The Moth Radio Hour: Outside the Box

As a small business owner, my favorite thing about posting a job on LinkedIn is that when I hit post, I clock out and LinkedIn clocks in.

LinkedIn makes it easy to post your job for free, get qualified candidates, and manage them all in one place.

Plus, LinkedIn extends the reach of your job post by allowing you to share it with your network.

And hiring managers that add a hiring frame to their LinkedIn profiles receive two times more qualified applicants.

Go to linkedin.com slash message to post your job for free. Terms and conditions apply.
From PRX, this is the Moth Radio Hour. I'm Sarah Austin Janess.
In this episode, three stories from innovators, people who defy convention. The status quo is just kind of boring sometimes.
Life is more fun and, dare I say, more fulfilling if you invent and then reinvent the future. So today, stories of drones, Ducati motorcycles, and dowry return ceremonies, all in the name of forward thinking.
Our first storyteller, Ian Kerr, told this at a moth main stage in Portsmouth, New Hampshire. Here's Ian.
So I'm a whale biologist. Sounds cool, right? Well, actually, not too bad, but whales are really hard to study.
If you're studying a rhino on the Serengeti, your Land Rover can't sink beneath the sand, you don't get seasick, and when you approach the rhino, it doesn't dive beneath the Serengeti and reappear five miles away. So I was born in Scotland, and I grew up in a small village in Cornwall called Lost Withiel, and it really was lost within the hills, and maybe not the best place for a kid with more questions and answers.

And as a consequence, as I grew up, I actually spent more time building machines, fixing things, dreaming of adventure than I did actually making friends.

And in my 30s, I still hadn't found a real job. I tried, but I just couldn't seem to find a fit.
And I became a whale biologist by accident. Over 30 years ago, I was in Argentina and I met a guy on the beach called Roger Payne.
And Roger's a Payne that founded our organization, Ocean Alliance, and he's a guy that discovered that whales sing songs and when Roger introduced me to the world of whales and whale conservation I thought wow this could be my place so six months later I get this call from Roger and he says Ian would you captain a research vessel to go down and study sperm whales in the Galapagos I'm like Roger I'm in and when I got down there it was everything I dreamed of and these are just you know our ocean brothers and sisters it's just incredible I mean think of this There's over 80 different species of whales, from blind pink dolphins that live in the Amazon to blue whales that are 100 tons with a heart the size of a VW. You know, the largest, most complex mammalian brain doesn't walk on the land.
It swims in our ocean. So Ocean Alliance is what we call a conservation science organization where we collect data to try to affect change.
And one of the things we're really interested in is like a whale health assessment. And we do this assessment by collecting little skin samples, biopsy samples from the whales.

But there's the issue of what we call the observer effect, where the act of collecting the data can change the data.

And let me give you an example.

If I were to chase any of you down the street with a biopsy gun, I'm sure whether I caught you or not, your blood pressure would be elevated.

So I'm in the Gulf of Mexico collecting biopsy samples from sperm whales, and it wasn't going

well.

I kept...

That was actually a slip, but anyway, I can't take credit for that. It wasn't going well.
All right. No, the reality was I just wasn't getting...
Like the whales were diving. We weren't getting there in time.
I felt like I was playing the world's most expensive version of whack-a-mole. But seriously, I was just racing after diving whales, you know.
And it had been a long few days, and the end of one day, you know, the sun's going down, and the last whale dove right in front of me, just out of biopsy range. And I was sitting on the bow of the boat, incredibly frustrated.
and to add insult to injury, I got covered in a cloud of whale snot. Sticky, smelly, fishy stuff.
And as I sat there, exhausted, desperate, and somewhat disgusted, disgusted, I thought, wait a minute. Can we do a whale health assessment by looking at whale exhalations? And whales are actually what they call explosive breathers.
They're breathing out from 60 to 80 miles an hour. And I'd always been like a fixer and a builder, and I'm like, wow, can I build this machine? We'll put some petri dishes on it.
And I can fly to those whales that are just out of range and bring it back. And the petri dishes will have all of this biological information.
I was really excited. I thought, we can do this.
But you know what? With any new tool, when you're really trying to push the boundaries here, I think it's really important that you have a name that best represents the importance and the significance of this

new tool.

So we called it Snotbot.

Guess what?

You won't forget that name.

