We left Addis Ababa with minimum hassle thanks to Ato. Bekele who personally took us through customs and immigration, flashing Bryan's United Nations ID card. We checked in late so most passengers had gone in first, with the exception of about 10 Somali ladies, determined to smuggle out bunches of chat. They tested every method of avoiding authorities, slipping bags under the counter to friends who already been through the body search booth and otherwise making confusing, noisy diversions.
After a rushed continental breakfast en route, 55 minutes later we landed in Djibouti. Weather was in the comfortable 80s or so. Customs formalities were hampered by more crowding, ebullient Somalis.
In Djibouti we observed the French foreign legionnaires in their shorts and berets guarding the airport. No money change facilities were available at the airport and we had no idea how much a taxi into town cost. We made the acquaintance of a well dressed, gray haired Indian man who didn't know either but he said his agent was coming to meet him. When the agent arrived he informed us the taxi was 500 DF into town and engaged one to take us to the bank. We had no idea how much this was in US$ but accepted. The taxi driver took us into a town much like Dire Dawa [in Harar Province, Ethiopia] to a Bureau du Change run by an Indian man in his shop. He pleasantly welcomed us, changed money at $1 = 178 Djibouti francs, and allowed us to leave our bags in his shop.
We set off on foot to find Shirley Coles, an English woman working at the UN High Commission for Refugees in Djibouti. Since no one knew where the UNHCR office was we went to the British Bank, managed by the British Consul. There we were cheerfully assisted by a young British man who knew Shirley and said she was staying at the Siesta Hotel. He called her office which said she was out so we walked to her hotel on the beach, about 10 minutes away, and left a note. We inquired about room prices and were told 6700 DF ($37.65) which we felt was more than we wanted to pay. We walked back to town and found the office on the way so stopped in to leave another note. There were several Ethiopians there and a helpful Ethiopian woman helped us call Abdul Majid's number he had given us. [He was Bryan's former student and translator and my Amharic tutor.] The man who answered claimed never to have heard of him and she argued long and persuasively. Finally he said he would ask around and let her know. So we went back for our bags and inquired after a cheaper hotel. The Indian man recommended the Continental which, it turned out, was 5500 DF ($30.90), but with a look at the ceiling fan, air conditioner and shower we took it. The window overlooked the main town square.
After a rushed continental breakfast en route, 55 minutes later we landed in Djibouti. Weather was in the comfortable 80s or so. Customs formalities were hampered by more crowding, ebullient Somalis.
In Djibouti we observed the French foreign legionnaires in their shorts and berets guarding the airport. No money change facilities were available at the airport and we had no idea how much a taxi into town cost. We made the acquaintance of a well dressed, gray haired Indian man who didn't know either but he said his agent was coming to meet him. When the agent arrived he informed us the taxi was 500 DF into town and engaged one to take us to the bank. We had no idea how much this was in US$ but accepted. The taxi driver took us into a town much like Dire Dawa [in Harar Province, Ethiopia] to a Bureau du Change run by an Indian man in his shop. He pleasantly welcomed us, changed money at $1 = 178 Djibouti francs, and allowed us to leave our bags in his shop.
We set off on foot to find Shirley Coles, an English woman working at the UN High Commission for Refugees in Djibouti. Since no one knew where the UNHCR office was we went to the British Bank, managed by the British Consul. There we were cheerfully assisted by a young British man who knew Shirley and said she was staying at the Siesta Hotel. He called her office which said she was out so we walked to her hotel on the beach, about 10 minutes away, and left a note. We inquired about room prices and were told 6700 DF ($37.65) which we felt was more than we wanted to pay. We walked back to town and found the office on the way so stopped in to leave another note. There were several Ethiopians there and a helpful Ethiopian woman helped us call Abdul Majid's number he had given us. [He was Bryan's former student and translator and my Amharic tutor.] The man who answered claimed never to have heard of him and she argued long and persuasively. Finally he said he would ask around and let her know. So we went back for our bags and inquired after a cheaper hotel. The Indian man recommended the Continental which, it turned out, was 5500 DF ($30.90), but with a look at the ceiling fan, air conditioner and shower we took it. The window overlooked the main town square.
We walked around a bit looking for sandals to replace ones I had broken earlier but could only find imported Indian ones or flip-flops. Then we walked to Shirley's hotel to meet her at 1:00 as had been arranged. While waiting we each ordered a coke and when the bill for 600 DF ($3.37) was presented we decided Djibouti was too expensive. Shirley came and we arranged to meet at her office around 4:00. We walked back and napped until 3:00 when we went to confirm our onward ticket. They had not received our reservation but even though the flight was full found two places.
We walked back to the UNHCR office where Abdul Majid was waiting outside. He was thin but happy to see us. Since Shirley had a dinner engagement that night we said good bye to her and spent the afternoon with Abdul Majid. He told us of his adventures leaving Ethiopia and how he walked 17 days through the desert to reach Djibouti, twice bombed by planes and being fed by guerillas.
We walked back to the UNHCR office where Abdul Majid was waiting outside. He was thin but happy to see us. Since Shirley had a dinner engagement that night we said good bye to her and spent the afternoon with Abdul Majid. He told us of his adventures leaving Ethiopia and how he walked 17 days through the desert to reach Djibouti, twice bombed by planes and being fed by guerillas.
No comments:
Post a Comment