Sylvia's Journal

The complexity of the work here can sometimes overwhelm any sense of duty, responsibility, idealism, optimism and what not. Today was such a day. Where to begin? I read the newspaper and it is full of things that didn’t work out as planned, that misfired, that got waylaid with criminal intent, that never got off the ground or that went unnoticed. How about this for a front page headline: Karzai seeks honest US support in anti-corruption drive! (grrr)

The newspaper retains its balance, somewhat, by always having a provincial news page. It is written by, what I assume are the communication people, the PR folks at the Provincial Rehabilitation Teams. They write in good English (unlike most other pages of the newspaper) and their stories are always upbeat, encouraging, heartwarming, optimistic. They write about small do-good projects like pizza parties for the local kids, a visit by women soldiers to women in purdah, a school, a bridge built, and locals doing things for themselves now that the foreigners used to do for them. Often I read that page first, for therapeutic reasons, but today it didn’t help.

Sometimes I can write like that in my blog, and I have done so many times, but not today. Today was a day marked by people second guessing me without asking, by not being asked for my opinion, by walls, things to run into and I came home a bit bruised – the empty house didn’t help, except for Axel’s email about the excitement of the Fourth of July – he is in the parade on one of the floats. I try to imagine him. Me, I am floating on a wave of self pity.

The visit to India on Thursday is timely, a moment of respite, a psychological breather. At first permission was not granted but the decision was reversed, thank god. During my preparations I realized a bit late that I will need to take malaria pills. I have gotten out of the habit and threw away my last Malarone tablets because they were two years past their expiration date. Not something to ignore when dealing with a serious disease like malaria. I have never gotten malaria pills here because the malaria areas are out of bounds anyways. My public health friends in Boston sent me advice on what to take that can be obtained here – doxycycline, bad for the stomach but also bad for the parasite.

Sitting in an airconditioned living room with all but one of my favorite things around me I am floating upwards a bit again. There is much work to be done before takeoff on Thursday and a good night sleep seems just the right thing.

We are preparing for a conference during which we want to showcase the leadership program and the results of a study that seems to indicate some link between our leadership development program and improved coverage of one or another of the priority health services.

Presenting the results in house triggered a heated response from my colleagues – suddenly, after a long period of non interest everyone had an opinion. I had to bite my tongue at times. I took down notes of everything people thought wrong and will use it as part of our preparation for the more public sharing. I am glad I am not a researcher – I have seen similar reactions when other studies were presented. Maybe you have to hang out in academia to be immune to such reactions.

We are starting to prepare for the second workshop of the leadership program with the midwives. It is about six months behind schedule, for a variety of reasons, and falls during the last days of my upcoming trip to India. And so I will this time not sit in the back and coach/advise M and S who are the rookie facilitators – they will thus be thrown into the deep. I am working with them over the next few days to make sure they will do well – I know they can.

There was another explosion, a bomb thrown into a government office not far from our office at the Demazhang traffic circle at the end of our road. It was a minor thing compared to the spectacular Intercon attack but no less worrisome; I didn’t even hear it, just noticed people busy on cell phones responding to worried inquiries or re-assuring family members.

I delivered a small suitcase to a colleague who is travelling back to the US tomorrow and graciously offered to take stuff back to Axel, some clothes and books. I have another pack waiting for the next traveler. The rest will have to wait until our container ships back in the fall.

One of Axel’s SOLA students, Farid, showed up at my house with a friend, Fatima who, like him, returned from a stay with an American family while attending high school. If placing young Afghans with American families and sending them to school for a while has the same results that I saw with these too, we should be sending thousands of them to the US (and, to avoid them skipping to Canada, guaranteeing them a re-entry visa if they return to Afghanistan first before returning to colleges or schools that gave them secured scholarships). What a great deal!

What I saw was a case study in young adult leadership – if we could multiply what these two are doing by a few thousands this country would be on its way back to normalcy soon.