And actually, that was part of the idea because we're trying to get kids engaged in the environment

to the you won't forget that name. And actually that was part of the idea because, you know, we're trying to get kids engaged in sort of the environment and the wild world.
And what kid doesn't like, you know, snot and technology? Now there's a little problem here in that if you have a new tool with a great name, you can't actually fly it over an endangered species to test it.

So we had to build our own whale surrogates.

All right, so we started with this sort of compressed air gun with a 3D printed whale blowhole, and we called that snot shot.

Well, of course, whales were in the water, so we built this little boat and the platform

and sensors and put snot shot on it. And we called that the snot yacht.
Anybody noticing a little theme here? We didn't actually have a snot-bought space to build this, so we borrowed a converted shipping container and sort of built this robotics lab. And I walked in there one day and I thought of that kid of loss with you.
I looked at all that stuff and I'm like, man, I would have killed to have this stuff to play with. So we started a free robotics club where literally hundreds of kids have since been there.
They've built, they've burnt, they've broken, they've dismantled, and they've created

some amazing machines. And I love the way kids think.
They aren't into these like fixed thought

processes. We are.
You know, one kid came to me and said, I want to build a plane with five wings.

And I'm like, well, you can't do that. And he's like, why not? And I'm like, you know what? Why

not build a plane with five wings? I mean, maybe that'll be the newest thing so we go up to southeast Alaska and there was the snot bot team and man it was amazing there had to be 50 60 whales beautiful weather glac mean, wow, snot on the horizon, snotbot performed

flawlessly. I was really excited, like the tool was working.
And then in the fall of 2016, I get phone call. National Geographic Earth Live.
Can I fly snotbot into the exhalation of a whale on live TV? Now, everybody I know wants to work with National Geographic, so what do you think, I said. Sure, no problem, I can do that.
I didn't think it was going to be easy, but two things came to mind. One, I think the boy from Los Witheo wanted to prove himself, and two, we only needed one whale, right? So the National Geographic show Earth Live is going to be this two-hour show visiting some of the most amazing places on the planet, and we were going to be a part of it.
And that was a really big deal for a small NGO like Ocean Alliance. As I'm sure you can imagine, in those early days when I went to these formal foundations and funders and said, would you fund Snotbot? They didn't quite get the vision, you know, but that's okay.

And I thought, you know, the shoot would sort of be like a revisit to 2016.

It's beautiful weather.

There's 50 whales around.

You know, the sun is shining.

I'm flying my drone.

Hey, Ian, you good?

Yeah, I'm good.

Okay, let's film it.

Get the snot.

Come back.

All right, mission accomplished.

Turned out it was going to be a little bit more complicated than that. So they actually said, OK, we're going to shoot the signal from the boat up to an airplane that's flying over us.
And the airplane will shoot it down to a ground station. And the ground station will shoot it up to the satellite.
So you'll have a 20 square mile box to find the whale. All right, we should be able to do that.
So four days before the show, we arrive in Alaska, and guess what? The weather is terrible. It's howling winds, it's raining, and the whales just didn't seem to be there.
The morning of the shoot, we go out, and the producer comes to me and says Ian we can't fly the plane

so you've got a five square mile box to find a whale I'm like okay I'm thinking one whale one whale and then we're out there in this five mile box and I saw some whales outside of the box I'm like like, live TV. Didn't work.
Didn't work. And then we actually had to do the dress rehearsal, which is flying a drone, but they didn't want me flying the drone because of the torrential rain.
So about 20 minutes before the show, I get handed the death knell. The producer comes up to me and says, Ian, mate, this is like an impossible challenge.
It's just not going to work, okay? So here's what we're going to do. We'll start the show, blah, blah, blah, and then we'll cut to a commercial break, and right after the commercial break, we'll come to you, and you can prep the drone, you can put on your petri dishes and fly it off.
And then we'll cut to another exciting segment. He said, hey, you know what? If you get snot, we'll play it, but not live.
And honestly, I was devastated. I mean, my team had put years of work into this, into an idea that had been criticized at every level, from the name and actually even to the concept.
because if you think about this, the drone blows down and the whale blows up, so would it even work? And on the boat, we were on the boat, we had the National Geographic film team, we had my team, we had the boat team, and everyone was like, yeah, we're going to do this, we're going to make it happen. Man, it was tough.
And the big thing for me was, I actually think that the environmental problems that we face are not going to be solved only through traditional methods. We need people thinking outside of the box, taking risks.
And this risk-taking needs representation, and the representation was going to be Snotbot, and that wasn't going to happen. So, okay, here we go.
4.30, Ian, three, two, one, you're live. Put on the dishes, blah, blah, blah, and we randomly launch Snotbot into the sky.

