Call of the White

Call of the White by Felicity Aston Page B

Book: Call of the White by Felicity Aston Read Free Book Online
Authors: Felicity Aston
wasn’t hopeful as she entered the room. Physically tiny, she seemed timid and unsure of herself but she answered my questions with conviction and passion. ‘I would use my experiences on the expedition to motivate the youth of Brunei to do great things,’ she told me. ‘We have a privileged life in Brunei but many young people are lazy and fall onto the wrong path.’ Having married her husband less than a year before and spent the last three years as a mathematics teacher in a secondary school, Era had a clear idea of what she wanted from life and seemed to have it all planned out. ‘Being a good Muslim is important to me and I want to keep learning how to be a better Muslim,’ she explained. Even so, Era described the culture shock of returning to her own country after spending a number of years overseas with her family. ‘Brunei has become more conservative while I was away and at first that was hard.’ She hesitated before continuing, as if unsure how much to reveal. ‘I like to play soccer but now it has been banned for girls to play. It’s annoying.’ Despite the fact that I was a good five years older than Era, her emotional maturity made me feel like a rash teenager in comparison. I could see that Era had the self-belief to keep her motivated and already I sensed that I was going to be able to depend on her.
    I met with Era and Aniza at my hotel the following day and was really pleased to notice that they seemed to get on well with each other. As we discussed plans for Norway and the expedition, Era talked about consulting with her religious leaders about what rules she would need to follow while she was away and what exceptions would apply to her regarding prayer and fasting. Islam requires time for prayer five times a day but there are dispensations when travelling and missed observances can be made up later. As Era tried to explain some of the intricacies of her obligations, it all seemed so complicated. I was brought up as a Roman Catholic but the idea of consulting a religious authority about the smallest details of personal life decisions seemed so alien to me. I left them both in the lobby, talking excitedly about raising money and discussing who they could approach for support. Seeing them so focused on the road ahead gave me a sudden boost of euphoria. The team that had been a figment of my optimism for so long was now forming in front of my eyes. I was no longer alone and would soon have a worldwide network of women as determined as me to make the dream of an international polar expedition a reality. Stepping into the hotel lift, I filled my lungs with air and let it out again slowly. For a moment I allowed myself to wallow in a feeling of triumph and excitement.
    New Zealand
    Wellington was sunny but bitterly cold. September is winter-time in New Zealand and as I stepped out onto the street, a grit-filled wind blew into my face. After a while my nose began to run and my eyes started to water in the cold wind but it didn’t take me long to find Turnbull House, a historic red-brick building that sits like an obstinate intruder amidst the modern concrete and glass skyscrapers in the heart of the city. The caretaker showed me the room I had hired for the interviews, gave me a set of keys and introduced me to the complexities of the alarm system. I headed back to the youth hostel and went to bed, exhausted.
    I woke up knowing something was wrong. Blinking at my compact room, I knew what it was. I felt really well rested. I’d had a good long sleep. I must have overslept. I threw back the covers and leapt out of bed, grabbing the clock. It was already 10 a.m. – I was an hour late. I quickly plucked the sheaf of application forms from my bag and found the number of my first interviewee. She was already waiting outside Turnbull House wondering what to do. I gushed an explanation and asked her to find a coffee shop to wait in while I got there as soon as I

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