Sylvia's Journal

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I broke out of my solitary confinement twice today. First to get Axel a cabinet he had been drooling over since he arrived. It was now or never, as the movers come on monday. The furniture shop on Chicken Street was of course closed but a few phone calls later the cousin of Ibrahim, my textile man, had indicated he would be there waiting for me.

Shopping on Chicken street on the second day of Eid, with only that one store opened, especially for me, was perfect: no traffic, no other customers to compete with, and the uncle, who doesn’t negotiate, wasn’t there, only Hamid and a helper. The helper was critical as the furniture is stacked three or four high with very few spaces to maneuver. I brought a picture of the cabinet Axel wanted and we soon spotted it at the far end of the enormous store on top of and behind many others large pieces of furniture.

While Hamid and his helper pried it loose I found myself a few other treasures that cannot be transported back in a suitcase at future visits. And so I haggled to include a few other items in the purchase. Eid is a good time to haggle as everyone is in dire need of money, more so than any other time of the year.

Next stop was the kite bazaar. It is kite flying season and kite makers do a brisk business in the Shor Bazaar. The colors are dazzling. It was hard to make up my mind which ones to get. Signature kites are expensive (2 to 3 dollars each) while the plain small ones go for as little as 40 cents. I spotted one enormous kite, a true piece of art that was sold for 40 dollars. It would require a very big wall which we don’t have back home.

In the afternoon I was invited to the M. family for Eid. I have gotten very fond of the family, mom, dad and three grown up kids. They are a bit of an aberration in their larger family network which was nicely illustrated when a cousin came to visit. The visiting cousin is about 30 years old, just like S., but unlike S, who is not even engaged, she already has 7 children and no plans to stop. After the cousin and her brood left I christened the family ‘oddballs,’ a word I had to explain.

For entertainment the son decided it was time to uncover (and dust off) the old Grundig record player that mom had brought back from Germany 40 years ago; this was followed by a proud showing of the record collection that had been meticulously cared for over the years and, at some personal risk, kept hidden in the house out of sight from the Taliban.

The whole family got involved in the project: mom listening, eyes closed and reminiscing, me reminiscing with my eyes wide open – I think mom and I are about the same age and both remembered the Euro Song Festival – dad tapping his feet, younger sister dusting each record cover as if it was brittle glass and son taping the unglued fronts and backs of the sleeves back together.

Everyone got to choose a record to play – it was very democratic although dad’s selection of very mourning Indian music played on a kind of long slender horn got the longest playtime. To humor me they played Zorba the Greek which compelled me to show them how to do the Greek step dance.

I am ready for the packers to come in and empty this house. They won’t come for another 6 days but I couldn’t contain myself any longer. I knew that from my short consulting trips – when I can’t stop myself from packing my suitcase – it is time to go home.

This is one of the good things of being alone – there is no one to stop me. I feel thoroughly pleased with my accomplishment of today. The rest of Kabul was feasting and celebrating the end of Ramazan, but I was feasting in anticipation of my reunion with my family.

Colleagues called me and sms-ed me to wish me Eid Mubarak. It is as hard for them to imagine me alone at home as it would be for me to think of someone home alone on Christmas. But I was having a good time scratching things of my to-do list.

Everyone was on high alert this morning, especially the US embassy. We were told to stay put until 11 AM by our security staff – there is much chatter in town about something nasty being planned. When I woke up several helicopters flew very low overhead. Routine sorties don’t usually take place this early in the morning and as a result I was wondering whether something bad had happened in another part of town. But if it had I wouldn’t know it as it did not compete with Syria, Libya and Irene for a spot on the BBC, Aljazeera or Euro news.

Axel told me on Skype that Tessa and Steve are moving into their new place and that she leased a car. We have finally arrived! No more haggling about who gets to have the car, no more deep sighs and pulling at my heart strings when the bank account is low, and, best of all, we have our house back. Now the nest is truly empty and we are done with our task of rearing children and transforming them into responsible citizens – it was not easy but we are very pleased with the result.

Apropos of teenage years, I wrote teaching notes for the girls and teachers at SOLA if ever they watch The Breakfast Club and Disney’s High School Musical. I am sorry I won’t be able to have that conversation with them before I leave. Maybe when I come back on future trips I can insert some classes. It would certainly be an interesting conversation to have.

Afghans have an incredible knack for creating and seeing beauty, the kind I like in their embroidery, weaving, carving, painting with paint or words, their gardens and music. Yet they, maybe not the same people, also have an ability to build the most garish houses, mismatched patterns, colors, tiles, with little or no outdoors; monstrosities that hurt the eyes.

Our housekeeper, Ghulam, delights me when I see yet another one of his attempts to create harmony, symmetry and beauty in our house by the way he arranges things on the shelves of our bookcase. Today I was surprised by his arrangement of a green plastic toothbrush cup that I had given him to wash, in between two teapots. One works with the stuff that one is given and makes the best of it.

