Here comes the Easter bunny!

It is Easter weekend in Djibouti.  My last priority for the week was the acquisition of three dozen eggs.  There are many grocery stores in Djibouti, because it is a port town and because nothing is produced locally.  However, not all stores are alike.  Some (like Casino) are French owned and sell fabulous chocolate, creme fraiche and fois gras.  These are shiny, expensive stores.  Some (like Al-Gamil) are Arab owned and sell unusual spices, bulk nuts and housewares.  These are ramshackle, cut-rate stores.  In both, the cashiers are surly hijabbed women who will rattle insults at you if you happen to come up short.

... And then there is Napoléon.  Napoleon is Djiboutian-owned.  AED's Walmart birthday cakes come from the bakery, in addition to fresh breads, pastries (which we order by the dozen for our workshops), and various delightful teacakes.  The Djiboutian's son studied in France to be a great baker, so the revenue is homegrown.  They sell bulk goods, including Costco cans of vegetarian ravioli, and flats of Djiboutian eggs (rare because of the lack of rain, though cheaper).  All this aside, there are two things that really set them apart.  Firstly, they are open 24/24.  Absolutely incredible.  And second, and even more important, they are nice!

So, I finished up my office projects and took a cab to Napoléon.  The driver politely asked me if he might wait for me to come back out (a good idea for a cabbie on a Thursday afternoon, when traffic is slow and most people khat).  It is the first time this option has ever been offered to me!  Someone opened the store door, and another person smiled as I walked in.  A third handed me a handbasket and a fourth pointed me in the direction I needed to go.  Each a lovely local man in a trim white jacket.

At the cooler, I selected my eggs.  Normally, I am a rights advocate, an equal opportunity employer.  However, eggs are a different matter.  When you are recruiting Easter eggs, you really do have to give preference to a paler complexion.  And, this is no easy feat outside the American grocery store.  Easters in Africa have opened a whole new door for me into chicken husbandry.  Call me sheltered, call me green, but I grew up in a world where an egg was an egg... and it was oval and white.  The years in between have assured me that even brown eggs can grow up to be purple and orange someday so with nary a pause, I loaded 30 cappucino-colored eggs onto my flat.

When I got back outside, the taxi was waiting.  Now, home I go -- to boil these babies for my basket!