Evacuation: In Review

Now that we're safe, sound, and back home, I feel that I can look back on the evacuation with some objectivity.  Being evacuated is something that I never would have ever chosen to do.  But with that said, it was manageable.  I think that if I had been separated from Brandon for the entire three months, I would have been saying something else entirely.  But, I wasn't, and I'm grateful.

Although we've only been back for a handful of days, our time in Virginia is starting to fade in the fuzzy unreality of events completed.  This is my reality, and living in the US was just some strange, long dream I woke up from in the Cairo airport.

But, despite the overall unpleasant situation - away from home, living in a random apartment, unstable situation, maxed-out credit card, husband gone - I can't say that the entire three months were complete misery.

I enjoyed being back in the US with a car, a GPS, somewhere to go, and somewhere to park when I got there.  We've been going to the same park every Saturday since we've been here, and the girls were absolutely thrilled about the change.  Every time I'd announce we were going to a whole new park the girls were happy for the rest of the day.

On the surface when I didn't think too much about our situation, life really wasn't too bad.  I didn't have any housework, any appointments, and pretty much every day was filled with whatever I liked (as long as it included three children).  We went to the zoo, the aquarium, lots and lots of parks, friends' houses, relatives' houses, and to grandma and grandpa's.  Spending the first three months of my pregnancy on evacuation wasn't the worst thing because I already had excuses not to cook, and once Brandon left, I could sleep in as long as I liked.  Once it got warm, a friend and I decided to have as many picnic meals at the park as we could.

But, of course, when I thought about the reality of the situation, it wasn't quite so rosy.  I didn't bring anything to do with me, and after awhile the feeling of sitting and twiddling my thumbs began to drive me crazy.  Not knowing exactly when all of this was going to end, was frustrating (although I had a pretty good guess which turned out to be true).  The endless, expensive trips to Target for things I already owned grew a little old.  And when my husband got sent back, things definitely took a turn for the worse.

But, the evacuation, like most things in life, ended.  Which is something to remember in any unpleasant situation - all things end eventually.  And when you're done, you're that much more grateful for the pleasant situation that comes in its place.

Home. Safe, Sound, and Incredibly Happy

Right now, I can hear Brandon's voice echoing down the hallway.  Interspersed with his mellow tones and Kathleen and Sophia's excited voices chirping at him.  "Okay! We'll be mustangs!  And we'll pull you across the prairie!"  It is so wonderfully nice to hear that again, after three months of bedtime without Daddy, and a month entire with no Daddy at all.

Tuesday while I read blogs and relaxed from our flight, he bathed the children. While I fell asleep on the couch, he got them ready for bed and put them down.  And then we spent the evening catching up and eating chocolate.  Forget globetrotting, exotic vacations, amazing locales.  I just want to be home, and with my family.  It doesn't get any better than this.

In twenty-four hours...

I'll be flying over the Atlantic, hopefully asleep (maybe with the aid of medication).  But right now, my apartment is a mess, with dinner still sitting on the counter.  The girls' clothes are strewn over the floor, I have a load of laundry yet unfolded, and I can't find my iPod to charge it.

And what have I done about it for the last few hours?  Nothing.  What have I been doing instead?  Reading a really good book.  Because by tomorrow evening, my things will be packed, we will be on the plane, and dinner won't matter any more.  Whether or not I kill myself to do it tonight.

And so, I'm taking the last few precious hours of alone time to relax and read a book.  Tomorrow will take care of itself, right?

Time to go home

It is official - the evacuation is being lifted tomorrow.  Now begins the insanity of preparation to get gone yesterday.  Before I head off to the airport, we have to arrange pickup of a UAB shipment, arrange tickets on a flight that isn't full, I have to drop off things at my aunt's house for fall training, things at my cousin's house for my father to pick up, and find somewhere for my car to live for the next four months.

All hopefully before Sunday.  That would be Brandon's plan - leaving on Sunday.  But as with everything in the Foreign Service, this all depends on lining up the ducks just right.  So we'll have to see.

I am incredibly relieved that a rumored last-minute push to extend the evacuation did not go through.  I am looking forward to being with my husband and leaving single parenting to those who have stronger constitutions than mine.  These last few weeks alone have been exhausting, physically and emotionally, and I feel like I'm stumbling towards a far-distant finish line.  Can't rest until I'm on that plane.

Of course, flying with three children under five is no picnic either, but at that point, it's just a matter of waiting out the pain for a fixed amount of time.

So, we're going home.  I'm happy.  I'm relieved.  And boy am I tired.

