Far too often I make the mistake of believing I know exactly
how the day will go before I even get out of bed. And
why wouldn’t I? Only hours earlier I had
tucked myself in with plans confirmed, schedules coordinated, and a list of
things to do - each item with its own tick box.
And still, after all this time, I am surprised it surprises me when
quite frequently, my days do not go as planned.
A few months ago I woke up feeling particularly good. It had taken a few weeks but, as is usually the
case with change, I was finding my new groove.
I was living and working in a “new to me” city and settling into my new position. I could say “good morning” in two of the
three local languages. I could walk to
the office from the house without getting lost.
And I could point to the majority of our projects on at least one of the
maps hanging on the office walls. I took
a moment to enjoy the feeling of the groove and reviewed the day’s list. I was feeling so good, I mentally added “quit
smoking” and then got out of bed.
In my new world, there were the usual things one enjoys
when relocating: the people, the scenery, the challenges. But with this move it was the coffee I had
really come to appreciate. I had arrived with the intention of giving up
coffee under the mistaken belief that the options would be limited to Nescafé Regular
of Nescafé Decaf. But during an “explo”
to one of Erbil’s shopping centers, I had found heaven in a bag – freshly ground
coffee blended with cardamom. My mornings
had come to take on ritualistic tones.
I went downstairs and found some colleagues/housemates in
the kitchen. Each one silently moving
about, enjoying their own morning rituals.
I stepped into the silent dance, acknowledging the others with a nod, reaching
around one to get the Turkish coffee pot, sliding behind another to open the
cupboard where the coffee lived, adjusting slightly to make room for another to
sit down on the chair behind me, then brushing by yet one more to light the
stove. I then waited for that magic
moment when I would pull the pot off the stove - just after the foam bubbled up
and right before the coffee boiled over.
Magic moment done and “Tick!”, I sat down. The smell of cardamom hovering over the
kitchen table and growing stronger as I raised the cup for my first sip. Heaven.
Then, through the mist of cardamom, I saw a blur. It was one of our doctors and he was moving
fast; rushing into the kitchen, oblivious of the ritualistic morning dance
taking place. He flopped down in the chair
directly in front of me.
“Catherine!”
“Mmm – hmmm”, I said, trying to slow down time, at least long
enough to take the first sip because I knew my groove was about to go off the
rails.
“I got a call this morning.”
“Mmm – hmmm”, I said, feeling the heat of the coffee on
my lips. It was too hot and time was too
short. Hating myself for doing it, I
slurped. I had no choice. I knew it would only be this first taste of
coffee that would go as planned for the rest of the day. As the first sip found its way home, I put
the cup down and looked into the doctor’s eyes.
I was ready for it. Whatever it
was.
“There was a chemical attack last night and they want to
know what we’re going to do about it.”
Ok. Maybe not
entirely ready. Now, it is true that
when those words were spoken, we were sitting in a country where there was a
history of such things. And not in the
distant past but quite recently rather.
In fact, just a few days ago. The
concern was great enough that our teams had been through basic trainings on the
topic and in the kitchen that very morning were two medical experts in
emergency planning and response. So it
wasn’t completely out of the blue.
I looked over to see if the experts had overheard the
conversation. They had and I could see
they had both abandoned their own morning rituals and were making their way to join
us at the table.
Giving a few moments for everyone to settle in I recognized
the all too familiar feeling of being surprised at being surprised that my day
was not going to go as planned. I then let
my thoughts work their way to a place of rationality. First however they had to start with the
reptilian and most basic thoughts of flight or fight, “OK. Everyone out now!” To the ego-centric thoughts of, “Well
honestly. Can’t these people stop
fighting with one another? I can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee in the
morning.” Until my thoughts made it to the
edges of rationality with, “Ok. At least
there are some experts in the room, let’s see what they have to say and figure
this out.”
I then tossed out the list of things to do for that day and
reached for the cigarettes. Together we
would just have to work through this Gordian Knot of what working and living in
Erbil. This particular knot it turned
out was made up of an early morning phone call; communications in a common
language that for both individuals was their second language, the justifiable
fears of living in an area within range of chemical weapons attack, and the
overriding desire to do something about it.
After more coffee, too many cigarettes and some phone
calls in multiple languages, we reached clarification on what had been heard as
compared to what had been said. There had not been a chemical attack the
previous night. The early morning phone call
had come from a concerned colleague who could not sleep and wanted to know what
we as an organization were capable of doing.
And you know what surprised me the most? Up until that moment I never would have
imagined that I would spend a weekend morning with trusted colleagues, coffee,
and cigarettes, discussing chemical weapons.
And while no other boxes were ticked that day, I was once again reminded
that if we let it, life will take us far beyond the plans we imagine.
4 comments:
I can see you, being calm, and I wonder where you got that trait...most certainly not your mummy! LOL!
And when did you start smoking young lady?
As always, your writing is so evocative and lyrical. I was right there sitting at the table, listening in, wondering if there way any way I could be useful at all. And if there was any coffee left in the pot.
As always, your writing ends much too soon. You leave us all wanting more.
"What had been heard as opposed to what had been said." How often even folks who speak the same language as their first language get communication bungled due to this very thing. And it took a whole day for you all to determine what had actually happened here.
My, I didn't know that you are in Iraq. I imagine your life like I imagine a movie. I imagine the romance of it and the harshness and the tedium. I imagine that you are meeting a world of people and experiencing a world of ideas.
Does Doctors without Borders take retirees?
And now, I want to make coffee with cardamom!
So good to read your reflections again.
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