In March 2013, I was invited to the 5th UN Women’s Empowerment Principles (WEPs) event in New York and I was thrilled.

It was a phenomenal experience, listening to UN Secretary-General, Ban-Kimoon and other influential people from around the globe discuss how women were being empowered and strategize a future of equality and inclusion. They called for leadership to promote equality in the workplace; for parents to teach equality in the home; for males to champion the cause and for transparency, and reporting, on progress in the equality effort.

Yet, the most profound moment of this elite gathering happened to me during a coffee break. That’s when I met Miriam from Egypt. A tall, forty-five-year-old brunette, she towered over me as we greeted each other in Arabic, kissing on both cheeks. Like long-lost friends, we chatted casually for a few moments. Then, I asked her when she would return to Egypt.

“I fly back tomorrow. I can’t stay until the end of the conference because I’m marching in Tahir Square on the 8th,” she replied nonchalantly.

I was momentarily speechless. Miriam was not some vague image screaming protests on TV. She was real. In fact, she was a successful businesswoman and yet she was determined to actively fight for women’s rights in Egypt. And she did not just fight from the safety of a conference room, but from the streets. Side-by-side, she would join women from all classes as they marched.

I felt remarkably humbled by our encounter.

As I walked back to my seat I considered our differences. Though women in Cayman do have more rights than Egyptian women, I wondered why it didn’t seem to disturb women here that they were still not getting their equal rights. Didn’t it bother them that their male counterparts were still being paid more than they were? It bothered me. And the echo of all those voices calling for equality now had a face – Miriam’s face. That chance meeting with the fiery Miriam inspired me to press on, advocating for women in Cayman in my own way.

On my return to Cayman, I presented the WEPs to the management of the Cayman Islands Monetary Authority (CIMA), my employer, and they readily agreed to start openingly advocating for gender equality.

Later that year in June, the experience of that NYC trip culminated in CIMA being the first statutory body to formalise its gender equality efforts with a massive training effort in the Gender Equality Law, 2011.

But that was last year.

This year, CIMA became more bullish about its gender equality efforts with the active commitment of top leadership by way of the Gender Equality Pledge. And what better organisation to lead this effort than one led by a woman.

As the MD signed the Pledge with the Minister of Education, Employment and Gender Affairs, the Honourable Tara Rivers, I was flooded with gratitude to be part of such a momentous occasion. CIMA was making history. We hope that others will follow suit.

CIMA pledged to promote gender equality in the workplace and equal opportunity in employment-related matters; prohibit discrimination against any person on the grounds of sex, marital status, pregnancy or any characteristic based on gender which applies or is attributed to a particular sex or marital status or pregnant state; and ensure a safe working environment for all, prohibiting sexual harassment in the workplace and taking immediate and appropriate actions to prevent such conduct. 

CIMA was already one of Cayman’s leading gender-equal organisations, upholding many of the UN’s Women’s Empowerment Principles. Boasting 65 percent female employees, CIMA also has existing initiatives in place to support work-life balance and the full participation of women, proactively appointing female employees to management roles. Still, we wanted to be even more active in the initiative.

In recognition of International Women’s Day 2014 and Honouring Women Month, CIMA also hosted a staff lunch and a screening of the award-winning documentary, Killing Us Softly 4, to increase awareness about gender discrimination in advertising.

But it doesn’t stop there. 

CIMA is also striving to introduce a mandatory, online training programme on gender discrimination and sexual harassment in the workplace for new employees.

And Miriam?

As International Women’s Day (8 March) approached, I thought about her. I imagined her shouting and marching boldly through the crowded streets of Egypt, demanding her God-given right to be treated fairly. Little did she know that on a tiny island on the other side of the world, her unwavering dedication had now become part of my story as well.

Confessions #1 - I didn’t plan to be a “Super Mom”. The thing is I love babies.  I especially love bathing and dressing them, but I didn’t realize that babies grow into teenage-mutant-door-slamming-monsters or that I’d be raising a tribe of them on my own. Did I mention of have SIX of these monsters? Anyway, that’s what happened.  And I guess I make it look easy because people call me “Super Mom”, which is really a pleasant euphemism for “the crazy woman with all those kids.”

Confessions #2 – Even after 20 years, I still haven’t perfected the art of sneaking out of bed without waking the little munchkins (aka monsters). Yes, one of them is usually in my bed. Most mornings start at dawn with me trying to ease out of bed to grab some coffee and workout before they wake up and start World War III.  This is never successful. Usually, as I’m easing off the bed, my 7 year old (with her eyes closed) says, “I want coffee, too.” Then, I sigh and plod downstairs with her and Cat close behind. Cat is actually a cat. I call her Cat and my children call her Sister, but I’m sure I didn’t birth her.