A Note of Explanation

This morning, when I talked to Brandon, I learned that perhaps I had jumped the gun a little on announcing our return.  I certainly haven't been packing suitcases (in fact, I finally vacuumed up that oatmeal last night), and I hope nobody else has either.


When I said we’re all going home that was speculation and the EAC vote seemed to indicate this was the direction things were heading. However, the Department has to make the decision and even with EAC recommendation the Department may not be ready to let us return. It all depends on their discussion of things with post. Sorry, to have fanned the flames of rumor and gotten everyones’ hopes up.


But, hopefully, the speculation will turn into reality.

More packing... but for the last time

Today when Brandon and I talked, he had good news.  The EAC at post voted, and we're all going home.  We just don't know when exactly.  Since there are so many dependents who are still here in the US, they're trying to have a staggered return (anyone want to co-ordinate the return of 800+ people in three days?).  So we'll have to see how soon we'll return, but we do know that we will be going back.

When I told the girls, they gave me blank looks, and then I think Kathleen said something along the lines of hooray.  Sophia just kept looking at me.  We heard that we might return while at my aunt's house for the weekend (another round of packing, but just for overnight), and so they asked when we packed up to leave yesterday if we were going to Cairo.  Not yet, darlings, but soon.

I confess that I'm a little relieved that we're not going in three days.  After driving up from NC on Wednesday, moving solo Friday, and going up to Maryland Saturday and coming home Sunday, I'm beat.  While we were unpacking Friday, oats got spilled on the carpet, and they're still by the coffee table, slowly making their way around the house.  Thankfully I unpacked everything on Friday, but the suitcase from this weekend sits in the front room, slowly disgorging its contents.

Instead of cleaning up, however, I laid on the couch this morning reading, and took the children to the park this afternoon (where we met a fellow FS blogger).  I will miss all of the lovely parks.

So we're all excited to go back.  We all miss Brandon and home and space and Egyptian food and normal life.  We're happy.  And tired.  But most of all, happy.

Unpacking, and then packing, and then... unpacking

Yesterday, we got back from my parents' house in North Carolina.  While driving down Leesburg Pike, Kathleen exclaimed, "Mom, I think this looks just like Virginia!"  They are having problems understanding where we are going next.  This morning Sophia asked if we were going on the airplane to Cairo.  She was disappointed to only be taking a car to Virginia.  I was disappointed too.

Usually when I get to a destination, I unpack.  I don't like my clothes vomiting out of suitcases, although sometimes that doesn't necessarily translate to unpacking immediately.  This morning all of my clothes are still in the suitcases, without the least effort to unpack them.  In fact, I'm trying to keep as much in them as possible.

Because we're moving today.  I got a call a few days before Brandon left with the chipper Oakwood man generously offering us a newly renovated apartment.  I didn't call back because I didn't want to bother moving with three small children while pregnant without my husband.  He tracked me down at my parents' and repeated the offer.  No thanks, I told him, I'll hopefully only be staying two more weeks anyway.

Well, it turned down that the offer was less of a nice gift and more like an eviction notice.  Oakwood is renovating, and all apartments in a column are renovated at once.  And it's all of the -03s in C building.

One day when I am old and tired I'm going to move into a house.  And then I will unpack all of my things.  And then I will never leave they pull my cold, dead body out in a coffin.

Stolen from my parents' blog

Photographs courtesy of my father

As most of you know by now, Brandon flew out late on Thursday night, and arrived in Cairo to find the apartment in good shape, in fact amazingly clean. This would be explained by the fact that Rere had been kept on retainer, but has had no one to mess the place up.

Left behind with the kids, Ashley decided to take advantage of our invitation and come to Raleigh for a little while. She packed up the Pilot and headed south, stopping only for french fries at Wendy's along the way.

As always, it's been a delight to have her and the Sherwoodian gang around.

There has been lots of swinging,

and some intrepid climbing,

and some not-so-intrepid climbing.

Of course, a guy has to have a stick in his hand at all times.

Put a stick and some water together, and you're in 15-month Nirvana.

The girls also liked disturbing the long-suffering fish, who had just survived the long winter and the marauding blue heron.

The kids, including the Nedwinator, were amazingly well-behaved watching General Conference with their Mom and grandparents.

So, we're glad to have them for a little while. We hope that they get to be reunited soon with their Dad and finish their Cairo time peacefully. Meanwhile, there's fun to be had, pancakes to eat, toys to be rediscovered, books to be read, and bubbly baths to be enjoyed.

Mistress of the House

Brandon is gone now.  He is sitting at the Dulles Airport waiting to see if his name comes up for a wait-listed business class seat, and I'm home with the children, who are in bed.  I've done this a lot lately - been home alone with the children in bed - but this time I'm not waiting for anybody to come home.

