Ebola – How well are we communicating about this?!
This Sunday, I arrived home after spending three weeks leading communications training seminars in Nigeria.
Yes, that means I was in West Africa – where the media continues to headline as the epicenter of the “Deadly Ebola Outbreak.”
And yesterday, I received an email from a parent of one of my daughter’s school friends who happens to be a doctor here in Ireland.
I would suggest you call your General Practitioner and inform him you have been in Nigeria. Ask him if they have any procedure in place to deal with you in the case you have any symptoms during the next 3 weeks.
Should I?
I was in hotel conference rooms and professional office buildings conducting training sessions with business executives and other leaders. I didn’t step near a hospital nor attend any funerals. Certainly I witnessed no one exhibiting any of Ebola’s well-publicized feverish symptoms or violent vomiting or bleeding.
But I did fly on commercial airlines. Before my flight, airport staff stopped every passenger and took their temperature with a small plastic laser gun. I was 36.6 Centigrade. I was let through. On the British Airways plane to London from Lagos, the flight attendants announced prior to takeoff they would go through the cabin and “spray something for disease.” Their aerosol cans spritzed out some sweet-slightly-chemically-smelling stuff. What was it exactly? The attendants didn’t say and they most definitely did not mention Ebola by name.
When we landed in London, the customs officer didn’t ask me anything about my visit in Nigeria. Perhaps because he knew that last week the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention echoed what Nigerian officials were saying the entire three weeks I was in-country: that the disease is contained and there are no new cases. (World Health Organization numbers say Nigeria had only 20 cases and 8 deaths, dramatically fewer than what is still going on in Sierra Leone, Guinea and Liberia.)
But then today’s New York Times today describes Thomas E. Duncan, the Liberian who flew to Dallas last month and who notoriously has become the first Ebola case diagnosed in the US, as flying “while he was contagious.”
Did someone fly near me who was contagious? I swear I didn’t knowingly get anyone’s drool or whatever-other-kind-of-fluids you can imagine on me during my flight or my visit.
As a former CNN journalist who now teaches about the power of words, why did the NYT say Duncan was contagious on the flight?
Especially when, just a few paragraphs later in the same article, it goes on to say he developed symptoms five days after his flight and then quotes officials as emphasizing
there is no risk of transmission from people who have been exposed to the virus but are not yet showing symptoms.
So which is it? Was he contagious on the flight when he apparently had the virus in his body, but wasn’t showing symptoms? Or did he become contagious only after the disease progressed enough that his body began to manifest the tell-tale symptoms of fever, diarrhea and vomiting?
I don’t ask this to be glib. The media has a responsibility to report this as accurately as possible. To help spread the correct information. So others don’t unknowingly spread something far worse.
Like me, I guess. That nice lady and her son sitting next to me on my flight – who were headed to Texas (yes, Texas) - seemed healthy enough. But were they possibly contagious?
I don’t know. I really don’t know.
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All Rights Reserved.
Ebola. A bit of perspective.
I am writing with the TV on. The latest CNN report is talking about U.S. President Obama’s pledge to send three-thousand troops to help fight the “deadly Ebola outbreak in West Africa.”
I am writing in a hotel room in Lagos, Nigeria. In West Africa. As a veteran journalist, I know there is a tendency for the media to oversimplify. In spite of our 24-hour-news-cycle, there is somehow not enough time to provide deep context or broader perspective on a given story. Instead, what we get are dramatic headlines designed to captivate viewers - and the notion of a virus like Ebola is certainly one that lends itself to fear.
Needless to say, I have friends who urge me in emails and on Facebook to “be safe.” “Be careful.”
I am.
A former CNN colleague and current Facebook friend of mine now works for the World Health Organization (WHO). She assured me that since Ebola is NOT an airborne virus, as long as I am not cleaning up the vomit or diarrhea of an infected person or touching an infected corpse, I will be fine. I can promise you I will not be doing either.
You are right, however, that this illness is a very serious thing. As the news continues to say, this is the deadliest Ebola outbreak in recorded history. Liberia is particularly struggling.
Nigeria has also reported cases. But here is the perspective I promised in my title:
According to the World Bank, there are 245 million people in the 15 countries that make up the Economic Community of West Africa . A whopping 174 million of them live here in Nigeria.
The Ebola outbreak – from WHO recent figures - looks like this:
Guinea - 771 cases, 494 deaths
Liberia - 1698 cases, 871 deaths
Nigeria - 21 cases, 7 deaths
Senegal - 1 case, no deaths
Sierra Leone - 1216 cases, 476 deaths
That’s some 3,707 cases out of 245 million people.
