Sylvia's Journal

We went out for dinner two nights in a row. Steve and I are more inert when it comes to dinner – we’d be fine just putting several leftovers on our dinner plates, nuke them and eat sitting around the large dining room table. But MP wants to get out. Steve and I are the followers. Yesterday that also included Hans. I had proposed we eat at home – after all the cook had made some nice dishes. But I put them in the over too early and too long. By the time everyone was ready to serve the food had shriveled up to about half its size and looked less than appetizing. It was not hard for MP to convince everyone to go out.

We piled into a car with two robust looking gentlemen in the front seat – our protectors – and drove across town to the area where the MSH office used to be, called Wazir Akbar Khan (WAK) and where many of the restaurants are that cater to foreigners. Yesterday we went for Iranian food: enormous amounts of meat, lamb chops, yohgurt, crusty rice and the hooka with pomegranate shisha as after dinner entertainment.

It was Hans’ last night with us. We hope that by now he is in Dubai and not stuck in Kandahar, a stop on the way to Dubai. We all miss him. Back at home we made silly photographs of Hans with his wooden shoes slippers in a blue burka and we dressed Steve up in a burka as well with one of the many headdresses and shields he bought on Chicken street. He looked like Ivan the Terror.

Today Said and his surrogate dad and (real) uncle arrived from the northeast and there was much to celebrate in addition to MP’s birthday. We all piled into the car again, now to an Indian restaurant, again in WAK. MP and I ordered a glass of wine (so we could toast) and Said kept looking at us, waiting for us to get tipsy and act silly – that is what he has either learned or seen – he explained that people who drink wine throw things off the table or fall with their faces in their food. We explained to him that you have to drink many glasses for that – we have each only one – and so we disappoint him. He doesn’t let us clink our wineglasses to his tea cup though, as if the wine affliction he predicts is contagious.

Since this is now the second weekend I am spending time with them I can quote my newly learned Dari proverb: yak roz did dost, dega roz did byadar (first you are friends, then brothers) and I shake hands with my new brothers; big grins all around.

At the restaurant we entertained ourselves by comparing animal sounds in Dari, American and Dutch – it’s always great fun to do this in multilingual company; we also sung happy birthday to MP and had Said guess our ages. MP comes out well, much younger than I. Without any hesitation he declares me old and Steve about the same age. It must be the grey hairs, which also means wise of course.

A series of accidental things happened yesterday, such as peter Block’s book the answer to how is yes practically falling off the bookshelves while I was looking for a present for MP’s birthday in our lending library; and some emails from Joan about recent blogs about senior leadership.

I think the universe provided me with those resources to get me out of my funk and my moping about yesterday’s meeting getting off the rails. With those I was not only able to consider my own contributions to it but also what to do different today.

I have gotten very sloppy about applying Christopher Alexander’s pattern language – which I reformulated years ago to apply to groups, and usually pay attention to. I did notice that the room we are holed up in each day is messy with very little light coming in through the grimy and barred windows, and piles of paper and debris in the corner. It’s a bit of an energy drain.

It does not have to be a perfect room and some features cannot be changed but any place can be enhanced, spirit wise. Yet I left out my usual colorful quotations and poems on the wall and I disconnected the music after I asked my colleague whether I had the right music. When he said I had not I concluded that music was out. This morning I learned that music is fine. Not everyone has the same opinions about music and just asking one opinion may get you the wrong advice. I had gotten lazy. As a result there was no spirit in the room yesterday and the result should have been predictable to me – may be not to others – but I should have known better.

So today I am in repair mode. I asked Dr. Ali to play music that would be acceptable. I asked my Afghan colleagues who are steeped in local poetry to get me some poems that lift spirits and I am looking for pictures of the Afghan men, women and children that justify the existence of this department in the first place. I am usually better prepared. This kind of last minute grasping at straws is not good for the soul and dos not quite achieve its intended effect – sloppy work is never good but in this case better than none at all. All I managed to get going was the music, and that only for awhile.

Since the official swine flu man is not available the group decided yesterday to educate itself. The family planning director volunteered yesterday and presented what she learned – it’s called self help and it is not all that difficult.

The remainder of the morning session is not mine and I watch it unfold while trying to figure out what plan it follows. I have translators around me and can follow it somewhat so i can steer things a lilttle bit from behind. The rest of the morning consists of a mixture of interventions in Dari and English, with several people taking the lead for this and that and me sitting sometime on the side lines and sometimes standing up front.

We talk about the specific challenges at the top. In private people say different things than in public. In public the problem is not with them but with their bosses; I challenge them on how they can learn from mistakes when they don’t get honest feedback. The women shake their heads up and down, the men sideways – they claim they get honest feedback and learning is easy and straightforward. They are either not seeing the dynamics around them that interfere with learning or they are in denial. I don’t really believe them – just from the way they react to my challenge I can deduce that challenging them from below is pretty courageous, or stupid, or both.

We end on a higher note than yesterday, receive positive and negative feedback from the 8 people who are still with us (most of the women, less of the men). I have no idea what the others are thinking, the ones who left – and whether they left out of frustration or because they were called out.

When lunch arrives all the women leave with their fast food trays. I seek a bathroom but they are all locked. It is weekend at the ministry as of 1 o’clock and the place is deserted. One of the female participants, as a director, has her own toilet stall (one of two on the ground floor). It has its own separate lock. She cannot open the lock and I tell her I’ll use the dirty public stall but she won’t have it. Eventually we get the door open and I step into a stall that is comparatively clean, with toilet paper, running water and a lock, none of which are present in the other stall – mind you, we are talking ministry of health, central headquarters. Of course, what can you expect with mostly men in charge of buildings, designing and building them? I am confident that all this will change when the women are in charge.

Afterwards I am invited to eat with her and another female department chief. The scarf is dropped and intimacies start, even though there are two male secretaries around, but they pay no attention. I hear about the utter frustration of having to prove oneself as a boss, being female, despite superb credentials. It’s a daily struggle for the women in leadership positions who are confiding in me. They are undermined, ignored and bypassed routinely. She receives some technical advice, but it is not about the things she really needs: how to manage recalcitrant or arrogant men who don’t accept her leadership and seem to want to see her fail. I can tell she is hurting deeply. I tell her about pioneers and that she is cutting a path through the jungle – yes, she says, indeed, it feels like a jungle. These women are pioneers, maybe not the very first but closest to the front where the battle lines are still drawn. It will take a few generations, at least I suspect.

Back in the office we are lectured by MP about swine flu – I am starting to become an expert myself. Then I hang around the office for a couple of hours waiting to see if I can meet with key people but they are all busy in other meetings. I sketch out the remaining week of my work and see that every minute is booked in one event or workshop or meeting, most away from the office. This leaves no or very little time for sitting together with my colleagues to debrief, explore, plan, give and get feedback. I am beginning to wonder whether I should postpone my departure.