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.