Arabia

I really wish I knew what Paul was doing in Arabia for three years after he came to believe.

I am beginning to understand that life transformation does not come immediately after becoming a believer. Perhaps Paul was working out his salvation which is something that comes after salvation. Perhaps he didn't know of the power now invested in him until he spent time putting it into practice. Trial and error. Failed attempts used to grow; strength developed over time. Pursuit over and over again.

In many respects, I feel as though I am still in Arabia.

Home for Refugees

Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known?
God give me courage to show you... you are not alone.
-Phantom of the Opera

Revolution come free us, Holy Brother
us desert wanderers have no place to call home
Physician come heal us, Holy Mender
us blind ol lepers can not find our way home
Refugee just like me please don't leave, You're our only....
Compassion come save us, Holy Lover
us warmongers ruined this place we call home
Refugee just like me please don't leave You're our only... home, home

Banner wave high for the lowly
wave the suffering Chi Rho
stand with your Love of long ago
He's the Home.... for refugees.
-Psalters

Information Overload

Tomorrow, Emily and I will have been here a month! Wow. I'm glad this internship is longer than a month because I'm only just now feeling settled.

Sorry that the first picture I posted was of an eyeless cat. I have my camera here, but I'm very hesitant to use it. Photography is a great creative outlet for me and I continue to love it despite the conversations I've had with Ashley about how photography, like all art, can manipulate your emotions and glorify the mundane, provoking you to have a false perspective of life. It can be dangerous and detrimental to people like Ashley and me who are so easily influenced by our emotions. But... I still love expressing myself through photography. Here, though, I feel so strange snapping shots of every day life. I am quite clearly a foreigner, but I'm not here for holiday or to visit the French or American military bases. I am living among these people for 2 months, trying to become a Djiboutian in word and deed. I think walking around town in my Djiboutian clothing with an expensive camera in hand puts a greater emphasis on my otherness.... it reminds everyone that I am not one of them and that their way of doing things is different than mine, evidenced by my photo taking. I don't know, maybe it would be fine. I just feel strange about it now. I hope to take pictures of people and town after I've been apart of it for awhile, when its not all new and exotic to me and when I am able to ask people for permission to take their picture. Until then... here are the few pictures that I've taken from afar, out of the eye-sight of the natives plus a few from Emily's camera.

These two were taken by Emily when we went to Awo's (Kristie's french language helper) house for Henna. Except it's not called henna because they use black hair dye instead of the traditional reddish henna on their skin. It looks great on them, but with our white skin we look sort of gothic. Also, you can see me wearing a traditional Djiboutian dress. I bartered for it in the market.

This was taken during the middle of the day when the sun is hottest. People go home to nap and just get out of the sun. Thus, the streets are empty. On this day Kristie, Emily, Awo, and I were on our way to an Ethiopian house restaurant for lunch. I've had so much Ethiopian food here- mmmm.

This is what the electrical outlets look like here. It looks like an emoticon to me, so I like it.

Don't mind my strange facial expression. This is my favorite head scarf.
This is the roof that I once tried to sleep on. My mattress was the white one, the red one Hannahs. Yeah, I had a fan and everything, but with the hot air and radiating tiles, it was nearly 100 degrees.
Here is Balbala, the neighborhood my old apartment is in.

Makeshift homes. Belong to the really poor population of Djibouti city.Our neighbor's makeshift roof for sleeping
On the picture's horizon you can see the ocean and Djibouti's port.
The rest are Emily's pictures. Left to right: Rosario, the friend of Biden (I forget her name!), Biden, Kristie, Emily, Hannah, myself, Udbe. This is at Planete Hollywood.
Emily and I eating the Ethiopian food we helped Awo make at home :)
Awo on the left and Neema, our houseworker, on the right eating Ethiopian



Additional random pieces of information:

1. I'm getting so much language exposure here. The official language is French, but most speak Somali and some Afar and Arabic, too. In one day it would be possible for me to hear 7 different languages being spoken around me! It's really cool. I'm taking formal Somali language lessons 3 times a week and studying French on my own with Rosetta Stone. I know of some native Spanish speaking workers here, so I'm hoping to practice my Spanish, too. Africa is a great place for people who love languages.

