My lovely roommate and I went out to get Ethiopian food for lunch. It was quite crowded. So the one server was rushing around talking in his four languages (Somali, French, English and Arabic). We were speaking to him in French and broken Somali and he would respond in broken English.
When I asked to take my food to go he said ok, then quickly went to another table. He then returns realizing that we are waiting for him, and he says,
"DOWN SISTER DOWN!"
What?!?! My roommate and I look at each other...does he mean "calm down"? I'm not yelling at him or jumping on him like a dog...
He then takes my plate from in front of me and rushes down the stairs...the register was downstairs! Of course! hahaha
But that was not the most hilarious climax of this outing.
He quickly bags up the food and we pay (at the bottom of the stairs). Then I walk out and give my bag of food to a beggar woman with a baby and children around her. When out of no where this old hunched over beggar women starts hitting the young beggar with her walking stick!! I look around to see if anyone else is seeing this or I am imagining it, and I make eye contact with a gold-toothed man who is laughing.
At a complete loss of what to do, I do the only thing that I can think of...
I run away. (followed by a trail of beggar children...)
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
In the Midst of Chaos
So, I have this running injury that is flaring up. Thinking it would be bad if I continue to let it get worse, I headed to the doctor. This might not have been the best use of my time.
After paying to see the doctor, I was sent to the waiting room across a dusty parking lot. The secretary in the waiting room seemed to be hiding, but after walking through a windy hallway, I found her. She then gave me a tongue depressor with the doctor's name and a number... depressingly number 28. Then an abrupt man in a Hawaiian print shirt rushes me to a locked room, quizzes me about my age in french and english and then he sends me to wait. Ironically, the doctors have not even arrived, so my number is even more depressing as they are on zero.
The waiting room is full of people who have broken limbs and who are talking in their normal Somali tone (which to most Americans is just above a yell). I sit down to read my book and a student from the university approaches me and asks if I am a friend of Hannah, his teacher. "Why yes, she is my roommate", I respond. He then precedes to sit next to me and tell me that Djiboutians want to marry American wives, so they can live in America.
The doctors finally arrive, all the people storm the doorway hoping to be picked next. Which is hilarious because they each have a number. They are yelling and pushing and there is even a police man there to keep the crowd under control.
It would seem that "patiently waiting one's turn" is not an ingrained cultural motto.
After waiting three hours, I get my turn. I push my way through the crowd that is still there (even though 28 people have already had their turn)and sit in front of a nice doctor. Who I see for five minutes and he sends me off to get an x-ray. I sit in a new waiting room with far less people and then wait for my x-ray.
By the time the x-ray is over, the doctor has already gone home. (I'm pretty sure if I was him I would have tried to escape all the yelling people, too).
So I leave, less 9,000 franc and four hours of my life, without a diagnosis, with two x-rays in hand and the hope to return in a week when the doctor comes back. Needless to say I was a little dejected and all I wanted was to sleep or buy some ear muffs.
After paying to see the doctor, I was sent to the waiting room across a dusty parking lot. The secretary in the waiting room seemed to be hiding, but after walking through a windy hallway, I found her. She then gave me a tongue depressor with the doctor's name and a number... depressingly number 28. Then an abrupt man in a Hawaiian print shirt rushes me to a locked room, quizzes me about my age in french and english and then he sends me to wait. Ironically, the doctors have not even arrived, so my number is even more depressing as they are on zero.
The waiting room is full of people who have broken limbs and who are talking in their normal Somali tone (which to most Americans is just above a yell). I sit down to read my book and a student from the university approaches me and asks if I am a friend of Hannah, his teacher. "Why yes, she is my roommate", I respond. He then precedes to sit next to me and tell me that Djiboutians want to marry American wives, so they can live in America.
The doctors finally arrive, all the people storm the doorway hoping to be picked next. Which is hilarious because they each have a number. They are yelling and pushing and there is even a police man there to keep the crowd under control.
It would seem that "patiently waiting one's turn" is not an ingrained cultural motto.