We've had a fun week together, after Brandon went in to work for the last time on Monday. Tuesday morning we took the metro down to the Mall and the girls rode the carousel.  After watching Mary Poppins twenty times, they've been obsessed with carousels.  And so we indulged them.  After the carousel we popped into the Natural Science Museum, and then visited the National Aquarium before riding the metro back home.

Yesterday we tried to brave the cold at the park, but stayed inside for fort-building instead.  That evening, my kind cousin came and babysat the kids so Brandon and I could go on a date.  We called it our anniversary date, one month early, as the likelihood of being together in a month isn't high.

Today, after packing in the morning, we took the children to a movie and then ate dinner at IHOP.  Kathleen was adamant about wanting to eat at 'the pancake restaurant,' and then had grilled cheese.  We finished the evening with dropping Brandon off at the airport.  I haven't gotten the energy up yet to clean up the house and pack.

Tomorrow I'm going to my parents' house to stay until they kick me out or I want to come back to Oakwood.  I thought about moving back to my parents' or wandering around staying at various relatives' houses, but eventually decided to stay in our apartment here.  I've gotten too old and too independent to be a long-term guest.  I enjoy having my own space to let go to rack and ruin if I so choose.

We still don't know when the rest of us will go back; the evacuation was officially extended until April 30 (our anniversary).  So until they send us back, I'll be running the show alone.  So if I don't answer calls or emails promptly (or at all), you'll know why.

The time has come

Brandon sent me an email on Friday with the inevitable news that he is being sent back to post.  As I read the message, I was surprised by my reaction.  Instead of immediately breaking down in tears, I almost felt... relieved.  We've been waiting for this news for a month now and part of me is happy to finally just get it done with.

In a week, the part of me that will be the only parent 24/7 to three young children will probably be asking the relieved part what it was thinking.

But, there's nothing that I can do about Post's decision except to wash Brandon's clothes, cut his hair, and buy him a book (that thousand-page one) for the long plane ride back.  My housekeeper will be ecstatic, and Brandon admitted that the separation will almost be worth getting out of his temporary job in DC.

There are rumors that Post is recalling all employees within the next three weeks, and this is in preparation for the return of families.  I hope it is true, as single parenting out of a suitcase was never in my plans as a mother.  But, until that day when we're back together for good, we'll get along.  Even if it does involve unusual amounts of macaroni and cheese or chicken pot pies.

Living in the Foreign Service: Evacuations

I have never been evacuated before.  I've lived through a few hurricanes, watched some bad thunderstorms, and once when I was in high school, we had a kitchen fire.  The kitchen fire happened right before the hurricane, and so we all got tired of eating out after awhile.  Until we joined the Foreign Service, my life has been wholly unremarkable.

When we joined the Foreign Service, I expected my life to continue being unremarkable, just in strange foreign locales.  When we were posted to Egypt, I knew that we would have a quiet, hot, dusty two years and then we'd leave.  I'm a little on the obsessive side about mentally preparing for things, and so I might blog-stalk you if you happen to live in Baku.  I have the FAM bookmarked on my computer, and just the other day I sat down and calculated the monthly amount of rent we would have available for training based on per-diem rates in the DC metro area.

But never in my time-wasting mental preparations, did I ever look up any information regarding evacuations.  Because that wasn't something I was worried about.  But, now that I have the information, I'll share it with you.  What good is information if it is not shared?

I think the first thing that I thought about when I realized that I was going to be evacuated was leaving without my husband.  I did know this about evacuations - everybody but essential personnel have to leave when there is an evacuation.  Actually I was wrong, because I didn't know that there are two types of evacuation - authorized and ordered.  And they don't call it evacuation - they call it 'departure,' so it sounds less threatening, I guess.

In authorized, people can choose to leave or stay.  I knew a lot of people who chose to stay, including our next-door neighbors.  An evacuation may never move past authorized. But when an authorized is called, it has to last at least 30 days.  We left on authorized.  I worried that we were just getting unneccesarily scared, and everything would blow over in a week and we'd be stuck for 30 days.  The next day, however, the 'departure' moved to ordered.  And then nobody had a choice.  Being a consular officer, Brandon is considered essential, and so he was left after all of the non-essential were gone.  Technically, he should still be there, but he was given a choice to stay or leave.  And so he left, knowing that I would be very disappointed if he had stayed.

After we left Cairo on the chartered flights with our slips-of-paper boarding passes, we were then routed from Athens like any other government traveler, which of course was covered by the government.  I even was able to get United mileage credit for my flights.

