Sylvia's Journal

On paper, or even in conversation sitting around a table, things always appear more clear cut or obvious than in real life, once the paper is read and the chairs have been pushed back for action. I find myself annoyed with little progress by this person or that person. But then, when I sit when them and talk the complexity of what we are trying to do here emerges in full bloom.

With the new USAID strategy of letting the Afghan government (as if it was one person) decide how to spend the US government contributions to the development of the country, we may solve the problem of ‘imposed’ initiatives and ideas. But what we end up with may not be the kind of initiatives that are badly needed, or services for the people without voice (usually women and children). We don’t know this yet but it is possible.

I talked with one of my colleagues about the little progress that has happened in some of the departments we are working with and expressed my impatience. He responded something like this, “well, we have moved a few inches. If we hadn’t tried we wouldn’t have moved at all.” I was wondering whether I should count my blessings and be grateful for those few inches or fire someone for having produced too little.

There is a time horizon that we are beholden to that assumes that significant results can be achieved in one year intervals and that each interval’s result adds up to the next and will eventually produce the massive transformations we are after in this country where a significant part of the population is still dwelling in the habits of the Middle Ages.

I couldn’t go to the children’s hospital today because Afghanistan’s president was either coming from or going to the airport. With his enormous cavalcade of dignitaries and men with rifles, such movements always leave the center of the city in a complete state of paralysis. And so I stayed in my office and watched the (wet) snow come down all day long while wondering whether we will get this pediatric triage business going to the point of a routine in a month’s time or not.

Once again my mood fluctuates between joyously recognizing the victory of progress measured in inches and the feeling of despair that sometimes wells up in me when the end result is so very far away in the distance.