I have now completed the inventory of our house. It is amazing how much stuff we have collected and I worry about how to shoehorn it all back into our small house in Lobster Cove that is already full. It is also amazing how much, if we wanted to replace everything in case the container gets blown up or disappears (not an unthinkable scenario), the insurance will have to pay us.

Today the five day (for the government 4 day) Eid holiday started and tonight is probably the last iftar that is being consumed after sunset. This means that on Sunday the tea, candy and water bottles will re-appear. The household staff already stocked the refrigerators earlier in the day with water bottles; and the cafeteria will re-open and lunch breaks will be introduced again, making the workday one half hour longer. This will be the end of my daily lunch of a hardboiled egg, eating furtively when no one was looking, and a small bottle of Tabasco bloody mary (virgin of course) mix.

It was a very (very!) low key day and several people had taken the day off or were doing low intensity work. I took advantage of being left alone by writing my handover notes and discovering, in the process, various loose ends that needed to be tied up, firing off a series of emails to hapless colleagues asking them to take action on this or that.

I also cleaned out the rest of my desk drawers and bookcase shelves, walking around like Santa with stuff to give away. When all was done my hands were black with soot and dust as everything not used daily, even inside drawers and cabinets, was covered with a thick layer of dust, dirt and soot.

I have completed about three quarters of my end-of-assignment report which is turning out to be a challenging but interesting piece of work. My intent is to complete it before I leave. Although my boss told me I could write two reports, one for public consumption and the other confidential, I have decided to write only one as I am not entirely sure confidential, once mailed, will remain that way. Thus the discipline is to write truthfully without offending or blaming. Luckily I have some experience doing this in my daily blog, which I am actually using as a reference now and then to get into the finer detail of one event or another.

Here are some of the things I will miss, not miss and the things that make me smile or cry, or both:

Not miss: walking right into the barrel of a gun each time I enter the ministry – I can only see the barrel, not the shooter himself.

Miss: the young woman with her umpteenth baby by her side who has to check me in case I carry a bomb or IED into the ministry. She does a cursory check because she has to while we speak about important things in life such as babies and eyes that are strained from the tiny embroidery stitches she makes for her man’s dress shirt.

Not miss: the toxic dust and dirt, the diesel heating in winter and the overheating in summer, not seeing the mountains even though they are very close.

Smile: the curtains in the office of the Director of Capacity Building in the ministry of health. They are made from flannel designed for children’s pijamas, with little boats or trains or cars, something like that.

Cry/smile: one of my staff who says he didn’t expect to live beyond forty (expecting to be killed before then), a target he has exceeded by 18 years now.

Cry: the way women undermine each other rather than stand together – it is a combination of jealousy and fear that works like a cancer.

Smile: the new organizational chart for the general directorate of human resources that has the (our) management and leadership development department indicated in a bright color with a smiley face right above it. It has not been officially approved but it probably will. Progress!

Not miss: the razor wire and blast walls and the sight of militarism everywhere.

Miss: the young women I have gotten so fond off – I feel like I am abandoning them but then this would not give them credit for their courage and commitment. I should be confident.

Not miss: the blatant attempts to milk the American taxpayer.

Smile: the Eid celebration breakfast and goodbye party that is being organized after the Eid holiday break on September 4th.

Cry: starting to say goodbye to people at the ministry.

Cry/smile: the students from SOLA, smile for those who are on their way to a new life and cry for the ones who are still trying to get a visa.

Cry/smile: how some people have changed since I first met them – for the better.

Cry/smile: Afghans praying for people living on the east coast of the USA, to see them safely through the Irene hurricane.

Smile: when Afghans say it is now safer in Kabul than on the US East Coast.

Smile: seeing the instruments that Fazil brought back and that are now stringed to play by Sita – from decorative to instrumental.

Yesterday evening I went into a parallel universe. I was invited by a friend who lives with her significant other in a real apartment as opposed to a hooch (a container) in the US embassy compound. I used to arrange jailbreaks for her and her man but this time I went into the jail.

The driver picked me up after Iftar which is now a quarter before 7 PM. As we drove across town I realized how strange it was to see people eating and drinking in public. Since I am usually not out after dark during this month of Ramadan I didn’t see anyone eating our drinking, including our drivers and guards. Now they were drinking water and eating grapes. They offered to share with me, part of Afghan hsopitality, but I declined as I was going to a dinner party in another universe.

The roads were empty because most people were at their homes. As a result there were few cars on the roads, which are now nearly all in excellent condition due to the mayor’s concentrated efforts to get the municipal infrastructure up to snuff. The combination of the emptiness and good condition of the roads are potentially lethal as people drove much too fast and, if they hadn’t already broken their fast, with their minds probably focused more on food and drink than on the traffic.

