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.