When we were in the US, we went to Raleigh, where my parents are, as our safehaven.  All evacuees have to have an official safehaven address, even if they decide to take a five-month road trip.  The safehaven address is where your per diem payments are based on.  I received 100% of the M&IE and 10% of the lodging (because I was at my parents') and the children each received 50%.  After the first month, mine goes down to 80% and the children's to 40%.  The lodging never goes down.

After Brandon was evacuated, we came up to DC, and so I had to change my safehaven location with the financial people in Charleston.  We are in Oakwood, a corporate stay apartment complex that direct-contracts with State for language training TDYers.  We're not TDY, however, we're evacuees, so I got to put our first months' rent on my credit card - all $5,430 of it.

As a result of this rent payment, and several thousand dollars of plane tickets I had purchased just a few days before the evacuation, I got to experience my first credit card refusal the night I moved into Oakwood while buying groceries at Safeway.  Thankfully, Charleston has been wonderfully swift, and the credit card company has appeased.

Although Oakwood is a furnished apartment, the kitchen has had to have some additions from Target to make it somewhat cook-able, but that's what all of that money is for.  Unfortunately, when I was packing my four suitcases (one per evacuee), I didn't know that I would be in an apartment, and didn't even pack a garlic press.  Brandon did, however, bring my knives with him when he left Cairo.

And so now we're in Oakwood, sitting tight.  Most of the questions I get are about how much longer we'll be here.  Evacuations are evaluated ever thirty days, and we've already had our first.  Obviously, we weren't sent home.  The evacuation is lifted based on certain defined parameters, called tripwires.  The evacuation is called on those same tripwires, and so cannot be recalled until they are satisfactorily re-established.

According to my understanding, the major tripwire that has not been re-established is residential security.  Cairo mission is one of the largest in the world, and so we rely on local Egyptian police to provide almost all residential security.  The police force has not been very popular because of the events in Tahrir Square, and so as yet has not been reconstituted.

When the evacuation is recalled, we have seventy-two hours to begin our return to post before the financial support ends.  All evacuees are technically allowed UAB both from post and returning to post, but there wasn't (and generally isn't) any time to arrange the from-post shipment.  We will, however, be able to have a to-post shipment if we like.

What I had heard earlier about the time limits returning to post evidently was incorrect, and I learned that we can return to post any time up to 30 days before our scheduled departure, which is at the very end of July.  So we'll have to see how things go.  A month ago, I would have been quite sure we would be returning in a few weeks, but now I'm not as sure.  It is an evacuation, after all, and nobody possesses a crystal ball.

And so that's my experience with evacuations.  It certainly is some trouble, but I feel that State has done everything possible to lighten that trouble as much as they can.  I've come to find out that living without most of one's worldly possessions for an undefined amount of time is certainly annoying, but definitely not the end of the world.  As long as I have my family, I have everything I actually need.

Yesterday I went to Target.  While wheeling my children through the aisles I picked up a can opener and a bread knife.  Last Saturday I purchased a mixer and cookie sheets.  On my previous trip I bought small cups and bowls, an immersion blender, washcloths, a pizza wheel, mixing bowls, a pizza pan, and clippers.

I already own all of these things.  Due to our present circumstances, however, they're halfway across the world, and I won't be seeing them anytime soon.  In the meantime, I still have three children and a husband to feed and take care of.  And so every time I go to Target, I pick up a few more things that I already own.

We have now been evacuated for over a month, and living in Oakwood for just over three weeks.  The initial trauma of the evacuation is over; we're in no danger, we have a safe place of our own, and we've even established routines.  The immediate dislocation of evacuation is finished.

But now comes, in some way, the harder part.  This is the part where we wait, and while we wait we set up a semi-permanent, but ready to go with three days' notice, lifestyle.  Every time I think about buying another piece of household equipment, I wonder if I really need it.  Could I get along for the next few weeks without a garlic press?  Probably.  How about the next few months?  It would be more annoying.  But which do I have in store - weeks or months?  Which is more important - money or sanity?

After traveling between Egypt and the US several times, I feel like I've developed a split reality - third world and first world - that I can switch between in the blink of an eye.  Sitting in the Cairo airport, waiting to board a plane, I'm in a third world country.  But when I step onto that Lufthansa plane with its pleasant German flight attendants, I'm back in the first.  No problem, no dislocation.

I find the same developing now - evacuee and typical American mother.  I take my children to the library and they agonize over which books to take home.  We go to Costco and eat samples of crab dip.  But then I think of what we were doing just over a month ago - riding a felucca on the Nile.  I look at the emerging flowers and anticipate spring and warmer temperatures.  But will I be here for spring?  Or just skip it entirely and head back to Egyptian summer?