And you know in those movies where like everything suddenly goes quiet and everything freezes? That's what happened. Everything went quiet.
You could hear a pin drop. And you want to know why? Right in front of the Bloomin' drone, there was a whale.
And then, like, all the sound comes rushing back in, and people are like, a whale! The guy in the studio in New York is like, a whale! Anyway, I fly the snotpot up to the whale, okay? I miss the first blow, I miss the second blow, and it blows one more time before it dived, and I got the snot. People on the boat were crying, were laughing, were cheering, they're like, wow! And my wife called me up and she said, did that really happen? And I'm like, yeah, that really happened.
My friend called me up and said, yeah, did you like miss the first two blows to increase the tension? I'm like, are you freaking kidding me? I wasn't expecting to see a whale. Anyway, Snotbot was seen live by millions of people around the globe and was voted as one of the best segments of the show.
Since that time, thank you, thank you. Since that time we've actually gone to six different countries.
We've collected snot from nine different species of whale. Thank you.
And we are now actually working with over 20 groups around the world, innovating, capturing hearts of minds, and hopefully democratizing marine science. For me, though, the big deal is I'm hoping there are some kids out there

like that kid from Los Witheal

who maybe didn't quite fit in

but were inspired by Snotbot

to get involved with wildlife conservation.

Not only to save whales

but hopefully to save us from ourselves.

That was Dr. Ian Kerr.

Ian's passion for conservation science

has driven him to run expeditions around the globe.

And so far, he's collected samples from nine different species of whales in the world. Ian and his team continue to evolve their drone designs, and in addition to National Geographic, their work has been featured on the BBC's Blue Planet Live and the equator from the air.
He's even spoken in front of the full UN General Assembly in the Great Hall, addressing the need for innovative ocean research, and he used SNAPBOT as a case study. He's also a jokester and the life of the party in moth green rooms whenever he tells a story.
You can see footage from his travels, truly incredible whale photos,

and learn more about Snapbot if you go to our Radio Extras page at themoth.org.

By the way, we met Ian when he called our pitch hotline with a very short version of this story,

and I called him back to develop it. If this story makes you think of some of your own, tell us.
You can find

information on how to pitch us at themoth.org. After our break, a woman tells us why she

refuses to be called young lady when the Moth Radio Hour continues. Thank you.
The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX.

This is the Moth Radio Hour from PRX.

I'm Sarah Austin-Geness, and this episode is all about new ways of looking at the world and broadening your mind. Carolyn Meyer, our next storyteller, is the kind of 80-plus-year-old who actively defies almost every stereotype associated with growing old.
She introduced herself to us while we were deep in COVID and not in theaters, and she'd leave

messages telling me things like, Sarah, call me back. I'm getting up there, you know.
I would love

to tell my story before I die. Carolyn told this at our annual gala, The Moth Ball, where we celebrate

all of the moth's programs and stories of the year, so in the background you'll hear some plates and

forks and general merriment. Here's Carolyn year, so in the background you'll hear some plates and forks

and general merriment. Here's Carolyn Meyer, live at the Moth.
The year I turn 80, which is about seven years ago.

I walk

into my neighborhood bar

and the bartender

says I walk into my neighborhood bar,

and the bartender says,

what can I get for you, young lady?

He's smiling.

I said, well, I'll have a glass of red wine,

but please don't call me young lady.

You know, whether it's a bartender

or a security guard at the airport or even my doctor, they don't call a 25-year-old young lady, but they call me young lady because I'm obviously not young. I haven't been a young lady since Richard Nixon was in the White House.
Now, maybe they think it's flattering or cute.

