Sylvia's Journal

Nearly every week several of our project’s senior managers traipse off to the US compound to meet with those who make our work possible; who dispense the money from US taxpayers in tranches so we can transform it into, eventually, better health care for Afghans. Sometimes they come to us, which they like because it is like a field visit, with real tea and cake, in our beautiful compound on the other side of town but often we come to them, which is quite an undertaking and not for the faint of heart.

In order for us to pass the many layers of barriers we first have to shed all our electronics: pen drives, CDs, computers. We can keep our cellphones a little longer even though they often don’t work as we walk along the half mile of road behind the first line of defense where military vehicles drive to and fro with jamming equipment is in full operation. This is how we make our way to the next line of defense – a good chance to stretch our legs that have very few opportunities to do so the rest of the week.

When we get to the outer wall of the USAID compound (referred to as CAFÉ), across the road from the embassy buildings, we have to wait outside, rain or shine until we are called in, one by one, by a friendly smiling Ghurka. I always greet them with a Namaste which they respond to with an even bigger grin. I wished I knew a few more words in Nepali.

The entrance and exit signs on the doors in and out are frequently switched from left to right and vice versa. “This is to confuse the terrorists,” quipped one of my colleagues. Once inside we put our few belongings through a screening machine, then ourselves. After that we hand in our IDs that are registered in big books by stern looking and heavily armed marines in exchange for a visitors badge, and this only in the presence of a USAID employee with the right color badge.

This has to be organized long before the visit. Since I was supposed to be in Egypt my name had not been registered. I was asked to bring my American passport which allowed me to be vouched for by an American employee with another color badge.

We have to carry our badges clearly visible; no Ghurka will let you further into the inner sanctum if they cannot see it. They take their task very seriously. In fact, everyone takes their security task very seriously because if you don’t you are out or, at best, barked at in a very unpleasant way (I witnessed one such event, not pretty).

Once inside there are white containers as far as the eye can see, surrounded by blast walls on the perimeter and sandbags around each container. Inside is a beehive of activity with badged people walking hither and thither through narrow passageways decorated with posters of success stories, smiling beneficiaries of USAID support, local artifacts, nice carpets and the life size pictures of the bosses: Obama, Hillary, the VP and the USAID director who are flashing their white teeth and broad smiles at anyone who stops to look them in their eyes.

We are ushered into small windowless offices with large flat screen conference screens, more posters of projects and unlimited supplies of bottles of water (Coca Cola inc.) instead of the habitual way that Afghans welcome their guests (we are of course not considered guests, we are contractors, accounting for our deeds and seeking guidance). I don’t think they have a kitchen and kitchen staff like we do. They have a kitchen and restaurant a few containers over, where flown-in US cafeteria food is served.

We discuss strategic and tactical issues, blockages that we ourselves cannot break through and provide information about what is happening outside ‘the bubble,’ in the real Afghanistan where life continues in its own ways. We leave with promises of help, new assignments, questions to answer or concept papers/workplans/budgets to provide. We never leave empty-handed and we never leave our donor empty handed either. And then we retrace our steps, get our stuff back and walk back to the car through various barriers for the long drive home.