A Dog for Christmas

I think we got a dog.

We don’t do that well with pets. See past posts for evidence, either click on the previous link or search 'cats' or 'pets.' It isn't a pretty picture.

If the dog lives more than a month, we might have a record.

The puppy came on Saturday and wouldn’t leave. Our guard tried kicking it (literally) out the gate but it snuck back in right under his feet. Henry, Maggie and Lucy have been begging for a dog. But dogs here are disgusting.

They come in from off the streets full of burrs and diseases and filth. They are Islamically unclean, or haram. I’ve heard two reasons why. The first is that they are dirty. The second is that they were the only dogs on the ark (as in Noah’s Ark) who couldn’t stop mating during the entire voyage and have been doomed to a life of shame ever since. Whatever the reason, Muslims don’t like dogs and after living in Africa for eight years, I can’t blame them.

So having a dog out in our yard isn’t exactly good neighborhood behavior. People stand outside shouting for someone to save them from the wild beast or come in with their hands full of rocks for pelting at the dog while he barks at them or sleeps or eats or sits in the shade.

We told the kids no. They could not keep the dog. We would most likely kill it, which didn’t seem very humane...our friends wouldn’t like it, which didn’t seem very friendly, the family downstairs would refuse…

But the dog stayed. The guard tied a rope around his neck and started feeding it. What dog would leave free food? He thinks he has found paradise but he doesn’t know that cute kids and free food have lured him into the Jones Pet Death Trap. We don’t mean to do any harm, we just can’t seem to keep cats, rabbits, crabs, kittens, deer or chickens alive for very long.



Henry and Maggie started waiting for the bus thirty minutes early to play with the dog and walk him on the leash. Lucy claims to like it but won’t get any closer than about ten yards and runs away screaming if he looks like he might head in her direction.

The dog has been named Chris and I think he is here to stay.

Until we accidently kill him.

Heroic Somali Woman

There is a lot of negative press about the plight of women in Somalia. But some, many, are doing incredible things.

Read about this amazing woman in the NY Times.

Crossing Cultures

Do you know how to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?
Do you know what a spatula is for?
Do you put chicken in the category ‘meat’?
Do you put more than water bottles in your fridge?
You are probably not Djiboutian.

Are you in awe of an apple slicer?
Do you fill a dinner plate to bursting with rice and sauce with no space for anything fresh and have never eaten a fresh carrot in your life (I wish!)?
Is teaching cleanliness more important than teaching independence?
Do you think ten year olds who don’t take naps are undisciplined?
You are probably not American.

My language helper Zaynab joined Rachael (no, I'm not referring to myself twice - Rachael is a new coworker this year) and I for lunch last week, on the Islamic New Year, a local holiday. I made chicken cacciatore and she was in awe. Here are a few of her questions:

What is that black thing for? (a flipper)
Where did you buy it?
Does it get hot?
Can you use something else in place of it?
Why do you keep in that jar by the stove?
Where did you buy the mushrooms?
Where do mushrooms grow?
What qualities do mushrooms have?
Do other creatures eat mushrooms?
How do you teach kids to eat by themselves?
When do they start feeding themselves?
How do they know what to put on their plate?
Can they come back for more?
What if they don't eat everything on their plate?
Which goes on bread first - peanut butter or jelly? (I laughed and laughed while she struggled to spread peanut butter on top of the jelly)
Why do you stand up while cooking?

She wanted to know exactly what ingredients went into every item on the table and she tasted everything, even commenting on the ice cubes. She was amazed that I would rather pick up spilled crumbs than hand-feed the kids and was thrilled to help set and clear the table, chatting non-stop while we worked.

I loved it because for one afternoon, Zaynab was me. That's how I am when I go into a Djiboutian home - full of silly questions that seem basic to the point of ridiculousness to my hosts. And I loved answering her questions and seeing my life through her eyes. Why do I do the things I do? Why do I do them the way I do them?

When it comes down to it, I don't really know. It just is what it is.

Christmas Pageant

Tonight was our annual Monday School Christmas Pageant. This year we had about 30 kids and about 75 guests from the US, Italy, Belgium, France, Uganda, Kenya, Ethiopia, Djibouti, Somalia, India, Indonesia, Peru, Korea, Germany, Zimbabwe, Congo and I don't know where else. The group ranged from a homeless boy in the Amharic-speaking class to the US military chaplain and US ambassador in the audience.

We opened with a song by our French-speaking class. Second was a song by our Amharic-speaking class. Then came the whole group performing a play called The Twelve New Days of Christmas which included a version of the song using words from the Christmas story. For example, in place of Five Golden Rings, we sang Five Roman Guards.