Well, it's not. It's condescending.
Because of my white hair, they make assumptions about me. They have expectations.
They deny the wholeness of who I am. So the bartender pours me a glass of Pinot Noir and he says, oh you know, age is just a number.
Well it isn't just a number. Back in the day it meant I was old enough to drive a car and a few years after that to walk into a bar and order a drink.
But when I hit my 80s, age took on a whole new meaning for me. I've been divorced twice, widowed once, but you know, I still think I have a whole lot of living left to do if I'm willing to step outside my comfort zone and take some risks.
So, I sign up for online dating. You know, I have a pretty good idea of the kind of guy I'd like to meet, you know, a sapiosexual.
A man who thinks the sexiest part of a woman is between her ears. I decide not to lie about my age.
Low maintenance compensates for high mileage. And I write what I think is, you know, an intriguing profile, and I post it with some, you know, recent pictures, and the algorithms kick in.
You don't smoke. You both like dogs.
You both lift weights. What more could anyone ask for? So, you know, I start meeting some of these guys for coffee dates, and they're pleasant enough, but I always feel I'm interviewing a man I don't want to hire for a job he doesn't want to get.
But then along comes Michael. Michael's an architect.
There's a picture, a photograph of him, you know, silver temples at the, you know, good looking guy. And, you know, candid shots of him riding his Ducati motorcycle and strolling through a museum somewhere.
Now, Michael is 10 years younger than I. It doesn't seem to bother him.
It doesn't bother me. So, you know, we make, well, there is a problem.
He lives in Lincoln, Nebraska, and I live in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and, you know, there's about a thousand miles in between there, and that could present some problems, but we're not even thinking about that at the time. We exchange messages through the website and then on our personal e-mails accounts, and then very quickly, we're talking on the phone.
We have a lot to talk about. We talk about the personal stuff, you know, our marriages and our disappointments

and our enthusiasms, our dreams.

Pretty soon, we are talking every day.

Every day.

He calls in the morning and says,

Talking with you is a ray of sunshine in my life.

And he calls in the evening and says,

You are my sweet addiction. Oh, my life.
And he calls in the evening and says, you are my sweet addiction. Oh, my God.
Yeah, I just love that. And who wouldn't? So, you know, these are very intense conversations.
And one night, when I, you know, we've been doing this for a while, and I've really come to trust him and feel comfortable with him,

and I tell him about the mastectomy that I had decades ago,

but how it still affects how I feel about myself as a woman.

We end the conversation and say goodnight,

and Michael sends me a message. My dear Carolyn, you're a strong woman.
I'm growing fond of you, and I want to thank you for sharing something so deeply personal with me. Well, I am growing very fond of Michael.
And so naturally we begin making plans, you know, talking about how we're going to meet. Michael has an idea.
He has to go to Kuala Lumpur on an architectural thing. He's the lead architect on a shopping center that's being built there.
On his way back, he will stop off in Albuquerque and we'll spend some time together and get to know each other on a real basis and see where this is taking us. Well, I am so excited about this, but I am also apprehensive.
When we actually meet and he sees me in the flesh, is he still going to be attracted to me? I mean, you know, the wrinkles, the flab, the mastectomy scars. But, you know, we proceed with this plan.
He flies to Malaysia. And we still continue to talk every day because we figured out this 14-hour time difference.
And he tells me about the delicious Malaysian food and he talks about the translator he's hired and the engineers and he has all sorts of funny stories to tell. It's almost like I'm on this journey with him.
And so, you know, I begin to make plans about, you know, what we're going to do. I get a haircut and I buy some new underwear and I plan the meals that I'm going to cook for him and, you know, the trips I'm going to take him around New Mexico.
I am really excited about this. The morning that he has to leave, he calls me, and he sounds terrible.
Michael, what's wrong? He says, oh, I'm down at the port at the customs house, and I'm waiting to sign off on some equipment, specialized equipment, that we need for this project. And the customs people won't release it to me because they haven't paid the customs fees.
Michael, what are you going to do? He says, Carolyn, you know I'd never ask this of you if it weren't that my whole career is tied up in this. Could you possibly lend me some money to pay those fees? I promise I'll pay them back as soon as I get back to Nebraska.
Well, of course, Michael. Of course I'll have.
How much do you need? $50,000. 50 grand? Michael? I don't have $50,000.
My problem solving kicks in. Well, call the bank in Nebraska.
Call your architectural partners. Call the shippers of the equipment.
He has a reason why none of this will work. Well, he says, could you make it $30,000? Well, as the dollar number dropped, the red flag went up.
There were probably red flags before, but I didn't see them, or maybe I didn't want to see them, but all of a sudden, everything is crystal clear. His plan to come to visit, being his sweet addiction.