Upon their return the two approached the principal of a girls high school from which one of them graduated, to ask permission for introducing tennis as a third option for girls who can now only choose basketball or volleyball as their school sport. Farid had taken up tennis at his high school in Maine and sees an opportunity. His coach assured him that the International Tennis Federation would be interested in getting Afghans hooked on this sport. His enthusiasm was contagious and I immediately launched an appeal on facebook for getting Afghans to Wimbledon by 2050.

The principal thought it a good idea, the Ministry of Education thought so too, its engineers approved the site, Farid pulled down the specs from the internet, lined up a contractor, negotiated the cost of a net and rackets/balls down from their foreigner prices with a local vendor. They are now waiting for the remaining 500 dollar to come in to purchase the building materials. Labor will be provided by their friends. I offered to help – bringing in 500 dollars should not be too difficult.

I marveled at their energy, vision and drive. We brainstormed about how to get a fence or netting around the court, a considerable expense – but wait, wouldn’t the military have some of that just sitting around? We racked out brains for connections with people in the military. Farid’s hairdresser in Maine has a daughter who is here in uniform – a start; and Fatima knows someone here who knows someone in the military – another start. If ever one doubted the importance of networking, we proved these doubts to be baseless. Although there are no results yet, the rush of energy about possibilities gave everyone hope and yet more energy. That’s the neat thing about vision.

In my Dari class I started in a third grade public school textbook. I feel sorry for the 9 year olds who have to learn this way. The first three lessons are all religious and with words that are more appropriate for 11th graders than 3rd graders, with pictures of the Kaba in Mecca, the Mosque in Medina, printed on cheap paper in stark black and white that allows for no nuances. The whole lesson doesn’t allow for nuances. The lessons have questions (what do you see in the picture) that leave nothing to the imagination and groupwork that basically ask kids to read back what they read in the text. The whole things sharply contrasting with Farid and Fatima’s approach to life and learning which is all about curiosity, experimentation and the pursuit of a vision.

I woke Tessa up to congratulate her on her 26th birthday and thought back to that joyous event all those years ago when Axel burned the croissants in the birth center’s oven that locked for cleaning and incinerated them, which brought the fire trucks out while I was laboring heavily.

I wanted to catch her before preparations for her customary birthday beach party are well on their way. Apparently it is a 10+ day in Manchester by the Sea, with high tide at 1 PM – add to that one’s best friends (called in among other things through facebook) and all should be a most joyous occasion. I tried not to be too sad to miss it but of course I am. I toasted my non alcohol beer to her continued health and happiness and, instead of croissants, baked myself a Lebanese thyme pizza (mana(q)ishe) that did not incinerate nor brought the fire trucks to my house. Some things do improve over time.

Yesterday’s newspaper showed a picture of a would-be suicide bomber, ‘clad in lady-dress’ according to the caption, who was caught on his way to Kapisa with a bag full of explosives. The picture shows what looks like a mentally disabled man, his capture, despite his ‘lady dress’ suggesting this may well have been the case. If not his behavior, then his beard and shoes would have given him away. Young girls have also been girded with suicide vests – people go to great length to pursue all sorts of sinister objectives. The picture filled me with sadness.

I found my masseuse in the company of a new character by the name of Sammy. The name did not help me in figuring out whether I was dealing with a he or she. S/he cut my hair with the flair of a gay hairdresser who considers hairdressing an artistic expression rather than a job. The hair job was followed by an extraordinary massage of both legs and one arm (A did the other) and L was in and out giving directions to both, lending a hand once in a while. Sammy is apparently an expert in tantric massage but until I know what that is I decided to go with a regular one under L’s supervision.

I made it to and from the massage place without encountering any madmen like the one pictured above. In fact, to my great surprise I was waved through several blocked off streets by uniformed men with guns as if I was part of the military.

The rest of the day I devoted to exploring job opportunities post Kabul, both with and outside MSH. I organized and edited my CVs, completed an American one, and a European one, and filled in most of my Devex profile, following tips and advice from the Devex professionals. It is a little scary, after nearly 25 years, to throw oneself into the job market again. Thousands of kilometers away Axel is doing the same thing. Something will surely turn up.