Bienvenue a Djibouti

May 22, 2009

From my humble and hopefully imminently temporary abode at the Ali Sabieh hotel in the sweltering “city” of Djibouti, here’s my first update from my new country of residence.

I left Brooklyn on Monday May 19 at an ungodly hour before the sun even dreamed of rising to discover my departure hinged upon the sleepy desk clerk’s ability/authority to rectify the misspelling of my name; the UN had cleverly listed me as Meghanmahoney.

Errors fixed, I paid 5-10 times the average Djiboutian’s annual salary to allow three overweight suitcases containing my entire life to go on three different air company’s planes. Teary-eyed, I made my way through security and mentally prepared for my 24-hour journey.

LaGuardia-Dulles-Rome-Addis -Djibouti

The flight from Addis to Djibouti left when it felt like it, which, luckily for me, was 45 minutes ahead of schedule.

I arrived early at the International Airport of Djibouti. The plane door opened with a wave of heat (think hot dog breath) in my face. Descending the stairs onto the tarmac we were swarmed by masked Djiboutian doctors. At this point I was assuming that all of Djibouti feared that the lone white chick from Brooklyn had come to spread swine flu and/or Christianity to this tiny nation. Not far from the truth, doctors jammed thermometers in our ears. Anyone who knows me already envisions a menopausal sweatisode in 100 degree temp dreading attention from strange doctors wielding tools. I could see the quarantine room ahead, and I already had images of me setting up camp in my new studio apartment at the airport, room Q.

Maintaining my composure and an average body temperature, I made it swiftly passed the health and customs officials. It seems that in the eyes of the border guards, my 1 month visa was sufficient for an 8-12 month stay…

I sat in the oppressive airport heat for any sign of the UN. A cheerful HCR driver appeared (much) later to pick me up and dropped me at my hotel although he had no further instructions. Hmmmmm.

At this point, it was well past 13:00, so everything in town had closed for the afternoon. I’m sure locals say things slow down because of the heat, but the real reason is it’s time for mass consumption of the qat/khat (I will dedicate an entry soon to this narcotic) which had just arrived from Ethiopia. Dehydrated from my long journey, I desperately needed water, and to change money. A non-French speaking hotel porter kindly brought me to the ladies who work Rue du Rome. These veiled women sit all day long on tiny stools with sacks full of cash hiding under their layers of clothes waiting to exchange money. Reluctant to hand over too much cash to my new street banker, I exchanged $40 and hoped for the best. It wasn’t until changing money the next day at the bank that I realized these women give you the best rate around and everyone in town concurs.

After a quick nap and a shower, I ventured out to find internet to in hopes of receiving news from the office. Found a great internet connection, but had no info from the UN. I sent out a few “I made it” emails, had IM contact with all sorts of people I missed in NYC and then had my first of many blackouts. My headlamp is totally my new best friend.

I stumbled into one of Djibouti’s dozen pizzerias, and surprised by the great quality (NYC foodies: put Djiboutian pizza on the delish list!). I kept my distance from the plethora of French and American soldiers decked in shorts and beer bottles and quietly meandered back to my hotel.

I awoke startled by the phone. A voice in Frenglish told me my driver was here. It was 8am and I was in pajamas on my first day of work. Awesome.