Sylvia's Journal

The trip I hoped to make to Kabul with Axel, in just over a week, seems more and more unlikely and the limbo continues. I try not to get too upset about this, although I am disappointed. I have stopped to look too far ahead (since there is nothing to see) and instead am focusing on the work of now. It makes me forget the disappointment as it connects me to exciting projects and wonderful people around the world.

I received the most encouraging news from my team in Cambodia which has managed to get government health facilities to make special efforts to reach out to youth, with a focus on reproductive health. The 26 or so government officials who are the first to participate in the leadership program were rather skeptical at first. Others were also skeptical about them and had their doubts that anything would change. The health facility managers set what seemed fairly un-ambitious goals for their teams – but it seems they have been surprising everyone, including themselves, and surpassed these goals.

The senior leadership work in Ghana that appeared to be stuck for the longest time in the initial planning phase has come unstuck. Now it requires the alignment of schedules and a dates. And that’s where I bump into my uncertain future.

Another piece of work like it, concerning senior professionals as well, is in the planning stages for Central America. I am helping my colleague Diane design a process for getting senior leaders focused, moving and more confident in their ability to function well as a team and fulfill their oversight role for major investments in health programs. She will do the actual facilitation since I am not a fluent Spanish speaker, but we fantasize about doing it together. Given all the scheduling challenges, this is highly unlikely.

Last night we attended the annual meeting of the Manchester Historical Society. The average age of its members is probably about 65. Although on the young side of the median, with enough grey hair, we blend in nicely. There is always wine and an impressive buffet of finger food before we start with business. This helps with the socializing although I always manage to introduce myself to someone with a mouth full.

The business of the Society is conducted in no time adhering to the letter rather than the spirit of parliamentary procedures. This makes the business meeting a breeze. The last piece of business is always a motion to ratify any errors and omissions of the executive board, which we gladly did.

The highlight of the annual meeting is always a speaker with something interesting to tell us about the place we live. This year it was a gentleman who had written a book about Cape Ann. He told us many great stories, accompanied by slides, of the famous people who resided here, their houses, their houseguests and friends, and their writings about and paintings of Manchester, Essex, Rockport or Gloucester.

Everything is covered with a thin layer of pollen. We are in the midst of allergy season. My reaction to this is, I believe, intense tiredness; so much that I can’t keep my eyes open much beyond 8:30 PM. An allergic reaction to spring is a new experience for me. Now I can be more sympathetic to Axel who has been suffering for years.

I interrupted my workday yesterday with a visit to the ankle doctor. He had requested a CAT scan before I saw him. The scan did not provide any more meaningful information, nor did the doctor or his assistant. I think that the only thing my visit did was to help reduce payments for the hospital’s expensive machinery or, if it was already paid for, increase its profits.

That visit was definitely not a good use of our expensive health care system and insurance monies. When the doctor suggested that I go for other tests, or even come back in a year, I declined. The ankle is what it is and no miracle will fix it – the doctor said so himself. So why bother. But I am relieved that surgery was not suggested as an option.

There is no movement on the travel front except that everyone on this side of the Atlantic is now committed to the dates for our trip to Ethiopia. Since the phones were down or not working on the other side, in Addis, we don’t have any indication that ducks are lined up over there. No more news on Afghanistan either, except that, thanks to the US postal service tracking system, I know that the Afghan embassy in DC received Axel’s visa application. Limbo thus continues.

The various future scenarios produce an active dream life but there is not much I can remember when I wake up except the ‘active’ part. These scenarios aren’t just about where in the world I might be, from mid-June on but also about which body parts will be in what state of repair.

There are various scenarios about where I will be in a few weeks and months. The only things I know for sure are that this week I am at work, mostly in Cambridge, every day and that next week I will be in Charleston, South Carolina. What happens after that is murky at best.

We sent Axel’s passport off to the embassy of Afghanistan in DC for a visa, just in case I am offered the job there. If that scenario were to unfold I would need to decide quickly whether to accept or decline. This requires that Axel consents to the move. Going to Kabul first to see for himself will help him decide whether it is a move that has potential for him too. If I don’t get the offer things will be simple: we all stay home. But current reality is one in which no decisions have been made and we are in limbo; no particular scenario activated just yet.

