ooOoo
It was now time to meet my new boss and see what Afghan Technical Consultants was all about. I was in a mix of eagerness to find all this out, together with some in trepidation of meeting these new Afghan people who I’d heard of and seen so much about. It was a Monday morning when my driver, whose name was in fact Siddiqullah, not ‘Ridiculous’, came and picked me up at 9 am sharp.
I was dressed in my Operation Salam uniform that was a mix of bad Pakistani ‘tailormanship’ and poor judgment by the military folk who authorised its colour and style. Operation Salam was the overall project name for the United Nations humanitarian assistance support to Afghanistan, and the demining program was a part of it. As a technical advisor within Operation Salam, I was considered to be an ‘expert on mission’ and therefore, like the demining advisors and trainers, I was supposed to wear this hideous uniform. It was a long-sleeved, open-shirt style uniform of a light tan colour, with several ugly badges sewn on each shoulder like a boy scout. It really was neither military nor professional in its appearance though I was required to wear it, and I did, for at least the first two weeks.
Siddiqullah and I arrived at the ATC offices and I got out of the car and went to walk inside. I had seen the old house that was being used for the ATC offices earlier, as I had snooped around the city, trying to get my bearings in the previous three or four days. It was in an older section of Peshawar and had a high, dark brown and moss-covered brick wall at the front with only about four metres of garden before the actual house. I remember thinking, even as I walked in for the first time, that there was basically no stand-off protection should an explosion occur outside. Making this worse, there was no guard out front and the gates were open for anyone to walk inside. There was also just a simple fly-screen door that led inside the office space proper, where there was a number of scattered desks with papers and documents all out and readable by anyone who entered. My security feelers were up and alert already. As I walked inside the office I thought, this is going to be a tough duty station.
Siddiqullah led me to the open office spaces through a short hallway to another open space that seemed like a small waiting area where several mujahideen-looking men sat, staring goggle-eyed at me. We passed by and entered through an open door into what was obviously a bedroom before being made into an office. I walked inside and saw a huge desk with several lounge chairs and a low coffee table. The walls were stained with black streaks from moisture and living micro-organisms, whilst the carpet covering the area under the chairs was basically worn through. The desk area was empty, but four Afghan men, all in traditional dress, were sitting in the lounge chairs and each of them stopped talking and stared directly at me as I walked in. Immediately I realised I was interrupting a meeting though Siddiqullah had just led me straight in. Not a great way to meet my new boss, I thought, as one of the men stood up and smiled broadly. “Assalam Alikhum,” he said to me as he jostled to come around the table and shake my hand. This was clearly Kefayatullah and I shook his hand and said hello. Both of us were a little unsettled and ill at ease, but I introduced myself and said I was sorry to have interrupted his meeting and that I’d come back in shortly. Kefayatullah smiled his broad, toothy smile again and said something to his guests in local Dari language and then to Siddiqullah, and everyone started to leave the office. Kefayatullah invited me to sit at an office chair at his desk whilst he walked around to take his rightful post behind the desk. He was a little nervous, as was I, and he asked me how I had settled in, was my house OK, was Siddiqullah behaving, and several other inconsequential questions. I answered all of these and began to explain what I knew of my assignment with ATC. I was about to ask where would I sit in the office and what he expected from me, when a tall, elder gentleman and two younger Afghans walked in. I was introduced to the older gentleman first, Mr Wali Sahib the administrative officer, then the two other senior officers of ATC. Wali Sahib was a gentleman, and he and I would become very good friends in the next several months. I found him to be a highly respected person and one of wisdom and great humour. We were to share a lot of jokes, laughs and a few tears over the course of the year.
But at this first meeting all of us seemed a little nervous of each other and I think it was because we were from such varied cultures that none of us seemed to know what to expect of the other. It was a friendly and cordial meeting but I think both Kefayatullah and I were both glad when it ended. After another handshake and toothy smile, I left Kefayatullah’s office and walked out with Wali Sahib to find what I thought would be my office space. My memories of this first meeting with Kefayatullah are a little vague though I remember he spoke reasonably good English and appeared very friendly, albeit uncertain of who I was or what I was to do. Kefayatullah was in his early 40s and wore a short but thick beard and was about my height. He was a bit on the fattish side and clearly was no sportsman or fitness enthusiast as I noticed his slim arms and his slightly bulging waist line. I found it hard to piece together who he really was for two to three weeks as he always had people in his office and several more waiting to get in. It really was pandemonium at his personal office and if I needed to see him in those first several days, either I’d have to wait and wait, or I’d have to interrupt a meeting. It seemed like he did everything and anything himself and all visitors only came to see him. Unusual, I thought, and something I’d need to look at.
So on this first day, I walked around the offices with Wali Sahib as he introduced me to a range of staff members who were all very interested to see and meet me. To be blunt, I felt like I was a gold fish in a small glass bowl as everyone just stared and gawked at me and of course this didn’t end that day. The gold fish bowl experience would last my entire time in Pakistan and Afghanistan though I got very used to it after some time.
As I walked around the office, I thought there was something odd about it, though I didn’t realise what it was until the next day or so. There were no women at all in the office. Not one woman visitor or employee, or worker at all. I thought this to be strange, though as I was trying to learn new names and functions and really couldn’t put too much thought into that just then, but I would later. After Wali Sahib had shown me around the crowded, dirty and seemingly unorganised offices, I asked where I was to be seated. He sort of mumbled something back to me then starting whispering in Persian to a few of the minions around us. I then realised that I really was just a ‘visitor’ as there had been no thought to any form of office space, or even a seat, to be allocated for me. It seemed as if ATC assumed I would work somewhere else and just drop in occasionally. Wali Sahib was very embarrassed about this oversight and he quickly had one junior officer grab all his papers and paraphernalia from his desk and vacate his small office for me. Whilst he did, Wali Sahib invited me into the kitchen and had a tea boy make us both a hot cup of chai. As we drank and stood in the kitchen I asked him what he thought I was here to do. Now in Afghan syntax there is a word that gives seniority or a sense of endearment to the person you are talking to. It is the word “Jan” which is pronounced something like “Jon”. Well at this time, Wali Sahib answered as honestly as he could and said, “Membrey Jan, I was told you were coming as the technical advisor for ATC and we are very glad to have you come here all the way from Australia. But I must tell you, I was not informed that you would arrive today and I am sorry for the confusion. But let’s see what we can do.” It was an honest response but not particularly helpful to me. I looked out of the kitchen into the former dining area that was full of desks with papers strewn about and pin boards with Islamic pictures on them and the old, dank and smelly atmosphere with people walking about in strange clothing. Oh my God, this next twelve months are going to be hell, I thought that morning.
Finally Wali Sahib shook my hand and went back to his office and