Excerpt: STRUGGLING FOR DIGNITY

SECTION TWO: STRUGGLING FOR DIGNITY It was the second-half of a planning workshop held for the UNDP to introduce a new corporate philosophy in social development, and the consultant making the presentation was on his hundred and twentieth slide. I entertained myself by curling my hair around my fingers. Suddenly, I heard someone making a strong point on the inclusion of gender as a significant parameter. I looked around to see who, besides me, in this big crowd was propagating gender issues. I noticed that the seat next to me, which had been vacant, was now filled with a tall, good-looking foreigner, wearing a nicely-tailored brown suit and a pink shirt. My comment on the same subject matter was easily brushed off, but his was taken very seriously. Paul had been with the UN system for the previous ten years and had worked in other Asian countries, including Indonesia, Nepal and Mongolia. I heard that he had left behind a legacy in those countries from his work on local governance. Now Edward Manchester had asked him to create a UNDP Governance office in Pakistan. Paul held brief meetings with most of the staff about how we perceived the country’s development challenges. Entering my office, he had to crouch under the low ceiling, something that I had never noticed. Paul had broad shoulders, fair complexion, grey hair, sharp features and a refreshingly peaceful and happy face. He was from the USA, but he was not a talkative person, so many mistook him for a Canadian. He knew how to listen and observe, and his comments carried weight because of his knowledge and credible professional image. Our discussion mainly concerned the effectiveness of development work, and Paul emphasized the importance of people’s will and ownership of any action designed for social change. Our similarity of approach made me feel very comfortable talking to him. A comradeship developed as we laughed together at development blunders. After a few meetings in my office, Paul invited me for lunch at a restaurant in a professional context, and I happily accepted. The change of setting slightly changed our topics of discussion. As we settled down with our soup, Paul asked where I went to school in America. “University of Minnesota,” I answered proudly with a big smile. I noticed a peculiar expression on his face and I said quickly, “When I decided, I didn’t know about the winters.” We chatted some more about how I chose Minnesota and how he attended UCLA before  changing the subject to our earlier discussions about the UNDP’s development approach. Paul had a very pleasant personality, his playful neckties revealed a spark of nonconformity while he maintained the formal office attire of the UN. When we talked, I noticed that my responses were like stories and Paul’s were short and precise. I added all kinds of extra information, including my family’s opinions. He was always to the point and never said anything about his family. My conversations were dominated by my exaggerated facial expressions and use of my hands. When Paul spoke, he was as still and poised as the sea. He did leave a strong impression on me. Paul left Pakistan after his initial visit, but returned to Islamabad the following March. In the interim, I moved internally from the UNIFEM position to become the first UNDP Gender Program Officer. This switch meant little in an administrative sense since I had similar work and the same office. The major change was that the UNDP created my position to design new projects focused on women. The UN Headquarters in New York had recently declared the UNDP Pakistan as a 'Center for Experimentation', so we had many trainings and planning meetings to figure out how to make the most of this opportunity. One management training program was scheduled at Bhurban, a three-hour drive into the mountains from Islamabad. Well-known as a vacation spot for honeymooners, it was also an attractive venue for workshops and trainings for wealthy agencies like ours. Paul had just returned, but he did not join us in this management training, which was a disappointment for me. Among all my colleagues I felt I could communicate with him most easily. I told him that I wanted to attend in order to get to know my other colleagues better. The training was in a large hall with big glass windows. I spent most of my time with Renata, my Dutch colleague, but enjoyed getting to know others as well. For the past few months, Tarik had left me in peace as he romanced his secretary, Kausar. He had not bothered me other than to make some irritating sexist comments from time to time or to make an occasional call to share something personal. I had succeeded in keeping such meetings and conversations very brief and formal, but he made a strong effort to revive the 'relationship' on this trip. During a lunch break, I passed through the reception area, I noticed that Tarik got up from a chair and seemed to be following me down the long corridor to my room. I hoped it was just a coincidence and he would turn in another direction. After a while, I realized that my hunch was correct; he was following me. All my senses concentrated on the sound of his footsteps as he came closer and closer. My whole body tensed. I felt his eyes piercing into me from behind. I kept hoping he