Sylvia's Journal

Julie left before the sun came up. By now she will be getting ready to board her plane in Dubai to DC. Going home always is the best part of travelling. I got up early to see her off and offered her our Cape Ann Savings Bank travel mug filled with Peet’s coffee to get herself into shape during the car ride to the airport, the first leg of her very long trip to Boston.

It was a holiday for us because of International Women’s Day, which, I am learning is celebrated here more like Mother’s Day (all mothers are women but not all women are mothers, so this day is more inclusive). There is an expectation of gifts. When I first met with the women in the office and suggested we celebrate the day at MSH they immediately asked about gifts for themselves. I was taken aback and slight annoyed. I think I said something like ‘it’s not about you!’ But now I realize it is about them and all their Afghan sisters.

Despite the holiday that closed our office (but not the government) I had two meetings set up at the ministry. Being in the neighborhood I decided to make a visit to the physical therapist whom I had not seen for three weeks: first Axel was sick, the week after it was me and yesterday I was supposed to have gone to Badakhshan.

The ride into town took longer than ever – something important was happening in town but the driver could not explain it in English and it was too sophisticated for my limited Dari vocabulary. The entire center of Kabul was tied in one huge traffic knot in each and every direction. The usual 20 – 30 minute ride took nearly one a half hour.

Because we were going so slowy, and a different route than normal, I ended up having a long and contemplative ride watching the Kabulis going about their business. I wondered about the lives of all these people I saw: had they gotten worse or better? What losses had they endured, what hopes did they still have?

At the PT office I realized that during my three weeks absence my Dari had improved so much that we could actually have a real conversation as opposed just asking about children and naming body parts. The staff told me they missed their English practice with me – they are rarely among English speakers and so I fill a gap. I warned them all that Dari was no longer a secret language and that I could now figure out what they were talking about.

I was chided by my PT for not doing my exercises as religiously as I should and that it was no wonder my right arm is still very weak. It’s hard to keep doing these exercises, I explained her, if you don’t see much progress. I felt just like when the dentist asks if I floss regularly (when I haven’t).

At the ministry I visited for the first time the section that Peter calls ‘the ghetto,’ and that has never received any donor money for paint jobs, heat or internet connections. It’s a rundown place compared to the DG offices in the other part of the ministry building, the one that is painted blue and purple on the outside. On that side there are offices in which you can actually get work done and receive visitors.

I met with two of the five presenters at the upcoming strategic health retreat in order to fine-tune their presentations, design the rest of their session, focus the group work and do some leadership coaching about aligning and mobilizing people and commitment before the actual event, three weeks from now.