(The Democratic Republic of Congo last week reported 62 cases and 35 deaths. But they’re not a part of West Africa geographically. )
So, here in Lagos, a bustling mega-city of around 21 million, people continue to work, play and live pretty normally.
Commendably, they are also taking new precautions against the spread of the virus. When I landed late Sunday, informational FAQ posters were everywhere.
Immediately after disembarking the airplane, each of us passengers lined up to have a doctor shine us with a temperature-taking laser. (You may recall, Ebola first arrived here after an infected Liberian diplomat flew from Monrovia to Lagos and collapsed in the airport.) In addition, hand sanitizer dispensers have been added to every building lobby I enter.
Today, as reported in the Nigerian Bulletin, President Goodluck Jonathan said there are no more active cases in Nigeria. Yes, seven people did die, but the remaining others have recovered. He proclaimed, “ The virus is under control.”
I met up with a longtime friend last night. John Walker and I used to work together at WTTG Fox News in Washington, DC. Now, he’s with the Voice of America and here to train journalists at Channels TV. I’m here working with other professional groups. Imagine us meeting again after all this time in Lagos!
We laughed and caught up at the popular local restaurant Yellow Chilli. The place was filled with other patrons – who watched the football match on TV and enjoyed themselves.
Before entering, each of us had had our temperatures laser-checked by the hostess.
It’s good to be careful.
Till, next time, take good care, everyone!
Copyright Gina London 2014. All Rights Reserved.
Welcome to Ireland! Or, er, Failte!
We’re one week into our new home here in Cork, Ireland and it’s funny how the more things are the same, the more they seem different.
It’s called the Emerald Island for a reason. You might think a simple color would not be enough to market an entire country, but as Lulu and I looked out upon the landscape stretched out before us as the bus drove us to the coastal village of Crosshaven, the word “green” is what kept coming to mind.
“It’s like Indiana,” Lulu said, reminded of my rural home state where we spent much of this summer getting reacquainted with family.
What with its cows and farms and pastures, indeed it does.
And yet it doesn’t.
The architecture is different. You’ll see fewer wood frame homes here and most are slathered in a gravelly cement coating. Grey seems to be the predominant color with neighborhoods accentuated by a few bright creamy yellows.
Unlike Paris with a patisserie on every corner or Tuscany with a trattoria or pizzeria on the same; here on every corner blooms a pub.
The interesting names painted on the signs outside may vary but the interiors are relatively the same. There are cozy, dark wood tables and chairs, and a collage of photos, paintings or other knickknacks covering the walls. Menus so far seem heavy on things fried. I haven’t had a salad in over a week but I have had plenty of cod and chips.
As for the language: “Everyone speaks singy-English and says ‘Grand.’” Lulu has observed.
I can read every billboard and every newspaper. I can overhear conversations in the pub and understand them. The words don’t blur into a faint white noise like when we lived in Italy.
We moved into our new apartment a week ago today. It's tiny but cozy and within easy walking distance to Lulu's new school. We had a nice visit the first evening from our landlord Liam, who, like every Irishman I have met so far, is a very easy-going and humorous person. Having an enjoyable conversation - even when it is mainly about the heating, washing machine and other apartment things - is so much easier when you speak the same language.
In the short single school week Lulu has attended so far, she has already gone to a birthday party and had two separate play dates. I have already been invited to go out with some of the moms this Friday to a chic trendy restaurant on the River Lee named Electric.
The people here are so kind and cheery, we make friends just by saying, “Hello.”
And yet, the ease with which it is all happening makes me pang a little for the rush of being in Italy. There, I felt an extra sense of accomplishment after even the littlest exchange or transaction I managed successfully. I sort of miss it. There are no extra points for clearing the language barrier for me now. ;)
Hmm. It has been unusually sunny every day since we have arrived. I better wait until the legendary Irish rain arrives before I am convinced there will be no major challenges here.
As my lovely Italian friends would say, “Piano, piano” – take it slowly. Or as my Irish friends might say, “Tis no bother at all.”
No matter where you are. Another day presents opportunity for another little adventure.
To adventures great and small.
Gina
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All Rights Reserved.
Prairie Pride!
We made a trip this week to Conner Prairie and took an incredible adventure back in time.
