Last Day at Work
Over the past three years, I could always count on certain routines.
In the morning, I would wake up, fix my kids some breakfast, and get them dressed and ready for school.
Liebi and I would climb into the Pilot, navigate through La Paz traffic until we would reach San Jorge and the Embassy, where she would drop me off. She would head out to the USAID building, and that would be the last we would see of each other until the evening, since she works in another part of town.
Certainly, the expulsion of USAID from this country has dealt us a hand we were not prepared for. If everything had gone according to plan, we would have left here in the summer of 2014, although we now know that won't happen.
Work at the Embassy has been good, no doubt about it. I have learned a lot while being able to add to my own credentials which should help me in the future, no matter where I travel.
That said, Thursday, September 12, is my last day at work. I know there is a despidida for me, as the Bolivians call it. That's a party that is organized for people whose time has run out in the country. People get together, a spread of the finest cheeses, breads, and meats are produced, and people take the opportunity to give speeches and tell you how you will be missed.
I approach that day like any other. I arrive at the Embassy with the customary backpack and a tan suit, dress shoes, and my badge on display. It will be business as usual until somebody tells me otherwise.
At the despidida, I keep things short and simple. Again, the plan here is to look ahead, not back. I'm a little disappointed there is no beer here, but heck, that will only get me out of the place sooner.
Back at my desk, I write my final fair-wells, clean up the area, grab my backpack, and I am off.
Outside, there are three drivers waiting in the circular driveways with their huge SUV's, no doubt waiting for political officers to take them to wherever they need to go.
I know the three drivers, having been in charge of the Motorpool. They are Mateo, Arturo, and David.
I announce to each of them that this was my last day, I get a genuine hug from every one of them, and that's it. Time to pick up my backpack and head out.
I take one final look back at the flag waving in the middle of the circle and salute it before I turn on my heels and head out of the compound.
There's nothing too emotional. After I wave to the guard in the glasshouse, I cross Avenida Arce and flag down a cab.
Even on my last day, it's business as usual.
See you later, Embassy. Hasta luego. It's been a pleasure.
In the morning, I would wake up, fix my kids some breakfast, and get them dressed and ready for school.
Liebi and I would climb into the Pilot, navigate through La Paz traffic until we would reach San Jorge and the Embassy, where she would drop me off. She would head out to the USAID building, and that would be the last we would see of each other until the evening, since she works in another part of town.
Certainly, the expulsion of USAID from this country has dealt us a hand we were not prepared for. If everything had gone according to plan, we would have left here in the summer of 2014, although we now know that won't happen.
Work at the Embassy has been good, no doubt about it. I have learned a lot while being able to add to my own credentials which should help me in the future, no matter where I travel.
That said, Thursday, September 12, is my last day at work. I know there is a despidida for me, as the Bolivians call it. That's a party that is organized for people whose time has run out in the country. People get together, a spread of the finest cheeses, breads, and meats are produced, and people take the opportunity to give speeches and tell you how you will be missed.
I approach that day like any other. I arrive at the Embassy with the customary backpack and a tan suit, dress shoes, and my badge on display. It will be business as usual until somebody tells me otherwise.
At the despidida, I keep things short and simple. Again, the plan here is to look ahead, not back. I'm a little disappointed there is no beer here, but heck, that will only get me out of the place sooner.
Back at my desk, I write my final fair-wells, clean up the area, grab my backpack, and I am off.
Outside, there are three drivers waiting in the circular driveways with their huge SUV's, no doubt waiting for political officers to take them to wherever they need to go.
I know the three drivers, having been in charge of the Motorpool. They are Mateo, Arturo, and David.
I announce to each of them that this was my last day, I get a genuine hug from every one of them, and that's it. Time to pick up my backpack and head out.
I take one final look back at the flag waving in the middle of the circle and salute it before I turn on my heels and head out of the compound.
There's nothing too emotional. After I wave to the guard in the glasshouse, I cross Avenida Arce and flag down a cab.
Even on my last day, it's business as usual.
See you later, Embassy. Hasta luego. It's been a pleasure.
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