Sylvia's Journal

Wali returned from the visa section of the US embassy empty handed, without the coveted red card which is code for ‘visa granted.’ He got his request for a US visa rejected for the second time, something that took all of us by surprise as we had been so confident that another consular officer would see the gem he is.

Hila was also rejected after a mere 2 minutes audience with the one consular officer who gives every kid nightmares and who seems to believe that in two minutes you can tell whether a kid is trustworthy or not (the assumption is ‘not’ so the kid has to prove the opposite). Hila was going to a high school near us in Massachusetts; we had already fantasized about having her with us over the holidays; she rattling in fluent American English and we trying to drag our Dari up to the surface.

And so they will join the ranks of talented young Afghans who feel betrayed by the US and are moved back to square one. It is maddening that some of us Americans are working like crazy to get these kids, who we have gotten to know and love so much, and who have been given full scholarship to great schools by other Americans are ditched by American officialdom. And if only the dismissing officer knew how incredibly hard both of them worked to get to where they are now. It breaks my heart again and again and again.

Now, with the school year having started, their chances at another miracle have shriveled to zero. I don’t think we can pull off anything like we did with F, who is now approaching Dubai on her way to her new life.
The moving company came with a packing crew of 7 and a manager who took care of the paperwork, the numbering of the boxes (there were 25), and the decision making about what could and could not be packed. They worked hard for 5 hours – and I thought naively that it would take only a couple. But they were so much more careful than their American counterparts who shipped us out – granted, a fifth of the weight – who threw things into boxes as if everything was made of rubber.

While the crew had lunch I went to the office to have the often postponed conversation with a small group of my young female colleagues about the movie the Whale Rider. It was my last chance to encourage them to reflect on their condition in this society and think together, rather than alone or in competition with each other, how they can begin to change what needs to be changed so badly.

I did a few more rounds of gifting the final items that won’t go back with me and for which I had found good homes – it took a while to get all the goods delivered to various places – only the TV and TV dishes are left – they will move back to their original owner who comes every other month and lodges in one of the other guesthouses – possibly the one I will be staying in when I come back on short term assignments.

And now I live in an empty house – it was already empty without Axel but now it is really empty with just two suitcases and a carry-on left and a near empty refrigerator. I was therefore very happy to accept a dinner invitation at the house of my Dutch friends who live around the corner in an old house that feels like a plane, a series of rooms one behind the other with first class in the front – a lovely cozy living room. They also have a huge garden that produces much of their food from the soil and electricity and hot water from the sun. They like to cook and read Dutch which made for a large Albert Heijn bag full of goodies that only they could do anything with.