Affiliated with the Smithsonian, this museum-park leads you through a meandering journey of pioneer life in Indiana before and around the time it became a state in 1816.
Lulu and I practiced tomahawk throwing with a real descendant from the Lenape, or Delaware, Indians who lived in this area before and during the fur-trading days of the early 1800s.
Down the lane, real-life historians, artisans and craftspeople recreate a pioneer village from 1836. They never break character as they demonstrate their handiwork and weave delightful stories about the goings-on in the town.
Before entering "Prairietown, Lulu spun a wheel which determined she would be a local artist in the village. As such, she had certain tasks to perform and answers she needed to discover by asking questions of the other villagers.
We had to ask those questions in present tense and never let on that we were really visitors from the future. (I asked “Mrs. Zimmerman” at the Golden Eagle Inn, for example, if I could take her picture with my “brand new camera contraption” and she pulled out a large wooden box with a lens on the front and a mirror inside that projected a reflected image on a piece of paper that could then be copied in pencil as the newest camera she had recently received from her brother in Europe. )
Lulu smiled with her from behind the Inn’s bar.
Lulu was given the chore to wash some vegetables at the Inn.
She also patiently learned how to hand-dip a beeswax candle.
She sang folk tunes with “Mrs. Campbell” and her “Sister Laura who is visiting from the big city of Lexington and doesn’t like this little town at all.”
She rolled dough and cut out noodles with the spinster lady (at the ripe old age of 27!) who lived at a cabin with a dozen or so real young turkeys wandering in the backyard.
And Lulu spent about 15 full minutes creating her own custom stencil designs. I didn’t mind. The magic wheel had designated her an Artist after all.
Although we lived for the past three years in Italy, that inspiring land of the Renaissance where history reaches out to you from every street in art and architecture, our experience exploring Conner Prairie was an exhilarating hands-on event.
The idea of role-playing with the pioneers obviously resonated with Lulu who didn’t want to leave the “land of the olden times.”
And for me, it was an important opportunity to be reminded how proud I am of something I never earned. It was simply bestowed upon me the day I was born. Something that could too easily be taken for granted while I was encompassed by the grand history of Italy. Something that my forefathers worked hard to create and died to protect: My Hoosier and American heritage.
Thank you, Mom, for taking Lulu and me to Conner Prairie.
Gina
P.S. What's your heritage? What makes you proud? What makes you appreciate other cultures?
You CAN go back home. But you won’t have enough time to do everything you want….
I can’t believe it. After living in Italy for three years, my first visit to the United States is drawing to a close. This trip back home again to Indiana: the state where I was born, grew up and where my mom and step-dad still live has just one full day left.
I landed on American soil on July 18. With more than a month ahead, in addition to feting with my family, I thought I had plenty of time to reconnect with everyone. I had so many plans!
Scotty, Lulu and I drove up to northwest Indiana to visit my college-buddy-like-a-brother Sam Wakim and his family for a combined dentist and friendly visit.
I zipped over to La Porte, the town where I was born, and toured Pine Lake where I spent happy summers with family, and peeked at the house Grandpa and Grannie Raven had built and lived in forever.
I had dinner with my fire-chief cousin and his family.
Cousins!
I met again with Eric Schneller, the first friend I ever made at Indiana University when I first sat next to him in my freshman biology class. I had dinner with ADPi sorority sisters Beth, Dottie and Elizabeth. We moved beyond the shallow ties of youthful sisterhood to wiser bonds forged through surviving the unexpected twists and painful turns real life often deals. We are still hanging in there, but I am not kidding when I say we laughed and we cried.
I had dinner with a couple of close youth group friends, Anita and Curt, who got married shortly after high school. They openly shared the incredible ups and downs that tried and ultimately strengthened their enduring union.
And speaking of my school days, I had dearly hoped to travel to Randolph County to the tiny town of Farmland to visit with the friends who were instrumental in creating the many colorful memories I have of my childhood. We’ve kept up virtually on Facebook, and I wanted to reunite with them in person.
But the weeks flew by and I didn’t make it happen.
I also didn’t get a chance to reconnect with my cousin Debbie and some other people I had envisioned seeing.
But I did get to hug a lot of my immediate family including Mom, Jerry, Andrea, Tony, Sophia, Brad, Jayson, Patience, Helena, Sam, Celeste and my ninety-nine-and-a-half-year-young Aunt Anita aka “Neatie.”
We have had boat trips on the lake.
