Dear Ambassador…

My embassy in Kabul is, put simply, crap. Ok, so I’m sure they are very good at selling arms and signing pointless construction contracts, annoying Karzai, looking dapper, mixing a cocktail – whatever it is they do, I’m sure they do it well (well, let’s give them the benefit of the doubt on that). What they don’t do well, in fact what they don’t do at all, is give two hoots about their citizens.

When I arrived I registered with them and was apparently assigned a ‘warden,’ someone to keep me informed should something nasty happen, to warn me should something nasty possibly about to happen, to hide under the covers quaking with when something really nasty happens, and so on. I think I heard from my warden once in the past eight months. Nasty things don’t happen much round our way it seems.

Still, I’ve faired better than others. Someone I know, a fellow countryman, spent his entire time here, eleven months or so, just trying to register with the embassy. He left Afghanistan last week. Just in time to be sent a message from the embassy warning of a security threat in Kabul. Which he was kind enough to forward to myself and another, both of us still being in the country, neither of us having heard a whisper from the embassy.

Thankfully, my organisation’s security guy had sent out the warning already. Even better, my flight back to Kabul was cancelled so I’m safely stuck in Badakshan. Still, I’ve a good mind to write and complain. Though that might get me moved from my embassy’s list to the American embassy’s ‘other’ list. Then again, they’re not that organised.


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One Response to “Dear Ambassador…”

  1. Frida Says:

    In Gaza I was registered with the Brits because there were no NZ or Australian representatives. I knew the representative well, visited her home often and enjoyed her kindness when she took me to the market in her big white car (in those days I was the one hitching rides…).

    But when Gaza city was heavily shelled and the Brits decided to evacuate, they forgot me. I was in Rafah refugee camp sleeping over with a family I knew, and I didn’t know about the evacuation until I got a call from a friend at the French consular office saying “the British have gone, we are going in the morning, do you want to come with us?”

    Never again would I trust the Commonwealth…

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