The Foreign Service Journal, October 2008

46 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / O C T O B E R 2 0 0 8 f you had read the cable — with prophetic phras- es like “insurgency movement” and “breakaway tendencies” splattered Jackson Pollock-like across its pages — you would have known to expect the maelstrom in the Andaman Sea. But you didn’t, so like everyone else, it took seven protracted months of protests, halted elections and a bril- liant, Aussie-brokered peace accord for it to sink in: the tiny island-state of Palavaria was, after decades of colonial rule, finally taking its rightful place on the world stage as an inde- pendent nation. It was a watershed for Palavariaphiles. Over the years, pioneering Palavarian immigrants had carved out a tiny niche in America, making the leap one tourist visa at a time to build up somewhat inconsequential ethnic presences in towns like Reseda, Calif., St. Paul, Minn., and the neighborhood around the Dunn Loring Metro stop in Falls Church, Va. But now a new era of respectability and opportunity was at hand. And as the proud people of Palavaria were waving their banners and stretching their wings toward their newfound freedom at home, half a world away, a middle-aged Palavarian émigré by the name of Babanu Samilakana (“Sammy” for short) was cursing the pigeons standing in his way. It was August in Washington. The humidity was high, and sweat was spilling down the sides of Sammy’s wide head. He was lumbering up North Lynn Street to meet some fellow Palavarian ex-pats for gossip and meatball subs at the Quiznos in Rosslyn. Sammy spent many a long afternoon chatting in his native tongue with his friends, commiserating about the sorry state of the world. It is a time-honored Palavarian tradition to keep good news strictly to one’s self and family, so gatherings were mostly a depressing series of pooh-poohing that drove the older attendees to drink. This would have been the inevitable future for Sammy, had he not decided to stop by first at Cosi for an iced coffee. Waiting in line behind two broad-shouldered gentlemen sporting crew cuts and badges with badly faded lettering repeated along their lanyards, DEPARMELT O SIAT3. Sammy overheard the following: “They’re going to open an embassy there.” “Yeah, and I hear it’ll all be LDP.” “But nobody in the department actually speaks Palavarian, do they?” Sammy’s ears perked up. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll just find somebody to teach the language at FSI. Not a bad deal. Spend a year learning how E VENTS IN P ALAVARIA TAKE AN UNEXPECTED TURN JUST AFTER PROSPECTIVE EMBASSY PERSONNEL LEARN ITS LANGUAGE , IN THIS SPOOF ABOUT THE VICISSITUDES OF FSI TRAINING . I B Y M ICHAEL D. Q UINLAN This story won second place in the Journal ’s 2008 Foreign Service Fiction contest. Other winning stories will appear in future issues of the FSJ . Michael Quinlan has been with the State Department since 2005. He is married to an Office Management Specialist and has two children. His first posting was in Hermosillo. He is currently a vice consul in Tokyo, where he is trying to find the least expensive golf course in Japan. FS F I CT I ON S AMMY AND I