Long Time, No Write.....Catching Up

I honestly cannot recall the last time I published anything on my once-often-used Blog. Sure, sure, you meet a guy, he takes up a lot of your time, you write less and less and pretty soon you are living life more than observing it. The problem is you loose the precious observations you make about the life you are living if you don't record it. Perspective is lost to time. Today I'm taking a moment to reflect and catch up with myself and with my audience....if there is anyone still out there who follows this! Recap since Liberia 2015: After more than three months in the harsh conditions of Ebola and an embassy decimated by ordered departure (low morale, too much work, too few people), I arrived for 21 days of quarantine in Praia, Cape Verde. I had barely heard of the country before I was on a plane there. AF (Africa Bureau) waited until the last possible minute to find me a place for me to go to fulfill my 21-day quarantine requirement because The Gambia would now allow me back into the country until I could prove I had not contracted Ebola. Praia is beautiful! Rocky coastline, beautiful beaches, nice breeze, good infrastructure, charming people, good food, nice Embassy staff. Compared to Liberia, it was like landing in paradise. The Ambassador had only been there about two weeks and we worked well together from the very first minute. He's nice, professional, smart, considerate, not-micro managing. After a few days, he asked me if I would consider working for him permanently and accept a two year assignment! I looked around at the spacious housing, the nice environment, the calm nature of the country,the endless beauty and then asked Lee his opinion. Lee was with me because we had not seen each other for more than 4 months and he drove to Dakar then flew to Praia to be with me for a few days. Lee also loved Praia so we decided to take a chance and accept the position. I was thrilled! The Gambia was a terrible experience for me--sometimes an assignment goes awry and you should cut your losses, but I didn't do that. I should have. We liked Praia so much that we decided to extend for an additional year, making the assignment 3 years. The biggest challenge has been the language factor--we don't speak Portuguese and since I was already at post, there was no time to take language training in DC. No matter, I dove into private language lessons and online distance learning courses. We managed to learn quite a lot and although far from fluent, we can get by. After the first year, Lee secured a position at the Embassy as the Community Liaison Officer (CLO). He manages our 'fun,' makes sure family members can be employed if they want to, looks out for activities for us to do (hikes, cooking classes, seasonal parties), etc. He's good at his job and well-respected. We have traveled to other islands in Cape Verde--to hike a volcano in Fogo and to the beach with friends in Sal. I also visited Maio to enjoy more beach time (Lee is not a beach person) and I took a solo trip to Mindelo to experience the famous music of Cape Verde and also traveled by ferry to Santo Antao to see the majestic mountains. Finally, we visited Boa Vista in September for my birthday and I ended up getting a broken leg for my birthday, so I spent the next 7 weeks on crutches, flying to London for treatment and am now in recovery mode to regain my strength for eventually running again. Needless to say, there will not be a return trip to Boa Vista where the somewhat rough ocean caused the leg fracture. Being immobile for such a long time gave me a lot of empathy for people who have to live their lives in a wheelchair or on crutches. I never realized how valuable it is to be able to bend your knee and carry things while walking and all sorts of simple tasks you take for granted in life. It was humbling to crutch round London, practically being locked in my hotel room because it was just too taxing to crutch down the stairs, climb into a taxi and feel exhausted by the time I arrived where I was going. I somehow managed to see a movie (with 700 other people in a very crowed lobby) and eat my favorite English meal of Fish and Chips (in the rain, of course) but it's not a trip I would repeat--with countless trips to the hospital and doctor for MRI's and braces and appointments. Let's just say I'll never again take WALKING for granted!! Our assignment in Praia ends in July 2018. We will then take home leave--a term for spending a lot of money, visiting family and friends, buying a right-hand drive car, not having enough time to absorb the culture of USA and then it's off to the new post in August. We are going to (drum roll......) Namibia!! Look it up: it's a beautiful country in the south western part of Africa. It has a massive desert full of famous sand dunes, safari trips abound, it has a coastline larger than California, and it has a wonderful Ambassador who has asked me to manage her office for the duration of her tour. We are very excited to start this next adventure! Now, we just have to figure out how to get Ruby (a 90-pound Rhodesian Ridgeback) and Lily (exceptionally curious house cat from The Gambia) across the continent of Africa--including a 30-day stay in the USA. I'm sure it's going to involve lots of money and patience, but eventually we will all land in Windhoek, Namibia. It's a great vacation spot, so this is an all-call for visitors to come and stay with us! Well, I hope this little catch-up finds everyone well, and living life to the fullest. If not, you can always change your life to do just that--which is what lead me to this career in the foreign service in the first place. Life is what you make it--make it good.

On The Ground In Liberia

It was bound to happen sooner or later--I would be sent someplace I didn't want to go.  Life in the foreign service is never predictable.  That's why, in early October 2014, I was asked to leave Banjul and help out a neighboring post.  I wasn't so much asked as "strongly advised."  That place happened to be Liberia--the heart of the Ebola crisis.  Ebola--the mere mention of that word creates a chill.  And my family was no exception.  The day after I shared the news, my Mom sent me a heart-felt email making me feel guilty for even considering such an idea.  She used her "Mother card" to remind me of my role as a Mother.  My Mom sends emails once in a blue moon--usually when some distant relative dies.  I didn't think that was a good sign.  I never even get the chance to tell my son; he found out through the rapid-fire grape fine that seemed to spread around the globe in record time.  He called me--I mean that in itself is nothing short of a small miracle.  Don't get the wrong idea--he's always happy to talk to me, but I do the calling.  He phoned me when I was in London and we talked for 30 minutes.  He tried earnestly to talk me out of going to a place in the world where people were dying by the hundreds.  He seemed to end our call with the realization that he couldn't talk me out of doing such a crazy thing but knowing full well he couldn't stop me either.  It was probably much the same way I felt when he went to India the summer after college with nothing more planned than a book and a pillow in his backpack.  He not only survived, but counts that adventure as one of the most defining periods of his life.  I hope the same will happen to me.  

After three inter-continental flights in the span of six days, I arrived in Monrovia the evening of Nov. 24.  I actually had to look the date up in my passport-

On The Ground In Liberia

It was bound to happen sooner or later--I would be sent someplace I didn't want to go.  Life in the foreign service is never predictable.  That's why, in early October 2014, I was asked to leave Banjul and help out a neighboring post.  I wasn't so much asked as "strongly advised."  That place happened to be Liberia--the heart of the Ebola crisis.  Ebola--the mere mention of that word creates a chill.  And my family was no exception.  The day after I shared the news, my Mom sent me a heart-felt email making me feel guilty for even considering such an idea.  She used her "Mother card" to remind me of my role as a Mother.  My Mom sends emails once in a blue moon--usually when some distant relative dies.  I didn't think that was a good sign.  I never even get the chance to tell my son; he found out through the rapid-fire grape vine that seemed to spread around the globe in record time.  He called me--I mean that in itself is nothing short of a small miracle.  Don't get the wrong idea--he's always happy to talk to me, but I always do the calling.  He phoned me when I was in London and we talked for 30 minutes!  He tried earnestly to talk me out of going to a place in the world where people were dying by the hundreds.  He seemed to end our call with the realization that he couldn't talk me out of doing such a crazy thing but knowing full well he couldn't stop me either.  It was probably much the same way I felt when he went to India the summer after college with nothing more than a book and a pillow in his backpack.  He not only survived, but probably counts that adventure as one of the most defining periods of his life.  I hope the same will happen to me.  

Sometimes Heartache

There are a lot of good things about this foreign service career; you get to travel the world, you get to meet interesting people, you get to help people in small ways that can make a big difference.  But today I ran smack into a really stark downside to this career and no matter what kind of spin you put on it, it sucks.  Sometimes you really miss your family.  Sometimes you miss them so much, your insides hurt and your head aches and your heart breaks.  There are times you cannot see your family when you want to.  This is especially difficult when big life changes happen to the people you love and you cannot be there to help them or share what they are going through.  It's definitely a huge sacrifice to serve your country while being inhibited from serving your family.  It's a choice I always knew was there, but I pushed it away and tried not to think about it.

My Dad got sick about 4 months ago.  My Dad has been healthy his entire life.  He worked several jobs when I was young to make ends meet, volunteered for over 25 years on the Rescue Squad, built all our Christmas presents out of oak and took care of my Mom and the rest of us, including the grandkids, whenever a car broke down or someone needed help moving or lifting or hauling.  He drove cross country from Minnesota to Arizona every year for 10 years so he and my Mom could spend the winter months away from the snow and enjoy the sunshine.  My Dad was indestructible until he got sick.  Now, we talk on the phone every night so I can see how he's doing and what he's eating and hear his voice.  But it's not the same as being there.  I am so glad for the closeness of our calls because it's giving us a chance to share time with each other.  I know calling is the best option we can arrange for the moment, but I can't wait to get there and see him and my Mom in person.