Who he says he is, none of it is true. Well, no, Michael, no.
And I hang up, end the call, that's that. Then I go to Google.
Well, might you ask why I didn't do this in the first place? And I enter his name and, oh, I know, add fraudster to it. Up pops his rap sheet.
He's done this before, more than once. I am not his first sweet addiction, as it turns out.
The photograph of the good-looking guy with the silver temples, there's a Google thing for that, too. That's Peter McCallum, an Australian movie star.
So I report Michael to the dating site, and he is banished.

Well, I'm beyond disappointed.

I'm embarrassed that I let it go on for as long as it is.

I was fooled for as long as I was. I am also extremely pissed.

But, you know, I get over it.

I move on.

I just... I was fooled for as long as I was.
I am also extremely pissed. But, you know, I get over it.
I move on. I get back to writing again.
And then I think, you know, maybe I should put myself out there, take another risk, step outside the comfort zone, do something. And so I sign up for an improv comedy class.

And a few months later, I'm back at that same bar doing stand-up.

And I will confess to you that it's pretty raunchy. And yet the audience doesn't know what to make of it.
Neither does the bartender. And then I go on and I develop a one-woman show and perform that and I do another one.
I keep putting myself out there taking the risk.

Well, time goes on, and you know,

you think that I would have learned with the Michael debacle to stay away from online dating,

but what the hell, give it another shot.

So last year, you know, I signed up again,

and along comes Robert. Robert is a photographer He lives in Albuquerque Turns out we met before He came to see one of my performances I knew over that first cup of coffee That here was a man who really looked at me.

He looked at me, he sees me for who I have always wanted to be seen.

He sees the wholeness of me.

Tomorrow, I'll fly back to Albuquerque,

and Robert will pick me up at the airport, and we'll see where this takes us from here. Thank you.
That was Carolyn Meyer. Carolyn has written more than 60 children's books to date, and her first solo show called, you guessed it, Don't Call Me Young Lady, opened in Albuquerque, New Mexico, where she has lived for the past four decades.
She says, it proved that I could stand on stage for over an hour and hardly ever forget my lines. And dear listener, Carolyn and Robert married one year after their first date on the day before Carolyn's 87th birthday.
To see the photo of their wedding day with Carolyn in a beautiful blue silk tunic, eating waffles with Robert and drinking champagne

and doing things their way. Go to themoth.org.

After the break, a woman in Kisumu, Kenya,

re-envisions her life when she attends a ceremony where she must return her dowry.

When the Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts, and presented by PRX.

You're listening to The Moth Radio Hour from PRX. I'm Sarah Austin-Geness.

Sometimes, in order to think outside the box, you need to write yourself a new story. Our last storyteller, Rosalyn Orwa, grew up in Wagoma, a small gulf village near Kisumu, Kenya, on the shores of Lake Victoria.
And that's where this story takes place. The story starts with a dowry refund ceremony, which is extremely rare.
For anyone who doesn't know, dowry is a cultural practice in Kenya and many other African countries, where the groom's family gives gifts of animals and sometimes money to the bride's family. And while the practice is evolving, it remains significant in some societies.

With that, here's Rosalyn Orwa,

live at the Moth in New Bedford, Massachusetts.

When I was in my 20s,

I returned to my rural village,

to my home in Western Kenya

to attend my own dowry refund ceremony. You see in my community, dowry price once paid settles a woman into her marital home forever, in life or in death in most cases..
And it's conned upon strange, almost a taboo, for goats and cows paid as delivery price to be refunded to a suitor. In my case, it It was two goats and two cows that became a refundable gift.

Because in my community... It was two goats and two cows that became a refundable gift.

Because in my community, a woman's worth is measured by the number of children she births. I did not give birth to any child.
Hence, this cultural divorce. the eight hour bus drive to my home

to my Hence, this cultural divorce.

The eight-hour bus drive to my home, to my widowed mother,

was filled with a lot of fear and unspoken pain.

Because three weeks prior to this trip,

I chose to walk out of my marital home for good.

A home I had shared for three and a half years.

Thank you. I chose to walk out of my marital home for good.
A home I had shared for three and a half years. And what befell me were faithful events that would take a toll in any human spirit.
I had just had two surgeries close by. One was endometriosis and this one ectopic pregnancy.
But it wasn't the scars on my stomach that were most painful. My losses and my pain and my grief, no words could be put to it.
But I was also afraid of something else. What the community would say and particularly what my mother would say.
So when I arrived and my mother made that a long prayer, she often prayed, I bowed in shame, literally. As we waited for the collector's party to arrive, my mother had a slight argument with my uncle, who had wanted he be the one to lead that ceremony.
My mother made it clear in my hearing that it was her sole responsibility to set her last-born daughter free. So when the collector's party arrived,

a group of three men,

she was summoned to come to the front door.

