Sylvia's Journal

Steve and I went to the Indian embassy for our multiple entry visas. Being able to escape to India on short notice is part of our security package. Since the last bombing the Indian officials are requiring foreigners who want a visa to show up in person. We used to send Khalid, the airport gopher for such things. It was people like him who had bad luck at the days that the bombs exploded.

We had to walk passed the barricaded entrance to the Indian embassy, along tall blast walls. Everyone around the entrance to the Indian embassy was very jittery, there was much gesturing and yelling. I don’t blame people for that. It remains a hot piece of property in this part of the world.

Although foreigner visa time is from 10:15 till 12:30 we still weren’t let in by 11:30, strung along by policemen who barked at us to stay away from the entrance. Steve discovered a handicraft store nearby and disappeared while Khalid and I waited in the cold drizzle until we gave up. We returned empty handed, that is, without the visa. We did fill our hands with freshly grilled kebabs from a street vendor and steaming naan straight from the tandoor. It was lunchtime and we wouldn’t be back in time for lunch at the office canteen. It is one of the many treats that makes up for the discomfort of living here (which isn’t all that uncomfortable).

The traffic is intense these days, much like the traffic around shopping malls in the US around Christmas time. Eid is in the air. You see people carrying boxes with cookies and sweets everywhere and the women are cooking up a storm, according to their husbands who are my colleagues. It is like a five day Thanksgiving holiday filled with visits and good food.

The beggars look more desperate than ever, especially now with the cold rain drizzle and the mud everywhere. The worst to watch are the shivering little girls with their outstretched hands. They look exactly like the poor matchstick girl in one of Grimm’s stories. I don’t think I will ever know how to deal with beggar women and children, especially in bad weather.

After a brief interlude at the office it was time to get back in the car and once again across town for our weekly meeting with USAID. I learned about millions of contraceptive pill cycles languishing in our store rooms that we cannot give away because of US government regulations that were created to prevent contraceptives to be forced upon hapless women. Yet many women and agencies here want them, the government is asking for them. The pills are expiring soon and so we are shipping them to Pakistan and Jordan where they want them; this is costly, cumbersome and slow; some pills may expire along the way while unwanted babies get born right here, one after another. Our US colleagues would be held personally liable if any hapless woman forced to contracept would initiate a lawsuit. Maybe I don’t get this, but it makes no sense.

On our way out of the US containers back into the cold I watched with pity the Afghan and Nepali soldiers hired to protect the US compound. My hour wait at the Indian embassy in the drizzle suddenly didn’t seem so bad anymore compared what these guys have to put up with, in full combat gear, for hours on end. The boredom would kill me before the cold.

After another hour and a half ride back to the office a few of us remained to interview an African candidate for a position on our team, by video conference, in Cambridge. It was an interesting conversation – I like these group interviews but with the nine and a half hours difference, it makes for a very long day, fourteen hours nonstop. This was going to be just a quick post before I tumble into bed.