2. The Coke here is AMAZING. Kristie says they use real sugar opposed to high fructose corn syrup. It tastes different. Really. So much better. Coke and dark chocolate have become comfort foods for me here. But to be honest, all the food is great. With the French influence, we have access to a lot of good French food. Way better quality than the stuff we eat in the US. In one of the documentaries I watched or maybe from a book I read about the food industry in the US, I've learned that despite Americans need to have the best in clothing, cars, and whatever else, they typically want to pay the least amount of money possible on food. This is why we have such nasty meat-producing systems in place and inject and spray our food with hormones and chemicals in order to get more food in less amount of time in the cheapest way possible. I could go on and on about my disgust with America's food industry, but I will refrain. Just know that the French and Djiboutians eat REAL food and it tastes so good.

3. I've been dancing along to the Bollywood dance DVDs that Emily brought with her and it is sooo much fun. A few nights ago, Emily, Kristie, and I did it together for the first time and afterwards celebrated our success by watching one of Emily's many Bollywood movies. I'm being exposed to so many different cultures and I absolutely love it. And with all this physical activity, I'm becoming so physically strong. It feels glorious.

4. I like being in Africa while the World Cup is here. I wish that I could go to South Africa and be a part of the festivities since I'm soooo much closer than I would normally be, but it's still cool to be among Africans while it's being hosted on this continent. Last week while out to dinner at "Planete Hollywood" (the extra 'e' is not a mistake), the game was on the tv and Djiboutians were blowing their own vuvuzelas in tune with the vuvuzelas on the tv. AND, in case you didn't know, K'naan, the guy who sings the world cup anthem is Somali and is being bragged about all over Djibouti.

5. I'm quite sad to have missed by brother's graduation ceremony, but luckily I was able to be Skyped in for his graduation party on Saturday. I am nearly 7,000 miles away, 7 hours ahead, an entire ocean apart, and I was able to see people walking through my backyard in Brownstown, Michigan with only a small delay. Technology is insane.

Violence

Violence is not typically found in Djibouti among it's people.

This isn't because Somalis are a peace-keeping, saving-face kind of people, for I have seen and heard things which give evidence that Somalis as a tough group of people who deal with each other roughly. And this truth is partially why their home country is in such a state of disarray, says some here. Merely belonging to a different Somali tribe is grounds for exclusion and hate between two Somali people. And the relationship between the Somali and Afar (the other major people group here) is not all that great, either. Conflict arises as it would in any other place that has a population divided between two or more ethnicities. Afars and Somalis which have for the last several decades been rather nomadic people groups call the same country home, and a desire for a peaceful, homogeneous nation probably sounds pretty good to both groups. There are arguments and there are fist fights, and hostility toward the "outsider/intruder" remains in some Somali and Afar hearts, but their fighting is rarely anything violent which is both shocking and respectable.

Violence is rare between people here, but you should know that it is not completely absent. Here, major violence can be found among the cats. Probably between goats, donkeys, dogs, camels, monkeys, flamingos, and every other animal in the country, but I'm only certain of it between the cats. I usually don't see how the fights begin or end, but on more than one occasion I have heard the loud cries of cats in a pretty nasty brawl outside. Today was the first time that I saw some consequence of the violence that takes place outside my bedroom window nearly every night.

As Kristie, Emily and I were leaving for language lesson today, we saw a poor, skinny cat sitting outside our door. This sight is nothing new since there's usually 2-3 cats outside our apartment every time we walk outside because of the shade the building creates, but this cat was cowering in a way that is not so normal. I walked toward it and crouched down to get a look and saw that it's right eye was missing and replaced with dried blood and crust! A piece of straw or maybe a stick was stuck to the bloody fur and the cat looked like it was in a terrible amount of pain. Horrible cat violence leaves this cat with one eye and who knows what sort of wounds his opponent has.



After we got home from language I came back outside with some water for the cat and sat down across the walk-way. I looked it in the eye trying to communicate compassion while it cried over and over again. We aren't on the same brainwave, I know, but I had hope that it could comprehend through eye contact that I am concerned and want to help it. I don't know whether that was communicated or not, but the cat continued to cry and hiss when I got close so I left the water and went back inside. Violence is misery for those that fight and for those who have to look at its consequences. I'm thankful that Djibouti is currently a safe country for its people, but I'm reminded by animal instinct that violence is not far from a created and fallen being.