Wish I had a few photos to post, but Tom only took video.

Other than baby Jesus getting dropped and possibly suffering the first ever Christmas Pageant baby doll concussion, the play went well. Kids were happy, parents were proud, loads of sweet things to eat, only one child in tears (Lucy, as always) and goodie bags for all the kids.

Success.

D.E.L.T.A.

Thanks to a facebook friend, I have a new way of viewing Delta Airlines: Don't Expect Luggage To Arrive.

Tom returned home from the US with no luggage. Two suitcases packed to exactly 50 pounds. One was loaded with the Djiboutilicious Cookbook and one was loaded with all his clothes and Christmas gifts from grandparents and friends. Neither arrived.

I confess I gave Tom a pretty half-hearted welcome and felt guilty about that later. Sure I was excited to see my husband, but I wanted those cookbooks! And the Christmas gift I ordered for him! And candy canes! And the butterfly wings for Lucy!...

He had eight cookbooks in his carry-on bag, so at least I finally got to see the actual product. But I was supposed to be selling them at a US embassy bazaar today and tomorrow and with only eight to sell, I had a pretty pitiful presentation. I miraculously managed to sell more than I had and kept an order list but it was discouraging. And we haven't broken the news to the kids yet, no reason to deal with tears yet. Although...

...worse than only selling a handful of books, the luggage is now not just missing. It is lost. Lost, lost, lost. Delta can't find it, has no record of it after it was checked in. Air France has no record of it. Of either piece! How do two bags go missing? I can (sort of) understand a single piece, but both?

Air France has another flight into Djibouti on Saturday night, so I'm still holding out hope but at this very moment Tom is skyping with a Delta agent and she can only find that the bags were scanned onto his same flight and claims they are in Paris. No one is Paris has seen them.

Things look bleak.

My Favorite Djiboutian Baby

I love this baby. And her mother.






Here is a video my teammate posted (how can she post video while I keep failing?) of part of a language lesson. In the very beginning you can hear Zaynab talking to her baby. She also uses her for explaining body parts and different verbs forms. I love it.

To Catch a Thief

A few tips for thief catching:
1. Make sure it is a neighbor
2. Make sure you have caught him stealing from you before
3. Make sure at least ten people are home when he steals something
4. Make sure he talks to your guard on the way out, while using what he stole
5. Make sure he tries to sell what he sold to the store right outside your gate

A few tips for thief punishing (because the police won’t do it for you):
1. Make sure you have (other) neighbors who will stand up for you
2. Make sure you have male neighbors who like to give a good punch now and then
3. Make sure the thief has at least three brothers who like to give a good punch now and then

A quick tip for thieves:
1. If you steal something worth more than $1,000.00, try to resell it for more than $30.00

If you haven’t guess by now, we had a thief. Monday morning a fifteen year-old neighbor waltzed into our compound while I was home, my househelper was home and the entire family plus three househelpers were home downstairs.

He opened the car door, rifled through everything and stole my iPod. He then plugged the iPod into his ears and waltzed right back out the front gate. The guard stopped him at the gate and asked what he was doing. He said he was visiting Aisha Hasan, the mother downstairs.

Five minutes later one of the daughters of the family came up to our door and asked what was missing from our car.

“Nothing,” I said.

“The thief didn’t take anything?” she asked

Uh, thief? We hurried downstairs and sure enough, the iPod was gone. He had also stolen a car battery from inside their car. He tried to sell the iPod at the little store fifteen feet from our house but they didn’t buy it.

Everyone knew exactly who the kid was and by the time I even realized anything was gone, Aisha was at his house interrogating his mother. She came over ten minutes later, so nice and friendly, and asked me to describe exactly what was missing.

Thirty minutes later, she brought her son.

“This is the thief,” she said, by way of introduction.

“What are you thinking?” I said. “How dare you come into my yard, into my car and take my stuff?!”

“I didn’t take anything,” he said. “I was listening to my own music on my own phone.”

Yeah, and wandering through our yard just for kicks.

“You are a liar and a thief and I’m not listening to you,” I said and left to get Lucy from school.

When I came home, they had found the iPod. The kid couldn’t keep up his lying efforts for long with the shop keepers, guard and other witnesses all against him. He led Aisha and her family to the man he had already sold the iPod to, someone in the market, for a grand total of $30.00. Ipods are obscenely over-priced in Djibouti and an authentic one goes for as high as $1,412.00.

They also took the boy to the police station where Aisha and I were rebuked for leaving our car doors open (inside our own walled, locked and guarded compound) and the thief was asked to please stop stealing.

