1/10/02
This letter was supposed to wait until tomorrow, but I'm unable to sleep (undoubtedly due to jet lag), so at 2:40 a.m. I will begin my update...
At the moment, we figure that we face two to ten weeks separated. If the authorized departure ends in January, Jen could be with me in Yemen by the final week of that month. Coming in at around the same timing is the possibility that Jen could get a job with the embassy, be declared "essential staff" and join me following the appropriate approvals of that. Those are the two early scenarios. At the other end of the spectrum is the possibility that the authorized departure could continue until March, at which point it would either have to end or the embassy would have to become a post with no family members, at which I would break my assignment. It is impossible at this point to figure out which scenario is most likely, given the uncertainties of the War on Terror, our personal, employment, and emotional needs, family responsibilities (Jen has a family wedding in mid-February that she may stay in the US to attend), and how well I can stand being alone.
Though we will not have any trouble getting through this period of enforced separation, from a marital standpoint, it is going to be one of the worst periods of our lives, without a doubt. When I arrived yesterday, after 27 hours of continuous travel, I probably wasn't in my most stable emotional state. Nonetheless, it's difficult to discount my emotions from last night. Throughout most of the last few weeks, and continuing until I boarded the flight from Rome to Sanaa, I have probably been in denial about this whole thing. It suddenly hit me when I smelled the interior of the Yemenia aircraft that I was really on my way back to Yemen and that Jen was not going to be with me for weeks. When I arrived at our house, the trauma hit with full force. I knew that our household effects had arrived while we were gone. I was not prepared for a house entirely taken over by boxes. Two rooms are completely barricaded from access, as is our porch (as you may recall, our favorite place in the house). The dining room table and chairs were moved so that boxes could be stacked on and around them, putting the table out of commission. After a full six months in which we have lived with the contents of a few suitcases and a small air freight shipment, it is amazing to remember some of the things we own. I have a rocking chair, a step-on kitchen garbage can, numerous photos and posters, and a sculpture of triangle-headed men flying kites. We also shipped a lot of bookshelves, upon the advice of many in the Foreign Service. I believe I own many books, but I haven't seen boxes marked as such. Either way, there were plenty of bookshelves already supplied by the embassy, so I'm glad I brought shelves...
So far I have only recalled these things fondly, as I can't really get to them, but I saw the markings on the boxes and bundles to indicate that they do exist. The nostalgia of seeing my boxes was tempered, however, by the question of what to do about them. For months now, Jen and I have questioned whether we plan to stay in Yemen and/or the Foreign Service, and, if so, for how long. Here is the question in its most concrete form: Is it worth unpacking these boxes? I can clearly live without their contents indefinitely. Maybe I should just stack them in the basement for eventual shipment back home.
I called Jen in tears to tell her that I had arrived safely and that I had no idea what I was doing here, what to do with myself, or why I ever thought this Foreign Service thing was a good idea. We both knew that the best thing would be for me to get some sleep, so that perhaps things would look less bleak in the morning. I tried, but I could not fall asleep for hours.
I lay in bed thinking about what it would be like to go to the embassy in the morning, what it would take to get my house in order, the things I would have to do to establish my "life" in Sanaa, and the people I would be spending all of my time with. It all came down to one miserable point: none of those things are worth doing without Jen. That simply isn't how Jen and I live our lives.
We have not been apart for even a week in years. Our relationship is one in which we spend every possible moment together and we savor each of them. Everything we do we share together, and for that reason, I can hardly imagine what the next few weeks will be like. With that thought I cried myself to sleep.
Into A Holding PatternI logged in to my work email to find over 500 unread messages from the last four months, capped by a few lovely notes from close friends and family expressing their support for me in this difficult time. Sadly, I couldn't reply both for lack of time in the day (I spent all day greeting people and being briefed by the Administrative Officer on what I would be doing over the next few months) and because my mailbox has exceeded its limit, so I can't send mail from that account until I get tech support (a problem I didn't learn about until the end of the day).
After work I watched the beginning of a planned regular embassy volleyball game--I couldn't play because I didn't have the proper clothes with me. The turnout was high, though the level of play was not. Still, it did resemble volleyball. And there was some level of interest in raising the level of play (and eventually enforcing rules on carries and such) over the next few weeks. This will at least give me something to do, and exercise at that! Following volleyball, there was dinner at a restaurant to welcome the Regional Medical Officer (Doctor) who will be here temporarily until a permanent replacement can arrive. Throughout both of these events, I was reasonably cheerful and upbeat.
As soon as I arrived home, however, and started to walk from the car to my house, I could feel the panic of last night returning. I knew that the thoughts that had stayed at the edge of my attention when I was being distracted by other people would take center stage as soon as I was alone again. I held up better tonight than last night (thanks, in no small part, to a good long phone call with my friend Anise, who works in the embassy and called at just the right moment to reorient my thoughts in a positive direction). Even while tossing and turning (and ultimately giving up to write this letter), I have been in better shape. Still, the main thrust of my thoughts has been mapping out alternate plans for the next few months and years that do not involve being in Yemen through the summer of 2003.
Until more information is available about the authorized departure and Jen and I have more time to let our thoughts settle, I suspect this is where my mind will rest for a time. As Jen and I have said repeatedly, I expect that some day we will look back on this year or so of our lives and say, "Man! That sucked."
International TerminalLove, Michael Kolodner