The Foreign Service Journal, July-August 2004

Rahmans’ house at 5. Their daughter’s name is Suraya. She’s an excellent prospect, here visiting from the States, I’m told, and supposedly very brainy.” “I won’t forget.” “And next weekend is the foreign minister’s niece. Her name is Huda.” When Hameed drove back to his apartment through streets crowded with buses, trucks, motor rickshaws, bicy- cles, cows and pedestrians, his prospects floated through his mind like smoke. He knew he was more than ready to marry. But brains at 5, the foreign minister’s niece a week later? Would her family be willing to let her leave the coun- try permanently? Was this system really better? A heavy diesel gloomobscured the night sky. The smell filled the car, forcing him to roll up the window. “Let’s get moving.” Stan’s call startled him. “Are youwith us, Hameed?” He nodded as they started paddling through the turbid water to the starting line at the bridge. Other boats joined them. One crew was dressed like Vikings, probably from one of the Scandinavian embassies. There were people in grass skirts, with a grass-draped boat. Another boat was wrapped in silver foil and its crew wore wet suits and masks. “Look at that one with the gongs and leather shields,º” Jerry laughed. “They must be samurais from the Japanese mission.” “There’s the International School crowd.” Loretta point- ed to a crew in caps and gowns. “I have friends on that team.” “So do I,” said Jerry. “But don’t give them any leeway. We won’t live it down if they win.” By the time all of the boats were ready it was after 8 o’clock. A crowd dotted the shores of the lake. People sat on blankets or beach chairs on the sloped banks. Clumps of onlookers stood on the road; others lined the bridge. This early it was pleasantly cool, but an ice cream vendor had already set up his cart. “That guy’s not going to get much business from this crowd,” said Hameed. “Don’t be sure,” responded Jerry. “People willing to F O C U S J U LY- A U G U S T 2 0 0 4 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 47 T HE R EMINGTON