, new challenges...

You know what though? New is awesome. New is exciting and new is now set in motion, Alhamdulilah, whether I like it or not :)

So...

I'm not really sure what this year holds, but I look forward to sharing it with you all (inshallah), learning loads and hopefully having the blessing of making some sort of a difference.

Let's do it!

***

PS Also working on a new project that is super exciting! I will update you all soon (not really wanting to count chickens before they're hatched...) but khair inshallah! 

V8's: The New Kids Take Out the Block!

It was a fantastic weekend of motorsport with the V8's and the F1 both throwing up some lovely surprises.

Read my reviews of the weekend V8 races at Richard's F1!

***

The New Kids Take Out the Block!

 

It was a day dominated by the youngsters, with the Kiwi teenager Scott McLaughlin taking out the first race of the Sunday, and 21-year-old Chaz Mostert winning the second race at the Coates Hire Ipswich 360.

The comfortable wins by these two rookies is definitely a sign of things to come and shows us all that the series is in good hands!

The first race of the morning started with Championship leader Jamie Whincup and Fujitsu Racing GRM’s Scott McLaughlin on the front row. A good start from McLaughlin saw him taking the lead, with Mostert in second briefly before being overtaken again by Whincup.

See more at Richard's F1 here!

***

Whincup wins at Ipswich SuperSprint!

 

The Queensland Raceway track has been dominated by the Red Bull Racing’s Holden team for the last few years, but it is usually the veteran Craig Lowndes at the top of the podium. This wasn’t his Saturday, though, as the Saturday 60/60 SuperSprint race win was taken decisively by his teammate Jamie Whincup.

For the first time in four years, 30-year-old Whincup converted pole position at Queensland Raceway into a win, stretching his championship lead to 131 points from Lowndes who came in fourth. Behind Whincup was rising star rookie Scott McLaughlin in the Fujitsu GRM Commodore and Ford Performance Racing’s Mark Winterbottom came in third.

Read more here!

***

Brisbane Times: Is our Aussie Banter Bullying?

So I ask the question...do we just need to harden up ? A rework of a piece I recently wrote for the opinion pages on the Brisbane Times.  Read the comments! They are always my favourite part of the piece...

What do (young, CALD) women want? Ask them.

Young people are often maligned in our society. Unsure of whether they are contributing adults or dependent children, they fall between the cracks and can often be voiceless in public conversation and debate. Culturally and linguistically diverse groups find themselves in a similar position at times; spoken 'for' rather than asked, 'othered' and objectified in a way by a society that may not fully understand them.

For young, culturally and linguistically diverse women then, the challenge can sometimes seem insurmountable. Not only do they hail from different backgrounds, their age and their gender compound the difficulties that can often prevent them from fully engaging in community and society.

In order to engage young culturally and linguistically diverse women we must first understand that they are not only dealing with the standard societal expectations and pressures of being a young woman, but they are also dealing with often diametrically opposite expectations of their cultural background and community.

This dilemma encapsulates the issues of identity and belonging, as it so often does. Young culturally and linguistically diverse women are currently left to navigate these confusing waters alone, often without guidance, and seem to be expected to do so without fault. This is an unrealistic expectation. These young women should be supported, engaged and empowered to deal with issues of identity and growth. This will enable them to feel like they are part of the community or give them the power to shape their own.

Anecdotal evidence of mismatches between cultural expectations and the anguish that follows is plentiful. For families that migrate from very conservative societies where women are not given the same autonomy as they are in Australia, the idea that this is the norm here is one that is difficult to relate to and sometimes rejected.

This moves beyond the simple and superficial differences that are often highlighted, such as codes of dress. It goes to the root of gender roles and what it means to be a 'good woman' in particular cultures.

