10 Days Down.

10 days down. I've got 10 days in. Today is the first day I've had completely off since I arrived. Oozed my way off a plane, dripped into office life 6 hours later, and have pretty much been there ever since. Not exactly what I was prepared for, may have to look at a different arrangement, but for now, push on, push on.




Theme song for the moment: Ooo Child, things are gonna get easier, ooo child things will get brighter. Just when I feel like I can't possibly bear one more second of the necessary transitory moments of bubbling, boiling heat, when sweat is flooding from pores I didn't know I had (do elbows seriously sweat?! Yes, yes they do.), I'm forced to remind myself that I am simply moving from one A/C environment to the next, that my torture is temporary. The majority of those crammed in or walking beside me have no such luxury, no escape. In the office, the A/C kicks on quickly with the flick of a button and stays on for the duration. At home, I can turn it on when I need to (although I am trying to “need” it less and less so I can acclimate somewhat) and unless there's a power cut, the fan is always going. As September seeps towards October, as summer fades to fall, the mercury will dip from 40C closer to 30C, unbearable will become tolerable, and things WILL get easier. For now, I am sweating 24 hours a day, salt stains and damp spots line all of my clothes but things are gonna get easier.




It has been a rough go at work so far but that simply speaks to the indulgence of my last job in Indo. This is only the very beginning of year #3 for Oxford International Academy in Djibouti. Other than a workbook for various levels to go by, there are no materials. Leaves the door wide open to creativity though, yes? Sadly, I'm currently lacking in that department and hoping my brain kicks into gear at some point. Since my ragged and sweaty arrival, my office hours have been from 7 – 8am until noon, sweatbus home for lunch and small rest, sweatbus back to the office between 3 – 4pm to prep then teach from 6 – 10pm, sweatbus home. During our last days off (Thurs & Fri), we didn't teach but I was still in for several hours trying to learn the curriculum and prep for upcoming classes. This Thurs, I went in for 4 hours in the morning then my body simply stopped responding, refused to cooperate, decided enough was enough.




You know how when you really have to pee you can hold it until those moments just before you reach a toilet? Suddenly you have to grab and sprint the final distance as your body knows relief is in reach so it decides to just go ahead and get started. Yes? Yes. Well it was that, but on the exhaustion scale. I got home and thought I'd take a little nap but this time, with no intentions of returning to the office. I was going to try to explore a bit as I've not had a chance to do anything yet. Yeah, right. I fell asleep and was out for dead. I woke up a few times, read a little bit, puttered a tiny bit, but essentially … utter collapse until Friday morning. Exploring will wait for another day. Africa temporarily kicked my ass. Temporarily.




Bruce has invited me out a couple of times to meet a few of the many people he knows here and to show me a bit of what's what. The utter distance between street life poor and embassy wealthy is shocking. There's barely a middle. You have too much or you have nothing. Our apartment seems shantytown shameful in the embassy district where we live but we have excesses when compared to the masses. The enclosed compounds of foreign lives are luxurious, the houses and vehicles are shrouded in tinted windows and A/C units, and life outside the compound walls is marginally, if at all, registered by those on the inside. There is very much an “us” and “them”. My white skin alone lumps me squarely into one group or the other depending on what side of the fence you're sitting. Sad.




This isn't all just expats though. There are excessively wealthy locals. Somalis, Ethiopians, Djiboutians, other Africans who work for expat agencies or are connected somehow are included in the screaming financial division. An Ethiopian who lives in Djibouti but is contracted through a European military will be rolling in money but obviously must have come from money to have been educated enough to work for an expat company. The complexities here are staggering. Despite current financial struggles, we, of course, tend to socialize solely with the elite. I'm learning that most things simplify down to who you know, being a big fish in a small Djiboutian business pond, and the luxuries that come with those associations.




I've been to the excesses of The Sheraton, where the German military who are stationed here live, and paid $6 for a Coke, a local “downtown” watering hole that attracts mostly expats or locals connected to expats charged $3 for that Coke, and a local market where those who can afford some foreign foods, asked 60 cents for the same Coke. Amazing. A tight-lipped foreign face assigned to duty in Djiboutian foreign port would never step foot inside one of these shady shops so will never know my bliss of a 60cent Coke fix. It's a tricky little world on these shores, isn't it?