And then there is my daughter, Angela, who is having her first baby in about 7 weeks.  My first grandchild is about to be born and I have not yet had the chance to see my beautiful daughter pregnant.  Yes, we skype and yes I get to see her happy glow, but oh how I wish I could give her a hug and pat her growing belly and share the special joy that binds a mother and daughter together during this milestone of life.  We have had some lovely talks about pregnancy and birthing and parenting and we have even had some great moments remembering her childhood.  But I still can't wait to get there and see her in person.

I'm planning a visit home soon because life is filled with priorities and being overseas reminds you what is important in life, and the people you love are at the top of the list.  Price of a plane ticket home?  About $1100.  Being with family?  Priceless.  Pick up the phone and call someone you love, or better yet, if they are close by--give them a hug.

Africa.....Round Three

Well, folks, we have moved again.  When I joined the foreign service five years ago, I never thought I would have served in four foreign countries in those five years. My first assignment (2008-2010) was  Freetown, Sierra Leone.  My first hardship post and probably the most poverty stricken country of all, it created my best memories and my longest lasting friendships.  I always say if I survived Freetown, I can survive anywhere.  Next stop was five months in Washington, DC, which, after two years in Africa, felt like a foreign country.  Language training was challenging and unorganized, but I muddled through.  Let's just say that taking the oral text on the last day of class was probably the hardest thing I ever had to do besides giving birth,  Next time I will take all 5 months of the course instead of joining late due to "needs of the service."  Not having language skills at your future post hurts you for the duration of your assignment.  Note to new readers:  If your position is LD (Language Designated) TAKE the full language training.  You will never regret it.  After DC, I spent a year in Berlin.  What a cold year that was.  I didn't write much because I was very busy at work and very busy on the weekends visiting Lee, who lived 7 hours away.  In summer 2011, I was invited to work for Ambassador Rowe in Maputo, Mozambique.  It was thrilling to be back in Africa again--back to the warmth of the people and the weather.  We made so many good friends there.  I still cannot believe we were only there 18 months.  But during that time, we lived our lives to the absolute fullest.  

Insert interesting paragraph here:  One of the great benefits of foreign service life is sharing your overseas experiences with family and friends.  We invite people to come and visit us and a LOT of them actually come!  People living in the United States tend to be fairly sheltered when it comes to traveling.  I know I was NOT a geography guru before I joined the foreign service.  I want people to experience other corners of this vast world--to see new things and to have empathy for other cultures. How can you really learn those ideals and values if you don't actually spend time in country?  CNN can only go so far.  I really believe if we understand each country more, then we would have a better chance to create peace and harmony.  In Mozambique, we had our dear friends Cathy and Ro and Jim visit us for nearly two weeks.  We had my niece Lynn, visit for three weeks, and we had my niece Amy and her husband Chris visit for over a week.  But the absolute outstanding visit of all was when we invited my daughter and Lee's daughter to visit over Easter vacation and somehow we ended up hosting 6 guests all at once! Then, after taking those 6 guests to three foreign countries in five days, we topped off their visit by GETTING MARRIED!  We not only showed them the unique culture of South Africa, Swaziland and Mozambique, but we shared the wedding customs of Maputo by having our very own wedding on the beach.  The photos were stunning, the kids had a great time and I like to think we sent 6 mini-Ambassadors back to the U.S. to tell their family and friends what Africa is really like.

Which brings me to my current posting:  U.S. Embassy Banjul, The Gambia; my third African post and also my third hardship post.  Lee and I have been here a month now, and have formed a few impressions and had a few interesting exchanges with this little, tiny country that is almost totally enclosed within the country of Senegal on the west coast of Africa.  Antidotes to follow in my next blog, as this one seems to have grown to a length not originally intended by the author.  

Keep living life to the fullest, challenge yourself to learn new things, smile at strangers and look forward to my next blog involving seashells and cow manure.  

A Good Saturday

People often ask me how I chose this job and why I stick with it.  True, there are many downfalls—such as missing your family members, missing out on family events and not having access to normal American products like Zip Lock bags and chocolate chips.  But sometimes I experience a day that makes all the hardship worthwhile and reminds me why I signed up for this job.  Sometimes everything goes right and I remember why I joined the Foreign Service and how lucky I am.

July 28 started like any typical Saturday in Mozambique.  Sunshine flooded into our bedroom window from the lovely Indian Ocean view just in front of our apartment.  Unfortunately for Lee, he was unexpectedly called away to a Hash Running Club meeting, but that left me with some alone time which I used to putter around our kitchen.  Our kitchen is spacious and beautiful—the best kitchen I have ever had the privilege of living in.  We have granite counter tops, an abundance of white cabinets (including two lighted units which we use to show off our beautiful Polish pottery), ceramic tile floors and lots of windows.  It’s really a dream kitchen and it costs nothing.  Foreign Service pays our rent and all our utilities.  This is a benefit I don’t take for granted and it allows us to live a lifestyle that we could not enjoy if we lived in the United States.  Speaking of benefits—we also employ a maid and a cook.  We hired the maid as soon as we arrived because it is sort of the “thing to do” when you live in a hardship country.  The salary for a maid is so low that it becomes an act of service to help employ people in your host country.  Our maid is very nice but speaks only Portuguese.  We have a difficult time communicating with her but our house is immaculate.  She cleans everything, washes and irons all our clothes, meets the repairman when necessary and generally takes care of us.  I don’t want to disclose her salary but suffice it to say that her monthly income probably does not exceed what it would cost you to go out to dinner three times a month.  We recently hired a cook two days a week.  Lee was a bit resistant to this idea at first, but our cook came highly recommended.  She is absolutely a master in the kitchen.  She is originally from the Congo and speaks several languages, including English.  On her very first day, I tried to buy apples because I heard she made an excellent apple crisp, but I could not find any apples at the local shops.   I hunted around the kitchen for some random ingredients and I came up with cream cheese and eggs.  She had the brilliant idea to make a cheesecake.   It was delicious.  I felt like I had died and gone to culinary heaven—and it was only her first day.   Anyway, back to Saturday.  I organized the cabinets and enjoyed listening to the birds singing on the patio outside. 

Before Lee returned home, I decided to have a manicure and pedicure.  The salon is located at the edge of a park, which is right next to the ocean.  I can sit in my manicure chair and view the lovely trees and the ocean.  Because it’s winter here, the temperatures are a bit cooler which makes it an ideal time to have a wedding.  Apparently, this park is an ideal place to take wedding photos because there must have been 25 wedding parties all gathered in the same place!  Finding a parking place was quite a challenge, but I got to sit in my chair inside the salon and watch all the lovely African brides and their bridesmaids and wedding guests taking photos for about two hours.  All you girls out there know how fun it is to see lots of pretty dresses and happy people getting married.  In Africa, things are much more colorful than in the United States and this definitely applies to weddings.  I saw bridesmaids in bright green neon dresses and I do mean NEON green!  There were also bridesmaids dresses in purple, red, and yellow—all the colors of the rainbow.  Each bride had at least two flower girls, two ring bearers, and a host of people to hold up her gown as she trailed around the park.  The whole experience was a treasure to behold and the manicure and pedicure turned out well too. 

In the afternoon, Lee and I did our usual Saturday run with our Hash Running group.  The Hash has chapters around the world—there may even be a Hash club where you live.  There is a group for walkers and a group for runners.  This week, the distance of the run was about 8k. The run took us through a small village where local kids ran along with us, shouting encouragement and laughing and chasing each other.  The kids were mostly barefoot, wearing tattered and dirty clothing but their sheer joy at running was exhilarating to behold.  At the end of the run, the group meets up to have a few beers, sing silly songs and generally supports each other through social interaction.  Our running club is the closest thing we have to a family overseas.  Everyone in the group is wonderful; we celebrate each other’s birthdays, joys and hardships, and we call upon each other for advice and help whenever we need it.  The members are from around the world—all of us away from home and we share similar experiences of life in the diplomatic or foreign employment world.

After the beers and the singing, some of us go out to dinner together.  This night, about 10 of us went to a local pizza restaurant.  The food was delicious—you actually can get a good pizza or pasta dish here in Africa.  Some of us had a few more laughs in us, so we went to a bar around the corner to continue the fun.  Lee and I had not been to this bar before and we both really liked it.  It was a small, cozy bar; sort of like a neighborhood bar.  They were showing 1980’s videos from VH1, so if you can imagine a bunch of people from around the world (including local people) singing their hearts out to U2 and Madonna and George Michael and Whitney Houston, then you can imagine what a great ending it was to my Saturday.