Late June, early July a trip to Ethiopia is on the books, though not confirmed yet. Buying a ticket for this requires confirmation of the Ethiopian dates and the Kabul trip. Everyone is trying. At least I own two passports, allowing me to get two visas at the same time.

A few things are given and unalterable at this point. In late July I am teaching at the BU School of Public Health and my shoulder operation is scheduled for the first week of August. August is also election month in Afghanistan and all travel is banned. Somewhere in there is also a family reunion, a visit from my brother and nephew and the finest summer days at Lobster Cove.

Future scenarios for my physical health include at least one that seems likely: my right arm in a sling through most of August and part of September. I fantasize about having my left carpal tunnel symptoms alleviated by the same operation that did wonders on the right side – but there are no windows for that to happen. And this morning I will find out what’s up with the right ankle from the super orthopede at B&W.

Off the Cape we went back to see Uncle Charles again in the rehab place. This time we brought the camera in and took pictures. We spent another hour with him and with Ann before heading home and towards a mighty thunderstorm. I had hoped to be home early enough for some gardening but by the time we arrived the storm had also arrived.

At least it did the badly needed watering for us; the beans, chard, shallots, potatoes, beets and radishes are up and the tomatoes, basil, cucumbers, broccoli and Chinese cabbage are doing well. The asparagus have turned into a feathery forest with peas starting to climb up the stalks.

I made my first batch of mozzarella cheese from the kit I bought from Ricky the Cheese Queen. Now that I have mastered this art, a Panini with tomatoes, basil and fresh mozzarella cheese can be produced entirely locally (except for the olive oil). I can’t wait for the tomatoes to ripen.

And now, back to work; vacation is over.

I had my first formal interview for the position in Afghanistan. Talking about the work, the responsibilities, the challenges made me even more eager to get the job. I have to be careful not to get too invested in the idea because there are others who want the job. I figured that my strongest competitor would be an Afghan-American woman with tons of executive experience if the decision is made that an outsider rather than an insider to MSH is preferred. It’s funny how, when you are at a fork in the road, so many people seem to know what lies ahead around the corner.

My French-speaking colleagues and those who want to perfect their French have initiated a one-a-month French-lunch-about-a-topic at work. Yesterday’s lunch was facilitated by Ashley, a spirited young woman whose enthusiasm overcomes any hang-ups one might have about not speaking French perfectly. She had picked the topic of HIV/AIDS and prepared a glossary of terms in English and French. I was very impressed.

She asked us all to talk about what we had recently learned about HIV and AIDS. We went around the table. Our group included four young American women, one from the Middle East and two African males, one a doctor from Cameroon and the other an IT expert from Senegal.

The one doctor in the room was by far the most knowledgeable, as he should be, and I discovered he is also a great teacher. We talked about facts and perceptions, male behavior and got an illustrated lecture about the female condom. I could show what it looked like (no one had one in their pockets) with the pictures I had taken at GHC earlier this week and placed on facebook. As we checked out my facebook page we could also see who of our colleagues were on facebook while at their desks.

While I had my hair cut at the end of the day, I listened to what happens to a woman who is financially and administratively illiterate and trusting a husband who should not have been trusted. I suspect this story is played out in shocking numbers around the world. She is discovering that she signed for 2nd and 3rd mortgages on a house she thought she owned and is hundreds of thousands of dollars in debt while at the same time replaced by another who has taken her place in the heavily mortgaged home and conjugal bed.

Her image of an ordinary marriage, couple with teenage son, has shattered like a mirror into a thousand pieces. I can practically see the reverberations of this monumental source of distress across the network of relationships each of them are in.

I remember telling her at least 10 years ago when the kid was young and the husband (maybe) not yet cheating that she should teach herself about the routine financial and administrative transactions that happened in her household so that, if she found herself alone, her grief would not be exacerbated by this not knowing. I also remember her response, which was one of surprise and indignation – the situation was simply unimaginable to her. We both remember the many silly (and often expensive) purchases she made over the years.

I think there is a good case to be made about educating young girls and boys to be financially literate before they leave school. It would prevent countless women from sliding into poverty, as she is now doing. The wakeup call was the first visit to a food pantry. She’s still in shock and there is no visible exit out of this nightmare.