Who knows?  At this point, nobody.  And so life continues - the first world American one.  For now, anyway.

Every Day Counts

This morning, I woke up next to Brandon.  Instead of sitting on a plane crossing the Atlantic, he was next to me.

Approval from M has not come yet, and we were told not to look for it until mid-week, which means that we have another week with Brandon before he has to return to Cairo.  The situation there is still unstable, and so my secret hope and prayer is that we will have longer than just one week.

Every day, however, is borrowed time and so we pretend that every day is a normal one.  We get up, get ready for the day, and send Brandon off to work so he can return after everyone is in bed.  It's not the life I prefer, but I'll take any time with him here that I can get.  And I thank my Heavenly Father for every day I have.

Lunchtime conversation

Kathleen, praying: "And please bless everyone in the world that they can evacuate well, and get visas."

Sophia: "You didn't bless us!!  Kathleen, you didn't bless us!!!"

Kathleen: "But we already have visas."

Sophia: silence

Time to pack... again

A few weeks ago, when Brandon called to tell me he was coming to the US, he cautioned me that he might be sent back to Cairo before the evacuation was lifted.  Which meant that I would be left here with the children.  I waved it off, delighted to be seeing him, if only for a month.

I didn't even get that month.  He received a call from his boss today, telling him that they needed him back in the Consular section.  If all is approved by M, then he'll be boarding a plane for Cairo on Sunday, three weeks to the day since he came to the US.  And I'll be alone, again, for who knows how long.

I understand that we signed up for this possibility when Brandon joined the Foreign Service.  I don't like it.  But I know that sometimes these things do happen.  But he didn't necessarily need to leave yet - two people from his section are returning.  Four people are in DC.  Two people from his section are married with small children.  Two people are single.

Guess who they are sending back?  And to add insult to injury, the two management who decided to send the two married people are... you guessed it - two single people.

I was going to write a post yesterday commemorating three weeks of being evacuated.  I was going to write how life has settled down to something really approaching normal; we have a daily schedule, we have parks we like to visit, I have a library card, I've even started running in the morning again.

But now, my life has been blown apart again.  I'm getting tired of this.

Update

Today, I took a walk with the children.  We left our apartment complex and walked down the street, and after a few blocks we found a park.  It was situated next to a creek and in the middle of trees.  Kathleen found a friend to play with, and Edwin and Sophia enjoyed the swings.  We all came home, happy and ready for the pot pies I had put in the oven before our outing.

After such a nice, unexpected afternoon, I can catch everyone up on the last week.

Kathleen, Sophia, Edwin and I landed at my parent's house on Wednesday evening.  Thursday I unpacked, and that night my sister came with her three children to spend the weekend with my parents and attend the temple.

Friday morning, I got a call from Brandon.  He had been asked by his boss if he would like to leave, and he told him yes.  There would be a flight on Saturday, and he would most likely be in DC Sunday night.

Friday afternoon, I called corporate-stay apartments, and found an apartment in Chevy Chase to rent.  I also called a car-finding service, and had the owner start looking for a car that we could take to DC.  I called my aunt, and asked if she could shelter us all on Sunday night before we moved into our apartment on Monday.

Saturday I received and email from the car service about a Honda Pilot he had found for another client, but the client had backed out.  I talked with my parents for a few minutes, and then called Mr. Berger to tell him that we would take the car.  We wouldn't be able to complete the transaction until Monday as I didn't have a North Carolina driver's license to register the car in state.  So I called my aunt and cancelled our Sunday evening stay.

While thinking about our apartment, I considered the location, and contacted a few more companies about housing in Arlington.

Sunday we went to church, and Sunday night I transferred money to my checking account while purchasing car insurance.  I also read the driver's handbook to prepare for my license exam.  Brandon made it to DC Sunday night, and checked into a hotel until we could come up Tuesday morning.

Monday morning I stood outside the DMV, waiting in line to take my exam, which I passed.  I came home to arrange a new apartment, at Oakwood Falls Church, and kiss my security deposit goodbye for the previous apartment.  Then I went shopping at Target for a car seat for Kathleen and Costco for a GPS.  After visiting my dad's office to say hello and goodbye, I packed, again.  That evening, I drove with my father to pick up my 2007 black Honda Pilot and hand over the largest check I've ever made out in my life.

Brandon trolled the halls of Main State, looking for a job.  He was told of a position as staff aide in the front office of NEA/SCA, and accepted it.  Baaaaaaaaaad idea.

Tuesday morning I finished packing and stuffed everything into my new car, and left for Virginia.  We checked into our apartment, exploded our suitcases, and ordered pizza with a gift card sent by an amazingly kind FS/LDS friend.  Brandon came 'home' around five-thirty, the earliest he's made it all week.

