Sylvia's Journal

I left Holland in the mist in more than one way. The KLM employee who checked my passport spoke in English to me. I told him he could speak in Dutch and shouldn’t he congratulate me with my new president? “Oh, hey, did he win already?” and then, “Yes, it’s a good thing. It will be good for international relationships,” his colleague piped in. “But, that he is black we don’t buy. He is a ‘nep neger.’” This is a Dutch expression that is so politically incorrect that it is painful to translate into English (pseudo negro or worse, pseudonigger). People always think Holland is so progressive, but in some ways it is stuck in small town attitudes that date back to the 50s.

After breakfast with my ex – we had a nice conversation but I am still happy I traded him in for Axel all these years ago – I stocked up on Dutch delicacies at the village market down in the arrival hall, to enhance tea breaks in the Kabul office and our breakfast table in the guesthouse. And then I poured myself a glass of champagne in the KLM lounge. I wished I was brave enough to have made a public toast to our new president – I wanted to shake everyone up and tell them what a big deal it was – but people looked so busy or sleepy that I chickened out and silently toasted to the man, this extraordinary election and the three great speeches he already made.

Once again the plane was full. What are all these people doing in Dubai? The place is advertised as a shopping destination which may explain the many older couples I see; men in new sneakers and women with enormous handbags. I did not see any of the many businessmen that flock to this place awash in money. They were, no doubt, sitting in the business class which covers about half the plane. I had planned to use my miles for an upgrade but the place was full and for the return trip I cannot upgrade until the day I fly (to be arranged by calling a number in Holland. Not so practical if you are travelling from Kabul to Dubai). I will interrupt my return trip in Holland for a couple of days so one uncomfortable night in a plane is manageable.

I called all my siblings to receive their congratulations but caught only one at home before the pilot told us to turn out cell phones off.

And then I was carried on the wings of my iPod’s choral music and dipped in and out of sleep for the 6 hour trip to Dubai. I chose not to heed the call from my conscience which told me, ever so weakly, that I should be preparing myself for the next two weeks. I have few marching orders and am missing critical input from clients so I will have to wing it once I am in Kabul. I will have one weekend and many long evenings to do the design work; the rest of the time I will have to improvise.

I hitched a ride into Dubai center with an American woman and her small daughter from Sacramento. She is African American and, as most others, ecstatic about the elections. She told me she is here about some personal business that included a book about legacies and Arabs and was very personal and I should be looking out in the bookstores. It was all very mysterious. I asked too many questions until it was clear that I was not going to get an answer and I was beginning to feel like an examiner but I was so curious. She paid the taxicab fare and then we split after we checked in to our respective rooms at about 2 AM in the morning.

I watched CNN for awhile to try to catch a glimpse of the victory celebrations but everyone was already on to more pragmatic matters such as the messes Obama inherits and the composition of his cabinet. I watched the young family receive the cheers from the crowd and felt sorry for the girl who will become an adolescent in the White House.

And then I fell back onto my enormous king size featherbed and its multitude of pillows for a short night in this palace-like place, in this odd city. When I come back here in two weeks this luxury will feel both deliciously wonderful and totally obscene.