We have had bonfires. We have had dinner parties. We have had cake, cookies and Mom’s famous chocolate chip coffeecake. Have I mentioned the mountains of ice cream?
Did I mention that even though Lulu has already eaten her weight in delectable Italian gelato, one of her new favorite places in the world is Dairy Queen? Okay, we have had too much eating, I must say.
But we simply have not had enough time to do everything I hoped.
To everyone I saw, I love you and am so glad we were able to see each other again. To everyone I didn’t get a chance to see. I am sorry I missed you. I do miss you. Please come to see us in Ireland.
Tonight, as Lulu and I looked out across my parents’ backyard on Morse Lake, the setting sun was shimmering on the water.
“It looks like diamonds. Real ones,” Lulu said.
“Yes, Lulu,” I replied, reflecting on the memories of the past four weeks. Although I didn’t get to see and do every single thing I had hoped to when I first arrived, the glow of my time back here in Indiana has been shiny and priceless just the same. Like diamonds. Real ones.
Love to you, no matter where you are!
Gina
P.S. How was your summer? Did you spend it with family? Friends? What's in store for September? Let me know!
A Day to Celebrate!
Have you ever tried a red velvet deep fried Oreo cookie? Neither have I. But I could have!
That’s because we traveled to the heart of the heartland. The apex of all-you-can-eat hearty-heart-attack fantastic funnel cakes, elephant ears, corn dogs and cotton candy: The Indiana State Fair!
At first I happily thought I had found the Wine barn. Then I realized an important letter was obscured by a tree.
Today was Pork Day.
And so naturally I had to have a Bar-B-Que Pulled Pork Sandwich.
Thank you Dwayne, the kind representative from the pork stand.
And thank you, Carla Comer Peacock, an honest-to-God girlfriend of mine from Monroe Central High School I ran into (we’re friends on Facebook so we recognized each other!!) who helped me get the pink pork-chop T-shirt Lulu is sporting (and the AWESOME pink Indiana Pork hat she isn’t wearing).
Yes, we went to the livestock barns. I pet a giant turkey.
Lulu and her cousin Sophia were a cute little chick and bunny.
We awed at World’s Largest Hog.
And hammed it up at the “Make Your Own Post-card Booth” at the Soybean Barn.
Since state fairs revolve around agriculture and celebrate the livelihood of farming, indeed, there was a soybean barn… and a corn barn… and a completely recreated pioneer-era working farm. It was a great fun and learning experience. For example, the tractor-driven trailers that transported the too-tired-to-walk are fueled by those ubiquitous Hoosier soy legumes. Cool-beans!
The Department of Natural Resources sponsored a Catch-and-Release pond and a Butterfly Pavilion.
We had no takers at our kissing booth.
But Lulu and Sophia were both very much “Wanted!”
In the afternoon, as we were ready to go, I saw my friend Carla again. She asked my husband whether we enjoyed Indiana – since we have lived in Europe for so long. Of course we enjoyed ourselves. We’re constant tourists.
We revel in all things terrific.
Who wouldn’t enjoy a lemonade made from inside a giant plastic lemon!
With love from the Indiana State Fair!
Baci, Gina!
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All Rights Reserved.
The I’s have it! Italy, Indiana and Ireland
Yesterday, the family gathered at my parents’ house here in Arcadia, Indiana.
I chose a simple red dress and came upstairs to greet everyone. My sister Andrea, her husband Tony and their daughter Sophia were to drive over from near Cincinnati, Ohio. My brother Brad was flying in from Florida and coming here with his girlfriend Leah and her daughter Kyra. Friends-like-Family, Eric, Linda and their kids Maddie and Max were driving from over a nearby Hoosier town. My niece Patience and her mom Celeste were driving over from near Cleveland. Even my 99-and-a-half-year-old Aunt Anita, aka Neatie, was here. Party!
My mom was already up in the kitchen wearing a bright lime green shirt and mixing up some home-made potato soup. I said, “Potato soup! That’s perfect since we’ll be leaving later this month for Ireland.” She just looked up at me and smiled.
It was right about then that my sister, in a green sparkly shirt, remarked that she and I were like Christmas since I was in red.
Right about then, Brad and Leah arrived, wearing bright green wigs and sunglasses.
It finally dawned on me. EVERYONE was wearing green.
And then I saw the cake in Brad and Leah’s hands.
The potato soup was on purpose. This was not just a simple family gathering at my parent’s lake house on a sunny summer day.
This was an Irish celebration for Scotty, Lulu and me as we prepare for our next adventure in Ireland.
