I went to Tadjoura today, a small township on the other side of the Gulf of Tadjoura, just an hour away from Djibouti-ville by boat. By Land Cruiser, two and a half hours.
But what a trip!
Inactive volcanoes suddenly popping out of the landscape, hardened lava flows creating dripping black walls along the side of the road. Salt patches dotting the slopes of mountains. The gulf itself glistening below us, then next to us, as we descend and descend along numerous switchbacks. Strange animals – no, wait, baboons! – scurrying across the blacktop, congregating on the bushes on the side of the road to feast and play. Baboons in the desert! Camels lazing on the beach in Tadjoura, like great, bloated tourists.
It was almost too much to take in. As a result, I’m absolutely exhausted, but I must keep writing before I forget.
A “water” team from USAID wanted to visit the schools in Tadjoura to get a sense of the schools where water was difficult to access. As the people who are working in the schools, we went along for a site visit and, well, sheer curiosity. The first school was accessible by a dirt road that wound its way along the spine of several mountains; I envisioned my death at least four times and it wasn’t much fun in any scenario. When we reached the school, a pristine concrete building padlocked for the summer, we were greeted by extremely curious children and very cautious women. I am assuming the men were out somewhere – tending goats, chameaux, or perhaps chewing khat, the hallucinogen of choice in Djibouti, particularly for truck drivers.
Next to the school stood an old, decrepit water tower constructed of failing concrete. The women said that there was a water source that was piped in, yet it wasn’t enough. We went to investigate the source of the water on a route that took us truly into four-wheel drive territory: straight down a mountainside into the valley below, where a small oasis grew out of the spillage that dribbled out from the spring. The road was narrow, lined with rocks, and – at times – dropped at an angle of 30 – 40 degrees. It was almost breathtaking, particularly as we came closer and closer to the edge of the “road”.
When we arrived at the bottom of the valley, having followed the water pipes all the way down, we were greeted by a small gaggle of children, some of whom were visibly upset... “Freaked out by the foreigners” is probably more apt. One of our uber-sensitive water team members immediately pulled out her camera and snapped about five photos of them, without asking permission, ignoring the little whimpers of terror. I hate this kind of behavior – you always ask, but before that, you make sure that the situation is appropriate. That moment was definitely inappropriate.
The well was a bit further beyond, a shared and ancient resource for the people who dwelled in the surrounding mountains. A family of chameaux watched us warily, groaning and grunting with their half-strangled voices; we watched them too, wondering if they’d come and storm the water source.
All of this seems incredibly banal the way I’m writing it, but it wasn’t! It was odd and dislocated, incredibly hot and very familiar, like I had been there before and knew what it would be like, but then all of a sudden there were baboons in the most unlikely place ever. (I blame this sense of familiarity on too much reading and watching “Wild Kingdom” in the 1970s.) As we bounced down the mountain path we were listening to the Fugees’ cover of "Killing Me Softly", throughout which I had to suppress the urge to yell, “Turn it off! You’re tainting my Djiboutian desert mountain valley experience with memories of teaching 8th grade English!” But I didn’t. I sat there and watched the world bounce by.
The water source was fine, the motor new and strong, the piping sturdy. The real problem was the shabbily constructed water tower, which turned out to only be 2 years old, instead of 50. Ah. Problem solved – the USG would be very happy to build you a new water tower, o Djiboutian village, in exchange for access to the deepest port on the entrance of the Red Sea and the rights to build a military base with lots of American soldiers. And those soldiers would be joining the Germans, the French Legionnaires, the... Ay yi yi.
More on the rest of the day anon... Must get back to work!
But what a trip!
Inactive volcanoes suddenly popping out of the landscape, hardened lava flows creating dripping black walls along the side of the road. Salt patches dotting the slopes of mountains. The gulf itself glistening below us, then next to us, as we descend and descend along numerous switchbacks. Strange animals – no, wait, baboons! – scurrying across the blacktop, congregating on the bushes on the side of the road to feast and play. Baboons in the desert! Camels lazing on the beach in Tadjoura, like great, bloated tourists.
It was almost too much to take in. As a result, I’m absolutely exhausted, but I must keep writing before I forget.
A “water” team from USAID wanted to visit the schools in Tadjoura to get a sense of the schools where water was difficult to access. As the people who are working in the schools, we went along for a site visit and, well, sheer curiosity. The first school was accessible by a dirt road that wound its way along the spine of several mountains; I envisioned my death at least four times and it wasn’t much fun in any scenario. When we reached the school, a pristine concrete building padlocked for the summer, we were greeted by extremely curious children and very cautious women. I am assuming the men were out somewhere – tending goats, chameaux, or perhaps chewing khat, the hallucinogen of choice in Djibouti, particularly for truck drivers.
Next to the school stood an old, decrepit water tower constructed of failing concrete. The women said that there was a water source that was piped in, yet it wasn’t enough. We went to investigate the source of the water on a route that took us truly into four-wheel drive territory: straight down a mountainside into the valley below, where a small oasis grew out of the spillage that dribbled out from the spring. The road was narrow, lined with rocks, and – at times – dropped at an angle of 30 – 40 degrees. It was almost breathtaking, particularly as we came closer and closer to the edge of the “road”.
When we arrived at the bottom of the valley, having followed the water pipes all the way down, we were greeted by a small gaggle of children, some of whom were visibly upset... “Freaked out by the foreigners” is probably more apt. One of our uber-sensitive water team members immediately pulled out her camera and snapped about five photos of them, without asking permission, ignoring the little whimpers of terror. I hate this kind of behavior – you always ask, but before that, you make sure that the situation is appropriate. That moment was definitely inappropriate.
The well was a bit further beyond, a shared and ancient resource for the people who dwelled in the surrounding mountains. A family of chameaux watched us warily, groaning and grunting with their half-strangled voices; we watched them too, wondering if they’d come and storm the water source.
All of this seems incredibly banal the way I’m writing it, but it wasn’t! It was odd and dislocated, incredibly hot and very familiar, like I had been there before and knew what it would be like, but then all of a sudden there were baboons in the most unlikely place ever. (I blame this sense of familiarity on too much reading and watching “Wild Kingdom” in the 1970s.) As we bounced down the mountain path we were listening to the Fugees’ cover of "Killing Me Softly", throughout which I had to suppress the urge to yell, “Turn it off! You’re tainting my Djiboutian desert mountain valley experience with memories of teaching 8th grade English!” But I didn’t. I sat there and watched the world bounce by.
The water source was fine, the motor new and strong, the piping sturdy. The real problem was the shabbily constructed water tower, which turned out to only be 2 years old, instead of 50. Ah. Problem solved – the USG would be very happy to build you a new water tower, o Djiboutian village, in exchange for access to the deepest port on the entrance of the Red Sea and the rights to build a military base with lots of American soldiers. And those soldiers would be joining the Germans, the French Legionnaires, the... Ay yi yi.
More on the rest of the day anon... Must get back to work!