Connections seem to be the only life lines here. The company I work for, and it IS a company, not a school, is focused on finding new “clients”, not students at the moment. Each client may be, and often is, a wealthy, new contact who can hopefully bring in more wealthy business. Thankfully there doesn't seem to be much competition for English services at the moment so it's working, the business is growing, contacts are coming through, but slowly. Money is still a big concern for those in charge at Oxford, expenses obliterate profit, so things are tough. I know there are ambitions of expanding to do more local teaching, providing education to kids and locals who have no other resources but for now, it's all about who you know and what they can bring in. I leave that game to the boys. Makes me feel slimy and I'm barely handling the sweat. Business is a rough TOUGH go in Africa but they're making it work; I admire what they have created here.



I'm still finding my ground. It's not a beautiful city, by any stretch of my imagination, but I'll find it. It's always there, sometimes we just have to look for it, right? The seas surrounding our little part of the peninsula are harbour and business front, full stop. Not swimming seas. A far cry from the squeaky white exotics of Tofo, Mozambique, but I'm not in Moz anymore, I'm in Djibouti so I'll find the beauty in Djibouti. I haven't had a chance to explore the diving / snorkelling opportunities here yet, I understand that they're a good distance off, but it's on the list. Once I settle a wee bit more, once the surroundings are low 30sC instead of high 30sC, I'll be up for more wandering. Time, time, time, it will just take a bit of time. And in Africa, there is nothing but time.

First day drowning...

Darling Djibouti, barely a blip on the radar, a tiny desert dwelling parked inconspicuously on a sparse, booming seaside. Enormous port rigs and shipping containers overwhelm the waterfront while construction debris and dry, hot dust litter every street and corner. French, Somali, Afar, and Arabic sounds mix with brightly clothed, ever so beautiful African women and ratty tatty street urchins. Men gesture and shout at each other in everyday conversation, clothed in everything from the shreds of physical labour to casual Friday at the office, fresh from the mosque wrap arounds, to London business lunch until the overwhelming heat forces them to retreat to random bits of shade that do almost nothing to cool the daytime's barely breathable, sauna-like air. Even the glimpses of sea, with spotty, rubbish-engulfed beaches and small patches of sand, seem too hot and hazy to offer any respite. But in the midst of all of this sweating and wilting, (from me that is, as they seem barely affected by it) they carry on.




I'm not a novelty here, there is a significant multi-national expat population in this very tiny city, so no one seems shocked to see me in the limited exposure I've had so far. Those whom I have met shout "Bonjour!" and genuine smiles, no slack-jawed staring. It'll be a while until MY open-mouthed gape turns into a comfortable stroll but the adjustment shouldn't be too difficult. Knock on wood.




It was 10C when I left Halifax at 530am and it was near 40C when I was blasted in the face by hot, desert sun as I stepped off the final plane and walked across the heat-wavering tarmac into Djibouti's one room (okay, maybe two room) airport almost exactly 24 hours later. I remember Asian hot but I had forgotten African hot. Near the equator hot, where you are instantly swimming in pools of your own suffering body's attempts to tell you that Canadian blood isn't meant to be here kind of hot. Good devil in hell it's HOT!




One bag arrived, one didn't. Seemed to be the norm as the lineup of people waiting to talk to the already prepared missing luggage guy was significant. Luckily the one that DID arrive was the one with clothes and toiletries, the missing one was mostly dive stuff. Was not looking forward to wearing a wetsuit to my first day of classes.




Was met at the airport by Bruce, the UK English teacher who had joined the set up of the company and curriculum at day one, Robleh, the company manager, and another man (I forget his name) who is … get this … the nephew of The President. Seriously. The nephew of the President of the Republic of Djibouti was our driver. He's an old college buddy of Robleh's from a time when they were partying it up as young Djiboutians do in the distant land of the UK. Probably a name I should remember but sweat was blinding me at this point and I could barely remember my own name. That and they didn't actually tell me who he was until after we had been dropped off. Either way, I probably would have forgotten him anyway as my cerebral fluid, my only remaining fluid, was draining from my body. Did I mention that it was hot?




