The Foreign Service Journal, July/August 2018

52 JULY-AUGUST 2018 | THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL And many of us relived the trauma of the East Africa bombings, with some using words such as “dysfunctional” or “incapaci- tated” to describe themselves. At that difficult time, I was the ambassador to Botswana, and I remember my staff confidently looking to me as their leader based on my experience leading Embassy Dar es Salaam in August 1998. I did my best, even though I was emotionally devastated. I do not know how many of us suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, but I know that many do. Some of the people who were the most fearless in the weeks after the bombing, bravely working to restore U.S. government operations, suffered the most later. One of the most important actions the State Department took was to send psychiatrists to talk with the staff about our experiences. But many of us believe that much more needed to be done in the months and years afterward. Just as the U.S. military is increasingly aware of the large number of cases of PTSD in war veterans, the State Department and the families of survivors need to be aware of the continuing mental health needs of those who go through such a traumatic experi- ence. An important element has been the relentless pursuit of justice by the U.S. government. There have been three criminal trials in federal district court in New York, and several Ameri- cans, Tanzanians and Kenyans have testified. All trial defendants charged in the bombing conspiracy have been found guilty and sentenced to life in prison. Professor Susan Hirsch, an anthropologist, was nearing the end of her time as a Fulbright Scholar in Dar es Salaam at the time of the bombing. She was in the embassy while her Kenyan husband, Abdurahman “Jamal” Abdalla, waited outside. He died in the blast. She grieved with the help of friends and families on two continents, and later witnessed the 2001 bombing trial in federal district court. Her introspective book, In the Moment of Greatest Calamity (Princeton University Press, 2008), examines the important role that the quest for justice can play in the recov- ery of survivors of terrorism. Our Dar es Salaam group developed a bond that continues today. Annually around the anniversary of the bombing, many American and Tanzanian bombing alumni send “thinking of you” email messages to the group to commiserate and to provide family updates. As one person wrote, “Each year the pain of Aug. 7, 1998, rushes back. But longstanding ties of friendship, family and community make it bearable. It’s good to be in touch with this group every year and to acknowledge what we have all been through.” We will not, and cannot, forget. Anxiety Slowly Turned into Depression Monica Stein Olson USAID Controller Touching my belly over my clothes, I drove to the embassy Health Unit for my first prenatal checkup. Dr. DaSilva wanted me to start early because of two miscarriages over the past two years. He was concerned that I was at risk given my age. That day, I took the earliest appointment, at 9 a.m., because I didn’t want to be too late for work. USAID was located about a mile from the embassy, and I had a meeting at 10. I parked on Laibon Road, right in front of the Konners’ house, directly across from the embassy. I fretted that the Konners were on vacation that week, and there would be no Friday summer playgroup for my boys, 4 and 2. Normally I would drop them at 9 a.m. I hated leaving them all day with the nanny, but my hus- band, Steve, was traveling outside of the country. I did not know at the time, but the timing of the Konners’ vacation saved all of our children—the explosion sent a huge fireball into their home, incinerating everything in its path. I got out of my car and glanced at the line forming for visas. I waved to the young female guard whose dream it was to work for USAID. She was taking secretarial classes at night. I could tell she wanted to talk about a job opening, but I was in a hurry. Looking back, I wish I had stopped, even for a moment. But I didn’t know that her life would be extinguished just an hour later. About 9:45, I drove to the office, happy with the thought of finally having another baby. But my happiness ended less than an hour later, and I didn’t get it back for years. At 10:39 a.m., we heard a deafening BOOM. And then the building trembled with what I later learned was the shock wave from the blast. For two weeks straight, we ran on adrenaline, working long hours trying to make sense of what happened. I thought about how life was so random. I was fortunate that I went to the embassy for an early appointment. What if that slot had already been taken? I was fortunate that the Konners were on vacation that day. What if they hadn’t been away? What if my husband hadn’t been on a trip and needed to be at the embassy that morning? I started to have panic attacks. I had constant feelings of dread. I had difficulty concentrating. I was exhausted and irritable. I thought about the young female guard. Most of all, I began to anticipate terrible scenarios involving my children and became unreasonably protective of my family. I wanted the boys to push stuff up against their doors at night. I wanted them in our room at the foot of our bed. I kept imagining the boys at their playdate at the time of the bombing. And I imagined losing my