She walked in her full power and authority

like a woman who knew her place.

I must admit, I admired her.

Quickly, they greeted her.

She did not respond to their greeting.

Instead, she pointed to the male relatives

manning those two cows and two goats

to release them towards the gate, and they did.

The elderly man of the party, leader of the party,

quickly shook my uncle's hands

and muttered a quick,

it's over, it's over. And off they went.
I was standing at the door. And I said loudly to no one in particular, who really takes back Daori? And could I have had my own children? would they have taken the animals back.

They all had me, but no one responded. Instead, my mother went to sit back behind the house under that tree where she read her Bible.
This ceremony was attracting villagers, especially women from the nearby homestead. Some were helping themselves to the snack that was at the veranda that the visitors did not touch.
Others were murmuring in low tones, looking at me, pointing at me with their noses, the way people do when they consider you different than themselves. My uncle sat in our living room, throwing glances at me, bowing his head down, perhaps also feeling my shame.
So I decided to get myself busy. I took the last night's dishes and went to clean them at a rack near my mother was seated outside.

I was hoping to catch a conversation.

My mother's best friend arrived, a woman I had known in the church.

And she began to question my mother why her prayers were not long enough,

deep enough, strong enough for God to bless her last born child with a child of her own.

My mother did not say anything back to her. She went on and on.
My mother said nothing back. I was cleaning those plates, putting them on that wooden rack that my father had built years ago.
That rack had termites eaten on one side. It was slanting, falling apart.
I was falling apart, just like that rack, listening to the woman question my mother about me. Two days went by with an awkward silence in our house, and the villagers kept on coming to still trigger conversation with my mother.
She did not respond to any of them. So I went into her bedroom that second day in the morning.
She was cleaning the floor, sweeping those corners that children often don't clean when they're asked to clean the house. And I stood at the door and asked her, Mama, why did you not say anything back to your best friend? She heard me.
She did not look up or say anything. I said, Mama, I know you hear me.
Why did you not say at least to your best friend? Forget the other villagers. Why did you not say anything back to your best friend? You are a teacher.
You know it is endometriosis. It causes women infertility.
You could have defended me. I am your last born child.
She slowly lifted her head and looked my way. Caught my eyes and said, what is there to tell them? There is nothing to tell them.
Give me a new story to tell them. Use the committee in your head.
The committee in your head was a common statement in our household. Six of my sisters and I were familiar with it.
It meant you are the

treasurer, the secretary, the chairperson, and the member. You are to come up with the best decision and show it in practice.
We had heard it too many times, so I knew what she meant. I grabbed my yellow notebook

from on top of the cabinets

in her bedroom

and I went and sat under that tree. Under that tree where she had prayed life upon my soul when I got back a few days ago.
She had told me, seated under the trees, that life was lived in the future with the lessons of the past. I knew she was on my side.
So I began to journal my losses in my own handwriting, in my notebook. I had lost a marriage, perhaps love.
I had lost a business and an income. I had lost a job and a chance to advance my career.
I was also losing parts of my body, but I was still alive. So I questioned myself in my notebook, where were women like me? What was their story? What were they doing? And where could I find them? so that evening when a male cousin who knew my situation

came by for dinner, I asked him if he knew women like me, women in my village who lived with infertility. He gave me a list of five.
Two of these women, I had known them in the church and in the village market. Coincidentally, they were called Margaret.

So the next day, he walked me into the first Margaret's home.

It was about lunchtime.

She was preparing a meal to serve two children she was caring for.

And when she saw me, she ran to her doorstep

and hugged me in places I needed to be hugged.

Ushered us into her living room, served us a cup of tea and a snack alongside those children.

And quickly those children went back to school.

And when we were left alone, I asked her, do you also not have children of your own?

And she said, yes.

Those two belong to my deceased sister.

I care for them. She shared with me how she had lived with infertility and what her experiences had been.
We quickly left to the second Margaret's home, which was also just nearby. It's a small village.
It's a walking distance. We found her seated under the tree with some women

who knew my story. I had made

the village gossip.

