Les Moustiquaires....

The handyman was up this afternoon to finish the mosquito screening project that he has been working on for three months. He had to come back this time because the board that he used to secure the rolled screening to the cement doorframe was actually blocking the door from closing.  It was a minor delay; this outer kitchen doorway actually plunges down four floors toward nothing and, understandably, gets little traffic. It makes an exceedingly more rational window-way.  Since the installation, I had been attributing the presence of mosquitos to some flaw in the workmanship behind the door left ajar.  However, tonight the work is done, and I still believe that the aggression and cubic volume of mosquitos has increased.  So, my theory has changed.  I now see them lining up like blood soldiers with their needlenoses cocked like bayonettes as they single-file through a miniscule crevice in l'impénétrable forteresse.  Only, I can't decide whether they are wearing képis or berets.

Miaow round the house...

Djiboutians don't use the ubiquitous black plastic bags that you find in West Africa.  There are certainly enough issues with Crystal water bottles (a Coco-Cola refinement project) and tin cans.  But, the plastic bags here are pastel-colored, and thin enough that they break down quickly.  Around my house, the process begins almost immediately.  I collect a couple days worth of kitchen trash in a grocery bag suspended from the kitchen door handle.  I take my beach bags into the market when I shop so that the streetkids won't lob wet objects at me for being ungenerous.  However, I let the vendors pack each of the vegetable items in a seperate plastic bag as well.  Walan proved that keeping a traditional trash can would be impossible when she claimed the blue one for her merry-go-round.  It is wise not to store decaying food waste in tropical climates, anyway.  So, when I am ready, I unhook my trash bag, tie the handles together and swing it from my hooked finger as I whistle my way down the steps.  Tomboy, the greenish-colored cat that is wooing my Walan, chats me up as he follows down the stairwell.  I trip a little as he weaves between my legs, but I make it, safely, to the bottom.  I turn the corner, round the tree and approach the commercial trash can in the corner of the courtyard.  From two feet away, I toss the bag off my finger, into the open can.  MIAOW!  I jump.  A larger-than-life street cat comes pouncing out of the can.  Random trashbaggings are an occupational hazard for the feline dumpster-divers in our neighborhood.  Sometimes, if I am lucky, I get two.

Haute Cuisine

I have discovered Golden Grahams.  Unlike your standard convenience store, the Total across the street from my house is stocked with interesting items at a lower price than the grocery store.  In addition to shampoo and canned fruit, wafer cookies (it's a French thing) and household cleaners, they sell Lion (tastes like a Lion candy bar), Cocoa Puffs, and Golden Grahams cereal boxes just inside the glass door.  At only $4 a box, I find that I am becoming one of those people who grabs a bowl of cereal for lunch... for dinner.  Healthy, I don't know.  But, yes, convenient.

An American with connections through the Embassy is now selling loaves of homemade bread a couple times a week.  They run only $3 each and are delicious!  For breakfast, I cut a slice of cofee/cinnamon or barley bread, with butter and the final scraping of Mom's blackberry jam.  Wow -- incredible.  It has me dreaming about those $68 toasters.

I've learned that fish is subsidized here.  You can buy fresh fish, right out of the ocean, for rockbottom prices.  But, why?  Because they don't.  This is a Muslim nation, where goat and lamb are favored.  So while grass is almost nonexistant, and the livestock is hauled across international lines, the coastal kids grow up never having once seen a stinky whole fish.

A couple nights ago, I was complimenting my American colleague on his clever little salads.  Multi-bean salads, crab salads, tuna salads.  His response: "Yea, I'm getting to be pretty good at opening these cans."