Here in Arcadia, Indiana named after the Greek philosophy of living in harmony with nature and family - it's certainly something I am drawn to no matter where I travel.
Warm hearts and loving families. In Indiana. In Italy where we lived for three years. In Nigeria where I spent the past month. And yes, I do so look forward to experiencing it in the verdant rolling hills of Ireland.
Thank you, family, for throwing us such a heart-warming party this weekend.
I cherish these moments.
Baci! Gina
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All Rights Reserved.
Nigerian Diary: Leaving Lagos!
I sit in my hotel room with my bags all packed. This improbable trip to Nigeria, born two years ago through a Tweet and a big dream from a remarkable Nigerian businessman named Ayo Owodunni, has come to a successful close.
He and fellow visionary businessman, Ayoola Jolayemi, their wives, the amazing support team of Ayoola's company, SwiftThink, the indomitable Richmond Dayo Johnson, and many others all helped to make this project such a resounding success.
We all believe that Mastering our ABC’s (Appearance, Behavior and Communication) goes a long way to making a difference in our personal and professional lives - and the world around us.
Over the past six weeks, our Find Your Edge programs have brought communications training sessions and workshops to businesses, organizations and students.
And last night, two of SwiftThink’s best and brightest, Tope and Ibukun, treated me to a special night out on the town.
Without any instructional slide shows, white boards or case studies, we danced, laughed and sang at Isaac Geralds's birthday party.
An incredible evening of good fun held at “Freedom Park” in Lagos. It used to be a prison during British colonial times, but now is a gathering place for freedom of expression. And fun.
Thank you, gentlemen, for all your hard work during our Find Your Edge project, and for taking care of me last night.
And thank you Isaac, for your incredible voice that you so freely gave last night AND at the Student Summit on Wednesday.
Check him singing live my favorite song: "Ijebu Girl!" below!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P66A8OBs_h4
Thank you again, Ayo, for dreaming such BIG dreams. And thank you, Ayoola for putting the business wheels into high gear. Thank you, Folake and Seyi for being so supportive, sharp and caring. Thanks to everyone of you dear hard workers at SwiftThink. This is only the beginning!
As I prepare to get on the plane this evening that will take me back to the United States – which I haven’t visited in three years - I’ll be remembering all the inspirational experiences and new friends I had and met here in Nigeria.
I’ll be looking forward to seeing my husband and daughter whom I haven’t seen since I came here, 34 days ago. I’ll be thinking of my dear mommy whom I haven’t seen during the whole time I lived in Tuscany. And I also can’t help thinking about the people who yesterday boarded Malaysian Flight 17 only to meet with unexpected and preventable tragedy.
Nigerians often tell me how much they love life. Last night’s birthday party certainly demonstrated it in a most joyful way.
I love life too - and want to savor and embrace every second of it because as we all know, life is fleeting.
Let’s encourage one another and unapologetically dance, sing, laugh and celebrate every moment that we can.
I love you, Lagos. See you soon.
Baci!
Gina
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All rights reserved.
Nigeria Diary: The questions I am getting
Besides the ubiquitous, “How do you find your time here in Nigeria?” which I answer at least half a dozen times each day, some probing souls are asking me more pointed questions.
Questions like, “How can you relate to us as a white?”
“Don’t you think policies in the West will not work here?”
As someone who has worked and trained –and even lived – in a variety of places like Indonesia, Cambodia, Tunisia and Egypt, I welcome each and every question from each and every person. I am never offended when someone is straightforward and honest. It’s through the questions, that I can learn more about the person and find ways to overcome his or her concerns.
So, for the record, here are some of the questions and my answers I am receiving here in Nigeria.
- How can you relate to us as a white? It’s more than obvious that my skin color is lighter than most everyone I meet here in Lagos. For example, I sat in service yesterday at a parish of Africa’s fastest growing church, The Redeemed Christian Church of Christ. Did I say “sat?!
I meant to say, I "stood, danced, sang and shimmied" for four hours! The meeting was a party. An encouraging celebration of each other and God. I loved all of it. And yes, I was the only pinky-skinned lady in the hall. After the service, a young man interviewed me for his blog – asking how I got started with my career. I offered some relationship and networking strategies – telling him to make sure to keep in close contact with his favorite professors after he graduates. He hadn’t thought of them as possible relationships, only teachers. We connected on that point. He is young. I am not as young. He is male. I am not. Yes, he has dark skin. I do not. Years ago, when I trained an incredible group of Iraqi women running for office, their country was (as is still now) in the midst of chaos and fear. I couldn’t relate on that level, but I could understand their desires to balance family and career. We were able to find common ground. And that’s the trick. Searching for those common hopes, dreams and fears that link us all together as human beings on the planet, regardless of our different cultures, traditions, backgrounds and even skin tones.