For some communities, women’s' involvement in extraneous activities including sports or politics is seen as undesirable. The 'Shinpads and Hijabs' program, which trained young Muslim girls in soccer, is one such example. When the initiative was run at the local Islamic school during school hours, parents were accepting and encouraging. However, when the suggestion was made to broaden the scope of the program and run it after hours, it was no longer an option for many. Furthermore, the final excursion to see the local team at the city's stadium was eventually cancelled as parents were reluctant to let their daughters attend the festivities.

It is quite possible that had these been boys, there would not have been any issue at all.

Examples such as this illustrate the pressures that are placed upon young culturally and linguistically diverse women on a daily basis.

How can we support and empower these young women as a sector to grow and develop as individuals?

Effective engagement with the young women, beginning with families and implemented through schools, is part of the solution.

It is important that any engagement with the young women include their families and communities. Due to the collectivist nature of many culturally and linguistically diverse communities, it is difficult to engage these ladies on an individual basis only and ignore the role their family plays. This collective engagement not only shows respect to cultural norms but also allows for a feedback process that is imperative to improving services.

Engagement through schools is also a natural avenue, as schools provide a platform that is already accepted. Moreover, families are more likely to value education and opportunities provided through educational institutions as opposed to random, unaffiliated programs. The legitimacy that the school structure provides is important, as is the captive audience within a school group. Operating during school hours, as with Shinpads and Hijabs, also allows for engagement programs to be minimally disruptive and more likely to be accepted.

One aspect not to be underestimated in effective engagement is the power of example. Encouraging other culturally and linguistically diverse women to run programs for their younger counterparts and become involved in the process is invaluable. The ability then of the young women – and importantly, their families – to relate to the programmers is enhanced significantly. They are also more likely to accept the program, as it will more obviously align with their own values, a concept which is extremely important.

Lastly, ask. Ask the young women what they want to do, what they want to achieve, and how best they want to do it. Often, as a sector we assume we know the best for particular groups, especially when it comes to dealing with young people. However these young women are smart, dynamic, interested and often have some idea of what they want to do. By asking, not only will their considerations be taken into account but their needs are front and center of the equation and the solution. This focus is imperative and invaluable.

Nothing will happen without some change. This does pose its own difficulties, as families and communities are often reticent to accept or entertain the idea of cultural and ideological change. However, as a sector it is our role to find the best ways of communicating with all of these groups – the young women, their families, schools and communities – in order to provide the best possible solution for all involved and to ensure these young women have their own, authentic voice..

This was initially published in FECCA’s 'Australian Mosaic'.

WOW Bites: Survival Guide for Chicks on Rigs.

Earlier this month I had the honour of presenting at the World of Women (WOW) part of the Sydney Writers Festival. It was quite an inspiring session, with speakers who included the likes of novelist Melissa Luckashenko to a young Iraqi lady who had traveled to Australia seeking asylum.

Find out more about WOW at Sydney here.

The majority of the 'Bites' - strictly ten minutes bites of inspiration and the like - were quite deep and moving. Lucashenko's and Kristi Mansfield's were both quite brutal to be honest, forcing the audience to confront issues of rape and violence occuring on a daily basis to young women in our own cities.

I took a different tack and went for a slightly more light hearted and humourous angle. My piece was a 'Survival Guide for Chicks on Rigs...' (because you know, there are just so many of us!). I started off with a bit of a poem...and I would like to share a little bit of the presentation with you!

Aren't you frightened, they will ask,

Of the men, the remoteness, the difficulty of the task?

Why on earth do you want to do that, they will question

Where as if you were a guy, that wouldn't rate a mention.

The fact of the day is, ladies and gentlemen,

That this guide is not about survival.

We will survive - Gloria Gaynor said so.

It is about thriving and owning our power from the get go.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome.

Working on the oil and gas rigs, particularly as a woman, is an adventure and a half indeed.

As I am an engineer and love lists and numbers, I've put together a numbered list of suggestions, and I hope you enjoy!

Number 1.

Determine where YOUR line is, how thick YOUR skin is, how much you are willing to let slide. Factor in the 'drilling rig bonus'.