As we drove home, I thought about what it’s like to live in Mozambique and how the things I experienced were unique to living overseas.  I spent time with people from many different countries and I’m proud to say that many of them are my good friends.  Each day I live here, I experience the rich culture that is Africa and only when you live here can you understand how vibrant and different is is from living in the United States.  Come visit and find out for yourself.  Open your world to new experiences.  You never know what adventure awaits you. 

And Suddenly Everything Changes

Another long pause between writings and lots to tell. In fact, life has changed for me in more ways than I could have ever imagined when I started this blog. Let's start in chronological order order, shall we?

Oct 2010-Oct 2011
This past year in Berlin has been challenging, to say the least. Not so much because it's Berlin--I don't want to fault this beautiful city. But the job just was not for me. If you are considering applying for a EUR posting, do your homework. The culture of a large European embassy is vastly different from other places in the world; namely Africa, which was my only other experience. Ego plays a huge role in EUR and if you don't have one or don't want to cultivate one, you may find it dfifficult to fit in. The embassy community is large but mostly sheltered; there are so many things to do that people don't bond--consequently there is not much of a sense of community. The Generalist/Specialist chasm is wide and pervasive. Consider carefully what you want to get out of your posting before choosing where you want to serve. I didn't mind working very long hours but being thanked would have been appreciated. I have heard many of these same comments from other OMSs posted in EUR, so it's not just my single experience that I'm trying to convey. When I first found out I was going to Berlin, my DCM in Freetown said something like, "Oh, you are going to Europe, hmmmm." Now I know what he meant. --Enough said.

A few good lasting memories from Berlin:
*My language skills have improved dramatically. I can now hold conversations easily and comfortably. I jokingly admit that I finally got the hang of speaking German just as I'm about to leave.
*I have made a few truly wonderful friends. Sahar and I met on one of my many weekend 5-hour one-way train journeys to visit Lee. She is from Egypt, highly educated and laughs easily. We started talking when the train first rolled out of the station and didn't stop for five hours. Lee and I have met Sahar and her friends for dinner (she speaks German, English, Arabic, French, and probably another language I forgot). She offered to give me German lessons and I went once; only to find out that the other student in the class was fluent and I felt too overwhelmed to try it again. But our friendship came at a time when we both desperately needed a friend. Being in the Foreign Service affords amazing opportunities for meeting exceptional people--take those opportunites and you will never regret it.
*Lee and I toured Europe a bit--not as much as we would have liked, but enough to get a taste of Europe. We spent a weekend in Milan, Italy, two weekends in Poland, several weekends in England visiting his family, a weekend in Prague, Czech Repbulic when Lee presented at a military conference, and a week in France doing nothing but playing tennis and getting to know Lee's family.
*As for Germany itself, it's a multi-cultural place filled with all things German. However, people speak English at the Christmas markets and Berlin itself is filled with tourists. I walk to work every day--which was an experience for someone versed in driving a car. My little VW Polo sat idle in the parking garage almost the entire year. I would say my saddest memory of Germany was our trip to Bergen Belsen Concentration Camp. You can never feel the hush and the sadness of a place like that unless you are standing on the actual ground where so many people suffered. All I could think of was, "Man's inhunanity to man."

July 2011
On the 4th of July, I received a call from the Ambassador of Mozambique. Her staff and I had done a bit of corresponding and they wanted me serve at Embassy Maputo. The phone call from the Ambassador was welcoming and professional. She offered me the job as her OMS and after much discussion and thinking and planning with Lee, we agreed to curtail in Berllin in order to accept the new assignment. They wanted me there as quickly as possible, since the position was vacant, but Lee needed to get his details sorted out first. He had applied for redundancy from the British Army and would not be notified until Sept 1st if he was accepted. The very soonest he could be free to leave the army was middle of October. All sides agreed that it was barely acceptable and we went forward waiting for the news.

Sept 2011
On Sept. 1st while we were on holiday in France, Lee got the call that he had been selected for redundancy--early retirement. After 33 years in the Army, he was free to leave. He was now free to join me and we would not have to be apart anymore. Long distance love is hard, but not impossible. We were both elated that we finally had the chance to be together in the same place. I jokingly say that from now on, the furthest I want to travel to him is from the living room to the kitchen!

Sept. 17, 2011
We went to Poland on a whim. We had been there before and loved it and decided to spend my birthday weekend there. On Saturday night, Lee gave me loads of little presents and the very last present was a box of Belgian chocolates. I was a bit hesitant to open them--since we had just eaten a sumptous meal--but he kept insisting. I finally opened the chocolates and tucked inside was an engagement ring! I was so surprised! I have no idea how he acted so normal all day, but he tells me now that he was going crazy inside waiting to ask me. That night we called all our family to tell them the wonderful news and I have the huge international roaming cell phone bill to prove it! We don't have any firm plans on a date or a place for the wedding yet. Too many things are happening all at once, but we will let you know.

Oct. 17, 2011
The movers just left. They have packed up most of my apartment and will be back tomorrow to finish. I had not even unpacked all the boxes from Freetown and now they are being shipped back to Africa. Lee and I are really looking forward to serving in Africa again. There is a certain flavor and earthiness about it that you cannot describe to anyone who has not been there. If you get a chance to visit, go. If you need a recommendation, ask my childhood friend Cathy who visited me in Freetown--she came for two weeks and loved it.

We will be in Maputo in early November and I will write when we get settled. For now, know that the world is a vast place that deserves exploring. There is a new opportunity around every corner, even if it's in your own backyard. Reach out to someone; get out of your comfort zone and live life to the fullest.

Becky Boo

Counting Pennies

I know I have not written a blog for a while, but this posting has not exactly gone as planned. (More on that later.) In the meantime, I came to the realization that one must have enthusiasm if one is going to write a blog story. Today I finally I mustered enough energy to write.

Everyone is watching the world financial crises especially closely these days. Working in the Economic section in Berlin has given me a birds-eye view of all things involving numbers, percentages and ratios. I have learned new words such as bailout and haircut (and I don’t mean the thing you get at the barber). Not only is Greece failing but Portugal and Cyprus are not far behind. The financial state of my own country is becoming more abysmal and confusing with each passing day. Here in fiscally solvent Germany, the U.S. is enjoying an ever increasing reputation as being financially and politically moving in the direction of stupid. Why can’t our lawmakers make a decision? Why can’t someone stand up and do the right thing? I don’t have answers to these questions but I do have a theory about why Germany is so financially successful. It’s my own theory, formed over several months of living here and enhanced by momentary lapses in patience. When they say, ‘Necessity is the mother of invention’ I say, ‘A blog is born of frustration.’ Allow me to explain.

Germans love coins. Well, they may not love coins but they have a lot of them and they use them diligently. The Euro currency contains the following coins (largest to smallest in value):

2 Euro
1 Euro
50 cent
20 cent
10 cent
5 cent
2 cent
1 cent

Compare that to the U.S. currency most commonly used:

25 cent
10 cent
5 cent
1 cent

A quick glance will show you that living with the Euro means you have twice as many coins to carry around. If you remove the U.S. 1 cent (more commonly referred to as the penny) from the list, you will see the Euro coinage ratio increase even further. I removed the 1 cent piece from the U.S. list because people in the U.S. don’t really care much about a penny. You see pennies on the ground all the time and people don’t even bother to pick them up. People toss their pennies into the charity jar at the counter or tell the clerk to “keep the change” because they don’t want to bother with pennies. I have seen people in the U.S. deliberately throw pennies on the ground just to rid themselves of the extra bulk in their pocket. A penny has no real value in the U.S. anymore.

While Americans practice penny pitching, fiscally-secure Germans practice penny pinching. People treat their Euro pennies as valuable as bars of gold. In fact, all coins are treated with the utmost respect. How do I know this? Because at the cash register, customers spend eons of time counting the exact number of coins it takes to reach the exact amount over an even Euro. In fact, since the Euro is a coin and so is the 2 Euro, the customer actually counts out his reckoning from the nearest 5 Euro; all in coins. I have seen customers at the grocery store take out their tiny leather coin purses and dump what looks like a months’ worth of change into their hand and then carefully and methodically count their Euro coins. This procedure is not a problem for the store clerk; they expect it. This labor intensive practice is also not a problem for any other German standing in line. Secretly, they are all waiting so they, too, can rid themselves of as many coins as possible when it’s their turn. Being an American, however, I am steeped in the rules of efficiency over the rules of solvency. Anyone who would dare count out 99 cents in coins at the peril of everyone else waiting in line is someone we would admonish with furtive glances. We avoid this cultural no-no like the plague. Any customer taking longer than his allotted 25 seconds per transaction gets an evil glare from everyone waiting behind him.