The apartment is basic but a good size; not Asian luxury living by a far cry but definitely well equipped for life in Africa. They had only moved us in last week so it's a work in progress. I saw a hazy, blue shimmer of sea at the distant far end of the road and was hopeful. As it was the middle of the day and blisteringly hot, it was siesta time for Djibouti. After a little chat, Bruce retired to his room and I attempted to empty the one bag that had arrived and organize a bit of my life. The overhead fan in my room mocked my Canadian ridiculousness as it did little else other than move around the suffocating air so I caved and turned on the little A/C unit they had installed. Electricity is meant to be very expensive here so we are trying to conserve it. I've just arrived and my face is melting off, I'm turning on the A/C. Sorry, but it's happening.




Ummm... the A/C works, but it's a little unit in a big room in a hot country. If I was moving, I was sweating. Eventually I just threw everything on a shelf and laid on the bed, defeated. Fell into a travel induced, heat exaggerated, much needed mini coma. The shower I took to try to wake me up and cool me off was pointless. The water is pumped from a tank outside so it was … hot. Not boil your skin off hot but hot as in, not cool in any way at all. I was sweating IN the shower. As I attempted to dry myself with the stolen airline blanket I had thankfully shoved into my carry on, (my towels were in the missing bag) I knew I had no choice but to keep pushing on. It's hot. It's going to be hot. I'm in Africa for crying out loud, get over it. But yeah, it's hot.




At around 5pm, Bruce and I ventured to the office, as Wednesday is a work day. My schedule is meant to be Sat – Wed, 8am til about 11am, come home and sleep as everyone does, then back to the office around 4 or 5pm as we teach from 6 – 10pm. All adults, a mixture of backgrounds, a very relaxed environment. The curriculum is partially computer based so the two classrooms have meeting room tables with computers at each seat. I'll take some photos as they are unusual classroom set ups for me.




I met Fouad, the academic director, at the office and sat in while he taught what will be my classes. I was openly nodding and bobbing as I tried desperately to keep my over-travelled, suffering body focused. I did okay, I didn't fall off my seat or anything, but I was doing a lot of walking around. Dude, I just got off the plane six hours ago . They didn't expect me to come into work but hey, why not try to make a decent first impression, right? Not sure the half closed eyelids and trickle of drool running down my chin in the classroom were a good first impression but they seemed pleased that I made the effort.




Oh, we took the little local mini bus to and from school. For my Mozambique connections, yes, it was a chappa. Same chaos, same hot, smelly rust buckets held together by bits of gum, rope, and tape squeaky and bumping at every turn, threatening to disintegrate at the hint of a strong wind. Crammed full but not to Mozambican levels of utter claustrophobia. Ahhhhh, I'm back in Africa. The centre of town is small and surprisingly empty but I have lingering images of insane India in my head so probably not a fair comparison. I couldn't quite comprehend the dry dirt roads and dusty atmosphere considering we are right on the sea but then it was pointed out … the construction. While there are trees and a bit of shrubbery, most everything on the waterfront and beyond has been stripped away. This is sea level desert and everything is under construction.




Bruce is the walking encyclopedia to my annoying questions and it appears I've stumbled into a pretty interesting little place. Former French colony but current Somali money; the piracy has proven to be successful. This is all hush hush but common knowledge obviously. The Somalis are running the show with an endless supply of cash, the French are still here and peacefully part of everyday life as is the German military, there's a mix of Ethiopian and Yemeni influence in the faces and the shops, the American military is here but tucked away and not allowed to leave their compound, and the Chinese are constructing railroads and other infrastructure in exchange for I'm not sure what. A surprising number of foreign embassies, the WHO, the EU Commission, a load of NGOs, the UNHRC, and an assortment of other international colours dot the flagpoles of nearby buildings. The more questions I ask, the more confusing it gets so for now I'm simply just trying to absorb things as they come. A full first day with an overwhelming week ahead. And oh yeah, did I mention it's devil bloody HOT?!?!

4 months of India go here.

I have 4 months of backlogged India stories to update in this spot.  For now, here's a little from JeeBOOTY land...