Dichotomies

More often than not I think in terms of 'convenient' versus 'inconvenient' rather than in terms of 'safe' versus 'unsafe' when looking at situations. For instance, when arguing with a khat-fueled taxi driver about the cost of rides as they relate to the colour of skin I found the episode most inconveniencing.

(In India he would have been a 'rickshaw wala' and I would have had a great deal of fun arguing over whether I should pay the meter rate or some other, arbitrary, fixed rate. But it is also more likely my rickshaw wala would merely have been drunk rather than strung out on amphetamines.)

Little things arise all the time which can be most inconveniencing. In the middle of the night, when I need to exit my room to use the adjacent washroom, it is often full of cockroaches (usually near dead due to the precautions I take with insecticide, but inconveniencing nevertheless). Since leaving Djibouti-ville I have been generally limited to taking 'navy showers' and, along similar lines, am required to fill and haul buckets of whatever whenever I wish to use and then flush a toilet (after completing my dutiful inspections for cockroaches). Whenever I try to buy anything, anywhere, I am certain I am getting ripped off, but prices are never posted and - most inconveniencing - no one speaks English.

As another for instance, which arose a few evenings ago here in Ali-Sabieh, I had arranged to have my laundry done at the Hotel Palmeraie by Hassan, whom I deal with generally with respect to all things culinary. He speaks very little English but after a few minutes and attempts usually understands what it is I am requesting, he is highly agreeable, and most situations are resolved with exclamations of 'd'accord!', 'tres bien!' and 'merci beaucoup!' on his part (along with the passing of a few hundred Djibouti Francs on mine).

While I am no longer staying at the Hotel Palmeraie, this place is too French for me, and I'm uncertain as to my laundering options. During my stay at the Hotel Palmeraie I arranged for my laundry to be done and this was accomplished within the span of 24 hours for a few hundred francs (whereas, during my stay at the Hotel Alia in Djibouti-ville, the cost was close to seven thousand francs). So I thought, why not now?

On attending at the Hotel Palmeraie for dinner one evening late last week I discussed the matter of my laundry with Hassan and whether I might be able to bring it by the next day (I attend at the Hotel Palmeraie for dinner most nights as other 'restaurants' in Ali-Sabieh do not offer written menus, nor do they offer much in the way of spoken English). He was amenable to this, as far as I could tell, so I agreed to return the following day.

During my previous stays in India and Ghana I was able to wash my clothing by hand in buckets supplied by my respective landlords. Laundry detergent could be purchased at most shops in any given neighbourhood: generally not far from wherever I might be living. In Djibouti, everything is written in French, and I'm at a loss for doing things myself; so I opt to add more currency to the local economy and hire someone to do it for me.

To get my laundry to the Hotel Palmeraie I considered packing it all inside my travelling backpack. After considering the size of this backpack, and finding it too large an item to be carrying with me across the city, I opted to try to cram all of my laundry into my everyday backpack (on doing this my backpack looked very much like a cube with shoulder straps). I also thought against introducing a new, larger backpack to the general crowd of people who accost me when walking around, who wonder how I am doing, where I am coming from, and if I might be able to give them some money.

One other wrinkle is that I do not have regular transportation in Ali-Sabieh so I was required to walk across the village from one extreme to the other, beginning with my current residence at the LWF compound. In the mornings and the evenings there is generally a cool breeze blowing through Ali-Sabieh making the walk quite bearable. On this particular evening, however, there was no breeze. I was therefore required to pause partway to replenish the fluids I was losing on this hot summer night.

Hassan was there to greet me with a menu in hand when I arrived at the Hotel Palmeraie. He scurried back to the kitchen or wherever he goes after he hands me a menu to give me time to write down my selections; I used this time to wipe the perspiration from my face and arms, drink more water, and carefully remove all of the laundry from my backpack.

When Hassan returned and saw the large accumulation of to-be-cleaned laundry, he explained, with heavy heart, that either the machine or the girl who uses it is broken.

Most inconveniencing.

I expressed my displeasure, gave him my meal selections, and repacked all of my laundry for the walk back to the LWF compound on completion of my meal. Ultimately, with the assistance of the LWF staff, I was able to hire a girl to do my laundry. She arrived early the next morning - most convenient - and did a great job. She has all of my future business so long as she wants it.

A few nights ago I was sitting on the terrace of the Hotel Palmeraie, having just finished my dinner and reading my copy of 'Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell', and a member of the local American military detachment (they rent a compound adjacent to the Hotel Palmeraie) asked if she might join me for a while. I accepted her company and we chatted briefly about the village, the weather, and then what I am doing in Ali-Sabieh (what I would like to do in situations such as this is relate specifics of what I'm doing, which are largely confidential, but what I end up saying are uninteresting things about the theory of a functioning administration of justice).

She explained to me that she and the rest of her detachment had been invited by 'Monsieur Le Prefet' to an Independence Day celebration in Ali-Sabieh that was supposed to begin at 8pm but had been delayed until 9pm. She showed me her very impressive invitation (lazerjet no doubt!), the details of which were printed in French so they were lost on the both of us. After a few minutes we were each of the view of leaving the terrace so she went her way and I went mine.

On my way I happened by the location of the Independence Day celebration as it was being set up in front of the office of 'Monsieur Le Prefet'. A large crowd was gathering and the local military was present, between the the crowd and the office, standing 10 or so meters apart, wielding blue hats and machine guns. I was somewhat interested in what might be happening with this celebration and considered staying but, in addition to the machine guns already present, I recalled that my new American friend was also carrying a side-arm.

Something told me there was a real possibility this crowd may become unruly, or at least might express great interest in me: the only white non-military person among them. The dichotomy of 'safe' versus 'unsafe' became alive in me and I thought it better I return to the LWF to watch football with whomever might be present.

Ghana beat the United States to advance to the next round. Go Black Stars!