Last night, during what I anticipated to be a quick trip to my neighborhood grocery store, I experienced the entire gambit of German coin counting and coin receiving. Because I was in a fairly long line wearing very sweaty running clothes and carrying my favorite order of fried rice, I had a lot of time for observation. About four people ahead of me, the woman paying for her groceries counted out penny after penny with such care I thought she must have been saving them for years and had formed a personal relationship with them. The next person in line had very few items and thankfully only about 10 coins to count out. The two customers directly in front of me created a whole new set of problems; this time for the clerk. The customers were young people who spoke a foreign language (probably tourists visiting Berlin for the day) who only had very large paper money notes. When the first order came to 20 Euro and 1 cent, the clerk asked if the customer had 1 cent to go with the 50 Euro note. Unfortunately, the customer had no change whatsoever. The clerk let out an audible sigh and grudgingly counted out the proper coins and gave them to the foreign tourist. The next tourist had the same problem; no coins to offer. The clerk could hardly believe it, two customers in a row with no coins! The clerk rolled his eyes and looked to the other Germans in line for support, as if to say, “Can you believe someone has the audacity to empty my cash drawer of all coins?” The foreign tourist knew there was a problem and kept apologizing in English.

Then it was my turn. By now I was certain everyone in line could smell my disgusting running clothes and I knew my once hot fried rice was no longer anything close to hot. I wanted to complete my transaction as quickly as possible and go home. Unfortunately, I too, had my difficulties. Since I had come to the store directly from running, I had only brought a 5 Euro note with me. Paper money is light and does not weigh you down when you run, nor does it jingle in your pocket—something I cannot tolerate when I run. I had carefully calculated the cost of my 4 items to ensure the total amount would be less than 5 Euro, When the clerk rang up my items, I realized the small bottle of water I thought cost .69 actually cost .98, The item must have been miss-marked. This oversight threw off my calculation and I ended up 11 Euro cents over budget. What a dilemma! In the U.S., someone in line behind me would have offered the 11 cents, but not in Germany. In the U.S., one could have even expected the clerk to write off the 11 cent loss and let me have my items in order to save from having to do all the over-ring paperwork. Not so in Germany. The clerk called the store manager to “bring the key” and the manager placed her magic key in the register to un-ring my last item, thus reducing my total amount owed to 4 Euro 17 cents. Of course, now the clerk had to give me more of his precious coins from a cash drawer already depleted by the foreign tourists. I felt a small measure of satisfaction as I jangled my way home.

When living in a culture different than your own, sometimes you learn to live with the differences, sometimes you lose patience with the new practices, and sometimes you just smile and feel happy that you discovered a new theory; in this case, The Theory of Penny Economics.

For Women Only....or guys who want a laugh

Ok, ladies. If this does not make you laugh, then you have never worn "dress up clothes."

In the foreign service, one has to move to various locations around the world. At one post you may be wearing the least amount of clothing possible and your very next post might be in Siberia. This, of course, makes for a drastic change in wardrobe contents. Take for instance, panty hose; also known as stockings, nylons or in German, "shrumphosen." It would have been useful to know this word before venturing out to the mall to buy some, but that comes later.

My last post was Sierra Leone, West Africa, where the average temperature is about 85 degrees. There was no need for panty hose or any other form of clothing that would cling to your body when the humidity matched the temperature. I had a closet full of sun dresses and flip flops. I managed to wear nice dresses with a suit jacket and heels to the Embassy, but only because of the very American air conditioning system that no one else in Freetown enjoyed. But panty hose? I didn't own a pair. Because I lived in Texas prior to Sierra Leone, my panty hose collection has pretty much been void for the past 20 years.

Now I'm in Germany, where it's a good day if it doesn't rain. The fall temps feel chillingly like winter and then I remember it's nearly November and of course, nearly winter. I look sadly at my flirty summer wardrobe and wonder if I will be able to put together anything decent and warm and professional for my first day at Embassy Berlin. I select a black skirt, long sleeved top and a suit jacket. I add a few pearls and I'm ready to impress. Hmmmmm, what to wear on my legs with the temp around 45? Oh yes, panty hose! I remember I brought a pair along for church in Minnesota and they are somewhere in my suitcase that has yet to be unpacked. With a bit of searching, I find them and pull them on. They look great! Then I notice a BIG hole/run in them that just about coincides with the hem of my skirt. I wonder and wonder if I might be able to pull this off, but then think it's not worth the hassle of worring about my wardrobe on such an important first day at work. I find a pair of black slacks and put them on over the panty hose and they look ok. Of course, I think the pants are too form fitting to be wearing to work but at this point in the morning, I just need to get out the door and I hope my pearls will cover any wardrobe mistakes. That was Chapter 1 of Panty Hose Saga.

I decide to go to the mall after work to buy panty hose for day two at the Embassy, and thus begins Chapter 2 of Panty Hose Saga. I went to the supermarket and saw a display of normal looking panty hose in little cardboard boxes. I picked up one of the boxes and looked at the sizing....what in the world? The sizing was something like 36-38, 42-44 and 46-48. I chose the middle size and took them home. The next morning as I put them on, they went up past my waist and felt about as saggy as you can get. I had to wear them anyway because I had no other choice. The whole day I kept pulling them up....it felt like they went up to my chin.....and hoping no one noticed the wrinkled parts around my ankles. Ugh, I could not wait to get home and throw them away.

The next day I went back to the mall and this time I bought TWO pairs of panty hose so I would have a back up in case something went horribly wrong. This begins Chapter 3 of Panty Hose Saga. The first pair had cute little designs on them so I felt like I was in Paris when I put them on. The size was right but they were a bit itchy. My Dad says one must "suffer to be beautiful" and this day I fit the bill just right. When I got home, there was a huge hole where my toe had poked through (sorry guys, if this is too graphic for you), so I threw them away too. The second pair I bought that night came with a special shopping experience. I decided to go to a proper shop and ask a proper sales lady for help. I tried asking her in German, but I didn't know the word for panty hose. Finally through exagerated gesturing, I got the idea across and she said, "Oh, you want Schrumphosen" and led me to the proper display. I thought Schrumphosen was a funny word so I kept repeating it both because it was fun and because I wanted to remember it. I chose a size and brought it to the counter to purchase. There was a group of business men also at the counter and for some reason they thought it was funny that I was buying Strumphosen. They kept repeating the word and talking to the clerk and everyone was snickering except me because I could not understand a word they were saying! Now guys, tell me you have at least seen your girlfriend or wife buying panty hose and it wasn't cause for joking around. Anyway, I was wishing the clerk would put my Schrumphosen in a plain brown paper wrapper so I could get the heck out of there. Finally I escaped to the privacy of my apartment.

Chapter 4 of Panty Hose Saga finally has a happy ending. I wore the final pair today and they were....perfect! The size was correct, the elastic was actually present so they didn't fall down and they felt great. Best of all, they held up the whole day so I can also wear them tomorrow!

So the next time you Ladies slip into a pair of panty hose, thank your lucky stars that you (a) know your size, (b) know the word for panty hose and (c) don't have a boyfriend or husband who thinks panty hose should be purchased under cover of darkness!

A Comedy of Errors (OR Banking 101 in the Foreign Service)

This story begs to be told (and in this context begging was almost required), even though there are groceries waiting to be put away (and the fact that there are groceries at all is a miracle in this story), and the added facts that I still have an hour of German homework calling out to be finished and I ran a hard 45 minute run tonight and my dinner is burning on the stove and it's now 9:55 pm and I've had exactly one meal today. All that going on and I still feel the burning necessity of telling this story so others of you might be saved the humiliation of stumbling into the minefield of good credit vs. one tiny (seemingly harmless) mishap.

Where to start? Well, let's start with the financial details--namely mine. I like to keep things simple. I have one debit card and one credit card. For the past several years that has seemed ample enough. I can easily track things and don't have to weed through mountains of monthly credit card statements. In Freetown, business was conducted on a strictly cash basis, so I used my antiquated check book to write a check for cash every few weeks and paid for everything in cash. If I wanted to buy something online, I used my handy-dandy debit card. I hardly ever used my credit card and that significant fact will play a huge part later in this saga. A few more details--I have good credit; my credit card currently has a zero balance and a fairly high credit limit. My checking account is healthy too and by that I mean it usually has a couple of zeros to the left of the decimal point. My financial portfolio was not always this rosy, but I have worked hard over the past few years to get things in shape and I'm proud of that.

Next up is the silly little mishap. I was taking a friend to the airport and we were in a bit of a rush. As I was getting the cash out of the machine with my debit card and simultaneously checking the departure schedule, I haphazardly forgot my debit card in the machine. I have never done that before and I have been banking since before most of you reading this story were probably born. By the time the flight left and I realized my mistake, of course my card was long gone. I dutifully called my bank to report the lost card and they informed me that they would happily mail me a new card in "7-10 business days" along with the PIN code another "five days later." Geez, I thought, what am I going to live on until then? How am I going to get money? I knew I had about $25 dollars cash in my wallet and that certainly would not last for 10 days. Then, eureka, I remembered my long lost credit card. Surely that could help me out in the interim.

