Went to the post office yesterday because my wonderful friend sent me a package. I get there and go to the office for packages, but I went to the office for big packages, when I needed the office for little packages. While I was in the big package office, the post man (who I got a package from the the week before and we chatted about my job as a university professor) asked me if I knew a this university professor named Dan. I said yes, we work together. He tells me that Dan's package is being eaten by rats and has been there a long time, so he tells me to take it to Dan. No problem. I get it and head out to find the office for small packages.
After walking in circles for 10 minutes because I received extremely vague directions about the location of the secret window inside the p.o. box room which holds the room of small packages, I finally get to talk to the right guy.
I hand him the note with my name on it that says I have a package. He chats with me in Somali, asks to shake my hand (which is extremely strange for a Somali man), asks me if I'm married, and he chats with me about my boss who he knows.
Then he asks for my id. Which I didn't bring. So I tell him this and then he refuses to give me my package!!!!
So the post office gave me a package that didn't belong to me, that I didn't have a paper for, but it didn't give me MY package, which I had a paper for!
Frustrating. It is always an adventure in Djibouti.
(I successfully got my packages this morning with my id, thanks dear friends!)