At the American embassy I was dropped off in front of the outer perimeter of this heavily guarded bastion. In the dark it is even more eerie than in daylight – as if you enter a warzone. I made it quickly past the outer two guard posts because of my American passport but at Charlie 1 I was stopped and had to wait for my escort. It took a good 20 minutes to check me in and, after handing over my cell phone, I entered what looks very much like the dorm section of a college campus.

There were joggers, women with bare arms and exposed ankles and long hallways with fluorescent lights. Inside the tiny apartment, the only thing that indicated we were in Afghanistan were the rugs and the Karzai coat displayed on the floor and walls.

My friend had invited other friends. All from inside the bubble and so I was the only one who had come in from that very dangerous outside world called Afghanistan. Introductions were on a first name basis and then everyone told everyone else what they worked on. Only much later, during the take out Thai dinner, did I dare to ask whether people felt their efforts made any different. The answers were depressing.

At one point people asked me where I lived. I described my house and yard, not forgetting to mention the apple and pear trees, the tomatoes and basil. People looked at me incredulously. “Aren’t you afraid?” they asked. I told them that I found being in the US embassy compound much more frightening as it seemed were right in the bull’s eye.

To leave the compound and get back to my driver who was waiting outside in Afghanistan, I had to walk half a kilometer between blastwalls and razor wire, tanks with twirling tops that followed me in their visors. A heavily armed military man offered to escort me. He told me he couldn’t keep up with my light and fast steps (I had to get out of there fast) because he had 40 kg strapped to his body. He actually kept up quite well but soon our ways parted as he went towards the outer defense line where I couldn’t go and so we said goodbye. He seemed alarmed that I was simply going to walk out of this heavily guarded nest but I told him my driver was waiting and I was going to be alright. With that I disappeared out of his sight and into Afghanistan again. Pfewww!

This morning I devoted to reading everything that the shipping company gave me to read and fill in and then I started to make lists, endless lists. Now that most things to give away have been given away I am left with three lists: to stay for future use in Kabul, to carry with me in suitcases and to ship. The shipper assured me that it will take only 21 days – this stands in sharp contrast to Steve’s stuff’s four month journey. Maybe it is because he had so much stuff.

I have entered the phase of ‘last time this, last time that’ now. I had my last Dari and Pashto class. People are puzzled that I am taking classes till the end, and especially about my Pashto class, why start a new language? Indeed, they are right, I am not sure myself. But today I said goodbye to the guard who has faithfully let me in and checked whether my car had come to pick me up and to my teacher, Axel’s old teacher, who is the most patient person in the world.

I have some illusion that I will keep working on my languages and bought all the books and tapes that the language school had – but I realize that the urgency of learning the language will have gone. Still, I am reading a book about organizational management in Dari now that is providing me, finally, with the professional vocabulary I need. It has taken me more than 6 hours to read one and a half page of the foreword.

All through the day I found myself tense and tight, following a night of constantly waking up. There is turmoil inside me although I cannot put my finger on it. I don’t know whether it is turmoil caused by leaving a phase in my life or entering a new one, or both. Or maybe it is simply the many things to do, on the job and off the job.

On the positive side, the tension does not come from what happens next job wise – Axel may be more nervous about that than I am. I have several weeks of vacation which will see me through the month of September and possibly beyond as I tinker together a series of small assignments by showing up at work and be at the right place at the right time, waiting for something more permanent.

I already have my first assignment lined up, two trips to Japan, one in November and one in February, to work with a professional training organization that prepares Japanese international development officials to prepare for their assignments – it is about leadership and cultural competency. I did a similar training many years ago and look forward to doing the work I have missed so much doing here in Afghanistan.

This morning I did the big give away at my guesthouse. I had put all the give away stuff, in multiples of five – as there are three guards, a housekeeper and a cook – on a big table cloth on the floor of the living room; the big items on one side and the small stuff on the other. The range was from a mostly (but not always) good working DVD player, my muted telephone (the first item to go), an electric shaver, a radio, large emergency flashlights on one end to sinus sprays, acid pills, wooden spoons and fly swats (the last item to go) on the other end.

I had planned the event to be with all five staff, having each pull a number out of a hat which would indicate the order of selection but Fazil wasn’t there as he is getting engaged. That sort of undid the design with everyone having a fair chance at some good stuff. I asked the other staff to pick for Fazil which they did with some difficulty.

I saw Fazil later in the day when he showed up for night duty. He told me he was very happy with his co-workers’ selections. There was much joking, in Dari, too fast for me to understand, each time Fazil’s turn came around, which added a touch of merriment to the event. At the end everyone had a large plastic bag with stuff. A Cape Ann Savings Bank commuter coffee mug and an EMS water bottle are now in an Afghan home somewhere. On my side the house is a little emptier and a little less cluttered.

