15 minutes

Today I was given 15 minutes to clear off my desk.  The guards I used to say hi to in the morning put my things onto a security belt and had me step through a metal detector.  It didn’t matter that I walked through these doors for 3 years.  I no longer worked here; USAID no longer existed here.  I had exactly 15 minutes to take down my awards, pack the art I collected from Ethiopia, Kenya, South Africa.  To grab my USAID mug and collect the blanket I kept at my desk when my biggest problem was that it was always too damn cold.  I took pictures of my white board that listed our clinical trials and (with color coding and exclamation points of course) showed their status: Enrolling patients! Follow up data collection!  Close out!  Someone made it into the lactation room to collect the pictures of USAID babies that hung on the walls who had “graduated” from their mom pumping.  When I walked out of the building with my bulging suitcase a large crowd cheered loudly for me, holding banners that said, “USAID’s work mattered, YOUR work mattered.”  My husband held my baby and took pictures of me to mark this sad, fucked up, but important day to remember. 

Today would have been my last day of maternity leave. On Monday I would have gone back to work to the invariable thousands of emails in my inbox.  (I had a whole plan for going through these emails, it involved espresso and Chappel Roan.)  I would have gone back to my little desk with my packed coffee (because USAID didn't even use our funds for office coffee) and my 8am calls with South Africa.  Back to the Zoom calls where we planned with pharmaceutical companies how to make longer lasting HIV prevention products for women.  Back to that delicious roast beef sandwich from the place next door that I would eat at my desk during my lunch half-an-hour so I could listen to webinars on how to increase project localization in the countries we worked in.

Maternity leave was wonderful.  I loved getting to know the little human that came out of me.  Her smile is the only thing getting me through these dark days.  But I was excited to get back to what was not just another desk job.  Our work was meaningful, and my life felt more meaningful from doing it.

I’m sitting at the desk in my home office right now drinking tea from my USAID mug.  The baby is napping.  My husband starts his paternity leave on Monday, and I don’t get to go back to work.  I’m trying to reframe this next chapter for myself as an “opportunity”.  An opportunity to write more, exercise more, take a class, apply to jobs.  But I just want to get back to work.

My new friend and neighbor texted me today: “Everything you’ve done so far for the world is so important and valued by so many people.  These fuckers don’t know what they’re doing messing with people like us.  We’re not just going to give up.  Next stage is a new type of figure it the fuck out and help the world.  Happy to have you as a neighbor and looking forward to plotting, planning and raging with you.” 

Oh girl, I’ve got a lot of time on my hands now.  Just wait and see how I can fight.