Running

"Every morning in Africa a gazelle wakes up. It knows it must move faster than the lion or it will not survive. Every morning a lion wakes up and it knows it must move faster than the slowest gazelle or it will starve. It doesn't matter if you are the lion or the gazelle, when the sun comes up, you better be moving." - Maurice Greene

Little did I know that running would be such a significant part of this trip. After only a few nights in Djibouti, while still not fully being over jet-lag, I went running with Rachel and it was... amazing, refreshing, just what my mind and body needed. Physical exertion to loosen up my tense body, a sense of accomplishment and success in a place where such things are difficult to measure, an understanding that only endurance and a disciplined mind can keep one running in this ridiculously hot place. It is challenging in Djibouti, but it has become one of my favorite parts of my experience here. I love running with Rachel because she is a good runner and great accountability in pushing myself to run longer than my body wants to. And while on our runs we've been talking about everything, so its been a time of mental refreshment for me, too. I'm also experiencing Djibouti in a way that I wouldn't be able to otherwise. Running through the streets allows me to interact with the place in a different way than merely driving through it would- it engages all my senses. I can feel the divots in the road under my feet, I can smell the ocean and other smells unique to this place, I can taste the moisture in the air, I can hear the people talking and laughing and bartering and yelling, "Good luck!" as we run by, and I can see the faces of the people we pass. Rachel says running in a new place is the best way to become acquainted with it. I believe it.

And as if all of that wasn't motivation enough, running has given me a way to get to know some English speaking Djiboutians better. Emily and I had a bunch of University students over who are studying English for an afternoon of discussion in English. It's good for them to keep using their English while school is out in the summer, and even better to do so with us native English speakers. So we all talked about customs/ways of life here in Djibouti, the relations between the Somali and Afar people who make up this country, the unique aspects of our families, the countries we'd most like to travel to, and other such topics. Somehow we got onto the topic of running and a few girls said that they were going running that night. I told them that I've been running, too, so they invited me to meet up and run with them. After our run, one of the girls said that she's only been running once a week, but now that she has someone to run with (me) then she'll Insha'Allah (Lord willing) run more frequently this summer. I reminded her of that thought before we split that night.

I have an "in" here that I wouldn't have if it weren't for my recent interest in running. It's seemingly my avenue for building relationships and its thankfully a really healthy one. And I imagine that if I can learn to run consistently here, in 100 degree weather, then I can continue to run just about anywhere.

Palestine

Side note from Djibouti, but...

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/world/middle_east/10306193.stm

My experiences the past few weeks have made me read the news on Gaza with different eyes.

"The ICRC, a traditionally neutral organisation, paints a bleak picture of conditions in Gaza: hospitals short of equipment, power cuts lasting hours each day, drinking water unfit for consumption."

God, I know that. Not even close to what the Palestinians are experiencing, I'm sure of that, but in living in and around this form of poverty, I believe I am closer to understanding how a life like this actually looks and feels. And maybe that's the only reason I'm here experiencing these difficult situations... so that I can have a new form of compassion for the suffering. And if that were the only reason, then I'm all the more glad to be here. My prayers for the Palestinians rise to the heavens with more angst.

This Post is Long and Stuff

So disregard my previous post. A tornado swept through two nights ago (figuratively) and some changes have taken place. I know that I have blogged very little thus far and what I've shared has been zoomed in pieces of my experience. I'm learning things like that about myself here- my tendency to focus on the details, ignoring the big picture if I subconsciously find it to be too much to handle. Yes, I'm learning a ton about myself. So far my thoughts have been more inward focused than I wish them to be, but I'm not sure how to change it. My body is going through some pretty drastic changes and I'm not designed to experience it like this, in this short amount of time. I've yet to get into a groove or routine here, so hopefully that will happen within the next week and then I will be able to blog about more light-hearted topics or something.

After spending a week in a poorer neighborhood where Hannah and I only had air conditioning from about 5-9am, no running water, no internet, and a refrigerator smaller than the one I used in my college dorm room, I just about imploded. The bucket showers, no internet, and small refrigerator I could handle, but getting less than 5 hours of AC a day and it being the second half of the night was beginning to make me go crazy. The humidity has died off within the last week and now the heat is dry. The temperature is on the rise, though, so now when we are outside, it feels like a hair dryer on HIGH is blowing all over your face and body. Hannah and I had been falling asleep on the roof and when the call to prayer went off around 4:30am, I would move inside. We did this for a week, but the last few days I started to see symptoms of not being able to fall asleep until 5 and only sleeping until about 8:30. I had more trouble getting through the heat of the day and I dreaded the night. Two nights before I moved to the other apartment I laid on the roof and cried out of frustration of not being able to sleep. The next day I really began to see and feel the effects of not getting enough sleep. Something was really wrong within me.