Wednesday, instead of unpacking, I read a book while the suitcases continued vomiting and the girls played.  We attended a session about SEA payments, and I turned the house into more of a disaster looking for one missing boarding pass (out of a total fourteen).  I still haven't found it.  That evening we went to my cousin's house for dinner.

Thursday I pulled enough together to rearrange the furniture, the first step to making this tiny shoebox with a tinier kitchen into 'home' for an unspecified amount of time.  When Edwin was asleep, I cleaned up.  Brandon got home at eight thirty.

Today, almost all of the suitcases are packed up and the apartment mostly clean.  Mubarak stepped down this morning, and Kathleen told me should would dream about it during her nap.  Brandon still isn't home, and won't be for another half hour.  But the children are in bed, the house is quiet, and at least Brandon is coming home to an apartment in America and not Cairo.  At least for now.

What next?

Dirty dishes are in my sink, waiting.  My clothes sit in my suitcase, in the same hastily-packed mess that they have been in since Tuesday morning.  A bag of trash sits by my door, and scraps of receipts, papers, credit cards, crayons, and passports are strewn across the desk that is mine for the next... two months?  four?  Who knows?

And I can't tear myself away from my computer, checking every few minutes to see what the BBC has updated on their website.

I watched Mubarak's speech this afternoon, after reading predictions that he would be stepping down.  As the children played with their toys, I saw the crowd's angry reaction to Mubarak's reaffirmation that he wasn't leaving.  Sophia asked me to turn the TV off, and I tried to explain to her that this was about Egypt, where we live.  Or lived.  She shrugged her shoulders, and went back to Just So Stories.


I turn to the computer, and see Egypt, and worry about what will happen next.  I look out my window, and see Oakwood's sparkling blue pool.  I read the news, and wonder if I'll ever go back.  I get in my car, and drive to Target, just like any other resident of Falls Church, carrying my secret of Egypt inside, somewhere that only I can see and feel.

The girls view this move as just one more in a long line of moves, and Edwin has become my personal leech.  Only once has anyone asked to go back to Cairo, and only when Sophia was particularly upset about eating her lunch.  I have started to return to the rhythm of being an American in America again, but for how long?

My heart goes out to those who are in Cairo tonight.  Be safe.

February 1

12:30 AM

            We’re in Athens, and safely installed in the very nice, very close Sofitel.  Whoever made the hotel arrangements, may they be blessed into perpetuity.  This is the nicest hotel I’ve ever stayed in, with a down bed, down comforter, and down pillows.  We’ve only got one bed, so I’m going to make a pallet on the floor for the girls.  They’re happy to have a ‘sleeping bag,’ and I’m happy to not be kicked.  Edwin has a baby crib, the most awkward, enormous one I’ve ever seen.  Europeans need to look into Pack’n Plays.  But I am happy that he has a bed, too, that isn’t mine.

            After the bus came at the airport, everyone had to show the one (!!!!!!) man their exit stamps and give him their ‘boarding passes,’ before getting on the bus.  We waited for half an hour for everyone to board before then being shuffled onto an entirely different bus.  We drove around for awhile, and then finally found our plane – a very tired looking Lotus Air plane, but one with wings, and engine, and the capability to get us out of Cairo.

            We were able to get seats behind the R, and although we were four people, we crammed into three seats as nobody wanted to leave me.  We waited for another half hour for a busload to complete the plane and then waited another hour to have a spot to take off.  When we finally were in the air, the passengers broke into spontaneous applause, and again when dinner was announced.

            The ride was pretty calm, and I was able to get Edwin to sleep.  Unfortunately, dinner came and he woke up and screamed for at least half an hour before I could get him to calm down.  Nobody ate their dinner, and I never had the opportunity to touch it, so we would have been better to have not bothered with it.

            We had a pair of college students behind us when another baby had been screaming disconsolately earlier, and I overheard their conversation to the effect that somebody should do something about that screaming baby.  Feeling for the mother, I turned around and asked them to stop talking like that.

            “We’ve all had a very long day that started early this morning, we have just been evacuated from our homes, and we don’t know when, if ever we will be coming back.  That mother is trying to do everything she can to help her baby calm down, but sometimes there’s nothing mothers can do.  Trust me, it’s much more annoying to her than it is to you.”

            Stunned silence followed, and I went back to calming the children down.  I’m not one to dress down strangers, but it had been a long day and I’ve been in that situation and known that people were heartily annoyed.  But I felt that I should defend her because it could have just as well been me.