Confession #3 – My morning workouts consist more of dancing than actually running on the treadmill. I realize that now because one of my mutant-teenage-monsters secretly videoed me doing just that. Once on the treadmill, iPhone blaring away, I constantly hop-straddle the side strips, gyrating to songs like Gal A Bubble. The coffee is kicking in by then, you see. That’s when my 18 year old daughter usually descends and gasps, “Oh GAWD Mom! Old people can’t dance like that.”

FYI: I’M OFFICIALLY 28 YEARS OLD, SO I CAN DANCE HOWEVER I WANT!

Whoa, lost it there for a bit.

Confession #4 – I’m NOT superhuman, so sometimes I lose it.

Anyway, after grumpy, big sister descends, a wave of teenagers rush downstairs - all screaming for coffee (they love coffee), for conditioner (I think they drink that too); one is screaming to get into the shower (they still love to bathe – yes, that’s my fault), one  needs her clothes out of the dryer (they hate ironing); another needs the iron because the stupid dryer doesn’t iron clothes well enough, they all need lunch money, they need black socks; one needs me to write a note because there is NO WAY she is swimming in that disgusting pool, boy-twin needs a note because he’s too sick to do PE, and the 7 year old needs a note because I forgot to buy the stuff for her project. Again. Oops. Sorry, honey.

Eventually, they all gather at the front door. Good. They’re leaving. But first…they remind me to bring lunch money; I tell them what to cook for dinner; they moan and beg for pizza; the twins start choking each other; I scream at them to stop - they’re going to miss the bus; grumpy, big sister checks herself in the mirror again; I scream that she’s going to miss the bus; the girl-twin announces she’s colouring her curls a fiery red; the 7 year old  declares she’s colouring her hair too; I scream that they’re all going to miss the bus; they crowd the treadmill to kiss me bye (which takes a while). And as they finally leave, grumpy, big sister yells over her shoulder, “Enjoy your dirty-dancing workout, Mom.” Rolls eyes. Slams door. Monster.

Confession #5 - I AM the crazy woman with all those kids.

My mother was far from the typical lovey-dovey mothers you see on TV. Faaaar from it.  She wasn’t the “let’s have some tea and talk it over” type. She was more the “you better hush ‘fore I knock you out” type. Needless to say, I had a very odd and stressful childhood.

For one thing, when I was growing up, mother always insisted she was dying. Yes, she’s been dying for as long as I can remember.  She was so serious about this, she listened to the radio each Sunday choosing sad songs for her funeral. The Old Rugged Cross was her top pick. Just As I Am was another. Yes, Sundays were quite depressing.

And three things would happen when anyone else on Cayman Brac died:

1. Mother would claim she was dying from the same illness. “Yeah, I got the same thing poor, ole Johnny had. I         gonna soon be gone, too.”
2. She would swear she had a premonition of the neighbour’s death in a dream.
3. She would swear the neighbor’s ghost visited her during the night.

Do you know how stressful it is when your mother is a ghost whisper?

Mother was also NOT the soothing type. Sympathy was rare for fear of raising children who were “soft.” So, her reaction to me standing there with the top half of my toe stubbed off, was, “Wha’don’t kill yuh, makes yuh stronger.”  Then, she’d generously dump flour on my wounded toe and send me off to play. Limping. No disinfectant. No, I quickly learned not to ask for that or the rubbing alcohol might come out. Band-Aids? Not a chance. If I was lucky, she would fashion a crude (horrendously embarrassing) bandage from a ripped t-shirt around my disfigured toe. There. Now, limp away and go play.

And mother never said things like, “Don’t worry. Everything will be okay.” Instead, she chanted, “That’s wha’ yuh get because you don’t listen to nothing I say.”

But anxiety was a normal part of life with mother for other reasons - she constantly had “bad feelings” (aka foreboding feelings), her “bad eye” was always jumping and her sinister dreams and superstitions usually predicted some ominous occurrence. For example:

• If she dreamed about white sand – someone was going to die.
• If a black cat crossed the left side of the road – someone was going to die.
• If she dreamed about dirty water – someone was going to die.
• If she saw a black snake – someone was going to die.
• If her bad eye jumped – something bad was going to happen – someone was probably going to die.

• If her good eye jumped…wait… HER GOOD EYE NEVER JUMPED.

Mother even admonished us if we laughed too much. She’d say, “Laughing brings crying.” Which is code for “someone’s going to die.”

As I got older her pessimism intensified. Prior to the birth of my first child, my (psychic) mother (who was still alive by the way), predicted that I would have an ugly baby.  Her reason? Because two attractive people always have ugly children. This was mother’s ancestral theory – apparently our ghost-whispering ancestors were experts in genealogy.

Still, I tried to benefit from her “no-nonsense” attitude and wisely chose to disregard her other odd opinions.

Eventually, I dumped flour on my own stubbed toes and as I watched the white flour clump and turn a deep maroon, I’d hear her saying, “Wha’don’t kill yuh, makes yuh stronger.” 

In that way I grew up tough, unafraid of hard work, oblivious to ghosts, completely un-phased by the notion of ugly babies, and in possession of copious material about mother to be used for a hilarious bestseller.