While on the bus on the way back to my apartment alone, I was watching the buildings since there aren't any street signs and everything must be identified by landmarks. I was watching, looking for the series of pink and white buildings where I'd yell, "Jojji!" so that the bus driver would stop and I could get off. But I only noticed the LAST pink and white building and that was when we were passing it and I still wasn't sure that was the right one, so I stayed on for another minute before I assumed that that one was it. I walked back to where I thought my street was, but nothing looked familiar except a store that a Somali walked us to that morning for a phone card. I turned down the road anyway, still unsure if I was in the right place until I got to the final landmark (a wall with decoration along the top) which tells me to turn right. I've walked that road so many times, and I've walked it so many times alone. It was so strange for me to have a momentary lapse in memory. But anyway, I found my way home and took a bucket shower and then laid on our mattress trying to cool off from the HOT water I had just poured on myself. But I still was finding no relief. The room was hot and the AC unit wasn't working, so the fan I had on me was blowing hot air all over me. I began to sweat minutes after laying there and my mind started racing. I thought, I can't do it. I want to leave. My thoughts jumped to conversations I had earlier that day over Skype and through email, and I started thinking on the sad realities in my personal life in the States and those of my close friends, and I started to mourn over the life of the poor in Djibouti and the lostness of the people and the place as a whole. I mourned for the people around me who don't even have 5 hours of relief from this horrible heat and for the people who are dying from it. I mourned over the problems here that money can fix if only it were placed in the right hands and dispersed in a way only the wise can determine. It became a night of accumulative thoughts of hopelessness and despair over this life and what feels like an inability to escape it. And I just began to weep. I sprawled out across my bed feeling as though something needs to come up out of my body to relieve me of this pain. I kept asking God to speak to me, to give me some hope to hang onto while I was falling, and all the while I felt like there was still something I was holding onto...something that I needed to release from my grip in order to be helped by him, in order to be consoled by him. Hannah came back a few hours later and after she walked in, I just went up to the roof to try to sleep. When I got up there I saw that my phone which is my alarm clock was almost dead, and if I wasn't able to check how much time I had left until I could get some AC every time I woke up in the night, then it would be even more miserable. So I went down to charge my phone and Hannah lay there seemingly in distress over the distress she could tell I was in. We sat in silence for a few minutes and then I blurted out, "I need to go back to the other apartment." This idea had not been brewing up until that moment, but as soon as it slipped out, I felt a brief release. Painfulness still, as I had just admitted my defeat, but I figuratively just burped and let go of a painful gas bubble. As I talked through it with her (and myself) I felt so weak, like I had given up after only one week in this harder apartment situation. And by moving I am consequently screwing up the plans of 4 other people, so I just felt horrible. As I explained it to Hannah, I realized that this is the thing I least wanted to do. It was very much in line with the realization I came to only earlier that day. Fear motivates me to push myself to my limits and beyond.

I explained it in an email to my friends Dave and Ashley this way:

I tend to push myself to do the hard things, the things I specifically don't want to do and to experience the most difficult experiences possible in order to become stronger mentally, physically, emotionally. And I think all for the sake of self sustainability. I don't want to be unprepared for some unknown future situation and be unable to respond- that is my fear. I fear finding myself unprepared for something that frightens me more than my inability to deal with it. I want to have built up enough tolerance and resistance so that even if I find myself in a situation I have no experience in, I will be able to handle it and not cower away. And I think about that here because the accumulation of this experience is beyond my human limitations/what I would consciously subject myself to. This place and these people push all the right buttons to make me feel lost, out of control, vulnerable. I am excited about getting through this and being stronger than ever since this is beyond what I would have forced on myself, but until then, I have to deal with all the things I try to avoid by building up my tolerance. I feel like an infant here as I am fully dependent on the other American people around me since I don't know the language or way of life yet. And the heat is so defeating. I hate being hot, and it is inescapable. I find myself just wanting to cry like an infant would to tell my "parents" that I do not at all like this situation that I'm in, wanting them to remove me from it. But I dont want to admit my defeat to the people who could make my experience easier/less stressful on me. That is giving into the fear. I feel as though I must deal with it, I must suffer through it. But I don't know why. I don't know that its necessary that I not suffer through it, either. I dreamed two nights ago that I was sent home early, I don't remember the reason why, but I was depressed in the thought that people thought I just needed to be removed from this place and that they didn't give me the chance to endure it and grow from it. That made me think that this is a good place for me to be, but its also just a completely sucky place to be.

