I really shouldn’t be writing about my last day in Kharaz when I’ve been back here for two weeks now, but I am constantly reminded of that last eventful day whenever I run into someone I haven’t seen since then. So to recap: before my lovely green, rainy, perfect Indonesian holiday with my parents and old friends, I was hurriedly finishing up projects so that I wouldn’t have to do too much once I got to Indo. That was a good idea because I mostly did nothing except enjoy myself thoroughly while I was there. But let’s rewind to that last Kharaz day…
I had a long list of things to do that day, and I was wishing for Hermione’s time-turner to help me be in more than one place at the same time. Home Gardening project (now to be referred to as HG) deadlines were flashing before my eyes, and I was trying to make sure that my guys knew what to do to finish up the year and meet the UNHCR impossible goals (they did, by the way, because they are mumtaztik). I was also trying to make sure that the nutrition training I had planned was happening and that people were attending the training and being served their expected complimentary beverages. I also had to receive a few loan payments and write receipts, as well as finish gluing photos on certificates to give out during the ceremony I had planned for later that morning. Keep in mind that everything had to be finished before 1:00 which was the designated time for the convoy to leave if we wanted to have a security escort, which we did because the last time an ADRA car left without a security escort they were hijacked and the car was taken.
Everything was going smoothly until the last bit of the ceremony when I was giving out certificates to the vocational training students. They were also promised toolkits that they could use in their future jobs, but in spite of the fact that I emailed, texted, google-chatted with, and called the person in charge of procuring those things an impressive number of times over the past few weeks, he still hadn’t even bought them. So I decided to hold the party and give out the certificates with the promise of the toolkits soon. Unfortunately, that was a bad idea, and when I began to hand out certificates without the toolkits, a riot broke out in the party room. The students refused to accept the certificates without the tookits. So I was angry with Anwer for not following through with his side of the work which I cannot do from Kharaz, and I understood the frustration of the students because they should have gotten their toolkits and certificates a month earlier. But I was also annoyed with the students who did nothing to receive all the vocational training that ADRA provided for them, and yet they were demanding that we provide them these things as if we were violating their sacred human rights by not providing the toolkits. Anyway, that’s human nature, I guess, and ADRA’s not in it for the thank you, and this isn’t really my project either so I wasn’t expecting thanks anyway. But I was tired and that made me less excited about taking the blame for other people’s mistakes.
So after the party that turned into a riot, I hopped in the car and drove around to finish up some HG business. On the way back to the compound, my former boss, whom I love and miss, got in the car with us. He and Filip, who took his position, sat in the back, and I sat in the front by myself as befits a lady. But I was turned around in a very unlady-like fashion so as be able to passionately relate my tale of party-woes to Mohamed Osman. I was fairly animated, and I happened to be speaking in Arabic because I’d already told Filip the story in English, and I didn’t think he’d want to hear it again (he doesn’t speak Arabic). Unfortunately, the driver also found my story interesting, and he made the mistake of turning to watch me tell the story with all my dramatic flair and in so doing ran into a pole.
To be honest, it is not really easy to get into an accident in Kharaz. There are less than 10 cars that actually exist in this area and while there are no paved roads, only tracks in the dust and rocks, everything is mostly flat and driving over rocks makes it difficult and uncomfortable to drive very fast. The biggest danger is the children, but kids here are still afraid of cars, unlike those in Aden who make games of throwing rubber balls under the wheels of nearby vehicles, hoping that they won’t get squished. Knowing this, I was not wearing my seatbelt, and the next thing I knew, there was a loud crash and I was in the floor of the car.
Mohamed Osman ran to my door and started trying to pull me out of the car which I didn’t really want since I was still trying to catch my breath. I knew I wasn’t seriously injured, but people kept gasping at me and trying to drag me to the hospital. Then I realized I had blood dripping down my face, which makes sense as I am pretty sure my head bumped into the windshield a little bit.
I allowed myself to be escorted to the hospital, and I was sent in another car that happened to come our way at that point from the compound, and I was followed by the large crowd that had gathered nearby, including Ishaaq, my tallest and craziest HG assistant. In the crowded clinic, I was rushed past women carrying sick babies as if I had something really serious. As I expected, the doctor glanced at me, wiped off the blood, and said, “You’re ok. I’d give you a bandage, but we just ran out.” And that was that.
Later, another NGO gave me some band-aids from their first aid kit, and the nutritionist who had finished giving her training that day, cleverly fashioned one into something that could go over the bridge of my nose. She insisted on spraying my cuts with her version of an anti-septic: knock-off “Docle & Gabbanna” perfume which left a lingering sickly smell about my face for the rest of the day. Plus, once the bandages were on I looked like I’d been in a serious accident. People came from near and far to gaze at me and offer condolences. My entire HG team showed up in my office as Ishaaq had spread the news. It was interesting to have 8 big farmers filling up our little office, hovering over me to make sure I was ok.
Al-muhim, I survived, and I even made it back to Aden that day in spite of the fact that we had to go in a slightly broken-down vehicle that puttered out a couple of times on the road and even blew out a tire later on. Fortunately, the security car stayed with us to help out.
That’s the story…and it is also the last thing everyone remembers about my time here. Since I’ve been back, people have been checking me for scars and exclaiming over the fact that I came back, not being scared away because of the horrors of my car accident. But they can’t get rid of me that easily! Maybe Anwer will push me to the brink though…he STILL hasn’t gotten me all the stuff I need for the toolkits.
