Mothers Lost

Last week Brigid McConville, a close friend of the family, and fellow writer, invited me to an exhibition held in London this week. Brigid is not only a writer though, she is also a film maker, international journalist and coordinator of the White Ribbon Alliance for Safer Motherhood (www.whiteribbonalliance.org). Curious to find out more about the WRA, and with the intention of writing a piece about the exhibition, I set off to London for the preview.

‘A Promise to Mothers Lost’ is a multimedia exhibit of artwork produced in response to mothers needlessly lost in pregnancy and childbirth by the communities and families left behind in developing countries such as Africa, Asia and South America. The exhibit will run until December, held at the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists near Regents Park. Before I tried to find this slightly obscure venue, I had another appointment to keep at Soho House near Leicester Square.

I arrived in London on Tuesday at 2:00, thinking I’d have plenty of time to faff around before meeting Annie Gosney at 4:00. But by the time I’d got my bearings, signed up to the EveryChild charity with a persistently sprightly street haggler (he had an American STOP! sign drawn on the palm of his hand and stuck it into my face – how can you possibly say no?) and found some lunch, it was time to search for Soho House on Greek Street (v v exclusive members’ club/bar/venue for the entertainment industries lovies).

Now imagine the scene: I’m hot and sweaty from the hall-ass around London, a bit lost and a bit nervous. I find the building and start pressing the buzzer on the wall, but nothing happens. Ok. I then watch as a man breezes past me and into the building, no problems. Do I go in, or wait for the person behind the buzzer to make himself know. (Annie said I’d have to buzz!) Knowing full well I should just go in, I take a quick peep inside and decide I should just go on up.

I went up a flight of stairs and found a smart, young man behind a desk and several posh looking waiters hanging about close by. There is a list in front of the man. I lean on the desk and say, “I’m here to see Annie Gosney.” He looks at the list, strikes a pencil line through my name and tells me to go upstairs, “She’ll either be in the second floor bar or the third floor…” I’m already not really listening and instead, worry about not being able to find her in this huge building of a rabbit warren nesting thespians and countless people I kind of recognised, but couldn’t quite put names to…. very disconcerting.

Luckily, Annie has positioned herself close to the second floor doorway, so easily recognisable to me. We move into the bar, which has to-die-for wallpaper, leather sofas, an island bar in the middle and huge glass chandeliers. Feeling a tad bit out of place in my too-big-jeans, grey cardigan and crappy black plimsoles, Annie is very entertaining and makes it easy to settle into a fun gossip-led conversation. Tim McInnerny and Annie have been invited to the press night of Swimming with Sharks, staring Christian Slater. (I heard today that she got on famously with Christian at the after party and is seeing him again tonight…lucky lady!)

What a life – parties, meeting GOOD celebrities and press nights… am I jealous? Maybe a little, but it does all feel a bit fake somehow. Annie treats me to a large glass of wine, and I’m starting to wish I’d eaten my sandwich before I came in here – too late, I’m a bit tipsy! It’s fine though, I’ve got the trusty Dictaphone on, and I only had to seek some contacts from Annie to help me along with my Stage commission. Lovely. Annie had to leave at 5:30 to prepare for Christian (and the play of course!), so we said farewell and promised to keep in contact over Christmas.

Warm, a bit fuzzy, and in the dreadful rush of crazy-hour traffic, I had to gather my wits for the next leg of this mini adventure. On the tub, off at Baker Street, down the road the wrong way for about a mile, I got the feeling I was in the wrong part of town… and I was right. I re-traced my steps and just about found the Royal College of O & G before the daylight faded completely. In the courtyard stood two proud (static dancing) ten-ft willow women with small contained fired burning on the ground beneath each. What an entrance.

Inside I found Brigid’s oldest son, Arthur and one of my housemates, Dean on the decks, playing some welcoming reggae. I met Brigid’s daughter, (one of my oldest friends), Maeve on the stairs. Maeve has been heavily involved in the press side of the event, as well as being a general runner for her mother. We went up stairs and grabbed a free wine and some tasty, worldly nibbles. Actress Diana Quick introduced the exhibition, followed by the coordinators of the WBA, RCOG, United Nations Population Fund and speakers to tell the stories of some of the women lost to maternal mortality. To lighten the tone, celebrate the cause and the news that the Bill & Melinda Gates trust will donate $1 million for the exhibition to tour the world, Tanzanian pop star Stara Thomas performed “Play your Part” with her live band.

There was laughter, dancing and a general feeling of hope in the vast room, which was very well attended by a diverse cross-section of humanity. I took some time to take pictures of the varied and often stunningly beautiful art works with more friends involved in the exhibition. By this point I was feeling pretty exhausted, but enjoying the atmosphere none-the-less. In the information pack I collected at the end of the evening, I noticed a range of post cards with paintings of ‘mothers lost’ on the front. I was horrified to see a girl the same age as me staring back. Rita Egwe died in July this year because the poverty she faced on a day-to-day basis in her homeland prevented her from receiving the treatment she deserved to deliver her baby.

My best friend, also Rita’s age, had her first baby four weeks ago. Oscar was born four weeks premature. Although the conditions at our local hospital are considered to be sub-standard (over-crowded and under-staffed), Oscar is now fit, well and the normal size for his age. Rita didn’t even have the basic right to transport to take her to a health centre or hospital – even the terrain of her surroundings prevented her from living. This is wrong, so wrong. Why is it that even now, steadfast traditions, lack of support, training and medical provisions in developing counties leads to a woman a minute dying needlessly. I hope the exhibition stirs the hearts of as many influential people as possible from across the globe – giving life should not equate with death.

The following day, I offered my services to help with setting up an adjacent exhibition at the Excel centre, along with Maeve, Arthur, Dean, Harry, and another friend of the family, Julian. First, we set to work erecting the willow women from the previous night. It took about eight of us to hoist them upright, but they looked just as magnificent inside the aircraft hanger style room of the centre as they had outside. Then we had to decide what artwork to put on the exhibit spaces, erect two comment boards, and a cinema. That’s when everything seemed to go wrong.

Brigid and John left to go back to the college and then pick up some materials to help us hang the pieces. Julian was kind of in charge, but this didn’t seem to make complete sense. Lovely man, but god – some people are just useless organisers! Maeve should have been in charge, girls are generally better at such things. So, we got the comment boards up ok, taped this weird sticky material on to them then later found out we had to take them down for ‘health and safety’ issues! The Excel people were worse than useless: they wouldn’t lend us any bit and pieces for the displays, watched out every move as if we were complete armatures (not far wrong, but still!), and set us back by at least a couple of hours due to the comment board disassemble. Everything was taking too long, the only thing that was going right was the cinema, but that was nearly a disaster due to the screen stand being too tall – we had to hang the screen off the beams of the makeshift tent instead.

I had to leave just before five, and all we’d really done was assemble and take apart a few boards, place some art work against the panels ready for hanging and, and that’s it! Apart from six fabric panels on one wall, which probably also had to be taken down for some kind of H&S reason... I haven’t even dared to ask Maeve how it panned out yet… she’s probably feeling a bit bitter about it. Considering we started at noon and only had a fifteen-minute break, we didn’t have much to show… I hope they got it sorted without too much hassle.

When I returned home, I found an email from Christina. It was my (unofficial) MA result. I passed! With 64%! Lets hope it doesn’t change before the official verdict next month… I love you tutors!