The Next Summer Blockbuster

1:50 pm.  I am standing on the corner, waiting for a green and white to drive by.  I have to be at the Embassy in a couple minutes.  I see a cab turn the corner, and put my hand out to wave at the sidewalk so the driver will slow down.  Suddenly, flashing blue lights and sirens... a shining black hummer speeds past Djibouti Telecom, past the Post Office, and slams to a stop in the middle of the intersection.  I pause under a tree to take a read on the situation.  Oncoming minibuses jackknife out of the way and begin to line up down the boulevard.  On my side of the street, there is another line of side-stacked minibuses and white Toyota 4x4s waiting.  There is an announcement, a tinny voice from the vehicle, whose driver is dressed in street clothes.  Then, three more shiny black hums, also with sirens blaring, come flying around behind, tossing dust in all directions.  I think it must be a chase.  I look for the culprit among the mailboxes, or through the Ministry of Ed fence.  They make the turn, streak back up the boulevard the other way, and are gone.  I notice that they are youthful Somalis, that they look confident in the manner of anyone who might drive head-on into Djiboutian midday traffic. 

The street grows comparably quiet as business resumes.  I hail a minibus - they are easy to be had.  I chat with the fellow whose manning the coins.  I make driving gestures, a siren sound, flash big eyes.  He contemplates my meaning for a minute before everyone chuckles.  Ah, Presidente.  Oh, okay.  So, I go about my way as I think back through the scene: out of the lastest action flick, maybe, or Djibouti, if you read it.  Jooji, I say, to have the vehicle stop.  I am still the only passenger.  Jooji?! They repeat, because they can't imagine that I am speaking Somali.  Russe? They ask me, if I am Russian.  Ummm..., okay.  No, americaine, I assure them.  No, no you're not, they tell me as I jump out at my stop.

Nawal Awad, breakout Djiboutian artist

Did you hear it here first?  Nawal Awad studied Beaux Arts in Belgium.  She is now a pedagogical adviser at the CFPEN, and teaches arts and crafts in schools.  She launched an art exhibit tonight at the Kempinski Palace, much to the pleasure of her assembled colleagues and friends.  Ranging from oils on canvas to ink on cloth and acrylic over burlap, her work is infused with the chaos and emotion of the life and love of a Muslim woman.  Contrasting reds and blues, geometric movements and one-word titles typify her work.  It was my closest glimpse yet into the minds of my Djibouti counterparts, and rare evidence of practiced artistic expression for this region.  Unfortunately, she may have out-priced her audience.  Even though the showing will be held throughout the month of December in the halls of a hotel that rents rooms at $500/night, there still weren't a lot of folks at the showing who could scrounge up $1500 for one of her paintings.

Winter in Djibouti

The handyman is finally getting mosquito screening into place.  It has been complicated for his team to trace the irregular walls of French colonial construction.  Our Somali guard communicates to us in hand gestures and chirps about the nasties that bite away at him all night.  I hear him; at least he has a net.  I haven't been able to figure out an arrangement yet for hanging a mosquito net in my room, with its cement walls.  But, it didn't matter much in the past because my mandatory air-conditioning deterred the skeeters.  Ah, but now it is "cold" in Djibouti.  I watch the thermometer on my porch, which drops to 70 in the mornings.  I wish I had a barometer as well, since the humid has dropped away, and my skin feels itchy with dryness.  It is abysmal to wake up and stand under cold falling water, so I have reverted back to my bucket bath.  Ah, winter.  You have come.

The French grocery stores have forfeited cereal and long-conserve milk bottles to three rows of holiday candies.  For $300, you can get a large box of assorted chocolates, or have a six-pack of Kinder eggs for only $30.  But, the shiny red and silver tinfoil is still a delight to the eyes, in the unattainable dreamlike way of The Christmas Story.

Across the street, the guys who watch tv on the sidewalk beside the kiosk, their cheek fat with qat, now have a fire going.  All day long, they sit by the pile of burning wood, occasionally lifting their bare feet toward it.  If only it were really that cold.  But, our Congolese friend, who is celebrating her first full year in Djibouti, is feeling it too.  She's got her jean jacket buttoned tightly around her whenever we go out in the evenings.  And, at certain hours, the wind lifts hard enough to blow things down the street.  Not snowflakes, certainly, but I can imagine.

Lingua Franca

Across the street from our place, stands a little green kiosk where the folks sell tuna for my bisadi Walan, cold bottles of Coca, chalky chocolate biscuits and canned milk.  I meet the Cuban gynecologist there occasionally, who communicates to the vendors unabashedly in Spanish.  That is the funny thing about living in places where Roman derivations are not the mother tongue.  You can say anything you like, and most people are not shooting for your words anyway.  They just take for granted not understanding.  It is the context, and the gestures, that matter.  So, where I found the Cubans approach a little off-putting at first, I now find that I speak to almost everyone in English, to the detriment of my French; and, I get along just fine that way. 

