Day 210 - Location, Location, Location

Image of houses by Fernando Stankuns, via Flickr.com

Before I left for Doha, my predecessor, Tom, gave me a choice between two houses as my residence, a two-story, three-bedroom house with a good-sized yard and a one-story, three-bedroom house with almost no yard except for a patio enclosed on three sides by the house and on the fourth side by a wall. The houses were under lease with the embassy for two employees, Tom who would be leaving a week before I arrived, and the economic/commercial officer who had already left. The lease on whichever house I turned down would be given up because it wasn't known when the successor to the econ/commercial officer would be named and arrive.

Image of minaret by dinesh_valke, via Flickr.com

The one-story house had been vacant longer so it was easier to get ready for me, but it was right next to the minaret on the housing compound where a recording broadcast the call to prayer five times a day. The two-story house was ideal for a family with children. Since I wasn't bringing a husband or children with me, the house with the yard that would need maintenance had little appeal for me. In spite of the call to prayer source right next door, I selected the one-story house.

Many people were surprised by my choice. They assumed the proximity to the minaret would eliminate my choice. And then there were factors others knew of that I didn't, like the decorating my predecessor's wife did to the house. All of the furniture had been recovered to coordinate the sofa and chairs with the drapes and carpeting. Those who had seen both houses thought the two-story house was a far better choice.

Others saw the house as it was while Tom's wife was there. But she and the children left a month before Tom. Very few people saw the house during the month between the rest of the family's departure and Tom's.

The embassy had about a month to get the furniture and appliances out of the other house in order to cancel the lease. It should have been a simple process of removing the furniture, cleaning up the house and then turning the keys back to the property manager. But the most senior local employee strongly suggested that I first go to see the house so that I would understand if it took longer than expected to complete the work.

Image of dirty dishes by edgeplot, via Flickr.com

There were rumors. . .rumors that my predecessor had used the house for parties during the month after his family left. Now I don't claim to know the rumors were true. All that I knew was that someone had been using the house for parties. Every waste basket in the house was full of beer cans, soft drink cans, and liquor bottles. The sink and dishwasher were full of dirty dishes that had been there so long mold had started growing on them. The refrigerator had food in bags, all of which was also moldy, milk that had soured and butter that was rancid. The pantry had cans, opened cereal boxes, moldy bread. The medicine cabinet had partial bottles of cold remedies, bottles of pills and other garbage. And food and drinks had spilled on the white upholstery and wall-to-wall carpeting.

I took pictures for the files, but I didn't show them to anyone. Perhaps I should have. I did tell a few people how disgusting I found the state the house was in. I think those who knew my predecessor's wife didn't really believe me. They knew that she kept the house immaculately. I guess they thought Tom couldn't have undone all her work in such a short time-span. I hadn't understood how much some disbelieved me until Marge, the ambassador's secretary, was getting ready to leave about four months after I arrived and she told someone else how hard she had to work to clean up her house because she heard how fussy I was.

It reminded me of a children's story about two men who fell into a chimney when they were working on a roof. The first man covered his face with his hands and the second man didn't. When they got out of the chimney at the bottom, the first man looked at the second man and saw soot all over his face, so he went and washed his face. The second man looked at the first man and saw his face was clean, so he didn't wash his face.

I should have shown Marge the photos instead of letting her rely on her memory of the house the way it was when Tom's wife was still in town.