Atmosphere
After the Sudan and Ethiopia, Djibouti felt very pseudo-European. Colonial-style buildings lined neat, paved streets joining every few blocks into roudabouts. Storefronts boasted European products and even European names; walls sported slogans in English, French, and Arabic about keeping the city streets clean. I saw lots of tourist families (even white kids!), and plenty of other foreigners were humming along the streets in slick white Toyota SUVs with logos or flags on the side.
People
If I had to try to describe the national attitude, I guess I would say that Djiboutians (or Djiboutiens, as they would have me say), are an interesting cultural mix of self-conscious French stuffiness and laidback African friendliness. Chatting with a stranger for a moment betrays the blend: Djiboutiens speak lovely, flawless French, but seem to have almost exclusively eliminated the formal "vous" tense from daily speech, preferring instead to use the friendly, familiar "tu" for friends and strangers alike. Everyone was happy to talk to us, right away, on a personal and intimate level that was, after Ethiopia, both unexpected and delightful. While I know it's unfair to say all people of any country are one way or another, I confess the difference was immediate: within moments of crossing through the border, I felt in the joking, chummy atmosphere of our next bus none of that subtle but tangible aloofness I had been feeling for the two weeks prior. It was glorious.
It is my general impression that everyone in Djibouti Port, every last man, woman, and child, is employed either by something governmental or the tourism industry. Aside from the shopowners, taxidrivers, and hoteliers, Djibouti seems to be populated almost exclusively by ministers, military, or NGOs. The banking seems to function exclusively as a blend of these two interests. Surely other professions must exist; where they are and what they do I can't imagine.
After an interval of almost three years since I was last in a francophone country, I slipped into Djibouti French with the satisfaction of a toad plopping into an old beloved swamp. Overjoyed by the lingsuistic non-barriers (a first on this trip so far) and the amiable attitude, I exuberantly set about making friends with my bus seat-mates, taxidrivers, waiters, policemen, receptionists, random strangers on the street.. really, anyone who stood still in one place long enough. (And the Djiboutiens were kindly very happy to comply.)
Food:
As far as food goes, this seems to rather be a European enclave. It was very very tasty, but also much more expensive than the food we're accustomed to from the Sudan and Ethiopia. David and I quickly realized our time in Djibouti was necessarily going to have to be rather short, if we wanted to walk out with something in our pockets at all.
Best Thing Eaten: We also got to try some Red Sea culture sweets: some mochi-esque jelly tasting of currant, a stringy, melt-in-your-mouth version of halwa, a crumbly and grainy red rock-like thing, and a black-and-white mint-flavored sweet with the texture of fine sand. All delicious.
New Hygienic Lows:
The state in which I arrived in Djibouti defies all description.
Suffice it to say that during the blissful and lengthy shower I took immediately after check-in, the spotless white bathtub of the Sheraton-Djibouti washed black for twenty minutes. I was excited to note that my skin was a slightly different color upon emerging.
Which leads me to..
Favorite Quote:
Dragging myself into the marble-and-glass lobby of the Sheraton after our trek was .. intimidating. The neatly uniformed guard at the door, positioned to keep out trash, definitely gave me a bit of an alarmed look-over as I hauled my battered luggage over the threshold, but was too polite to say anything.
I, unfortunately, suffer from no such constraints, and said to him frankly: "I'm the dirtiest thing that's ever stepped into this lobby, aren't I."
My only reply was an involuntary mouth-twitch.
Money: REALLY, DJIBOUTI??
You know, I was going to be all mature and clean, and pass completely through this country without one snide "Djibouti's HOT!" or "We're all over Djibouti tonight.." joke. I really was. This was the intention, the plan, and one that I was prepared to follow through with.
But then I saw the coins.
Both the fifty- and the five-franc coins feature what at first glance can only be taken as a pair of camels, mid-coitus. My shock was so great that the first time I received change I forgot myself and actually shouted to David, "OH MY GOD THEIR MONEY SHOWS COPULATING CAMELS!"
Much closer and prolonged inspection revealed that in fact, it's just one camel standing very very close behind another lying down at such an unusual angle that the standing one is tilted respective to the lying one, and the line that looks like the tilted, straddling camel's front leg is actually a very inconveniently-located saddle strap.
See, I say "inconveniently", but I have my doubts. It's just a tad too perfectly arranged just so... This was no accident. So, bring on the tawdry Djiboutian jokes! And let the amorous animals begin..
Worst Experience: Seeing the bill after any routine transaction was always a bit heart-stopping.
Best Experience: We took the opportunity to learn as much as possible about transportation to our next port of call, Somaliland, asking anyone in a position to know about the overland bus transportation through the desert to Hargeisa. Hilarious fun ensues when a friendly Djiboutienne learns that you actually lack the wit to stay the hell away from countries that have tenuous grip on their security situations.
Could I live here? Just for fun, I've been thinking about this question as I move through each country.. or to be honest, perhaps not just for fun. I'm kind of in the market.
While I know I would enjoy Djibouti for a much longer stay than these few days, I'm not sure I'll ever make enough to afford to live here. Oh well, there's always the Sudan..
...Or, er, perhaps there's not. To retrospectively answer this same question for the Sudan, yes, I could.. if it still exists in a few years.
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