However, now that I am getting a sense of the rhythms of Somali, I try that a little too.  My colleague and I have both experienced a taxi driver or a street vendor, leaning wwwaaayyy out to shout Habeen wanaagsan (Good evening) as we go by.  We think the rumor mill of guardians and chauffeurs around the city has folks watching out for us now.  First, it was the minibuses that knew to stop for us -- most foreigners don't take them.  Now, it's the folks around town, who are starting to recognize us, and engage.  As I walked into the market a couple days ago, a man called to me: "Bonjour, la djiboutienne!"

Is it natural?

I bought a large garden thermometer in the grocery store to hang on my balcony.  But, it came home broken and needed to be exchanged.  My colleague asked me, “What is it for?”  See, Djiboutians understand that it will either be a little hotter or a little cooler today.  Perhaps it is a cultural thing for Americans to always want to measure and predict things.  But, it is also a geothermal thing.  Folks from regions that experience seasons care more how many degrees of change we experience.

I think buying the thermometer was a symptom of my time dog-sitting on the Ilot of Heron.  Two other remarkable things happened:

1)       I experienced the daily dichotomy of leaving a beautiful, air-conditioned home (fine wood surfaces and tile floors) and stepping into a humid, trash-strewn street to flag down a rambling public minibus (painted mottos, velveteen curtains and tassels).

2)      I felt no fewer than five minor tremors while perched on the elevated second-floor guest bed.  I looked down each time to see if the dog was having a scratch.  On a considerable fault line, I hadn’t yet noticed Djibouti’s regular activity.  Heron seems to have greater sensitivity, and the bedroom provided calm moments for me to notice.

And then, just before the week-long holiday of Eid Adha ended, it rained!  I chanced to notice a strange breeze at the door, and immediately stepped out into the quiet drizzle until I was nearly damp with it.  You would think that the neighbors would have stepped out with me – rare as rainfall is here – but nothing moved, and the guard walked by with a little smirk on his face to see me standing in my doorway.

Out of the City

Our first regional training has ended!  One colleague headed to Obock, another to Tadjourah and I went to Ali Sabieh and Dikhil both, to observe the biannual Training for School Directors that Teach Also Classes.  Around 2 pm, my driver and I loaded up the project vehicle and headed south through the quartiers to collect my colleagues.  The training model, which promotes decentralization, includes training by one Djiboutiville pedagogical advisor (CP) and one regional CP.  With two regions to oversee, our vehicle loaded up two Djiboutiville CPs and we headed 1.5 hours south. 

First, we passed through the Petit Barra, a scruffy low desert plain where yellow grass struggles through the sand.  Then, on through the Grand Barra, a plain of pale dust that clings to skin and clothes and lungs - a geographic void.  Finally, past transnational traffic and under the arch to Dikhil, "The Region of Unity."  Dikhil has an urban border feel, with 18-wheeler roaring through the streets all night, and an active community eating in stands on the street.  We dropped the CP at the Teacher Training Center here (CRP) and continue another hour back along the road to Ali Sabieh. 

This second town is a quiet community of hills and valleys where I passed a still night in the only hotel on the far reaches of town.  Water is rare, and didn't reach my second floor hotel room, though a deep spring on the outskirts brings bottled water to the nation.  The next morning, I watched the first day of training with this group of 9 school directors, who are also one of 2-3 teachers in their schools.  They have numerous other responsibilities in their small communities, including verifying births/deaths.  That evening, I headed back to Dikhil for a second day of training there.  We passed monkeys in the road, with their pink bottoms flashing, ate white beans and bread in their bright-painted restaurant, and passed the night next to the rumbling road.

Whale sharking...