would turn into another room, but he did not. Soon, he was next to me. “How did you find the training?” he asked. I gulped. His voice made me shiver. I quickly said, “Good,” barely making eye contact. By this time, I had reached my room. I stopped at the door for a second as I put my key in the lock. Attempting to conclude the conversation, I turned around and said, “Okay then…See you later.” He asked, “Is your room okay?” I nodded, “Yes, thank you.” I turned back towards the door and opened it. Before I could step in, he was already in the room, without even asking me. I was standing in the doorway almost blocking the entrance, but he was swift. He quickly looked over the room, giving his entry a professional pretext. My stomach turned as he opened the curtains in the dark room. I remember noticing that snow-capped mountains were visible outside the window. In the light, I saw that his face looked unusually dark pink. I remained in the small entranceway of my room, my body stiff and my breathing shallow. He planted himself so that he was visible to me, but not to someone passing through the main hallway. He growled, “I’m a broken man, shattered. Someone broke my heart. I loved this woman and she dumped me.” I realized he was drunk. He appeared not even to have the energy to stand. His tantrums and moods were not new to me, but this was not a telephone call to my home; I could not put the phone down whenever I wished. This was a hotel room, far from my safe home, and he was in it, right in front of me. I could tell something happened between Kausar and him. I pretended to be confident and asked calmly, “Are you drunk?” He said, “Yes, I filled my mini bar with beer and I need it.” My breath caught, but I fought back the urge to cry. “I cannot help you. Please leave my room now!” I said firmly.  Given his position and my new UNDP appointment, I knew that I could have a major problem if I threw him out. Aware of his power to make my life miserable in the office, I wondered how rude I could afford to be. I remained tense and did not respond to his sad story. I did not want to give the impression that I wanted to listen to him. I kept standing by the door, my heart beating rapidly. “I want to stay here with you. I want you to comfort me. Hold me please!” He said in a childlike manner. My legs began shaking. I cleared my throat and said firmly, “No.” I thought of running out in the corridor, but my legs were lifeless. I was also afraid that if I made a move he might grab me. He started to cry. He knelt on the floor, whining about how miserable he was. He moved his hands forward towards me and said, “I need comfort from a friend. I need it so badly. The woman I loved terribly has ruined my life. Yesterday she told me she does not want me anymore. I am broken.” After that melodramatic speech, he began to sob and curled up on the floor. I froze. The feeling of humiliation turned into a deep fear of what might happen. I carefully avoided any conversation, asking for information or sympathizing, as I thought he would feel I was softening and would allow him to stay. I kept blocking his cries for help. He threw himself on the bed in a half-reclined position, “I want to talk to someone”. I knew a scandal like this could stick to me forever, and I might not be able to wash it off all my life. The fear of what might happen stopped my breathing. Suddenly, I jolted myself back to life, took a deep breath and relaxed my shoulders, which were rigid with tension. I told myself I would not let Tarik treat me like this. Although my body was still trembling inside, I responded quickly and firmly. “There are plenty of men around and it would be more appropriate to talk to them. How about Farhad, why don’t you talk to him about your heartbreak?” Tarik paused for a second and then continued crying. He growled and moaned. How badly I wished this were all a bad dream. The worst fear I could imagine was being stuck with him alone when he was drunk. I kept trying to convince him to find a male colleague to talk to, but he continued with his loud expressions of grief. Finally, I raised my voice and said. “IT IS HIGHLY INAPPROPRIATE TO TALK TO ME LIKE THIS AND TO COME INTO MY ROOM WITHOUT ASKING ME”. He suddenly became serious, got to his feet and said, “Then I urge you to come to my room. I have lots of beer,” he continued making his eyes very sad. “I want to cry on your shoulder. I want you to comfort me. I’m feeling very lonely. You can slip into my room quietly and no one will notice.” His change of strategy was frightening. My body was filled with disgust, but I tried my best to handle the situation assertively. I did not move from my calmly offensive posture and said, grinding my teeth, “I would appreciate it if you leave right away.” I hesitated to push him out, as I feared he might become physical. He kept begging me to come to his room. I said with a lot of strength pointing towards the door, “LEAVE RIGHT NOW!” Somehow I got the strength to shove him out the door. I locked and bolted the door and fell on the bed, but immediately got up again in panic, thinking he might still be outside. I put my ear to the door. I did not hear anything and I could not see anything through the peephole. I threw myself back on the bed and closed my eyes, drained. (continued)