Sylvia's Journal

I am jumping right into the fray: imagined emergencies that mobilize the energies of many of our most senior staff, here in Kabul and in Cambridge. There are assumptions embedded in the urgent calls for action that are not, and probably cannot be, questioned, because of the high levels of powers involved. This is common practice in most countries of the world, including the US; we too obey when power tells us to jump through this or that hoop. And so we are busy jumping to make sure that, what some of us believe are imagined, and unquestionable consequences, don’t happen.

In between all of this we are chasing deadlines for the work plan review process that got Steve and me sitting in front of a database entry screen fixing errors of thought, grammar and spelling. We labored our way through 35 pages of activities typed in tiny letters, that spell out what everyone plans to be doing starting next week.

Steve and I, being the most senior technical staff, were responsible for getting the best possible draft to Boston by 5 PM our time, when Boston starts its workday. But when you are thirsty, hungry and tired, and mosquitoes are pestering you under the desk, the clearheadedness we were supposed to bring to the task left something to be desired. It’s good we were in this boat together. This reminded me of the title of a quotation book I got from the Hubers a few weeks ago: don’t forget to sing when you are in the life boat. As it so happens, Steve and I love to sing, and so we kept each others’ spirits up.

By the time we got home, itchy from mosquito bites, bleary-eyed and hungry, we had been in the office for 12 hours, non stop, except for a short break for lunch. “Is it always like this?” I asked Steve. “Sometimes,: he responded. He often works 11 hours because the Boston work day starts when our day is over. But without spouses waiting for us at our guesthouses, there are no natural breaks on the work. This is not the case for our Afghan colleagues who are driven home to their families in company buses at 3:30 PM on the dot.

After lunch I met a potential Dari teacher. Although he is currently an English teacher I had to bring in a translator to get him to articulate his teaching philosophy and process; he did not understand the question, even when translated in Dari. The book he uses is the one I am studying from when not using my computerized flash cards. Other than that I did not get a good idea of his approach. I asked him to send me a proposal for lessons and cost attached for various scenarios of intensity (2 days a week, 3 days, 4 days). He kept asking me to name a price, which I refused since I have no sense of the cost of such lessons. He may not be my man.

In the meantime I have asked everyone in the office to be my teacher. Lunch time is like a linguistic field trip and today I learned the word for rice, among others. I tend to eat with the men (foreign women are like a third gender). I am the only female. My female Afghan colleagues eat in a separate room that is hidden behind a curtain. If I want to socialize with them I’d have to go behind the curtain too.

So far, my fantasy of knitting at night or playing the ukulele has not been realized; but then again, I’ve only been here for less than a week.