            And, it was me not much longer, and I’m sure those girls felt the karma coming right around again.

            We landed in Athens around 9, and were greeted by the ambassador on our way inside.  I saw a photographer, and so tried my best to look under control and oh so happy to be hauling three children alone to another country.  When we were ushered inside (I think we were the first people), and very, very nice lady showed me to a room equipped with toys, cookies, games, and a movie for the children.  She gave me a bottle for Edwin and showed me where to change his diaper.  I could have kissed her.  The girls happily sat down to play, and I took Ewin out, strapped on again, to find out what to do next.

            I was directed, by another incredibly helpful mission member, to a visa table for our dip passports, and he found me a pen and some forms to fill out so we could enter Greece officially.  After thirty minutes of visas, I got in line for travel arrangements.  I made friends with the ladies around me, both from NAMRU with four and five children apiece.  We chatted and I rocked Edwin while we waited in line.  Edwin fell asleep and we continued chatting.

            After an hour and a half, I made my way to the front.  There were no flights out tomorrow, but there was a direct to JKF on Tuesday, February first.  I was happy to wait another day at the hotel to let everyone get some sleep and a few good meals before continuing on.

            After travel arrangements were finished, we had another bus to ride before one last line– passport control.  I thought that perhaps my shoulders wouldn’t last on more line, but thankfully there were up to the challenge, and blessedly, more wonderful, helpful, amazingly cheerful mission members were there to meet us at baggage.  May they also be blessed into perpetuity.

            They asked if we needed anything for Edwin, and I thought that perhaps formula would be nice, and Mr. Williams got on his phone with the CLO, and said that he would bring it up to our room later.  They helpfully wheeled our bags through customs, skipped past the waiting television crews, and trotted across the street to the Sofitel.

            We were led into a room with more wonderful, blessed Athens mission members who gave me a card to show that my hotel would be paid for, and sent me out into another line.  By this time, Edwin was screaming and crying non-stop and somebody took pity on me (or on everyone else’s ears) and took me on.  We were given room keys, times for breakfast, somebody to help with the bags, and shown personally shown upstairs.

            And so we’re here.  When Brandon told me that we would be helped by the mission in Athens and put up in a hotel, I had no idea of the amazing lengths everyone had gone to in order to help us out.  Everyone was cheerful, helpful, and kind.  I know that the last place they wanted to be that night (and all day) was at the Athens airport, and we were the first plane to land for the night.  I know that I’ve grumbled when Brandon has had to work later than normal, but he’s never had to do anything like the mission members did for us tonight.  They made our entry into Athens so very, very much better than our exit from Cairo was.  We left the world in chaos to find kind, helpful people and a feather bed at the end.

January 31

16:30

            We have finally made it through passport control and I believe that my shoulders are about to separate my from my body and fall off.  Edwin is strapped on my front and has been since we arrived at the airport three and a half hours ago.  My twenty-five pound backpack, filled with only the essentials – computer, movies, diapers, passports, cash, wallet, blankets, bottles, and Benadryl – is strapped to my back.  The weight of the baby and the backpack perfectly even each other out for my balance, but are no good for my shoulders.

            After leaving the commissary, we drove the back road by Carrefour before pulling onto the ring road.  Carrefour didn’t look burnt, but somebody confirmed that it was bare inside.  On the ring road were tanks every few miles, and outside the Mirage City Marriot were three or four.  I hadn’t realized that the tanks were so prolific.

After getting to the airport, we pulled into a special terminal at 1, and as we drove in and saw the crowds and crowds of people milling about, I thought that we had come to the wrong place.  There are not this many people in the Embassy community by a long shot, and there were a lot of older people.

            After we got off the bus, Brandon helped with the luggage, and we were herded into line next to the Risleys.  As soon as he was done, he had to run to help the other, overwhelmed, consular officers.  As he ran away to help, Kathleen started sobbing, ‘Daddy!  Daddy!  Give me a kiss and hug!!  Please!!!!’  He came back, gave us all kisses, and was gone.

            We stood in line for about twenty minutes, and as soon as it became readily apparent that nothing was going to happen for some time, everyone disrobed and pulled out lunches.  E had made sandwiches and sandwiches and was happy to share.  The girls were delighted to eat jelly and butter sandwiches followed up by chips and were happy as clams.  I was very grateful as I fed Edwin most of mine and the M&Ms she had also brought along.  

            Pretty soon everyone had found friends and the children played while the adults talked.  Rumors flew everywhere about destinations, airplanes, the government, water being cut off in Maadi, who was and wasn’t evacuating, and what had and hadn’t been looted and burned.  Around two, a very very harried woman came to find the people on her list and handed out boarding passes – slips of paper with numbers written on them.

