If you have not read The Caine Mutiny, by Herman Wouk, you should. It is a wonderful book, and its protagonist, Willie Keith, tells an intriguing tale from World War II. Before he gets to that part, however, he tells of his struggles as he enlists in the Navy. It seems to Willie that no one knows what is going on or what to do, so he tries to stay out of everyone’s way until he figures out what he is supposed to do in the Navy. That’s the way I felt for the first couple of days I was here. I knew I was supposed to get a computer and a telephone and body armor, but I didn’t know exactly how to go about getting those things or where they were, or who was in charge. David, the mayor of the Camp, or so he is called because of his extensive knowledge of people and stuff, did a good job of getting me going, but he had two other people to lead about, and so he headed me in the right direction and I took off.

First, I found out that I was not going to be paid until October. I had assumed that I would be paid in September for the few days (9) that I was employed in August. Back to The Caine Mutiny – Captain Queeg: “You can’t assume a thing in the Navy. Not a GD thing.” Apparently, you can’t assume anything at work, either. It seems that the cutoff date to be paid in September for August’s work days was the week before my arrival. So those days will be paid on September 30. I also had not been paid for my pre-deployment seminar. The finance department said that I wouldn’t be paid for that until October as well.

I didn’t think that was quite fair, and so I went about changing that. Endless e-mails later, including one that told me my direct deposit form was wrong, I managed to be paid for July at the end of August. The reason the form was wrong is because we banked at Union Savings. The voided check I gave the company showed the Union Savings logo, routing number, and account number. The form I completed in July showed the Third National routing number and account number. I found Max and had him send me a pre-printed deposit slip, and then Kathi Johnson at Third National, who has made the transition from Union to Third National as easy as it could be under the circumstances, iced the cake and e-mailed me a letter explaining the situation, and I forwarded the letter and the deposit slip to company headquarters. Problem one solved.

Then I set about finding a computer. I thought I remembered which office handled those distributions, and so I set out in that direction. The man who could help me wasn’t there, but another man indicated that he could help. When I say “indicated,” I mean that he spoke to me in English, but I had trouble understanding him. I asked him to slow down, which HE didn’t understand (English idiom, for heaven’s sake – what was I thinking?), but we finally got it together and found a computer, some body armor, and a lovely helmet. Unfortunately, the body armor is navy blue, and most of the clothing I brought is black, so I am afraid I will not make a really good fashion statement.

The computer had to be registered in another office, and so the nice man took the body armor to my room so I wouldn’t have to carry it before he took the computer to the office. He saw a picture of Emily and one of Max. The photo of Emily is that fabulous one from her senior year in high school, and the one of Max is a great one from 1985 that was taken on the shore at Carmel, California, when his hair was long enough to blow in the wind. So my “assistant” asked if Emily was my daughter, and I answered yes. Then he asked if Max was my son. I told him no, that Max is my husband and that picture was taken long ago. He then asked if Max was still living. At that point, I thought it best to move from my room to the office where the computer should be registered, even though I know he meant nothing untoward!

When we got there, I found out that the registration would take over an hour, so I moved on to try to get the phone situation taken care of. In the packet of materials the company sent before I left, one paragraph talked about bringing my own telephone and then inserting the SIM card from the company into that phone. That way, if we wanted, we could use our own telephones instead of relying on the company. I decided to do that, because I wanted to have my photos on my phone with me, and because I wanted to be able to take photos as well, and didn’t want to have an extra piece of equipment to lug around. So AT&T unlocked my phone because our contract is up soon, and I brought my iPhone. I went to the “phone office” and told Arturo what I wanted. The other young men in the office, all of whom are either Afghan or Pakistani or Indian, I think, excitedly gathered around and spoke very quickly and loudly in their native tongue(s). They were thrilled to see an iPhone and were excited about my being able to accumulate some kind of bonuses by using more minutes. I have no idea WHAT they said.

