Surprise interview

I was expecting a 40-something Somali woman who had snagged a grant to help other Somali women who were infertile. When we talked on the phone she suggested we meet at the Afro Deli near Cedar Riverside. I described myself so she would know who I was. "You'll know who I am," she said.

The woman who walked in the door looked barely 20, was in full Muslim garb with sparkly glasses. "Judy?" she said.

It turned out that she had a very common Somali name, that I had Googled who I thought was her, but got the name of the 40 something woman instead. Just another example of how much serendipity can enter into the reporting process, because she turned out to be a great interview.

She was born in Somali, came to the US when she was about two, soon to be the oldest of eight children. She was valedictorian on her suburban high school class of 700. She says it was easier to hold on to her cultural identity growing up a Somali in the suburbs than in the city because her family was the only one from Somalia. She says they all stayed within the enclave of her family. As the only Somali in her class she was special.

The Somali teens who live in subsidized housing in the city think of themselves as victims, she said.

Hmmmmm.   How can that idea fit into my next book, which will definitely be set among Somali women?

Not so sure I like being written ABOUT

Well, I'm shocked. Mystery readers, it appears, are following the life of Skeeter Hughes -- that's me -- in a book, Where's Billie? A Skeeter Hughes Mystery. Kindle Nation even recommended the book. Check it out on the link.

As a journalist, I'd really rather that people read my work, not read ABOUT me and my work. Makes me a bit uncomfortable, to tell the truth. My nature is to tell everyone else' story, not mine. And all that stuff about my daughters and husband. I'm not exactly happy that Judith Yates Borger has chosen to air my problems in print. 


But I have to admit finding Billie was a coup, and it did put a stop to some horrible goings on at the Mall of America. And the whole package did get me a promotion. What's more, I believe in Borger's right to print whatever seems like a good tale to her. So I guess I'll just have to let her go at it.

This has been whispered about for years. Finally someone speaks.

Ever since women have been working for newspapers there have been male managers who suggest that they should stick to soft news because they may get hurt doing the hard stuff, like covering war.

When my car was firebombed while I was covering a disturbance, one editor suggested that maybe women should not cover dead-of-night dangerous situations. Another reporter, male, advised me to never get myself in a situation like that again.

I think their concern for me was genuine. But I can't imagine either one making the same remarks about a male journalist.

To deny anyone the opportunity to cover huge news events -- such as war, riots, or  killings -- is to deny the journalist professional experience and advancement. To do it based on gender is wrong.

The Washington Post author of this piece makes the salient point at the start: the solution is to train everyone, men and women, how to be safe when confronted with a dangerous situation. Two reasons: journalists should not have to put themselves in danger to do their jobs. And you don't get the story if you're raped and beaten.

Not what I expected

The interview was not at all what I expected, but better. Hmmm Have to think about this.

New Assignment: Missing Somalis

So I thought I was going to get fired when Thom called me in and closed the door. Don't know why I thought that, because the story about the hand in Lake Harriet had turned out alright, but these days I am paranoid, and with good reason. More copy editors were let go last week.
"Skeeter," he said. I cringed. "I've got a new assignment for you. You know how the Somali community has grown to about 100,000 people. You know how some of the young men have returned to Somalia never to be seen again."
"Yes," I said.
"Why? Why did they move here and what was it like for them to grow up here? Why did they go back to Somalia? What do their families think about that?"
"Don't know," I said.
"Find out." He stood opened the door to the small conference room headed out.
After my heart returned to its normal pace, I began to think about what he said. Hmmmm another missing persons story. I was getting used to this.


It's Saturday afternoon now. I have made arrangements for Susie to visit my mother and Rebecca is at her friend's house. I don't know where Michael is, and I don't care. I've got an interview with a Somali woman whose son went missing. I've got so many questions for her. Who was her boy? Did she see a change in him? When? Why? How did she get to Minnesota? How many children does she have? Why did this son disappear instead of others? Has she heard from him? Does she still have family in Somalia? What's it like  moving to this icy cold Minnesota from a mostly tropical home? This is going to be fun!!