Life in Ali-Sabieh is pretty laid back (as far as life in regional capitals I'm familiar with goes). These are long, tiring days here, but nothing is rushed; life is lived at a reasonable pace. There are many people on the street, sitting in the shade, doing their best to conserve energy in the summer sun.
I wake up shortly after 6 o'clock every morning to ready myself for the day, then join my Nairobi colleagues for breakfast on the terrace at the hotel as we wait for the rest of the mission team to arrive. They serve us coffee, tea, and a basket of baguette pieces; we're given the option of having either an omelet or butter and jam to accompany them (but not both). The weather is cooler than it will be in the afternoon, and sitting on the terrace proves to be a nice way to start our day as we wait for the bus from our office to pick us up to take us and the rest of the mission team down the gravel, mountain road into Ali-Addeh.
At the Ali-Addeh camp, we drive into to the compound and find refugees waiting to be interviewed by my three Nairobi colleagues for resettlement in other countries (resettlement is one of the three 'durable solutions' the attempts to provide for refugees). My colleagues are here for the express purpose of interviewing them for resettlement. One is a Kenyan, one is a Norwegian, and one is an Anglo-Saxon (though markedly more British than I am); all three women and have been on resettlement missions all over the region.
I'm not part of this mission; I just hitch a ride with the mission team as a way to get into the camp. I'm not really part of the regular program (as I explain to the refugees who approach me: "I have no influence over resettlement or registration so I can't help you with [insert problem here]"). I just try to catch rides where I can (for instance, this weekend, the bus will be taking the mission team back to Djibouti-ville on Thursday, which I will hopefully take as well; my being in Djibouti-ville will be precarious at best and, with the office being closed on Friday and Saturday, I plan to show up at the office on Sunday and cross my fingers that a car is heading back to Ali-Sabieh and that it will have room for me and my things).
Each morning at the compound in Ali-Addeh, I try to find a free room in the compound, and for the first hour or so I review my notes from the previous day(s) and otherwise occupy myself with puzzles from my Sudoku book. I try to set up meetings with representatives from the various sections in the camp - there is one Ethiopian section and seven Somali sections. I also try to meet with representative groups in the camp, such as the Somali Youth Committee, and the Committee for Southern Somali Women Refugees. I interview them about life in the camp, attempting to elicit information about their cultures and how they deal with 'problems' which may arise in and around the camp. As I say, I try to arrange these interviews in advance; but if I don't have an interview scheduled, many of the refugees who spend time around the compound during the day speak English, and I'll ask them if they wouldn't mind sitting with me for a while to tell me a little about themselves, their culture, and life in the camp.
I'm beginning to get some idea about how complex life is for the refugees in the camp (and for refugees outside the camp, but that's a different story altogether). Because of the fact that the refugees come not only from different countries, but also different tribes/clans within the countries, the whole justice system in the camp is incredibly complex. It's a steep learning curve and I'm only starting to understand many of the dynamics surrounding the refugees, the local community, and the state and non-state actors providing support services in the camp. Being a person whose comfort circle includes getting information from secondary sources, these primary-source interviews are something foreign to me; but I get a little more comfortable with each one, and I'm getting a better understanding of which questions elicit the most useful discussions with every passing day.
At about 4 o'clock, my Nairobi colleagues have completed their resettlement interviews for the day, and we all load back onto the bus for the long drive back to Ali-Sabieh. It's nice being on the air-conditioned bus and I generally find myself falling asleep on the ride home despite the rocky and mountainous terrain.
We have dinner on the hotel terrace at 7 o'clock and, in the meantime, I may or may not walk to and from the office to briefly take advantage of an internet connection (as I am doing this evening in composing this blog entry). Sitting here, at the office, I've just read an article on a NY Times blog concerning the Tea Party, metaphysics, and American political discourse, and my humble opinion is that this article is three shades of brilliant. One of the comforts I miss from Canadian office life is arriving at work early, pouring a cup of coffee, and sitting down to read the NY Times from my desktop; or even being able to read it over lunch. The mere act of sitting and reading in a climate controlled environment, with easy access to hot and cold beverages, are things I miss. I'm adjusting to 'working in the field' - to more austere conditions than what I've been used to in the recent past - but it's a process. Being where I am, without access to North American news media, I have no one to chat up about the 'Very Angry Tea Party' - who would even know what I'm talking about. Sadly, this process is one of withdrawal.
The menu at the hotel features various baguette and meat combinations - being the sandwich fan that I am it is all I could ever ask for. We're given the option of french fries, spaghetti, or green beans to accompany our meal. I try to mix things up, but there are only so many combinations that are capable of being made. The food is good, not too spicy, and the basket of baguettes is bottomless as far as I can tell.
There are a pair of near identical, malnourished cats that sit under our table, meowing at our feat as we eat. They will occasionally attempt to jump on our laps if we aren't paying attention (given the state of their hygiene, at the dinner table - while we are eating - this is especially alarming). The waiter informs us that he feeds any scraps to the cats (he's a Francophone, so I'm relying on my Nairobi colleagues to translate for me); the cats sure don't look like they're getting any scraps, but it may just be they have metabolism deserving of my sister's fat cat Franklin's envy.
I'm at the hotel two more nights then back to Djibouti-ville for the weekend to get more cash from one of the two functioning ATMs in the country - both of which are located in the capital within walking distance of each other (to my chagrin, my debit card does not work, so I have to withdraw cash on my visa, then transfer money from my bank account to the visa online afterward). I move into the guest room of the LWF office when I get back to Ali-Sabieh and then spend the following two to three months living there, watching movies on my laptop, and re-reading the books I have brought with me (including Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell, which I've already read twice before - on two different continents - the book is that good).
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