Often when a woman begins working on a rig, the men won't talk to her for some time at all. Don't take it personally, but they are slightly scared themselves (though they will never admit it!). They won't know how to react to you, what they can say around you, how thick YOUR skin is...they know something will be different now that you are here but they don't know HOW that difference will play out.

Let them take the cues from you. You have power here - a power we as women never used to have, and that is the opportunity to set the tone of the conversation.

What is the drilling rig bonus? An amorphous measure that accepts that normal society is quite different to the microcosm that is the drilling rig and so your line might be different in this situation, or might need to be slightly different. Adjust accordingly.

Number 2.

Make the most of being underestimated.

Some of the rig workers may hold the unspoken belief that a woman is less competent or deserving of a role. We all know that is not the case, but use that underestimation to your benefit! Surprise them at being AWESOME at your job and letting your actions speak for themselves. Being really good at your job is a language they understand and WILL respect, particularly out there.

Number 3.

Have a sense of humour

Nothing breaks down barriers like a bit of laughter. Being witty, sharp, or deploying quick, timely ripsotes are always appreciated (but careful not to descend into bullying).

If you aren't a regular standup comedian, try to see the humour in the everyday interactions - because there is plenty. Personally, I am terrible at being witty but I find most everything hilarious. Nothing warms a hardened man's heart more than having a laugh at a joke he cracked

Number 4.

Learn the language.

There is nothing more effective than good communication. For the sake of mirth though, here are some of the phrases I have picked up (the ones used in polite company anyway!).

I'm drier than a dead dingo's donga.

You wana run with the big dogs you gotta pee in the long grass.

They thought I did what?! That's lower than the basic wage.

I'm like a mushroom. I get fed rubbish, everything just slides off me and I only come out in the dark.

Number 5.

Be Flexible, within limits. Don't forget your rights.

The guys working in the field will appreciate flexibility, humour and cues taken from you, as illustrated previously. A level of flexibility is required, as fighting every single battle is not only ineffective, it is exhausting.

However, you must also be cognizant of your rights as a woman and individual and if things DO go too far and they DO overstep the line, stop them. Use the tools necessary if required.

You might think it is a career limiter but rest assured, it is a career killer for the other individual. The law is on your side. If you are in a situation like this - talk to someone you trust, and then make a decision and don't ever feel guilty for the actions of others.

Number 6.

Always pack more sanitary items than you might think you need. You won't be able to buy any if you're stuck out in the middle of the desert or the ocean.

There's always one really practical survival tip in every guide. This is one of those. Trust me. Oh and a word of warning, the guys LOVE blaming any mood swings on our hormones. It's great.

Number 7.

Be your version of strong.

When I started out, I thought strong only meant masculine. I think that my time on the rigs has redefinined the relationships between masculinity, strength and what it means to be a strong, feminine woman. It means something different to everyone.

Now, for me, strength is in the fact that I can not only phsyically hold my own, but that I am not afraid of the men and the environment. Strength comes from knowing who I am and that I accept the fact that I am a woman in the industry and embrace it. Strength comes from knowing that I can choose to wear, dress, behave and speak how I please - whether that's rough or refined, the strength comes from knowing I have the power and gumption to make that choice.

Strength for you can mean any number of things, and I believe figuring that out is indeed strengthening in itself.

Number 8.

Enjoy the adventure!

Working as a female in a male dominated industry will always raise eyebrows and provoke questions.

Be ready for that. Decide whether this is something you want to *embrace* and talk about or whether it is something you would like to *ignore*.

Remember that no matter how much you ignore it, you still will be the odd one out. But that's not a terrible thing. If there are enough women that want to be the odd one out, soon the day will come when that is no longer the case.

Either way, I think it says a lot that we now have the CHOICE to to participate in this previously closed environment.

Be proud of who you are, and never apologise for it.

***

So what do you think?