Sylvia's Journal

I woke up from having just resolved a word riddle that started with the words, ‘a notoriously famous cab…’ I was pleased with my accomplishment – seeing something hidden and yet so obvious in a jumble of meaningless words. I was about to hand in my solution to a gentleman who would determine whether I had succeeded when I woke up. Now, I will never know.

The puzzle in the dream was a continuation of a computer puzzle: files I had made to disappear from my computer screen. I did not delete them but can’t find them, and with that I undid hours of work. I went to bed still searching in my mind where I could have dragged them to. It has something to do with profiles and I hope that our IT Mamadou will help me retrieve them today. The alternative is redoing much of what I did last week which creates a slight bout of panic.

Yesterday was my first day without a sling. I felt both liberated and a bit anxious and new aches and pains have appeared. The latter may come from the new PT exercises that were added at the end of yesterday’s session. They are a bit more stretching than the original set. 

After PT I went to see the hand doctor. Axel accompanied me to the doctor so he can ask questions I forget; we have discovered that 4 ears and 2 brains are always better when dealing with doctors. The doctor confirmed carpal tunnel syndrome in my left hand/wrist. He offered to slot me in and operate, if I really wanted to, tomorrow. I must admit I considered it but then realized that with two recovering arms there was no way I could carry anything on my long trip to Kabul, so I declined and, in my mind, penciled in a date just before Christmas.

We then drove to Cambridge to attend a presentation by Razia Jan, the Duxbury Rotarian and tailor who we met in Kabul as well as Ghia, the arch-connector who we had only met by email and who has introduced us to all sorts of interesting people in Kabul, Razia Jan one of them. As she had a habit of doing, Razia Jan inspired everyone with her stories about the carpet makers in Bamyian and the girls school outside Kabul.

On our way back to Manchester we were intercepted by Rachel, a breathless ball of energy, a polo player, ex body builder, personal trainer, Rotarian, community organizer, feminist and peacenik as she calls herself. We met at Beverly’s Atomic Café where she rattled off name after name of women activists and others who know that educating women is one of the best development interventions known to mankind. We got more names, websites and contacts that will further embed us in Afghanistan and keep me grounded in what really happens (or does not happen) outside the government-to-government assistance that I will be part of.

Tessa cooked for us as I started to redo the haphazard packing followed by the file disappearing trick that made me dream about puzzles.