First Day Back at Work

It’s been a hectic first day back at work. I was planning to treat myself to a waffle (Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays at the “DFAC”) and a leisurely stroll across the street to my desk; however, I got a call from my section leader, who needed me in the office as quickly as possible. As I was standing there with wet hair and no make-up, I told her it would be a little while, but I would hurry – and hurry I did, leaving off one entire coat of mascara. Aside: Whoever said blondes have more fun wasn’t talking about the amount of black mascara needed to make a blonde’s eyes stand out from the rest of her face.

I got to the office, amidst the pelting rain and cold – so much for the roses – and found that she had been called to a meeting and needed me to go to a couple of other meetings that morning: One was with the director of a governmental department, and neither of us had ever met her; and the second was with the young woman I had met before – the one I described as “flashy,” although in a good way. Leslie had a list of things that I needed to discuss with each one, and I looked at her through the fog of not jet lag but “missing home no sleep” and no waffle, and said, “Wait. I need to write this down.” I also needed to make a copy of some material, and I needed to get my Kevlar vest, and I needed to catch the car in about five minutes. That was when I found the irritatingly slow copy machine wasn’t working and my computer wasn’t booted up.

Fortunately, I was to be accompanied by two of this office’s shining stars: Azizah, a young woman Emily’s age, who is the deputy section leader; and a man a little older, who is a very good translator. I had thought I was going alone with the translator (I’ll call him Waqid), but Azizah said that she wanted to go. By the time our visit was through, I was certainly glad she had asserted herself.

We left in a hurry in the cold rain, me with my umbrella from the 2005 Municipal Judges’ conference at the Lake (which I will be missing this year), the 30-pound addition to my chest, and my miraculous Talbot’s black wool wrap, which is warm without being bulky – who needs bulky on top of a Kevlar vest? But the hurry soon dawdled to pokey, as the traffic was simply terrible. As usual, cars were going in every which direction, but their inanity seemed worsened by the rain. They reminded me of Kansas City drivers in the first snow of the season, even if the snowfall is just a dusting (Scott Holloway, are you reading?). Cars were stopped everywhere, nursing fender-benders, I assume, and people were ambling among the honking cars as I have never seen them before. We even passed a traffic cop. He was waving some lane – or lanes – of traffic through an intersection, and then he just stopped moving and went over to talk to some man who was standing in the other lanes of traffic.

It didn’t take thirty seconds before the intersection was full of cars – cars trying to turn right, cars attempting to turn left, cars nudging their ways into the intersection so that the drivers could be the next ones the cop waved through. We were on the other side of the intersection, not having made it far enough to even enter. And we stopped. And we sat. I looked at the clock on the dash, and we sat in that intersection for at least 20 minutes. The traffic cop was still in the other lane, talking to someone, and the same man was wandering around in the weirdly empty lane. I figured that someone had blocked off the road. Now, this could have been for something as innocuous as the passing of a funeral procession, although I haven’t seen one since I have been here (we have passed what appears to be a cemetery – which doesn’t look right in dirt with no grass and flowers), or it could have been that an accident was keeping people from traveling the road. It could have meant that we all were sitting ducks for someone who decided to drive a car bomb into us, or, and this is the one I hoped for and suspected, it could be that we were waiting for the passing of some motorcade that was transporting some important person. And that was what it was.

After our sitting for what seemed eternity, five or six SUVs, all looking alike, raced through the intersection, and that was that. We started moving again, and though we were now late for our first meeting, we soon arrived at the ministry grounds, where we had been once before – but never in the mud. If you remember all times I have talked about what this city looks like, you will remember hearing about “dirt” and “dust.” When it rains, those things turn to mud, and that is what we had today. Fortunately, I had worn my new boots that were designed to withstand water and mud. I was fine. Azizah, however, had not checked the weather before starting for work, and she was wearing high heeled boots, which were not very practical.

Regardless of the mess, we made it to our meeting only 20 minutes late. The Director had already begun another meeting. So we waited and drank hot tea. We drank more hot tea. And then, when it appeared that we would be late for our NEXT meeting, we were ushered in to hurriedly meet the woman I needed to meet and talk to about the law regarding women’s rights. She was not unhappy when we told her we would have to reschedule because of our other meeting, because she had two more people waiting to see her after we were through.

Avoiding one disaster, we headed to the next office. The woman in this office is the head of another department within one of the ministries, which I have explained is like a cabinet position in our country. We were able to walk right in and talk with her, arranging some educational courses for her staff regarding the law on women’s rights. But it wasn’t as easy as all that. We had talked with her before, but somehow, something was lost in translation; what she thought we were doing was not what we were doing, but she was happy with our course, and we all finished the meeting satisfied.

By this time, I was determined not to drink any more hot tea, because I might have to find the ladies’ room, and I’m sure you remember my first and second encounters with public bathrooms in Afghanistan; I was not about to have another. And boy, was I praying that we didn’t hit another traffic jam just like the one we rode in on!

We took the best way back to the compound, passing my favorite farmers’ market, where the produce displayed was still, regardless of the time of year, rich in color, huge in size, and appealing to the eye. We saw one little donkey-drawn cart, but instead of one medium-sized donkey, the cart was pulled by two little bitty donkeys. They were so cute, but I felt so bad for them. After all, it was cold and rainy. And, oh! I forgot! When we were at the meeting that was not to be, I realized that I didn’t have my purse. That meant either I had inadvertently left it in the car, or that it had fallen off my shoulder as I was waddling through the throngs of people who were waiting to enter the ministry grounds. I hoped against hope that I was going to find it in the car – and my hope was rewarded. The bag itself is a cross-body bag, but when I am wearing the vest, the purse gets caught in the Velcro if I wear it below, and flops around if I wear it above. That means I usually sling it over one shoulder. No more.

On our way back, I took time to tell Azizah how impressed I am with her demeanor. For a woman so young, she is very serious and able, and she speaks well to older women in power. I think it’s important that she know her own power, so I told her about how her power affects others with whom she is dealing. I think she was surprised that I told her of my admiration, but I think she feels her own power, and I want her to be comfortable with it.

Power in a woman is a tricky thing. Some young men, who do not yet know their own strengths, find power in a woman intimidating and off-putting. Some men are attracted at first to the power, and then find that they do not know how to negotiate with it, and so those men begin finding fault with the women to whom they were attracted in the first place (I watched something like this happen in my family more than once – after all, the women in my family live, on their own, well into their 90s, or even to be 100 or more – now, that’s power!). Some men, who find their own strength, who know themselves, and realize that the woman’s power is an attribute to them both, admire the woman’s power and match it with their own so that they make a good partnership. I want this for all powerful women, so I brought it up to Azizah. And Waqid turned around from his perch in the front seat and said, “She could run for political office.” Now that statement from a man in a society that presumes men in power – that’s what I’m talking about!

Regardless, I think Azizah was pleased with my observations and my telling her about them.

Soon enough, we were back at the compound, ready to begin the second half of the work day, and I jumped in with both feet, picking up on the project I had but only begun when I left for home, and enjoying the office camaraderie around me. I felt as if I had a place, as if my desk were mine, with something on it that mattered to people I didn’t yet, or maybe would never, know. Most of the work I have done in my life is up front and face to face with the people my work will affect. And yet, right here, right now, the work I am doing for those I don’t know seems very important indeed.