2. Don’t you think policies in the West won’t work here in Africa? Let’s break that down. Which policies? The policy of being thoughtful to your customers, employees or citizens? To considering and providing for their well-being? To holding peaceful, free and fair elections if you call yourself a democracy? Injustices happen everywhere, not just in Africa, and the only way to affect change, is to constantly and consistently expose and push against those injustices. Observers sometimes complain there is not enough investigative journalism here. But as I work with journalists and civil rights organizations in places where there is less than free expression due to a variety of real or perceived dire consequences, I am often impressed there is any level of investigative journalism. I try to encourage the increase, not carp about the short-comings.
3. Can you really teach journalists, you seem very motivational? This was probably my most surprising question, as it didn’t come from a Nigerian at all, but rather from an American who seemed more than skeptical; she seemed down right cynical. Whew!
Of course I try to be motivational. Encouraging. Supportive. Inspirational. Call it what you what. To me, it’s part of what you do as a trainer, as a coach. First, you must try to establish a connection or a relationship. I would NEVER come into a newsroom or any training room for that matter, and immediately launch into how to write better, or how to manage better, or how to stay on message better. What’s the incentive to change, aka work harder, from that approach?
Having once been a working journalist myself, I know that most journalists everywhere are not paid well. We likely got into the field because we liked telling stories. Stories that might make a difference. The way I try to connect with journalists is to re-ignite that flame still burning inside them. To inspire them that their writing - if credible and accurate – might make those differences over time.
I have read in diplomacy circles that relationships are, for some reason, labeled with the jargony impersonal word, “architecture.” As in, “how strong is your architecture with journalists??” Whatever the word, the point remains the same. If you don’t first connect with your audience on some level, they are never going to care about what you say. It’s basic 101 in presentation training lessons for anyone, regardless of your audience’s ethnicity or country-origin.
First you connect. Then you can teach, or inform or persuade. It seems obvious and yet it is too seldom done. Perhaps the obstacles seem too high. But if we spend time building the architecture, the relationship bridges, to get over them, I think the outcomes will be worth the effort.
Yours from Lagos,
Gina
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All Rights Reserved.
Nigeria Diary: Meet the Press
Journalism can impact the course of world history in a myriad of ways. And here in Lagos, I am meeting dozens of journalists who are committed to changing the course of their nation - for the better.
In the past week, as part of our Find Your Edge Leadership and Communication program, I have had the privilege of conducting journalist training sessions at The Nation, the number two newspaper in all of Nigeria, and at TVC News, the first 24-hour news network covering the continent and emphasizes its news-gathering distinction with the tag-line, "Through African Eyes."
My hands-on training takes real stories in the headlines and calls on journalists to completely re-think them. We analyze sourcing methods and verification. We examine how to report from breaking news scenes. We consider ways to add context and perspective. We drill on honing writing skills to become precise and powerful.
Overall, the standard of journalism I have seen so far, has a way to go. Many print articles I read meander and don't ask officials the obvious follow-up questions. I've watched lack-luster reporters and anchors who appear only blandly interested in the stories they are covering.
But these groups I have worked with are different. They are eager to sharpen their skills and push themselves and frankly, in this environment, assume the possible risks.
Like Evelyn, one reporter I worked with - who has been doggedly uncovering injustices for years - which have now evoked enough awareness and outcry that she tells me some officials want to meet with her to talk about ways to craft policy change.
And Mark, the radio broadcaster who shared with me at the end of our session how he is now inspired to not only read the news, but to consider the hopes, dreams and fears of his listeners and to seek ways to provide context around stories to help them better understand ramifications.
Journalism isn't a career you enter thinking you're going to make a lot of money. Our wealth comes from telling real stories that make a difference.
In every society it's the same. For journalists to build credibility and deliver value, they have to learn to be watchdogs, not lapdogs.
The people I have met appear earnest and eager. They are authorities in their business; the people who can influence others to join the cause. To become leaders, not just writers and readers.
Reporting live from Lagos, Nigeria. I'm Gina London. Now back to you.
Copyright 2014 Gina London. All Rights Reserved.