I breathed a sigh of relief, merrily dusted off my long-forgotten credit card and tested it out at a few places around town. I didn't make any large purchases--just a movie ticket, some juice at CVS, and drinks with my old manager. When I tried to refill my Metro subway pass very late last night, the machine didn't seem to like my card, but I chalked that up to a fickle subway machine and didn't give it another thought.

Today, I stayed home all day diligently doing my German homework until I talked myself into going for a 45 minute run. I have had too many days off from running lately (and frankly too many donuts and whipped cream lattes) and so running was a huge effort. I was assigned to bring snacks to my German class tomorrow so I decided to combine running with a stop at the grocery store on the way home. I don't have a car in DC, as is the case for most foreign service officers between assignments. My Africa car stayed in Africa and I will most likely buy another car when I get to Germany. In the six month interim, I'm car-less. The grocery store is on the way home from running so it saves me a few steps. I got all the groceries and I was looking forward to going home and eating a late dinner. Then all hell broke loose.

Hell breaking loose looks something like this: You are standing in line at the check out counter in sweaty running clothes after a hard run and you hand your credit card to the clerk and after she runs it through the machine she says, "Your card is declined." In my story, I am completely stunned so I ask her to try the card again, since I know full well that there is plenty of credit on my card to purchase $34.00 worth of groceries. She tries the card again with the same result, "DECLINED," and this time she says it loudly enough for everyone in line to hear it. Of course I am mortified. She asks me if I have another card to try, as if I carry a whole wallet full of cards for this very purpose. I'm in my running clothes and I want to shout that, of course, I don't have any other cards with me....I'm, in fact, traveling light. For a brief moment I consider asking the manager if I can take my groceries home and come back with an old fashioned check but as the manager comes over, I realize that there is no way in this modern credit abusing age that he is going to let me take home $34 worth of groceries on my good name alone--and I'm sure my sweaty running clothes didn't help my image. I ask the manager to please hold my purchases and I will come back with a check. He looks at me completely annoyed and I can see he does not believe me and curses me silently for all the hassle I am causing. I limp out of the store and head home, empty handed.

As soon as I got into the door of my apartment I got on the phone to my credit card company and for once I only had to be on hold for 6 minutes instead of the 22 minutes I had to be on hold last week when I changed my address. The operator started asking me all sorts of security questions about my account and that really surprised me. Why should my credit card company care about my tiny purchases over the last few days? I soon found out. Apparently because I hardly EVER use my credit card, when the credit card company noticed my purchases, they put a hold on my account because they suspected someone had stolen my card. Apparently, if your credit card practices are such that you are frugal and responsible and do not normally USE your credit card, you will not be ABLE to use your credit card until the company verifies that you have simply changed your routine and your card is NOT the victim of theft or fraud. The credit card operator called it, "Monitoring your account, for your protection." I asked her if she realized the humiliation her company had caused me when I was unable to use my credit card. She said, "Oh don't worry, when you go back to the store, your card will work because we re-activated it. The store will understand because it happens all the time." I wanted to yell back, it does not happen to me all the time.

So, to make a really long story a little shorter, I hiked back to the store, stood in line to wait for the manager and he had to ring up my selections all over again. He grumbled the whole time and he even said, "Well, you took so long to come back that I didn't think you were coming at all." I reminded him that I had to walk each way and apologized for my inconvenience. He certainly did not have that understanding attitude that the credit card operator promised. I resubmitted my credit card and this time it worked. I packed up my now even more precious groceries and walked home.

So, be sure you have a back up credit card, or maybe even call your credit card company in advance and notify them when you intend to change your credit card habits; or you might find yourself on your long-awaited exotic vacation in Jamaica with a credit card on HOLD. Welcome to life in the foreign service and learning new life lessons all the time.

Leaving Sierra Leone

I know it's been a very long time (or as my Dad would say, "A helluva long time"), since I updated my blog. Several of you have even personally written me, asking for an update so here we go. If I get too long on this one, I will supplement it with Part 2.

First of all, Africa changes you. No doubt about it, my memories from Sierra Leone are strong and searing, and I am having some trouble adjusting to life in the developed world again. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First a few facts, since I have not written for several months, and many of you might wonder what has been happening in the interim.

In March, our temporary Ambassador left and the other OMS had already left, so that left the running of the Executive Office to the DCM and myself. We had already been without a Political Officer for many months, so the Embassy staff was getting thinner every day. I felt like an old-timer, as the only Americans who had been there longer than me were the Public Affairs chief and the Information Management Chief. Everyone else was new or had left the Embassy. That left a lot of work to just a few people. I worked overtime from January until the day I left. I actually worked six hours of overtime on Saturday and left on Sunday. I never got another chance to get out of Freetown, which I desperately wanted to do. Seeing only the capital city is not the best view of a country.

I took a trip to Dakar, Senegal in late March for a two day training seminar on our new Employee Performance software. I had to give a presentation for the whole class and it was very well received, which was rewarding. Tagged on to the end of that trip was a 5-day trip to England. (More on the special purpose of that trip a little later in this Blog...if I remember). I had to fight like crazy to get one day off (it was Easter break so we had two paid days off and the DCM did not want to give me the one day off to bridge the gap), but finally he blessed my leave. I think he realized how much effort I had given to the Embassy over the past months and the training was very important to the Embassy. In this OMS position, it's very clear that training is a complete luxury; especially at hardship posts and small posts and African posts--all of which applied to my particular situation. No hardship post can spare a person and no hardship post can afford to pay for training. Well, if you are in a different division, with different funding, then they throw money at you to attend training all over the world. I don't understand how the local Sierra Leone staff almost ALL attended training and I could not get any training at all. I guess that's just the way the system works.

After Easter, I focused completely on packing out my apartment and getting my office ready to hand over. My replacement was not going to arrive until after I had departed, so basically that meant I had to create new files for her, create a book of duties, clean out all my old stuff, pack my office stuff to be mailed to Germany, and fit all that in between packing boxes at home and working a full time job. It was a very busy and stressful time.

The best part of that time was having friends host going away parties for me. I had a "Pink Lady" dinner party with my running group (in which everyone had to wear pink clothes), a Pink Lady farewell cake at the last Hash run (the cake was almost the size of a banquet table and everyone loved it.....although the frosting has a very funny story attached. The frosting was bright pink and I had two giant pieces of the cake over the span of a couple of days. Apparently the food coloring in the frosting was quite strong and, well, believe it or not you can produce pink poop!) The Embassy staff was too busy and too preoccupied to plan a party for me, so I arranged my own. By the time I invited everyone, it was the week before I left and everything had been packed out of my apartment. Being so adaptable, having no dishes or plates or food, didn't stop me. I catered some of the food, used up the supplies in the pantry, gave away all my open alcohol and even was creative enough to use a pretty shower curtain as a tablecloth, since everything in the apartment was white and bare and the party needed some color. Everyone had a great time. I invited just the people who really meant a lot to me--including the local staff at the Embassy. I took lots of pictures, gave a speech and had others say a few words about me. It was very touching and I was not the only one who shed a few tears.

I left Freetown on a Sunday night at midnight. Well, the flight was supposed to take off at midnight, which meant I had to be picked up at my apartment at 7pm. Unfortunately, the computers and the air conditioning at Freetown airport both chose to go haywire at the same time, so after arriving at the airport at 8pm, I had to wait in sweltering heat until 2am for my flight to take off. It was not the ending I was hoping for, but it did give me a chance to call those people I never got a chance to say goodbye to in person. All part of the adventure.

I took a flight from Freetown to Denver to attend Angela's PhD graduation ceremony at UC Boulder. It was culture shock from the first minute I landed in the United States. I could not get over little things like being able to drink water from the tap and all the streets looking so clean and all the people appearing rich and well dressed. I could not get over all the shiny cars, the affluent society, the lack of diversity. It was wonderful to see my family (and my special significant other), and they helped shelter me from too much civilization. Good thing I was not driving a car at this time; in fact, I have not driven a car since I left Freetown. Wow.

I am now in Washington D.C. for German language training. Adapting to life as a student and life outside of Sierra Leone is a whole new topic, and worthy of a new blog, which hopefully will be forthcoming a lot sooner than the last one. More on that in the days to come.

For those of you who stuck with this long blog until the end, the trip in April to England at Easter was to meet the family of my very special new man, Lee. He has not specifically been mentioned in this blog before, but I want to say that we are very happy together and despite the calamity of distance and long separations, we are forming a strong bond. You will be reading about him in blogs to come, I'm pretty sure of that.

Hope everyone is well. Enjoy life, and no matter what, make the best of things. We only get one ride--make it a good one.