In November, Djibouti hosts pods of whale sharks, which populate the coastline in a number of very accessible locations.  It is easy to rent a fishing boat to take you out to see them, but better if you have Abdou, a clever boatman that will stop, backup, and then pick you up when you get too exhausted to swim back to the boat.  What, you say?  YES!  We went out last week, not only to see the whale sharks from the boat, but to dive into the open sea beside them and swim along.  Me, I took a life jacket, because I failed my swimming lessons as a child, but I took my googles and snorkle tube for certain.  Whale sharks are vegetarian, and their grey-green mottled skin feels like the rough rubber running tracks that most high schools use.  When we first jumped into the water next to the 18-foot fish, we were a little nervous about their massive mouth coming straight on toward us.  But, it is toothless, and they are social animals.  Although they are able to swim incredibly fast and have massive weight, they were gentle and aware with us and kept coming back to be near us.  As we drove away from their favored spot on the coastline - not more than 10 paces from the rocky shore - they followed along beside our boat for a good distance, as if sorry to see the play ending.

Just inside the port, as we were heading out in the morning, we spotted a large group of dolphins, who came out of the water for us, and along the way back, we passed several long sea turtles, paddling along.  We stopped for lunch at a nice, inaccessible coastline for some of the best snorkeling yet.  Viewed: stingrays, sea turtles, schools of yellow and purple fish and loads of giant sea clams.

The nights aren't long enough!

Education actitivities have begun! 

On Monday morning, a computer lab that DubaiCare donated to the CFPEN was dedicated, with the arrival of a delegation for Dubai, traditional singing and dancing in Arabic, Afar and Somali, and speeches made by the education heads in French and rusty Arabic.  This planning has impeded a lot of meetings around the building (including our initial English class for CFPEN staff) as the staff has been dedicated to its preparation for weeks.  As a result, despite a failing microphone, it was a fabulous event - attended by all of the development and education officials in the city.

As for our own team, we put in a little over a solid week of 9 hours days (in a country that runs on half-days) designing a training for the three staff members (manager, librarian and computer technician) of each of the 6 AED-funded Teacher Training Centers in the country.  Tuesday and Wednesday of this week, we dealt with drafting staff job descriptions, creating a vision for "CRP" of the future, planning use of their mobile book trunks, developing individualized and CRP work plans and exploring management tools that they can and should be using.  As we were discussing the things that prevent us from acheiving our work objectives, I quipped that for me it was the power outages.  As though some jin were listening, the electricity went out twice.  Most precisely, as I was setting up the powerpoint show.  So, the dedicated learners huddled around a laptop and worked efficiently from the gleam of its 13" screen.  It was an absolute success.  I am looking forward to meeting them, and their counterparts who were away on Hadj, during our follow-up "formation de proximite" throughout the year.

Americans know how to have fun...

Today, it is hard to sit still in my chair.  I am sunburned and sore from a weekend of fun. 

On Friday, my colleagues and I accompanied US Embassy staff to Arta Plage, which is 15 miles beyond the site of my last entry.  Past the French military men, standing in line formation in their white booty shorts, and green-clad US Marine crews setting up drills on the same coastline, we parked our three white Land Cruisers in the shade of a hill.  The terrain is like something out of the Arizona desert - dusty wadis (ravines) and flat prickley acacia.  With a tarp strung between two trucks, and another pop-up tent down the beach, we joined French and Djiboutian weekenders in the warm, still, salty soup.  I was able to borrow goggles, and later a snorkle, from others to view the fabulous coral reefs under the unassuming waves.  Tropical fish in electric blues, greens, yellows, orange.  Wow.  It was my first snorkling adventure, and not one bit disappointing.  Of course, the tide went out and thrashed me against the reef, so I have battle scars to show for it.

On Saturday afternoon, after a solid morning of meetings, a colleague and I joined the US Embassy's van trip to Decan Refuge [http://www.decandjibouti.com/].  This is a French repopulation project just south of the airport, past the garbage dump and beyond American Camp Lemonnier.  They let us in to the open range to visit domesticated gazelles, oryx, wild ass, ostriches and zebras.  "Let them walk near you, but please don't try to pet them."  They even let us into the feeding corridor to view their 5 cheetahs up close.  Frankly, we did need to be reminded not to try to touch them, as the wild cats were purring and rubbing just like my kitty back home.