But in admitting defeat from the heat, I gave into my fear; I found a limit and I adhered to it instead of trying to overcome it. I've been saying that I want to become stronger here, but after that conversation I thought that I had just given up my chance of doing that. I explained that desire/goal only a day prior to Rachel and to Hannah as well. I was instantly ashamed in my inability to stay in this harder situation in an apartment w/o running water, AC,and internet. This isn't tough, this isn't being strong, I thought.

But while sitting on the hot, tile floor in mine and Hannah's room, a contradictory thought crossed my mind. For me, in this situation, acknowledging my human limitations and acting on them is the strong thing to do. Weakness would be continuing to beat my body up beyond what it could handle for the sake of some stupid ideal. I learned that 1) my mind always wins in a battle, and it usually makes my physical body suffer... my twisted mind games, adhering to rules that don't actually exist but only in my mind, just in order for me to stay in control and become tolerant and toughen up. This played out when I broke my foot in Jordan. It hurt pretty bad after I fell on it, but I thought that I could handle the pain. I walked on it for two more days probably damaging it more before a few friends made me go to the ER for an X-ray where we found out it was indeed broken. My physical body pays the price for my twisted mentality. 2) I can't be weighed down by the thought that I've let other people down by removing myself from this harder situation. Without much verbal affirmation in my decision I feel like I may have actually let these people down, but I realize that it doesn't actually matter if anyone sees eye-to-eye with me on this. My body is different than Hannahs and different than Toms and I'm the only one who knows when my body can't handle any more. I have to take care of my body, to preserve it. It is as much a gift from God as a good friend is, you know? I have to prioritize taking care of myself because if I'm worn down and out like I was from not being able to sleep, then I really am worthless to everyone around me. 3) I'm learning more and more about my human limitations. I think that is the underlying feature of my sin- I'm unwilling to accept that I am human, that I have limits and I need certain things to stay alive and flourish. Maybe I'm trying to be God. Well, that's what sin is, so I'm probably trying to be God by making the calls on things that I really have no ability to. I need to see in more than one way that these limits and boundaries give me freedom as a human. I'm glad I'm only human. Admitting my humanness and my inability to even take care of myself gives me hope, too. All the situations that I mourned over the other night are still represented in my life and of those around me, but in coming to terms with the fact that not only am I not supposed to put these broken pieces and frayed edges back together, but its humanly impossible for me to do so. If I am to take any part in the restoration of any one thing, then it is God doing it through me. I am incapable of doing anything about it, but thank God that my voice and its utterings are heard by the One who can change it. And thank God that He sees the full picture of our human story and knows when and what should be done. Thank God His plan and nature are good. Thank God I know Him.

So anyway, since that whole escapade I have gotten a good back massage and a good nights sleep without being covered in sweat. I felt more refreshed today and I was able to pay attention to people around me. My language lesson went a lot better, too. Its amazing what sleep does for one, and when you havent slept in close to a week, you really notice the difference.

Apology

I don't have access to internet unless I lug my heavy backpack down a long, bumpy road to another road where I wait for a bus packed with sweaty Djiboutians to pay 50 franc to get off and walk an even longer distance to Tom and Rachel's house and all in 100+ degree weather. This is the reason that I blog very little and take forever to respond to emails. Forgive me. I'm going to start writing on Word documents at my new apartment and then just sending stuff out the next time I have internet to my laptop.

Soooo.... more to come soon (hopefully).

First Week

A week and a half in Djibouti and I’m just starting to get into the swing of things. With a mix of hormones, jet-lag, change in culture/way of operation, the intense heat, and the stress that I brought with me, this has been a rather difficult week. The first few days, Emily and I were given a lot of time to rest and adjust to the changes. I am very thankful for that as I have learned that jet-lag is a real thing! When I went to Jordan two years ago, we got off the plane, jumped into two vans, and were off to the desert to begin working that same day. The amount of time we had to adjust and get over jet-lag was… a whole 2 hour long van ride? After a handful of days in the desert renovating a house, I was wiped out. I never really recovered until I broke my foot in the middle of the trip which turned out to be the best thing that could have happened! I enjoyed being in Jordan so much more when I was able to slow down and take it easy. But anyway, this slowed pace has been very helpful because even though it’s been less stressful than Jordan was at first, there have still been difficulties in adjusting.