People Contact & The Ability to be Generous

I went home to the U.S. over the holidays for the first time since I arrived for my posting in May 2008. I had been to Thailand and England between then and now, but that was vacation and a totally different experience. It was quite amazing to be landing in New York on Dec. 16 and think to myself, "Wow, I'm in my home country." My first thoughts were of how organized everything looked--even from the air. The U.S. is patch-worked into these neat little boxes of industry and residential space and every square inch of land seems to be developed. In Africa, it's a hodge podge of development--if there is any development at all. Everything is disorganized and scattered and broken and dusty. The U.S. is gleaming and clean and sanitized. But that is not what this blog is about, really.

Over the holidays, I was surrounded by loving family and friends and I had a wonderful time. But I realized something. Apart from my family, I really didn't have much contact with any other people. I cannot tell you any funny stories about clerks in stores or random people on the street because I didn't have enough contact with them to remember them. It seems in the U.S. that people are pretty isolated from each other. Maybe it's because everyone has enough money to be self-supporting so people don't need each other. Maybe it's because Americans value their privacy and don't readily engage with people they don't know. Here in Africa it's totally different. I can tell you that even for a person like me who has only been here 18 months, I have lots and lots of people who know me and greet me every day. In the morning my housekeeper Mariama comes each day at 7:00. We discuss what will be prepared for dinner that evening and if I want to bring anything for lunch at the Embassy. Sometimes she even makes me breakfast (like crepes on the patio) before I go to work. I have human contact from a wonderfully warm person right at the start of my day. Today for instance, Mariama informed me that Adama--our good friend who had her first baby last Friday, was sad and hungry. Apparently the people she stays with have not been making meals and she does not have enough food to eat to make breast milk for the baby. I gave Mariama some money (about $8.00) and told her to take the day off and go to Adama's and cook for her. She later told me that she made food for Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Quite a long way to stretch $8.00. I had the opportunity to be generous in a way that I never would have in the U.S. Adama called me later and thanked me over and over for my kindness.

On my drive to work, I know almost all the people who live on the roads I take. They all wave and give me a big good morning smile. Some of them even know my name. There is a group of ex-combatants (child soldiers from the recent civil war --who have grown into young men now) who live (probably more like hang out) on a stretch of road near a restaurant I frequent. Each time I drive by, they call out my name "Miss Becky" in excited tones and wave enthusiastically. I first met them through a Lebanese friend of mine who gives them a small bit of cash every now and again (about $2.50) and also gives them large bags of rice a couple of times a year. His father started the practice because the Muslim faith says you should help the poor. So now I help them too. I didn't really take much notice of their familiarity, but recently when I was driving by, I had a new Embassy employee in the car with me. When we drove past, they called out my name and waved wildly like they had just sighted a movie star and my new employee turned and said, "Does the whole town know you by name?" Not quite, but I'm working on it.

All this got me to thinking that it's going to be much different at my next post--Berlin. I'm going to be in the middle of a big city, I won't speak the language and I will be just another anonymous white person among a crowd of urban professionals. We will all look and act alike and no one will take much notice of each other. This is sort of the feeling I got when I was back in the U.S. I never thought of our culture as aloof before, but after being in warm, friendly, small-town Freetown, I can see the vast differences. I think I prefer it here. There is so much cultural diversity and people really go out of their way to be a part of your life--if you let them. I love it here and I'm really going to miss it.

The Story of Mohamed

I went running on the beach after work yesterday. Traffic was terrible getting from the Embassy to the beach and my usual 25 minute commute took almost 40 minutes. That doesn’t sound like much of a difference, but that put me at the beach later than I prefer. What the delay meant was that I could choose to cut my run short because it would get dark sooner than I planned, or I could stick to my original schedule and run the last bit in the near dark. On this particular day, I had a challenge from my coach so I decided to keep my training schedule and risk the last part of the run in whatever darkness would hit at the end of my session. What, you may ask, has any of this to do with someone named Mohamed? Well, I’m trying to set the scene so you can understand my particular frame of mind when I met Mohamed.

Now back to the run. I have been running consistently 3-4 days a week and trying to improve my stamina and run times. Lately for each session, I have been running 20 for minutes, walking for a minute and then running another 20 minutes. I felt good about that. My coach thought I could do better. He challenged me to do 20 minutes running, reduce the walking to 30 seconds and then run the remaining 20 minutes. I thought this was ridiculously difficult, but decided I might give it a try. I didn’t make my mind up to try it until I was all the way through the first 20 minute run and about 25 seconds into the walk when I thought, oh heck, if I’m going to try this, I only have 5 more seconds to walk! So I took a deep breath and started running, hoping for the best. I felt great and kept going. About 8 minutes from the end of the run (and the place where my car was parked) it started to get pretty dark. My feet were having trouble finding the road and hoped I wouldn’t step in any large holes or trip over a speed bump. The lights from the approaching cars helped some. Remember, in Sierra Leone, there is virtually no power and hence, no street lights. Then, I actually started to run faster—that was definitely not part of my program--but I still felt good and really wanted to get back to the car in one piece. At last, there was the car and I scrambled in. I don’t know what felt better; the fact that I had run nearly 40 minutes non-stop (that measly 30 second rest hardly counted) or the fact that I had survived the darkness without injury, or the fact that I was safe in the car. All in all, I was excited and tired and just wanted to get home after a long day.

As I left the beach road, I could see a line of card stopped ahead of me. The same traffic that had delayed me earlier had obviously moved to my current location and I was dead stopped a long way from home. I was cursing my bad luck and feeling even more anxious to get back to my cozy apartment where there would be a hot shower and dinner on the table made by my wonderful housekeeper Mariama. So I was sweating hot in the car that was not moving an inch, when a large black man walked by my open driver’s window and said, “Hi Madam Becky.” Now, contrary to popular belief, I am not personally known to everyone in Freetown. Obviously this man knew me from somewhere. It was dark and I could not see his face very well but he greeted me again and said, “Madam Becky, it’s me, Mohamed.” Of course that meant that I should also know him but I could not recall from where. Finally I asked him, how we knew each other and he told me he used to be a security guard at my apartment. That explained some of my memory lapse—on this night he was not in uniform but in street clothes. He told me he was on his way to his new job and a few other details about his life. I learned he didn’t have enough money for a taxi (they call it ‘transport’ here) so I offered to pay for his taxi. It’s not very expensive (about $1) and I can afford it so I gave him the money. He remained standing next to my car talking to me as I sat in traffic. I decided to be helpful and offered to drive him to the closest taxi junction so it would be more convenient and cheaper for him to get to work. He was very grateful and climbed in the passenger side. The traffic was still not moving at this point, so Mohamed began to talk again. I should mention here that almost everyone in Sierra Leone is poor--desperately poor. The things you and I take for granted, they cannot even begin to afford, such as a $1 taxi ride. I asked Mohamed an innocent question: Why was he not working at my building any more? His answer turned out to be a long story which broke my heart. Mohamed said that one night when he was on duty at our security gate (a run-down shed, really) he fell asleep sitting in a chair, and the head of Embassy security reassigned him. This happens all the time, I am sorry to say. The guards work 12 hour shifts, 5 or 6 days a week and they are always tired and hungry. Sometimes the only food they get all day is from one of us at the apartment complex. For the privilege of working 240 or more hours a month, they earn 200,000 Leones. Presently, $1 is worth about 3800 Leones. That comes to about $52 per month. Mohamed said he has a wife and 5 children to support. Imagine how far that money has to go. Mohamed said when he lost his job at our apartment building, the security firm relocated him to a complex much further from his house. Because of the distance from his house to the new location, he cannot afford ‘transport’ to get to work so he has to walk—probably about 4 miles each way. His story got worse from there. I began to feel a little guilty about my nice apartment and my hot food waiting on the table. Mohamed said the house he was renting is owned by two sisters who are fighting over who gets to manage the building. The sisters somehow decide they don’t want to rent to Mohamed anymore (because one of the sisters wants to live there) so they threw Mohamed’s possessions out of the house and told him to find another place to live. His family had to be split up between various friends and family until they can find a new place. He recently found a place, but it’s 2,400,000 Leones –up front-- for the year’s rent. That is also typical here. Sierra Leoneans pay all their rent a year in advance. I cannot fathom how someone who makes $52 per month can possibly afford $631 for annual rent all in one lump sum…so he explained how he planned to accomplish this. He told me he sold all of his possessions that are worth anything: tv, dvd player, etc. He was still 400,000 short so he told me the only thing left to sell was his bed. I was in disbelief. He will have to give up a good night’s sleep just to keep a roof over his head. Logical me wondered how he will manage to stay awake at his new job if he can never get proper sleep at home. I thought of how ironic it was that this whole saga started because Mohamed fell asleep in a chair at the Embassy compound. Now it looks as though that chair might be the only place he can sleep again.