After waiting three hours, I get my turn. I push my way through the crowd that is still there (even though 28 people have already had their turn)and sit in front of a nice doctor. Who I see for five minutes and he sends me off to get an x-ray. I sit in a new waiting room with far less people and then wait for my x-ray.
By the time the x-ray is over, the doctor has already gone home. (I'm pretty sure if I was him I would have tried to escape all the yelling people, too).
So I leave, less 9,000 franc and four hours of my life, without a diagnosis, with two x-rays in hand and the hope to return in a week when the doctor comes back. Needless to say I was a little dejected and all I wanted was to sleep or buy some ear muffs.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Bad Grades? No Problem. Go on Strike.
The students grades from last semester were posted for each department at different times over the last two weeks.
When the students from the Law departments received their grades, a very small portion of them passed. So they went on strike!
Not being at the university when this happened makes it more exciting because Djiboutians are great at spreading information quickly. So the story is all around town and people who have no university involvement are discussing it.
Apparently, somewhere between 180 and 200 students took the exams and between two and ten passed (the numbers are always different). So they either got the high school students to join them in throwing rocks at the university or the high school students joined a peaceful gathering incited rock throwing.
One would think, that a protest over grades would simply be ignored, but students from the other departments stayed away from the university for a few days, with an excuse to skip class.
And the grades are actually being changed of the protesting students!
There was also a rumor that the students knocked out the president of the university, but there is little evidence to verify this fact.
When the students from the Law departments received their grades, a very small portion of them passed. So they went on strike!
Not being at the university when this happened makes it more exciting because Djiboutians are great at spreading information quickly. So the story is all around town and people who have no university involvement are discussing it.
Apparently, somewhere between 180 and 200 students took the exams and between two and ten passed (the numbers are always different). So they either got the high school students to join them in throwing rocks at the university or the high school students joined a peaceful gathering incited rock throwing.
One would think, that a protest over grades would simply be ignored, but students from the other departments stayed away from the university for a few days, with an excuse to skip class.
And the grades are actually being changed of the protesting students!
There was also a rumor that the students knocked out the president of the university, but there is little evidence to verify this fact.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Who Decided?
This country might seem dirty to an American tourist, simply because it is quite dusty and there are quite a few bugs.
However, the people here are extremely clean. They (with the help of a house worker) clean and dust their homes everyday. They wash all their clothes by hand once a week (which can take more than half a day. They wash before they pray (which is five times a day), sometimes they shower and change their clothes three times a day.
A friend noticed that my American roommate and I do not clean the house quite that often. We are organized and clean, but we don't mind a days worth of dust. And we do not feel the need to deep clean the curtains once a month.
She commented on this by saying that her mother instilled in her the ethic that "simply because one is poor, does not mean that one should be messy". She takes pride in caring for her home and guests. With hurt in her eyes, she then said, "We are not 'first world', but we are cleaner than you." What I heard her saying, was "who decided that you are better and can change the rest of the world, just because you where born in a different place with a lot of stuff that you don't take care of."
So...who decided? I think we Americans (at least myself) have a lot to learn from the rest of the world.
However, the people here are extremely clean. They (with the help of a house worker) clean and dust their homes everyday. They wash all their clothes by hand once a week (which can take more than half a day. They wash before they pray (which is five times a day), sometimes they shower and change their clothes three times a day.
A friend noticed that my American roommate and I do not clean the house quite that often. We are organized and clean, but we don't mind a days worth of dust. And we do not feel the need to deep clean the curtains once a month.
She commented on this by saying that her mother instilled in her the ethic that "simply because one is poor, does not mean that one should be messy". She takes pride in caring for her home and guests. With hurt in her eyes, she then said, "We are not 'first world', but we are cleaner than you." What I heard her saying, was "who decided that you are better and can change the rest of the world, just because you where born in a different place with a lot of stuff that you don't take care of."
So...who decided? I think we Americans (at least myself) have a lot to learn from the rest of the world.
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