            I saw J and the J.  There was a man with his four year-old son who was happy to share his toys with Kathleen and Sophia, and I passed the time easily with everyone else, chatting.  I am very grateful that we are doing this in January instead of July.  I imagine, however, that the protests wouldn’t have happened in July anyway; it’s just too hot in July to do anything but survive the heat.

            Around 2:45, Kathleen announced that she had to use the bathroom.  Another lady behind us in line handed us toilet paper and we frog-marched off to the bathroom, which thankfully was mostly clean.  It stank, of course, and Kathleen pitched a fit, but I made her and Sophia use the bathroom, not knowing when next we could.  Right when I was having my turn, Brandon came rushing in to find us.  Our name had been called, and we needed to go.  So, I rushed out with him, figuring I would find a bathroom somewhere, sometime.

            The R helped us haul our luggage up front where we filled out departure cards (of all times!  What were they going to do with them?), got checked off the list, hauled our bags inside… and got into another line. 

            After twenty minutes of no movement, we put everything down again, and got to know our new neighbors in line.  We had become separated from the R, and so a nice family with five older children helped move the bags when the line started moving forty-five minutes later.  The line slowly snaked around as everyone put their bags through the one scanner (!!!!!!!) and walked through the one metal detector (!!!!!!!!) that nobody cared a fig about as it beeped for every single person going through. 

            And then we lined up again.  We found the R in line and they watched the bags while I sat with the girls.  We made more friends, and talked to some tourists who had to spend the night sleeping in their tour bus in the Citadel on Friday.  They had been able to get on the flight, but had signed a note saying that they had to pay the government back for the flights.  The paper didn’t say how much that would be, however, but they were happy to pay whatever it took.  They had tried to get commercial flights out, but there were absolutely none available.   Some people had spent two days at the airport waiting for flights and still couldn’t get out.

            Finally the line started slowly, slowly, slowly moving through the one (!!!!!!!) passport control booth.  After a long while, one other booth was opened and my shoulders almost gave out.  We’re through now, however, and waiting for… something.  Evidently we’re to take a bus to the plane, so who knows when they’ll decide when we can go.  There is a lady with a baby traveling by herself who came on a dip, but is leaving on her tourist and they’re making a stink about no entrance stamps so of course she can’t have an exit stamp.  I called Brandon, and he says he’ll find out how to help.  Hopefully she can get out on this flight, because who knows when the next one will go.

No Good Options

Yesterday, Brandon called me.  He had been given the option to leave, and after much much consideration, he decided to go.  I knew that I should have felt happy, relieved, excited when I got the phone call, but I felt nothing.  And so I arranged for a corporate rental apartment, got in touch with a car-buying service, started going through the mental lists of what  had to buy to stock the apartment, and offered a very heartfelt prayer of thanks.

I called him this morning, and he was (and probably is) still sitting at the airport, waiting to leave.  I asked him how he was feeling, and he was was very distressed about having to leave; he feels that he is abandoning his co-workers, his job, and his responsibility for Rere. He gave her all of the cash he had on hand when he left, but it was barely enough to cover a month's salary.  The only reason he is leaving is for me and the children.

If we knew that we were coming back, I don't think Brandon would be distressed - but we don't.  We only have six months left on our tour, and how long the evacuation will last is anybody's guess.  If they do let Brandon go back, they might not let me and the children go back.  If Brandon doesn't go back, then we will be PCS'd to DC.

We had been planning on being TDY for Brandon's training, and the per diem would neatly cover all of our housing.  If we are PCS'd, however, we will be given an eight percent pay raise, everything we have in storage, and a hearty good luck for finding any kind of reasonable housing for three children less than three hours away from DC on a very low FS-5 salary.  We have been very careful with our money, and have saved quite a bit, but if we're in DC for eighteen months on our own power, there won't be a penny left by the time we leave.  And I'll be crammed into a tiny apartment with at least three children (we don't plan to be done any time soon) for a year and a half tearing my hair out.

If Brandon goes back to post, I'll be in an apartment that is paid for, but I will be without my husband for three or four months.  Either way, I'll be prematurely bald.

If I knew what would happen next, then I could plan.  But I don't.  I don't even know when Brandon will be coming back to the US.  I always prefer to have the disaster happen so I can get to cleaning it up rather than bracing for an undefined coming evil.

Nothing in life is ever neat.  We often move from one disaster to the next, and I suppose I'm owed one after the last year of peace and calm.  Philosophy, however, only gets one so far when reality stares you in the face.  But, what can be done?  Not much except to get out of bed every day, take care of those you are responsible for, and do it again the next day.