Then he came back to our house where the oldest son downstairs beat him up. Then he went home were his three brothers beat him up.

I am still missing the cord that connects the iPod to the car and the car battery has not been found although he admitted to selling it for $17.00 to a bus driver. They hope to find it tomorrow.

Apparently the car battery was actually stolen when the kid snuck in on Saturday morning. And he was caught this summer with his hands literally inside the refrigerator downstairs. I guess it is his habit to sit on the steps overlooking our yard and plotting his next attack.

It is disturbing to know he is still next door, probably watching, and that he has no shame or fear of coming in broad daylight while people are home but what I've decided to take from the whole incident is an attitude of gratitude.

I am beyond thankful for our neighbors downstairs. Aisha, her children, her houseworkers, her husband (when he is here). This is the only house we have lived in here and this family has welcomed us one of their one. On my own, I would never have gotten the iPod back. I wouldn't even know where to start and as an expatriate, not many people would side with me against a Djiboutian. I guess this family was also a victim of the thief, so they had a personal stake in pursuing him, but they have stepped up for us in the past too. They take our security and peace seriously, as well as our friendship and family-ness and I am so grateful.

By the way, if you ask anyone here, there are no Djiboutian thieves. All the thieves in Djibouti are Ethiopian. I beg to differ though because of the six occasions we have been robbed, five of them have been caught and proven to be Djiboutian. The sixth remains a mystery but we have strong suspicions and the suspect is Djiboutian.

Cold

While Tom is off in Minnesota suffering from an 80 degree drop in temperature with none of the necessary Minnesota clothing items, the kids and I are loving the coldest winter Djibouti has experienced in maybe twenty years! Today, right now in fact, with the sun shining, it is 73 degrees! SEVENTY-THREE DEGREES! Did you hear me? I said 73 degrees! Most winter nights only get as low as 72-75. So for a mid-morning temperature to be 73, it is quite miraculous. Also, we haven't even gotten to the coldest week of the year which is the first week of January. My fingers are cold as I type. Of course, icy cold showers don't help.

Lucy didn't want to get out of bed this morning she was so cold and then she wandered around the house with her fleece blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She went to school this morning with a hoodie sweatshirt and met up with another friend who had a sweatshirt zipped up to her chin. People are searching all over town for sweaters. I had one that Lucy wore once (on an airplane) and then grew out of, so I passed that on to a Ugandan friend whose daughter was getting sick from the cold.

Guards are huddling over fires at night with scarves wrapped around their necks. There are Djiboutian children bundled up in huge, puffy winter jackets and stocking caps. I can finish a 12 km run and still have dry spots on my t-shirt (from April to October I can't even sit in a chair and still have dry spots on my t-shirt).

I think 73 degrees is still hotter than most American establishments keep their air conditioning so I guess we Djiboutians might be a little crazy. But from November through January, we are a happy, shivering type of crazy. I think we've earned it.

Hot and Thirsty

Here is a great article about the heat in Djibouti, even at this cold time of year. The best, most accurate quote is, "but I can tell you, this is a different sort of hot." This is, indeed, a different kind of hot.

The kind of hot that, once you have experienced it, makes my kids cuddle up with blankets on these chilly December nights of 77 degrees and that makes them bring sweatshirts to school so they don't shiver during class.

Working Mom

Tom is in the US this week and I had a contract to work as a rapporteur, fancy way of saying note-taker, for a USAID conference. Three days, from 7:45 a.m. to 5:30 p.m. Hats off to all you moms, especially single moms, who work full-time jobs. It was exhausting.

The conference was two-parts. The first part was on putting Somali youth in Somalia to work as an effort to keep them out of trouble with things like piracy or extremism. The second part was about new funding USAID received for projects within the private business sector in Somalia.

It was interesting but I don't think my hands have ever ached so much. Other than a disaster with the baby-sitter picking the kids up at school 45 minutes late the first day, it went well. I learned more about economics in Somalia than I thought possible. Building a functioning economy in an anarchic country with three break-away republics (who are trying to build their economies in non-existent countries) is quite challenging.

Perks included sitting in air-conditioning for three straight days and the dessert table at the Kempinski Hotel, Djibouti's only five-star hotel. The food was terrible, which I had always heard, but could never afford to taste. Bland, boring, cold, dry. Like bad cafeteria food. But the desserts...ice cream, chocolate eclairs, fruit tarts...and there was one tray with about six strawberries in the middle of a circle of cheese. I took the strawberries. Six for the entire dining room, I took 2 of them and didn't feel guilty in the least.

My hands are still recovering from all the typing so I'm signing off.