Airport Expats, and The Joys of Farming

It has been a busy few days here, what with the storms, field trips, GI distress, and, as always, fussy internet connections.  Now, though, I’d like to take some time to tell you a few stories about my first week here.

Actually, it starts before I even landed in Hargeisa.  In my last post I told you about my unexpected night in Djibouti.  Well, I planned to be at the airport the next morning a good 2 ½ hours before my flight, just in case.  That meant a 5:10 cab ride.  All was well, and I arrived at the Djibouti International Airport by 5:30, only to discover that not only was the airport not even open, but, according to the staff, my 8 AM flight was now scheduled for 8:30, and Juba Airlines never opens the ticket counter until 2 hours before the flight.  (This was my first real experience of “Africa Time.”  It’s a real thing—the staff here at the hospital use it as an excuse when things are running behind and we antsy Westerners want to know why.)  I spent the next hour waiting outside the door of the airport, but thankfully I wasn’t the only one there.  In fact, my sidewalk buddy was Peter, a professor from Western Washington University who travels around the world whenever he can.  I mean around the world.  He didn’t even list all the places he’s been, since he is nearing 100 countries!  We talked about what was bringing us to Somaliland, with just two tourist destinations, as well as what we thought of Djibouti (hot).  Peter is a really interesting guy, and I hope someday to travel to almost as many places as he has.  As many of you know, my stated life goal is to be the most interesting old lady in the nursing home, so that when I’m telling the CNA’s the same stories over and over again every day, well, at least they will be interesting stories.  I think hitting the 100-country mark would be a pretty cool story

Once the airport finally opened and we checked in, waited for the snack bar to open so we could buy water, waited some more, and finally moved to our gate, we encountered another foreign visitor, one whom Peter had met the day before.  Gilles is a computer whiz with his own tech company based in Paris, and he was in Somaliland on business.  No one else in his company wanted to come and honor the contract, and most didn’t want Gilles travelling to Somaliland either, thinking it too dangerous, but he came anyway.  I say bravo!  Somaliland needs more foreign engagement and investment, not to mention a stronger technology infrastructure. 

I really enjoyed meeting Peter and Gilles, and learning about their reasons for coming here; I find that one can meet some really cool people while traveling, and I bet once I reach that 100-country mark, I’ll have a contact list to rival Rupert Murdoch (except I’ll use my world-wide web of connections and influence for good, not evil).

By the way, our “is it at 8 or 8:30?” flight split the difference and departed, half-empty, at 8:15.

A few days after I arrived, Edna took me about 20 km outside the city to her farm.  She bought the property a few years ago, hoping there might be water there (more on the hospital’s water issues later—it’s a blog post in itself), but after that dream fell through, she decided to try and farm it instead.  She hopes to eventually grow enough there to supply the hospitals veggies.  The crops, such as they are, are tended by a pair of men, former nomadic camel herders.  In order to entice them to stay on the farm and work the virgin soil, Edna bought 2 camels.  The men keep half the camel milk as part of their compensation, and Edna takes the other half to sell or make into cheese.

                                    My first Glimpse of the farm, mostly aloe plants and thorn bushes.

        The hut where the herders live; the ladder on the right goes up into the cistern.                           

                                     Lettuce and onions.

               The crops are grown in circles around a hole, where the water is poured.      

                            A head of lettuce grown harvested that day and served at dinner.

                                    A sweeping view of the Somaliland countryside.

                                     One of the camel herder/farmers, harvesting beans.  

They are trying to grow lettuce, beans, spinach etc., but Edna tells me that Somalilanders are not farmers by nature or history; they are herders, camels, goats, cows—you name it, they can herd it.  The Ethiopians, she says, can farm anything, and she would love to have someone come and teach her camel-herders to farm.

Along the way back to the city, after watching the camels get milked, and spying on baby mango trees in their thorny cages (to protect them from grazers), we stopped several times to photograph wildlife, like tortoises, large antelope, jackrabbits, and the tinniest antelope in the world, called the dik-dik, or sometimes the dig-dig.  Only a foot tall, the dik-dik is adorable!  Less adorable were the termite mounds, some of which were the height of a person.

                                    A baby mango tree, in a protective thorn bush cage.

                                     One of the camels being milked as her baby waits his turn.

                                    The second camel nursing her baby after getting milked.

                                     A well-camouflaged tortoise.

                                     A large flock of guinea fowl.

The adorable dik-dik; at only a foot tall, this little darling is the smallest member of the antelope family. 

                                     

Even though Edna’s farm had no water, and she is now drilling a well on another plot of land, hoping to hit a source of potable water for the hospital (where buying water costs over $100 USD per day), I still enjoyed my trip to the farm immensely, and I am impressed by what she and 2 ex-camel herders have accomplished on a thorny patch of wilderness in Somaliland.

If you would like to support my volunteer work here at the Edna Adan Hospital, please consider making a tax-deductable donation to help me cover the cost of my room and board, as well as an eventual return ticket.  Any amount is appreciated, and checks made out to the East Sandwich Friends Meeting, and marked in the memo line for the Brown Fund, can be mailed to PO Box 198, East Sandwich MA, 02537.  Please include a request for a receipt if you would like one.  Thanks to everyone who has supported me so far! 

PS Peter, when you get back from your trip and are reading this: put me on your not-spam list so my email doesn’t bounce back.  Or just email me so I can reply.