I have ready access to water; I actually just bought two more 1.5 litre bottles for the day (I've just finished my first bottle for the day). I would say I drink between 3-4 litres of *water* a day, plus coffee, coke, or whatever other fluids I may take in. Now that I am in Ali-Sabieh, accessing bottled water becomes a little more tricky. It's in just as many proximate shops at which I may purchase it, but Djibouti-ville and Ali-Sabieh are quite different in many respects. One big difference is the fact that there are *many* white people in Djibouti-ville; I feel like the *only* white person in Ali-Sabieh at present.
Accordingly, going to shops to make purchases thus becomes an invitation for people to approach me and ask me for money. I'm not inviting them, per se, and in fact feel terrified at times (especially when these people are in large groups, while members of which are chewing 'khat'). Little children run after me shouting "Monsieur! D'Argent!"; grown men walk up to me with hands outstretched who simply say "D'Argent." On some occasions, people who approach me will know a little English (which they offer after I say "je ne comprend pas; au revoir"); they will ask me my name, where I'm from, tell me Canada is great and that people speak both English and French there ("not me," I tell them), and then they ask for money because they are hungry.
Sometimes I feel bad for these people; sometimes I want to unleash the karate when I see them chewing a mouth full of khat. In neither case do I give them money.
Khat is something that is chewed by people throughout East Africa and the Middle East. It is a plant that has properties similar to amphetamines. Walking around Djibouti-ville I've seen a few road accidents, or the evidence of previous accidents (cars with the front end smashed in; lamp posts that have been knocked down), all of which the result of drivers chewing khat. It is a Schedule I drug in the United States; we don't particularly want it in Canada either. For whatever reason, the United Kingdom does not have a problem with khat.
Yesterday offered me a most inconveniencing experience involving khat.
At the end of the day, on leaving the office, I stopped at a fruit and vegetable stand to purchase some lettuce and tomatoes. I was staying in the spare bedroom of a colleague's flat in Djibouti-ville, and she wanted to make chicken salad for dinner, thus requiring lettuce and tomatoes and my effecting this purchase.
Across the street from the fruit and vegetable stand was a taxi, and the driver kept banging on his door, whistling or otherwise making sounds in my direction, trying to get my attention so that I would hire him for the ride home. I didn't want a ride from him so I shouted "no!" (on more than one occasion) and shook my head indicating a general unwillingness to hire him as my driver. Eventually, I made my purchase (the proprietor of the stand actually had to leave and go to another stand to get the lettuce and tomatoes I desired), and I proceeded to walk back towards the roundabout where the Hotel Alia is located; across the street from the hotel is a convenience store ("YESMart") where I'd planned to purchase two baguettes and a six-pack of 1.5 litre bottles of water.
The taxi driver was still across the street as I proceeded to walk. He started to slowly creep beside me, banging his door, shouting at me, motioning for me to get into his taxi. Across the five-way intersection where we were at that time was another convenience store (the name escapes me right now) where I might also purchase bread and water; I decided I might as well stop here and hire this taxi, so I told him to "wait here" and I went inside.
On making my purchase, the proprietor of the store placed my water in the back seat of the taxi for me, so I got into the front seat and we were on our way. I asked the driver if he spoke English, he indicated that he did, so I told him "I'm going to Siesta, but not the hotel" (the "Hotel Siesta" is a popular hotel that features a swimming pool; my colleague's flat is down the street from there).
Generally, when I get into a taxi, I establish with the driver that the ride will cost 500 Francs; all taxi rides in Djibouti-ville cost 500 Francs, unless you call in advance for a ride (700 Francs), or are going to the airport (1,000 Francs). I failed to establish this at the outset with my new English-speaking friend and this omission would prove to be to my detriment.
The driver was going exceptionally fast, he was tailgating, and he was blowing through roundabouts without due regard to other motorists; this driver was chewing khat, and I was holding onto to the 'holy shit handle' above my head for dear life.
Eventually we made it to my destination, and the driver jumped the curb and pulled up onto the sidewalk outside the gate. I thanked him, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a 500 Franc coin. He said "no, no, no; it is 1,500 Francs". I argued in the negative, indicating that all taxi rides are 500 Francs in Djibouti-ville (I did not get into the exceptions of calling in advance or going to the airport, as neither exception applied in this instance). He wouldn't have it, responding with the assertion that I was his brother, and I had to pay 1,500 Francs.
With an exasperated look on my face, I exited the taxi, I took my six pack of water out from the back seat, and returned to the passenger side window again offering the 500 Franc coin. He wouldn't have it. I placed it on the passenger side seat, collected my water, and began to walk away. He shot out of the driver's side door and rushed around his taxi to block my path. At this point, not only was I his brother, but I was also white, so I had to give him 1,500 Francs. All I could say was "so what?!" and I directed him to take the 500 Franc coin.
Eventually, perhaps roused by the discussion of the colour of my skin, the security guard for the flat complex came outside and stared at me with a blank expression on his face; soon enough, another security guard joined him. Neither could speak English, or at least enough to be helpful in the situation. I again told the driver he should take the coin or I would put it on the ground and walk away; as he was not taking it, I put it on the ground and walked away.
The driver wasn't done with me. He followed me through the gate, into the compound, and continued to berate me because of the colour of my skin. This wasn't fun anymore; it wasn't really fun to begin with. I didn't want him to follow me anymore. He was indicating I should call the police. I couldn't be bothered to respond so I proceeded inside and informed my colleague that I was slightly detained on arrival as my taxi driver required that I pay 1,500 Francs due to the colour of my skin. She confirmed the price of taxi rides in Djibouti-ville (500 Francs, with two exceptions) and said I was wise not to pay any more than that on principle.
At this point the driver started ringing all of the bells to the flats in the compound. The security guards were doing a poor job indeed. My colleague opened her door, yelled at the driver, and indicated she would call the police. He stated to her that his brother had to pay 1,000 Francs because he was white; her response was that she was calling the police and she shut the door.
Somehow, through no effort of my own, the cost of a taxi ride for this particular white person was now 1,000 Francs. Was he breaking? Should I break? I asked my colleague if I should just give the driver another 500 Francs to make him go away. She was firm in her resolve. I should not pay any more and it was a matter of principle: the taxi ride costs 500 Francs and I should not be intimidated into paying anything more.
So this white man wasn't breaking, and neither was 'his brother' the taxi driver. The bells kept ringing for a few minutes, then the driver went outside of the building, stood inside the gate of the compound - I could see him through the kitchen window staring up incredulously. After a few more minutes he sat in his car outside the gate. My colleague could not remember the number for the police, nor did she know enough French to make placing a call worthwhile.
In any case, the driver eventually left, and the 'security guards' got a stern talking to from my colleague.
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