Sylvia's Journal

Despite the cold and remaining snow there was a faint smell of spring today, a thawing and greening that surprised me just when I thought we had gone back to winter. There is still snow on the ground and the white mountains surrounding us are beautiful but the gardeners uncovered tiny little rose bushes (rose babies he called them).

The 4 inch rose stalk sticks that they had put in the heavy clay ground next to our office last fall, in a sheltered sunny spot, then covered with plastic, have sprouted leaves. They have clearly done this before, opening the jerry-rigged greenhouse exactly at the right time and raising the plastic cover by a few inches to give the baby leaves more room.

I had lunch with M’s kids in the day care center, along with the other kids sitting around a plastic table cloth eating their lunch of rice and potatoes with a few small chunks of fatty meat. The youngest child is Suleiman, now 5 months old who was waiting patiently for his meal that required the presence of his mom, who promptly joined us for his and her lunch.

M’s oldest son read me from his notebook, packed in a plastic Sponge Bob case that Qatar airlines had given him. He had drawn a few pictures in his notebook: one of the river Nile (a bright blue blotch that I thought was the view from the airplane), a fish (they ate) and a crocodile (they saw) plus the MC initials that stood for McDonald, possibly the biggest treat of his stay in Egypt (‘Kabul should have one,’ he noted).

He wrote about their trip to Abu Simbel (boring and tiresome), a fight with his brother (quickly made up), his mother’s headache and a trip to the souvenir bazaar. He also wrote about the four-star tourist hotel with its tasty breakfasts. He did not write that the hotel quickly emptied as the revolution took on steam further north.

After lunch we pulled rank. In order to solve a 9 months old attempt to obtain a license from the government to import pharmaceuticals on the controlled substances list (for mental health and trauma care) I went with my drug unit program manager to the ministry. Exasperated because of endless petty requests and having to do letters over and over, and continuing to be strung along, we jumped to the near top of the hierarchy and brought our funder along. Most of the meeting was conducted in Dari but I got the gist as body language revealed quickly that our decision had paid off. A rush of phone calls should get this resolved quickly although when I asked, in my best Dari whether the issue had been resolved it was met with an ‘incha’llah.’

Back in the office I welcomed Bill back to Afghanistan, one of our frequent consultants who has become a good friend, and then attended an excellent presentation about drug management by staff from that unit. We ran out of time but the discussion was fascinating and I learned more about this topic I knew nothing about two years ago.

Our snowman, on whom I have projected all the bad happenings of the last few weeks, is melting and nothing more than a 1 meter tall blob, revealing around him grass that is turning a little greener each day.

But the blob holds still some very bad things. We think R. may be on her way to safety, out of this country, as I write this; but the shelters are still under attack. Please click on this link to sign a petition to the government and forward it to others. We need to mobilize an angry outcry to stop the Afghan government in its tracks, to make it realize that its plans are bad for women. We do have some leverage after all with all our tax monies streaming into this country.