Bienvenue à Djibouti

I remember reading about Djibouti in French class in the 7^th grade and giggling. I never thought I’d ever end up in the country, walking the dusty streets while breathing in the hot, humid sea air. I found Djibouti to be really fascinating—everyone I was with said it reminded them of Mogadishu and other places in Northern Africa. It was like a place I’d never been before although it had some resemblances to Pakistan.

The Djiboutian airport is about the size of my old apartment building. There is one baggage claim and out of the two customs officers there – one was busy playing solitaire while the other checked everyone in.  After we collected our luggage, Ahmed, a nice smiley young Djiboutian taxi driver, greeted us. I was travelling with three other colleagues, two of which also share the name Ahmed. I’m not going to lie; a part of me really misses my token minority days! Anyway, Ahmed brings the taxi around and it’s a white station wagon with green paint on the hood and down the sides, disco lights around the blinkers and fire painted on the sides and Tupac blaring through the speakers. I’m thinking this is a pretty sweet ride… only to find out that all taxis in Djibouti are like this!

As a former French colony, almost all signs, menus, etc are in French with some Arabic sprinkled in. The majority people in Djibouti are ethnically Somali or Afar. The main languages heard on the street are French, Arabic or Somali. The city is made up white washed buildings with cement walls and iron gates. There are several police cars around and people (including women) still out and about well into the evening. Everyone we met was named Ahmed, Mohamed, Hassan, or Ali, or a variation of all four names. At one point, we were at a restaurant and my colleague was trying to get the attention of the server and she just started yelling “Ahmed…Hassan…Ali…Mohamed” ---sure enough the young man turned around at Mohamed.

I dared my stomach while in Djibouti and ate at several dive places. The one with the most authentic Djiboutian food was a restaurant called Sana’a. They started us off with a baby lamb soup that tasted like a hearty broth and then brought us deep friend chicken, chips (French fries), and the Djiboutian version of biryani.  The food was delicious but I’m sure my cholesterol levels are through the roof. Another night I had this barbequed blue spot mullet fish, I’ve never had fish like this – it was cut right down the middle and served like an open-faced sandwich. The spices on the fish tasted like they were Cajun, it was served with hot mustard-like sauce and fresh naan that had cheese in the center. Alongside this we were served a bowl with what looked like mashed bananas and honey, bananas wrapped in honey and naan, and crushed dates. The honey was spectacular – directly from the Bush, I’ve never tasted better honey.  As I haven’t yet found a gym to join, I’m becoming more concerned with my waistline!

The heart of the city is the main marketplace. There are vendors selling food that is soon to be expired, shoes, hats, clothes, books, and African handicrafts. This is also where all the matatus gather for pick-ups and drop-offs. The men are typically dressed in trousers and button down shirts. You do occasionally see a man wearing a shirt with macawiis, which is a sarong-like garment worn around the waist. Most of the women wore a dirac (c sounds like an accented a), a long (4 yards) one-size fits all colorful billowing dress worn over a petticoat. I actually bought myself one, it super comfortable as if you are wearing a nightgown all the time. For a Muslim country where the women are fully covered I found it quite amusing that the marketplace is covered with bra and underwear stands, women fully covered purchasing undergarments from men under the night sky!

I was intrigued by a few women selling bushels of what looked like a compilation of herbs; my colleague approached one woman and asked her what she was selling. She replied, women who are nice to their husbands buy a bushel and use it to seduce their men. She explained the aroma from this collection is an aphrodisiac. The woman was also selling Jasmine on a string as they do in Pakistan and India. I absolutely love the smell of fresh Jasmine so I bought a string that I thought was a bracelet. As I’m walking through the marketplace, people are sort of looking down at my wrist funny but I figured it was nothing. I got back to our hotel and the concierge says ‘Oh are you married” and I replied “no, why do you ask” he says, “well married women use that” (he points to my wrist). After some back and forth, I determined that what I considered to be a bracelet is what women in Djibouti put around a bun in their hair while they spread the bushel of herbs on their beds, leading to a night of love making with their husbands (although no one could actually say it to me, they all kept giggling and saying ‘you know’). I quickly realized that wearing the headpiece as a bracelet and carrying around the bushel of herbs (the woman gave them to me for free when I purchased the Jasmine) meant that I was preparing for a romantic evening and EVERYONE knew it.

Over the course of my week in Djibouti, I learned that all piracy conferences are held here. So our hotel, the Sheraton was crawling with German military personnel here for a piracy conference. My favorite moment of my stay at the Sheraton was the last night, the hotel had a Filipino band that was singing old American tunes such as 'Country Roads' and the majority of the people listening to said band were German. So I'm sitting in Djibouti, listening to Filipinos sing in English with an audience consisting mostly of Germans. Our world is so freakin' awesome. 


I landed in Nairobi at 5am on Friday morning and had an experience I really wasn’t anticipating. I got to customs and I totally forgot my vaccination card indicating that I had been vaccinated for yellow fever in the last 10 years. The customs officer keeps telling me that I will need to be vaccinated. I tell him that I was just vaccinated a month ago and I entered Nairobi on October 2 (showing him the stamp in my passport) he doesn’t’ budge so I see one of my colleagues and ask him what I should do – he says, give me 500 shillings (approximately $6)…the rest is history-----TIA as they say (this is Africa)!