What I eventually got was that the youngest one, who lives in Kabul, was going to take my phone to the “Russian” company, that the company was going to cut down the SIM card to fit, and he would bring it back the next day. I froze. Let my iPhone go to Kabul without me? With a stranger? Would he bring it back? Arturo told me the little guy was to be trusted, and so I reluctantly gave him the phone. We went to the office and got my SIM card, the one that would need to be cut down, and that is when I found out that it was not a “Russian” company, but instead a company called “Roshan.” I was so happy to have something FIXED that I gave everyone a hug. The little guy was elated, and turned and laughed and said something to the other three men in the room. Then they all laughed. I got the feeling that he was telling them that they had missed out on something! The bonus here is that I now know more than I ever thought possible about SIM cards, including what they are and what they do. I am proud!

By that time, my computer was ready, and so I went to pick it up. When I got back to my room, I noticed that they forgot to give me a charger and cord, so I had to go back to get that. Then I hooked it up for the first time and tried to retrieve my e-mails. Something went wrong, so I went back to the office, because I don’t know these people’s names to call, nor do I know phone numbers, nor did I, at that time, have a telephone, and I found out that I can’t use the computer in my room – but I didn’t have an office to take it to. I was getting frustrated by this time because I knew I had been issued an e-mail address and people were going to be e-mailing me, and I didn’t know what I was supposed to know.

Eventually, I went to find David, the mayor, because he was going to leave me a flash drive holding information I needed, but he wasn’t there. His office mate was there, however, and when I whined about not being able to use my computer in my room, he offered me the extra desk in their office. Now, this “office” is exactly like my room. That means in place of the luggage, armoire, bed and night stand, the room holds three desks and really crappy chairs that are too short for the height of the desktop. Regardless of the sardine feeling, I took him up on the offer, and plugged in my computer. You’ve Got Mail!!!!! I had three messages, and I took care of those, and then I began to download the information on the flash drive to the computer. The information was in .pdf, and Adobe wasn’t downloaded on the computer. I began the download. It was going to take 45 minutes, according to the information on the screen. I told Tony, David’s office mate, that I would be gone for a few minutes and would be back. When I returned, the computer had shut down, and the flash drive was gone.

You can imagine that by this time, I was almost apoplectic. I closed the computer, picked it up, and prepared to walk out the door, and in walked David with the flash drive. He told me that the guy in charge wanted to talk to me and that he would take me to his office, but there was no need. He showed up at the building and we went outside to talk.

He needed to tell me that he had an assignment for me, and that he wanted my input. As far as I’m concerned, any boss who asks for an employee’s input is “jake.” He had a couple of possible places to send me for work, and he wanted to know which place was more appealing to me. He said that he reserved the right to make the decision, but that he wanted me to have some say in the matter.

After he and I talked, I went to talk to three different women, two of whom had never been to one of the places, and all of whom had been to the other. Two of them, including the one who had been where the others had not, advised that I go to the training center at Herat. I told The Boss of their advice, and told him that I was more apt to take their advice than not.

And so this morning, when I got to my computer and opened my e-mail, I found my next orders.

Tomorrow, I will go to a different compound here in Kabul for training, and then on my 59th birthday, I will head out to work on a team that trains court personnel on changes in the law in Afghanistan. I have the possibility of working with a woman prosecutor who was listed in Time Magazine as one of the 100 most powerful women in the world. Wow! Wonder what that will be like?

As I leave this camp, I want to say a word about what I hope to accomplish, which has changed somewhat after this week. I see men and women of Afghanistan who work in this compound, maintenance workers, food service workers, women who mop the floor, young men and women who serve as local legal advisers and trainers, men who empty the trash, young men and women who serve as translators: I know that their work here feeds their families and makes life a little better for each one of them. Right now, if my being here provides them with a way to make a living and a way to contribute to their own society and their own families, I’m fine with that.

I will see what tomorrow brings and let you know.