When they saw

me, they threw the look,

pointed with their noses,

and quickly bid their goodbye.

Margaret instinctively

knew why I was there.

And she shared with me her story, how everybody in her family had passed away. She was caring for five orphans and often going to the village meeting to defend the land rights of those children.
I tell you, those two women gave me a glimpse how women in my community lived with infertility. So immediately I invited them to come to my mother's kitchen the next Saturday.
And they came. Two of my sister-in-laws, who are also widows, came with their children.
That Saturday, we cooked a large pot of meal, laughed and told stories, and fed 17 orphans. While we were cooking, my mother was still seated there, throwing glances how her firewood was going down, her cooking oil, her salt.
But I did not mind her look. She had wanted a new story.
I gave her one. After all, she had said, use the committee

in my head. I had used it.

For me, it was

the intimate stories we told.

How the women laughed

at all the demeaning names they called us.

The one who's umbe is dry.

The one who's umbe is closed.

How they laughed.

The one with an evil spirit and shall never have

children. The one who committed a sin that baza from having children.
How they laughed. The one with an evil spirit and shall never have children.

The one who committed a sin that baza from having children.

How they laughed.

And when I showed them how women were pointing at me with their noses,

they had known the same kind of stigma.

And they told me I would be okay.

It is that soul sisterhood conversation.

A bond, a tribe of women who understood how to live with their infertility in my community. I found my tribe.
And what began with one daughter giving her mother a new story became a group of women showing another woman how to heal. When I showed them the scar on my stomach, that long scar where women carry children home with, and because it was ectopic pregnancy, I bear it for life with no child, they told me it would heal.
Indeed, I began to heal. so what began with the daughter giving her mother a new story has become a project and a school that supports 150 children daily and empowers more than 8,000 women in my community.
Today, I am a mother. Not the kind of mother my mother who had seven children of her own was.
No, not that kind. I am a mother.
Not the kind of mother my mother who had seven children of her own was. No,

not that kind. I am a mother who will not bury any umbilical cord, nor go into labor pains.
I labor differently. I labor to provide love, fees, support, food, accommodation.
I provide emotional support

just like biological mothers do to their children. food, accommodation.
I provide emotional support

just like biological mothers do to their children.

I am a woman using my personal story

to support vulnerable children

and give invisible women their voices back.

Hopefully someday,

my community and the world

will unmother the woman. Thank you.
Thank you. That was Rosalyn Orwa.
Rosalyn told me she once dreamed of giving birth to a child, but now she's woken up every morning by more than 27 young children, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Rosalyn is a graduate of the Moth's Global Community Program, and she encourages others to use storytelling for advocacy to influence their own change.
She's also the founder and executive director of Rona Foundation and the Rona School of Excellence in Kenya. And she's seen these kids she's nurtured receive almost 200 scholarships in the last decade.
The oldest student is now 23 and at a local university.

To see photos of Rosalind surrounded by her children,

head to themoth.org.

If you have challenged yourself to think outside of convention

at a pivotal point in your life,

consider telling your story at The Moth. We could all use a little innovation these days, and we want to hear from you.
Find an open mic moth slam near you through our website, themoth.org, and find us on social media, too. We're on Facebook, at The Moth, and on Instagram, at Moth Stories.
That's it for this episode of the Moth Radio Hour. Thank you for opening your hearts and minds and challenging your way of thinking.
We hope you'll join us next time. This episode of the Moth Radio Hour was produced by me, Jay Allison, and Sarah Austin-Geness, who also hosted and directed the stories of the show.
Co-producer is Vicki Merrick, associate producer Emily Couch. The rest of The Moth's leadership team includes Sarah Haberman, Jennifer Hickson, Meg Bowles, Kate Tellers, Marina Cluche, Leanne Gully, Suzanne Rust, Brandon Grant, Sarah Jane Johnson, and Aldi Casa.
Special thanks to the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation for their support of the Moth's global community program. Moth stories are true as remembered and affirmed by the storytellers.
Our theme music is by The Drift. Other music in this hour from Corey Wong and Bela Fleck, Hot Club USA, and Ariel Besson.
We receive funding from the National Endowment for the Arts. The Moth Radio Hour is produced by Atlantic Public Media in Woods Hole, Massachusetts,

and presented by PRX. For more about our podcast, for information on pitching us your own story,

and we hope you will, and everything else, go to our website, themoth.org.