Peacekeeping...

By special invitation, Monday was a day outside of the city.  We traveled with the ACOTA Djibouti team to Arta (1.5 hours away) to participate in a command post exercise as NGO role players. The goal was to challenge the Djiboutian Army officers to interact with the international humanitarian aid community, to better function in their roles alleviating suffering in Mogadishu.

Arta is situated on a lovely, cool clifside overlooking the Bay of Ghoubet.  The islands spotting the bay look to be giant turtles transplanted from "The Neverending Story."  It was a refreshing change from the streets of Djibouti, and a nice setting for role playing and outdoor activities.

After several hours of exchange with soldiers speaking an array of Somali, English, French and German, we headed back down the hill.  Along the way, we stopped for lunch at a roadsize restaurant.  The crowd of guys jumped up from the blue-covered picnic table under a tent in the courtyard so the four of us could sit in the best place in the house.  A mural on one wall mistakely promised us samosa and beignets (which we have grown to love). But, fear not - $10 brought us teeming plates of delicious rice gras and ice-cold Cokes.  Aha!  A little relief from the inflated prices in the city.  Throughout the meal, the goats assured us of their presence, while the gals took their portraits. And, as we were leaving, one of my colleagues thrilled the scavengers (and surprised me) by moving her aluminum plate of rice leavings onto the ground.

What stuff means...

The foreign breeds experimentation... starting with the kitchen.  I haven't been for a shop in a long while.  This is due in equal parts to pay schedules, work schedules and repair schedules.  When I got home tonight, I found that random objects, in various states, greeted me from my minifridge.  The Sahelian Belt of Africa is where I learnt to cook, and also where I honed my disciminating eye.  Overripe is not rotten; brown can be trimmed; dirt simply wants cleaning.  This is especially true when all produce travels along international roads from Ethiopia and farther.

Tonight, I have crafted a borscht of sorts from cabbage long-gone buggy and limp, a French-brand berry juice that's simply not palatable, yellow onions, bell peppers, a handful of rice, and the "dash" of hot peppers that I received from a market mama.  The dish turned out a bit like an inverted stirfry.  Now, I won't mince words -  but, try this yourselves at home!  It was so good that Walan instantly jumped from the wastepaper basket - which I have donated to her as a kitty ferris wheel, where she spins all day like a long-tailed hamster.  She pitched into a frenzy, and climbed the chair leg and the tablecloth to get inside my bowl. 

But, I cannot share much of my meal.  I am hungry and eating late tonight.  My floormates and I recovered some suitcases and bags from the unoccupied rooms.  We have been holed up in an apartment unzipping and opening packages for a hour.  It was like Christmas in October!  All manner of discarded American things: clothing, shoes, creams and books, scattered across the tables and floor.  My colleague remarked, "I feel morbid, sifting through the stuff left behind by earlier volunteers."  Her comment reminded me that, as Peace Corps volunteers, we'd called it "Dead Yovo" when we'd played this game in Benin.  They must be dead, of course... who would ever think to throw such wonderful things away?!

Because Fridays are workdays back home...

It's about noon in Djibouti, and I have been here for nearly 4 hours finishing up details on an administrative document that is due today.  Normally, I would sleep until 10 am or later on a day off anywhere in the world, and the Djiboutians seem to agree with me.  As my first venture out on a Friday, I hadn't a notion what to expect.  My colleague and I sat for about 20 minutes on the wall near our apartment building ...just... ...awaiting... for a minibus to drive by.  The buildings and kiosks were closed up.  Only a few hearty pedestrians wandered by.  Several green and white taxis (with red velour interiors) slowly snuck past us, popping off short "hey there!" honks in case somehow we wouldn't notice them in the otherwise empty street, and then in bewilderment driving off.  My colleague and I snickered about the taxis a little at first, and... continued... to wait.  Turns out the taxi drivers were right: the Americans were nuts to be waiting for a bus on a Friday morning, so eventually we jumped in and paid the $3 fare.