All during the story, Mohamed moaned and told me how worried was about his finances and how much he missed his family. Because they are all split up around town, he does not get to see them very often. He also explained that he cannot afford ‘transport’ to go and visit them. I felt terrible; all this because I went running on the beach in the near dark and got stuck in traffic. I felt like I should do something to help Mohamed but all I really did was listen. I knew that his story was typical of almost everyone working at the Embassy in a low-paying job. I hate the fact that the Embassy contractor does not pay them a decent wage, but that is the prevailing wage all over town. The security guards are very lucky to even have a job; most of the people in Freetown are unemployed. I have no earthly idea how they provide for their families.

Mohamed never really came out and asked me for money. I gave him ‘transport’ money of 10,000 Leones, which is about 5 times extra what it will cost him to get to work. I hope he appreciated my gesture and can use the money for some good.

I desperately want Sierra Leone to advance so the people can enjoy a better standard of living. But I cannot do that all by myself. I have given money to people who have sick children, money for school fees, and money for people to visit their families far away in another province. But I cannot help everyone. I wish I could. I wish people in developed countries could witness what I see every day: children as young as 5 with younger siblings tied to their backs as they help their mom sell things by the side of the road; children as young as 2 or 3 who sit alone playing in the dirt as cars fly past right next to them; children who don’t have the privilege of going to school --carrying water jugs on their heads wearing very tattered and dirty clothes; handicapped people who do not have anything more than old wooden crutches to rely on for transportation—they use these for their whole lives; children who are sick with malaria who die because their parents don’t have enough money for medicine. This is life in a third-world, poverty stricken, war- recovering country. I read some of these facts before I came, but nothing prepares you for the abject poverty you see every day. You never get used to it. If I see Mohamed again, I will give him a little more money and tell him I will pray for him.

Life in Freetown

Hi everyone,
Below is an email I wrote recently to a fellow OMS colleague who was inquiring about my position here in Freetown because she is contemlating bidding on my job. As I wrote the details, I thought maybe some of you might like to hear my thoughts on Freetown after living here over a year now. Hope you are all well. Enjoy.

* * * * * * * * *

Hi Lynn,
I am happy to share all my experiences about Freetown. I really love it here. However, I am a simple girl who was anxious for an expanding cultural experience and that is exactly what Freetown delivered. It’s about as different here as you can get from a civilized place.

This is my first tour, so like you, I do not have much to compare it to. However, I did visit Embassy Monrovia when I assisted with the Sec State visit in August, so I can at least compare it to another West African post. Monrovia had the feeling of being slightly more dangerous—they suggested I not run on the beach at any time. I run on the beach here in Freetown almost every evening after work and feel completely safe. I think the people here are more friendly than Monrovia. Our Embassy building is only two years old, so everything is nice and new and modern. Embassy Monrovia is old, but they are building a new one. Our post has about 23 direct hire Americans. We only have two OMS’s—one for the DCM and one for the AMB. Our AMB has been away from post which means that the DCM is the Chargé and that means I have a lot more responsibility—which I love. A small post such as Freetown means that you get a lot of varied experience and you also get to meet a lot of interesting and high level people. The Front Office is the hub of the activity at the Embassy, so if you like meeting new people and learning new things—with no two days being the same, then you will love the job. My boss leaves in August next year.

Although Freetown is the capital city, it has more of a small town feel, and before long everyone in the diplomatic and NGO community knows each other. I find it cozy and welcoming. I have many good friends here and we take turns hosting dinner parties and Sundays at the beach. You are right, there is not much to do, but getting together with good friends can be very rewarding and I am going to miss all my friends very much.

The shopping is extremely limited and I buy most of my things online. I had not done that before but it’s worked out ok. Embassy employees pay shipping to Dulles, VA and then State Department pays from Dulles to Africa, so the cost to send things here is minimal. My family and friends send me packages of goodies and they appreciate that they don’t have to spend a fortune. You can return things for free from here (from places you order from online like Target or Amazon), so that’s good if something does not fit. The down side is that the mail takes from two to four weeks to arrive, so you cannot be in a hurry for anything. There are restrictions on some items—like liquids and glass containers. Coming from Stockholm, you will learn to live without a lot of conveniences. For instance, we do not have fresh milk here. I think for me, I learned to appreciate the essence of West Africa and I try not to think about the things I am missing.

Culturally, it’s challenging to live here. On the way to work, you will see children struggling to carrying water on their heads. You will see poverty and starving dogs. That can get to you after a while. We get two R&Rs during a two year tour. I took my first R&R after 11 months and that was too long. I suggest leaving post about month eight or nine for sure. I went to Thailand and almost cried just to stay in a nice hotel. You will appreciate civilized things much more after you live here.

Medical care is non-existent for the quality of care you are used to. We have a small medical clinic at the Embassy where they can treat most simple ailments. Anything complicated or serious and you are medivaced to London immediately. I feel very sorry for the Sierra Leonean’s. They die every day for lack of available medicine and competent medical professionals. The maternal death rate is 1 in 8; that means that for every eight woman who give birth here, one woman dies in childbirth. The average life span for males is 42, which means that a man’s life is half over at the age of 21. You do not see many old people on the streets here.

Speaking of street life—it’s quite vibrant. You will see chickens and goats and sheep and children and mothers with babies tied to their backs and broken down buses, and cars going the wrong way and children in school uniforms and motorcycles all sharing the same roads at the same time. There are no sidewalks, no stop lights or stop signs, no shoulders on the roads. The roads are terrible; potholes, ditches, erosion, you name it. You must have a high clearance vehicle that is build to last. I have a Toyota 4x4 and it works great. You get used to the driving and after a while it’s actually fun.

It’s convenient one stop-shopping at the Embassy for a lot of services: you can go to work , go to the doctor, get fuel for your vehicle and go to the bank—all in the same building during the working day. We also have a tennis court, a gym, a pool and a basketball area. The Ambassador promotes wellness, so three days a week at 4:00, the Health Unit sponsors an exercise class or a walk up the big hill near the Embassy.

The beaches are absolutely fantastic. I probably went on and on about them in my first email, but if you like beauty and nature and serenity, then the beaches here are really wonderful. They are great for your peace of mind and to relieve the stress of the environment and the working stress at the Embassy. No movies here, except for your private DVD collection. A lot of people order TV series online and then everyone shares them. They do have one golf course here which is very convenient and is utilized by a lot of people.

Basically, what I can tell you is that you learn to appreciate the simple things in life; you learn to be generous to others because people here need everything and we have so much compared to them. I have a housekeeper that also cooks for me and the cost for such a service is very low compared to the U.S. I also have a driver to help out in the evenings and he is also very cheap.

I feel like I am making a real difference here. I feel like I am meeting influential people and learning about the diplomatic world from a small perspective. I have learned to accept the face of poverty and although it still breaks my heart, I have learned that the host country must do more and I cannot do it for them.

Hope that answers a few more of your questions about life in Freetown. Feel free to inquire about anything I left out. Best of luck bidding!
Becky
Becky Cheney
OMS - Chargé d' Affairs
U.S. Embassy Freetown

Hidden Rewards

From time to time I write about things that have some relation to Foreign Service life but are not necessarily things you would consider part of this journey. Moving around the world with no idea where you will first be assigned presents challenges and changes that you cannot imagine when you first see the email telling you you have been selected to join the Foreign Service. I guess life is a revolving process in general and Foreign Service life is no exception.

Today I delved into a project I have been avoiding for months. You know what I mean; everyone out there has a drawer or a room or a stack of something sitting in a corner that they keep meaning to get to but somehow never seem to find the time. Actually we all know the answer to why those things don't get done but we would rather not face the truth: that there are so many more fun and interesting things we would rather do with our time. Putting these tasks off only makes things worse and makes it all the easier to avoid; after all, we have created lots of practice avoiding those chores and now we are good at it. Well, for me, that task is unpacking the three large wardrobe boxes in the hall of my apartment. Now, I have lived here for 16 months and those boxes have been there the whole time. Luckily for me they are in the hallway leading to my bedrooms, so my guests have not had to witness my laziness directly. Nonetheless, it hit me the other day that in just a little over 8 months I will be packing to leave here and there is no good reason those boxes should not be unpacked by now.

