Toward the end of a tough week at work, I returned to my apartment to find a gorgeous, liquid-toned banjo wrapped in red ribbon awaiting me.  It was a late birthday present from Josh, an 1880s banjo on which I immediately strummed out a tune.  Lessons with Josh begin next week.

We’d been working on a lot of donor proposals and reports at work, and we were preparing for a big launch this week to promote a new soap opera we’ve developed for the Dominican Republic, with embedded messages on savings programs for women within a Bollywood style soap. The aim is to encourage low income women to access savings products that will help them become and stay financially independent, and to encourage them to consider stating their own micro-enterprises.  Six months of working at Women’s World Banking feels like the equivalent of 18 months experience anywhere else due to the fast pace and depth of the work.

Outside of work, music and movement seem to restore my equilibrium. I go to a physical therapy trainer in her apartment in order to heal my foot, and much else. She plays the 1960s music that I love, and last time she ended our session with our both bouncing to the beat on fitness balls, she a former dancer and me feeling like a dancer in training.

Friday afternoon, Josh and I hit the road to see his Dad and his Dad’s long term partner, Estelle, in Springfield, Massachusetts.  Driving along the Hudson River we headed toward the George Washington Bridge, which looked like a skipping rope at rest.  In the distance was a filmy view of ships entering New York harbor on a grey day and it felt like a black and white movie slowly unfolding.  I felt so grateful for my life at this point.

Our optimistic decision to take the scenic route in Friday afternoon traffic added hours to the drive and, exhausted, we finally swung into Springfield and landed at an old style Hawaiian restaurant.  The place was more shabby than chic and yet the restaurant staff were radiant in their energy and served us up a fish and rice feast that refreshed our spirits.

We spent most of Saturday with Josh’s family and then on Saturday afternoon we drove 20 minutes to Northampton and went for a glorious walk around Smith College, one of the most prestigious women’s colleges in the US.  We walked around the lake, past a tropical conservatory and its adjoining beautiful garden, alongside stunning architecturally designed buildings and a beautiful big library.  While we were walking I recalled a conversation I’d had with a senior principal at Smith a couple of years ago where we discussed the possibility of establishing a social enterprise lab for students there who were interested in how international development works in practice. I decided I’d revisit the concept and add a focus on microfinance and submit it to Smith – how wonderful it would be to spend more time there as the environment is so gracious and welcoming.

As I write, we’re home again and someone is playing the blues harp outside my window. In the Village, it seems that music is part of its magic, with people playing guitars and fiddles outside different apartments and clubs.

In Northampton there was a baby Occupy Wall Street protest in Pulaski Park of some dozen people while back in New York at Zucotti Park some 28 people had been arrested, and 150 in Chicago that same day. We’d experienced the tinderbox atmosphere the previous week and it had seemed then that it was just a matter of time before a clash between protesters and authorities might occur.  More and more companies are being specifically targeted in New York, many of which I’m dealing with in my own work – JP Morgan, Goldman Sachs, Morgan Stanley, Chase, Bank of America, HSBC.  I have that sense of sitting with all the complexity of what’s happening – of being involved in work that offers microfinance opportunities for women, made possible by such corporate partnerships while being part of a movement articulating the unfairness of such severe economic inequity.  This includes the extremely low pay levels that many people experience and the lack of any rights to challenge this situation.

To this last point, we went to see the film The Help on the weekend too.  The movie is about a group of domestic workers who agree to be part of a journalist’s secret project to write a book that depicts the reality of their lives. One of the many moments I carry with me from this movie is of a black woman, Aibileen, who, as a maid, teaches the baby girl in her charge a mantra to protect her, since her parents ignore her, not believing her to be particularly attractive or endearing:

You is kind

You is smart

You is important

In fact, a recurring theme throughout the movie is the deep mentoring that goes on between the maids and the children for whom they are responsible.  The hopefulness that one is left with at the end of the movie feels good in these turbulent times.

It reminds me of a clay piece I created in Adelaide last year, rising up from some subconscious space. I know I’ll go and look at it, sitting on my bedside table, after Josh and I arrive back in Piccadilly in December. It’s of an animal in prayer position in front of a round tablet into which I’d etched the words, We Are All One.  Amen. Shalom. Salam. Peace.

Jane Sloane