Many offices close for the weekend around noon on Thursdays, and earlier if the power happens to go out again.  Yesterday was fruitful morning for us: meetings with the folks at CFPEN that use audio and video production to complement teacher training.  Incredibly, this is seperate from the audio-visual department in the CRIPEN (national educational print and broadcast house) and focuses on producing films that model teaching instruction to new and in-service teachers.  We helped them request new A/V equipment from AED's budget, and brainstormed ways to make their work even more interactive and impactful.  Then, we wandered up to the Teacher Resource Center to interview its personnel about the inventory and functioning.  It is one of 5 AED-funded libraries in Djibouti where IFESH will work at honing potential.  Alas!  With the power out, the TRC personnel had "saved themselves" and dashed home.  So, with my deadline looming and the computer screen staring at me vacantly, we wandered home to wait out the sweltering hours of powerlessness.

The mosquitos are coming, the mosquitos are coming...

The sheet that I inherited from my predecessor is pale purple and matches the handpainted tropical fan from Thailand that was hung in my bedroom.  This morning, the sheet is spotted with new little crimson marks from the battle I waged last night.  It is not my blood, but traces of previous victims that I have squashed into the fibers.  Maybe it is my colleague's blood.  Where my sheets are marked, she has blotchy trails of mosquito bites across her cheeks and neck.  She must be delicious.  But, there is are dangerous swarms of the nasties in our neighborhood these evenings, in anticipation of the cooler (and maybe wetter) season to come.  So... we are redoubling our forces.  We've stockpiled the mosquito nets from the unoccupied apartments and have scheduled screening hung between the cement walls of our last floor landing.  This is as much for our guards, Yonis and Aden, who live and sleep in the open air of the hallway, as for our own well-being.

Just another Sunday night...

It could be anywhere else.  Not wearing much as I sip sun tea under the revolving ceiling fan.  I'm watching the grey and white kitten ferociously fight the floor rug and occasionally take swipes at my ankles.  I am listening to country music and flipping through a novel.  The presenter sounds like Dinah on KOZY out of Denver. 

But, I am listening to my ipod because my shortwave only picks up Somali stations around the house.  And, I am using my earbuds because the iwave speakers I packed didn't survive the trip.  And, this station is the American Forces Network, where the public service annoucements between music sets direct soldiers to information on healthy living and self-enrichment at websites ending in .gov.

Dinah, I'm afraid I'm not able to help you while away a lazy Sunday.  It is a full-fledge workday here.  The shower broke this morning, running precious water nonstop for several uncontrolled hours before the handyman could make it.  And I have come from a 3-hour meeting with the CFPEN director and my AED counterparts.  We are in the slow early days of the school year; plans are being made, though not yet implemented.  I am prepared for things to get busy as October wears on.

I also had lunch today with an American who has been in Djibouti for nearly 8 years.  He teaches English at the University sometimes, and runs a nonprofit for other American folks doing the same.  His speech and mannerisms are a combination of his Minnesota past, and his Somali-fluent present.

Settling into Djibouti

I am sitting at the desktop computer in my office, which is housed in the National Teacher Training Center (CFPEN) in the middle of town.  Our team of three has inherited equipment and space, so much of this month has been consumed by settling in procedures - from the simple (wiping away dust and grime, and setting up a washing station for the coffee cups) to the complex (reorganizing cabinets of documents and rewiring the office equipment).  A process that seems standard in one's native environment becomes all-encompassing abroad: locating potable water, a functional toilet and food; understanding real and illusionary business hours; getting from one place to the next.  In coming today, I discovered that people live within the compound of the CFPEN (bright colored laundry is strung between office windows and two boys are waging a gun fight behind the trees).  I also discovered that on Friday, prayer day, the front door to the building is locked with the key I share, but additionally bolted closed with a chain.

Our Djiboutian colleagues have made great strides to make us comfortable.  We find this a model environment to work - where interest is high, funding is available, and initiatives have already begun.  They have demonstrated a keen interest in self-development and warned us directly that we are here to advise and assist, but not replace the Djiboutian professional themselves.  I agree wholeheartedly.

A couple days ago, as I wandered the "African Quarter" where the population mainly lives, I came across the football field's turf and stadium lights.  This picture seemed indicative of the moment, so I thought I would share it here.