So onward I went to dive into clothes I had not seen since I packed out of Austin in March 2008. What a revelation! It was as though looking through all those old clothes, I could see my life flashing before me in a wardrobe sort of scene setter. I guess I was trying to find myself for the past few years because some of those clothing choices were really ugly to be honest. For instance, I had several blouses that were orange. I don't even look good in orange. And what about clothing with color names that don't make sense? There was a cozy corduroy shirt that can only be described as the color salmon--definitely a color for a dead fish and not for me. And what about that day-glow lime green Polo sweater? Even though it was on sale, what was I thinking? You could see me coming down the road a mile away in the dark in that thing. There was some good news. I realized that most of my clothing was Ann Taylor and Polo and Gap--fairly decent brand names, so I have had decent taste even if I don't always get the color right. I purchased most of those clothes on sale or at the outlet mall because I well remember how poor I was during that time, but nevertheless I managed to look ok, despite a very tiny clothing budget. Another bit of good news was the clothing sizes I found in the boxes. Literally everything was too big for me. I tried on a couple of pairs of pants--sort of hoping I might be able to retain them and increase my wardrobe here in shopping-deprived Sierra Leone, but every single item was too large. I am happy to relate that all those miles of running have paid off because I am definitely a slimmer me than I was 18 months ago. Then there were the nostalgia items: Ryan's high school graduation robe complete with Valedictorian metals and National Honor Society sash. I had two lovely gowns; one from Allison's wedding and the periwinkle blue formal from Angela's wedding. Somehow the movers packed Laura's prom dress in my boxes and at a size 3/4 it's definitely too small for me. I found my grandmothers pink sweater that I gave her just before she died, my other grandmothers christening dress from 1905, several German dresses from Bavaria and even my old bowling shirt circa 1980. (did you know that I have bowled several 200 games and even a 600 series?) All those memories had been waiting for me and all I had to do was unpack them. To celebrate the big mess of hangers and stacks of clothes I have ready to give away, I happened to notice a wad of something in the pocket of that hideous orange stripped shirt I mentioned earlier. Guess what? I found $60.00! So to all of you out there who are avoiding that area of your life that needs doing, maybe you should think about tackling that project; you just mind find more rewards than you anticipated.

My Friend Joan

This story actually begins in 1999. Some of you may be shaking your heads and wondering what event could have possibly occurred in 1999 that might have any relevance to Foreign Service life; much less an event that happened 10 years ago. Well, life has many twists and turns and sometimes those connections reveal themselves many years later. Such is the case in this story.

Some of you know that in 1999, I moved back to the U.S. after having lived the past two years in Germany. At that time the following events took place simultaneously: my marriage ended, my oldest daughter returned to college at A&M, my middle child started college in Pennsylvania, my youngest child started her third year of high school, I started college, and I was working full time trying to make ends meet. Needless to say, I was a bit stressed out. I read some physiological chart a while back that has you identify key events that cause stress in your life and after you list your "life changes" it tallies your score in the stress department. My score was so high I probably should have checked into Shoal Creek Healthcare Facility, or given it all up to eat bon bons on the sofa. I did neither, and it was at this time that I met Joan. I'm a fairly regular church goer (I remain Catholic despite all the people from my generation who gave up their religion long ago), and one Sunday Joan noticed me and came up to say hello. In all fairness to the story, Joan came up to me not only to say hello, but also something like, "Are you alright?" She said this because I had been crying. With all the changes going on in my life, I tried to be strong for everyone else, but church was the one place I allowed myself to break down and fall apart. Maybe I thought God would not mind if I showed my true feelings; feelings of despair and anxiety and fear. I think Joan saw this in me and walked over to say hello. I'm sure she got a lot more for her hello than she bargained for, but I was glad for the company. I felt totally alone at that point in my life and she reached out to me in a way that I knew at least one person noticed my struggle and cared about me. She gave me her phone number but I must confess I was too shy with all my troubles to call her. We saw each other at church and each week she asked how I was. I felt so glad for those meetings. Nine years later when I left Austin to take this job with the Foreign Service, Joan and I exchanged emails and promised to keep in touch. Eventually I gave her the address for this Blog, and she follows it faithfully--even emailing me her comments from time to time.

About a month ago, I got an email from Joan. She knew someone who was coming to Sierra Leone and she asked if it might be possible for us to meet. I said yes immediately and she gave me the email for "Erin." It turns out that Erin is the best friend of Joan's daughter, Sarah. Erin and I exchanged details and I offered to have her stay with me while she was in Freetown. She arrived Thursday evening and went upcountry (the term for "up to the primitive areas") for the next two days. On Saturday afternoon, she came to my house and we met for the first time. She was really nice and we got along great. We went running on the beach, and then came back for a shower. She said it was the first hot shower she had had in two weeks; as she had spent the past 10 days on a mission trip with Young Life in Liberia. I took her to an Embassy Happy Hour that evening and she met people from all over the world. The next morning I made waffles and fresh coffee and we sat around the table like family. Later on, I took her to the Tacugama Chimpanzee Sanctuary and she got to see the chimps and all the good work that Bala is doing. On the way home we stopped for fresh bread and she shopped for trinkets on the side of the road. We had a great time and she made me realize something very important; that this really is my home now. Seeing Freetown through Erin's tourist eyes made me understand how comfortable I have become here. I have a pretty good command of the Krio language and I can talk to the local people in their own dialect. I know how to drive in this crazy place. I know where to find the good bread. I'm not afraid to walk the streets and I can bargain shop with the best of them. I really like living here, experiencing the rich culture of Freetown and being with Erin reminded me of this. She kept thanking me for all I have done for her, but really I wanted to thank her for showing me how far I've come.

So thank you Joan for being my friend when I really needed one. (And I hope you didn't mind that I told your story here). Thank you Erin for trusting some random acquaintance of your best friends Mom (me) because it was great meeting you. Thank you God for the experience of being in Sierra Leone.

Life is what you make it. Make it good.

The Art of Saying Good-Bye

Life in the foreign service presents many challenges, but one thing I did not consider was all the good byes you have to face. I have been at post for over a year now, and people I know well are starting to leave. Some of them only had 1-year assignments and are now leaving for their next adventure. I only knew a few people in this category, such as the Canadian journalist who I met on a Hash run last October. She and I fell into step together and even though she was a full six inches shorter than me, we ran in the exact same rhythm. We ran into each other a lot socially over the next six months. I learned how very inquisitive journalists can be and more than once I had to refer her questions to the Political Affairs Officer at the Embassy, rather than try to answer them myself. That's another important lesson I learned this year; life at an Embassy can be a political minefield. Don't answer any questions related to the Embassy with your opinion or conjecture. Be sure you have the facts and be sure those fact are allowed to be released to the public. If you are unsure about something, err on the side of caution and don't say anything. Believe me, I got to the point where when something big happened to the U.S. in the news or in Freetown, I would make a point of calling the Public Affairs Officer and asking her what things I could say about the topic. It's much safer than to be cornered by a journalist and have to think on your feet. Welcome to diplomacy. But I'm off topic.

My best friend at the Embassy, Lynn, is Sierra Leonean. She and I bonded a while back because she is a wonderful person, a true professional at her job and because by some strange concidence, her entire family lives in my home town in Minnesota! (her family left many years ago but she stayed to finish school) Her family met my family twice when she went back to the U.S. to visit. (No it is not lost on me that she has been back twice to the U.S. to visit her family and I have not been back at all in almost two years....but she has worked for the Embassy for 5 years and has a lot more vacation time than I have.) They met at my favorite restaurant and had margaritas, took photos and talked about me. Again, I'm off topic; this time I think it was mention of margaritas that did it. Anyway, Lynn was recently accepted into the PhD program at St. Could State University. She starts classes in August. With little more than two weeks notice, I have to say good bye to my closest Sierra Leonean friend. While I wish her all the best, as she has worked so hard for this opportunity, I will really miss her genuine friendship. We have plans to meet again at Christmas when I come home on R&R to Minnesota.

My other best friend, Stephanie, has decided to leave her post at UNICEF and go back to Canada. She is tired of living the nomad life and wants to settle down and be closer to her family. She and I bonded quickly (as this life makes you do) and she plans to leave a month after Lynn. Stephanie and I shared many lazy afternoons at the beach, we ran together, attended each others birthday bashes, and had the best girls night sleep over with pizza and M&M's that one could ever imagine in a third world country. I will miss her a lot.

Most of our Embassy staff is leaving in the next 8 months. Daren, who started the same day as I, will depart for language training in November with an onward assignment to Monglia. Lindsay and Sean, who were my sponsors when I arrived, are leaving for their next assignment in Canada a little earlier than planned because Lindsay will have their first baby in December, which I'm pretty sure was planned. I leave sometime next spring-probably May or June- with 30 days of Home Leave before my next assigment. No, I don't know where I'm going yet, but we did receive our Bid List last Monday and I have been researching where to go next. I will write another post on that later. Our bids are due August 28 and we find out our assignments sometime in October. Wow, I can't believe I'm over half way through my first tour!

There is one other person who deserves mention here regarding difficult good byes. Some things are just too difficult to write about so I will save that for anther time too. Suffice it to say that this life makes you appreciate every single second of the good times and makes you miss them with complete and utter clarity when they are gone. We all have but one life to live and I plan to make the most of mine. "I'm all in" as they say.

Make it good.