Excerpted from the book "Realities of Foreign Service Life II" (Writers Club Press) available now on Amazon.com.
Anticipating Evacuation: Prudent Measures for Contemporary Diplomats
By Aubree Galvin Caunter
My husband and I moved to Istanbul in August 2003 and knew right away it could be our home for a three-year tour. By November, I was already feeling comfortable: making friends, investigating neighborhood markets, and navigating our SUV through the narrow cobblestone streets.
It was fall in western Turkey and I was flush with the possibilities of a new country. But like most autumns, I was also nursing a season-long head cold. So one morning – November 20 – instead of heading to a street bazaar for vegetables, I succumbed to my sinuses and put myself back to bed at 10 a.m.
Suddenly, I was startled from sleep by windows and doors rattling in their frames. The dog, previously asleep at my feet, began barking ferociously. I leapt up and turned on the television. The local stations began to show the carnage: nearly simultaneous bombs had ripped through the HSBC bank building and the British Consulate, injuring more than 400 and killing 27, including British Consul-General Roger Short.
The live feed from the circling helicopters showed what remained of the HSBC headquarters: a hollowed shell and black crater. The building was only five blocks from our house; I was able to see the TV helicopters from my porch as they filmed the scene.
I called my husband, whose commute to the American Consulate passes the HSBC building, and he said that all employees had been accounted for. Next, I tried in vain to reach my friend whose husband works at the British Consulate. I learned later that he’d sustained massive head trauma and been medically evacuated to London.
It was horrible: the bodies, the blood, the panic. Al-Qaeda was being blamed. Americans, British and Australian citizens were warned to be extra guarded. There was talk of evacuation; family members and non-essential employees of the consulate might be asked to leave the country. I was confused: I was scared by the bombings, but how could I leave this city I had come to think of as home?
While rumors flew throughout the community as to the status of the so-called evacuation, my friends with children began preparations. They packed each child a bag, gathered school reports and updated immunization records. I sat and watched TV all day, willing the world to go back to normal.
A week passed, and then another. More bombs were denoted in the city, including one at a freemasons’ lodge. But we were not evacuated. Some consulate community members resented the decision, feeling the danger to families had been great enough to warrant evacuation. Others, like me, were relieved not to be separated from their homes, pets and spouses.
Anticipating Evacuation: Prudent Measures for Contemporary Diplomats
By Aubree Galvin Caunter
My husband and I moved to Istanbul in August 2003 and knew right away it could be our home for a three-year tour. By November, I was already feeling comfortable: making friends, investigating neighborhood markets, and navigating our SUV through the narrow cobblestone streets.
It was fall in western Turkey and I was flush with the possibilities of a new country. But like most autumns, I was also nursing a season-long head cold. So one morning – November 20 – instead of heading to a street bazaar for vegetables, I succumbed to my sinuses and put myself back to bed at 10 a.m.
Suddenly, I was startled from sleep by windows and doors rattling in their frames. The dog, previously asleep at my feet, began barking ferociously. I leapt up and turned on the television. The local stations began to show the carnage: nearly simultaneous bombs had ripped through the HSBC bank building and the British Consulate, injuring more than 400 and killing 27, including British Consul-General Roger Short.
The live feed from the circling helicopters showed what remained of the HSBC headquarters: a hollowed shell and black crater. The building was only five blocks from our house; I was able to see the TV helicopters from my porch as they filmed the scene.
I called my husband, whose commute to the American Consulate passes the HSBC building, and he said that all employees had been accounted for. Next, I tried in vain to reach my friend whose husband works at the British Consulate. I learned later that he’d sustained massive head trauma and been medically evacuated to London.
It was horrible: the bodies, the blood, the panic. Al-Qaeda was being blamed. Americans, British and Australian citizens were warned to be extra guarded. There was talk of evacuation; family members and non-essential employees of the consulate might be asked to leave the country. I was confused: I was scared by the bombings, but how could I leave this city I had come to think of as home?
While rumors flew throughout the community as to the status of the so-called evacuation, my friends with children began preparations. They packed each child a bag, gathered school reports and updated immunization records. I sat and watched TV all day, willing the world to go back to normal.
A week passed, and then another. More bombs were denoted in the city, including one at a freemasons’ lodge. But we were not evacuated. Some consulate community members resented the decision, feeling the danger to families had been great enough to warrant evacuation. Others, like me, were relieved not to be separated from their homes, pets and spouses.
