Free Call of the White by Felicity Aston

head on the table and fall asleep within seconds. I could barely focus and was so anxious about the impending talk that it was making me tremble slightly. I rarely use notes or prompts during talks and I don’t like to rehearse too much. Over-polished talks sound dull, so I like to rely on my wits. Unfortunately, I had had so little sleep during my series of flights from Ghana that my wits felt stretched to breaking point.
    As I entered the auditorium, it was already full. I took my place on stage and felt like a condemned man as I was introduced. Then came my cue to speak. I started my talk feeling strangely detached from my own voice. I looked at the audience’s faces in the gloom of the auditorium; they were all blank. I couldn’t get a sense of how the talk was being received in the stony silence. Usually I hear something from the audience – agreement, shock or laughter. I told a story that was supposed to be amusing and noticed a row of faces near the back. I couldn’t be sure in the near darkness, but it looked like they were laughing along with me. I focused on them for a while and it calmed me down. I began to get into my stride and was slightly taken aback when the room erupted into spontaneous applause at a key moment in the talk. I felt enormous relief; it was going well. At the end of the talk it was time for the Oscars. There was a lot of shuffling about on stage before Vijay produced a huge cardboard congratulations poster, like a lottery winner’s cheque, to hand to the selected candidates. I looked at him pleadingly for a second. This was not exactly the tone I had wished for but there was no time to argue. ‘This isn’t The X Factor ,’ I muttered to myself. I read out my introductions and noticed for the first time that all ten candidates were sitting in the first two rows. Vijay performed a mock drum roll on the lectern and dramatically announced the names of the selected candidates. Reena and Aparna came on stage; Aparna looked fabulous in a flowing lemon sari and Reena was equally shimmering in blue and green. I handed them the poster as instructed and couldn’t help laughing as they looked completely nonplussed about what exactly they were supposed to do with it.
    The evening came to a close with a raft of flashing cameras snapping the three of us. I was once given some advice about speaking: ‘Be careful, it can make you feel very important.’ This advice sprung to mind now as I was suddenly surrounded by a circle of faces – people who wanted to ask questions, people who had asked questions and wanted to continue the conversation, reporters, well-wishers and, somewhere among them all, the women who had been shortlisted. I tried to make a point of focusing on them rather than everyone else, but was physically pulled away. One reporter was pressing me to make a statement about climate change (‘Would you say the situation in Antarctica is critical?’), while a photographer ordered me around, ‘Stand there. Look relaxed.’ I never take press coverage for granted and am grateful for any media attention, as I know just how important it is for sponsors and suppliers, but there were so many people that I didn’t get a single complete conversation with anyone.
    At the end of the evening I lay in bed at a nearby hostel. I had waited so long to sleep but now I found myself buzzing with adrenalin. I looked around the tiny room, which was more prison cell than accommodation. The hard wire bed was pushed into one corner, framed by leaky pipes, and the small window was covered by a curtain held together with years of grime. I heard a roar outside and, after a few minutes, realised it was rain. I went outside into the corridor that was open on one side, like a balcony, to see rain so torrential that I couldn’t see the top of the surrounding skyscrapers. As I watched, something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. A big brown