I don’t know when there will be a day that I will be able to talk about being in Djibouti and not mention how hot it is. *Actually, to end my discussion of it as well as my attempts to convey to you the truth of the matter, I'm attaching a blog entry that Rachel posted about the heat. (and keep in mind that her family has lived here for seven years)

When we tell people that Djibouti is hot here are some responses:

1. But it's a dry heat. (not for April, May, June, September or October. And the dry heat, when it comes, brings blasts of sand and wind that feel like a hair dryer in your face, complete with cracked and bleeding skin and temperatures over 120 with no place to hide)
2. I've been to Texas or India (or...fill in the blank), I know about heat.
3. But there's air conditioning. (sometimes and some places but not really. With the a/c on full blast for four hours, our living room cools to 90)
4. You're used to it. (is it possible to get used to heat indexes topping 150?)

We had a guest visit from another 'hot' country. She was sure she could handle the heat. We took her to the beach and she spent the entire day inside the air conditioned car. We had another guest who had visited Malaysia and 'knew all about heat'. I took her to visit a friend and after about twenty minutes we had to leave because my guest was minutes from passing out. Yesterday the spare tire on the back of our car exploded. EXPLODED. Tom asked the guys at the garage if they thought someone punctured it and they just laughed. "This is from the sun," they said. "The heat makes tires explode in the summer."

Just how hot is it? People pass out and tires explode and children develop rashes and lollipops melt to the cupboard and candles wilt without even being lit and goats cower in the shade under my car and I feel guilty prodding them out so I can drive.

Just how hot is it? Tire exploding hot.

There you go. :P Just like it’s hard to think of anything other than the cold on Dr. Cook’s poverty immersion and refugee weekend, it’s hard to think about anything but the heat here. And while I’m on the topic of Dr. Cook’s simulations, I should say that I have thought about them on multiple occasions while here. For those of you who don’t know, Dr. Cook is a professor at Cedarville that educates the campus on how to work with the urban population in America. He teaches a class in which he sends his students out on a poverty simulation to give them first-hand experience with what it’s like to belong to the urban poor population. We were thrown into the city to experience what he was teaching us in the classroom. He does a similar thing with another class, calling it refugee weekend. In that simulation, we are run out of our homes and live as refugees. I’m reminded of my experiences in those simulations frequently as extreme poverty is found at every angle. And I don’t know how to deal with it.

Daily I’m asked for money by people I pass in the street. I’m told to ignore the outstretched arms, even those of children, because if we respond, it’s likely that they will follow us, and if other people see, they will ask and expect our generosity to extend to them as well. And there’s no knowing where the money would go anyway, so it’s better to give food or water instead if we have it. Most of the time I don’t have those things, though. And I’m really frustrated that I don’t know the language enough to apologize or even ask what the person needs. Instead, I move past them, pretending not to notice their constant, “Madam, madam.” I’m sure I look so heartless, like I don’t care about their state of being, but inside I’m dying. I hate walking through the market and making little to no eye contact with people so that by chance they think that I just didn't hear them. I especially hate doing it when it is a child. I just want to scoop the kid up in my arms and hug them forever.

Most apartments here (or at least the apartments that belong to white people) have a guard who sits outside the building keeping watch to make sure no one breaks in. They open and closes gates when cars beep at them and they knock on windows when someone is waiting for us in a car outside the gate. Their life is spent living outside someone elses house. They are basically homeless men who get paid to protect the home of another family. The guards sit outside the apartment in a chair or makeshift hut all day and night, moving only within the parameters that make up the apartment building. How does he even use his money? He never leaves! But what other option do these men have? Around 60% of the population is unemployed, so any and every job opportunity is taken... even if it means giving up your life in order to stay alive.

I also don’t know how to deal with being a white female in Africa. My treatment in most cases is a result of the color of my skin. Sometimes I am treated like royalty, other times I am ripped off, and most of the time, I am asked for money. But I understand that it is so hard for people to see past my white skin, my foreign, privileged background. And I have trouble, too. I have been accustomed to a different lifestyle and although I can learn this one, I will forever compare it to a different one in the US because I know of something different than this. And I know that if I got on a plane and headed back to most any region of the US, I would have a place to stay and food to eat and all in better condition than it is here. I cannot escape that knowledge. And these people cannot escape it either. None of us are ignorant to the inequality and unfairness of it all. Neither the Djiboutian nor I are pleased by the reality and neither of us knows how to change it. We just operate in spite of it.

All the more I long for the day when none go hungry and justice is restored- even to the least of these. And all the more I long for the day when we are free from the bondage of our skin tone, all colors equal and united. Lord, haste the day.