Back at work I found the energy levels of my Afghan colleagues close to rock bottom. Two more workdays (next Sunday and Monday) and then Ramazan is over. Then people will celebrate, feast and spend money. In fact the money spending has already started and our office paid out salaries a bit earlier than usual to accommodate this custom of new clothes, feeding the relatives and gifts. It is like Easter, Thanksgiving and Christmas all wrapped in one.

After work I went to SOLA – there are less girls now as some have started to leave for the provinces to join their families for Eid. Sattar proudly showed me his passport with his US visa – Wali standing off on the side, smiling and being happy for him, but surely being unhappy inside. He hasn’t re-applied yet as each application costs 240 dollars and he wasn’t sure where that was going to come from. I hope there is a budget line for this in ted’s meager budget but if not we can fund raise again, it’s not a big challenge.

We told Sattar to be very careful with his passport and keep it in a very safe place rather than carrying it around in his backpack. I so hope the two can be together at the school they both received scholarships for. We had liked to see them travel together but that is not going to happen as school starts very soon and Sattar has no excuse to show up late for class.

We received good news from Delhi where F and S are camping out for the UK visa. It seems F’s story has a happy ending, something that was arranged in two weeks flat and with an enormous amount of work done by several people here and in the UK who can do magic tricks. Two more girls are waiting for their school forms, one from Marblehead High School and the other from Miss Hall’s. The form is a requirement before they can even make an appointment for an interview. The next available slot on the US consulate’s appointment website is in October. We are holding our breath.

Wali is going to re-apply for his US visa, he (we, Afghanistan) has to, too many eggs in that basket – we can’t let it fall to the ground. We are keeping our fingers crossed and keep sending out prayers and appeal to the good vibes in the universe. We do the same with F. who is now in Delhi waiting for her UK visa. We need everyone’s prayers – the kids are Afghanistan’s hope for redemption.

On a more mundane level, I dropped my phone on the tiled floor of the bathroom which was covered with a layer of water. After that the phone’s microphone didn’t work anymore. People who called me sounded like they were at the bottom of the ocean. It took me a while to figure out I was the problem, or rather my phone. Funny how my first impulse was to think it was not my phone that was defective but the phone of the other.

I decided to go to the fancy electronics shop in the center of the city, at the Safi Landmark hotel, a place that has been targeted by insurgents more than once. I received a warning that the local police and army are still looking for insurgent elements planning to do something bad just off the center, near the old Dutch embassy and the hotel where many of my friends stay. So far they have come up empty but the area is blocked and heavily guarded. What/who could be the target we wonder?

Security gave me permission to go buy my new phone as the store would be at least 10 blocks away from where things are a little tight at the moment but when I was ready to go the driver and guard told me we would go shopping in the area I live rather than having to deal with heavy traffic and the astronomical prices that downtown commands. Security didn’t faze them, life does go on after all.

They took me to a small cell phone shop not far from my home. I had not done my homework about all the different models available and had myself advised by my driver who kept pointing at this and then that fancy phone that could hardly be called a phone, rather a handheld computer, for several hundred dollars. Here people pay lots of money for a nice phone, it is a status symbol. I really only wanted my old Samsung Trace phone but the model is no longer available.

I finally settled on a touch screen Samsung with room for two simcards, solving finally the problem of needing two phones for my two simcards, one pre-paid and the other post paid. After verifying that the phone came from Korea rather than China I bought it and have been playing with my new gadget that is much more than a phone and, frankly, much more than I need.

The latest bit of news I got today colored the entire day – I am heartbroken. Wali, one of Axel’s very earnest young students got his US visa request denied, in two minutes flat. He was going to go with one other SOLA student, who did get his visa, to a private school on the East Coast on a full scholarship.

This is the second kid, the other one of my students, also with a full scholarship lined up. She had a similar experience with the same officer. I have seen both returning with heads drooped and hopes dashed after a very short and extremely unpleasant interview at the US consulate. As if they were criminals. Imagine!

I would have vouched for both with my life – they would both come back and help to rebuild this country, starting schools, teaching others what they learned. I guess that consular officers operate from a very different script, probably have to, when they interview people. They probably assume that people are lying, not revealing their true intent. Yet both of these kids could have lied, about all sorts of things (in this country you can lie about anything and have it backed up by official papers that can be obtained in the bazaar for a price). Both chose not to lie and got whacked over the head. Would they lie next time?

Things appear to be working out OK for the girl as a British school stepped into the void produced by the US visa denial and she is now on her way to Delhi to get a visa for the UK. If she gets it she will be back on track. I keep my fingers crossed. But we have nothing lined up for Wali and the school year is just about to start in the western world.