The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2003

red and violet patterned the tablecloth and napkins Ellen had fashioned from some batik she’d bargained away from her favorite market lady. “You should have declined,” Jim had said. “You can still postpone. Why must you insist?” The angry clink of cup on saucer startled a crow hov- ering about with the clear intention of sharing their breakfast. “You know why. The boutique. But it’s good for you, too.” “The minister’s going to make concessions on oil because you jolly the social reporter?” “Can’t hurt, if the economic counselor’s wife shows she really likes Nigeria.” Jim spooned imported jam onto his toast. “Trust me,” continued Ellen. “I’ve listened to you. I know the angles. Why market economies are more pro- ductive. Why free trade is good for all of us. Why the IMF demands conditionalities. ” “Not bad.” “I can do even better. I can defend American fast food and music videos and—” “Damned crow!” The crow had zoomed in like a hotshot pilot on a straf- ing mission. Retreating to a branch of a mango tree over- hanging the pool, it dropped crumbs among the leaves that had fallen into the water overnight. “That’ll teach you to peck at me!” laughed Ellen, reminding herself to have the gardener trim the tree. “Don’t worry. This is a style story, a human interest story.” “Correction. It’s a back-door story. A way to attack the mission through you. Why else would they profile a diplomat’s wife?” “Because she leads an unusual life. Women, at least, want to know how she deals with making a life in the face of constant uprooting and different customs.” Ellen’s spine left its place of ease against the chair back. “I have a story, too, you know. Or maybe I’m not interesting?” “Of course you are. I married you. And you’ve had a good life, haven’t you? Servants. Breakfast by the pool. Safaris in Kenya. Skiing in Switzerland. Shopping in Hong Kong. What more could you want?” “What does a bird in a gilded cage want?” “Oh, Christ! Not the flaming feminist act.” “Is that really what you think?” “What I think doesn’t seem to matter.” Jim pulled his napkin through its ring. He came around the table and gave her the usual peck on the cheek. “I’m off. Please, for my sake, be careful.” N ow the dreaded interview was under way. As the reporter’s head bent toward her notebook, Ellen could see her scalp glistening between the tight corn- rows. The day was warming up. Soon the servants would close the windows and turn on the air conditioning. The reporter stabbed in a period to end the pepper soup quote. She flipped to a new page. The bracelets danced on her wrist. “Now tell me — what do you think of Nigerian women?” Ellen gave herself a moment to consider how to nego- tiate the line between “flaming feminism” and inanity. “Yes?” said the reporter, smiling impishly, tapping her pen on the pad. “Impressive,” said Ellen. “Look at you. I read your series on the garbage-dumping scam. The feature on exploited orphans was great, too.” “Thanks, but I can’t write about me.” “Say that I’m bursting with admiration for the women who are getting into law and medicine and education — and journalism, too. I really admire the women traders I know. And I think the women in the countryside are pos- itively heroic. Use that word. Heroic. African women have always done the farming, with so little respect.” “My grandmother worked like a donkey. She vowed her daughters would be literate. Her eldest, my mother, told me to aim for the stars. So here I am.” “Your grandmother must be proud,” said Ellen. “Not yet. She says I should be an editor.” “Do it!” said Ellen. “Here’s my favorite story about the caliber of Nigerian women. It happened in Ibadan during the colonial period. The British decided to impose a new tax. When the market women marched in protest, the authorities backed down.” “That’s true,” nodded the reporter. “But,” pursued Ellen, “if market women were so pow- erful then, why don’t women play a really strong role in modern society? How did it slip away?” “It didn’t fade in the traditional sector,” said the reporter. “But the Brits pushed the Western model. Men got the education and opportunities. Now they make the blockbuster deals with other men, like your husband—” “We’re getting into tricky territory,” Ellen warned. F O C U S 18 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 3