Fatty, Fatty, Hamburger Paddy!

When I was in Ethiopia and Kenya for vacation, I stayed with extremely hospital Ethiopian and Kenyan friends. They delighted to make lots of food for me and felt sad and disappointed if I didn’t have at least two large helpings at every meal. As well as this, they drove me around everywhere so I wasn’t exercising much and sort of skimped on taking my normal vitamins. The result was a little added weight. I never weighed myself, but my guess is somewhere between 5 and 8 pounds. I could tell something was a little different, but my clothes were only slightly tighter. I was hopeful none of my friends back in Djibouti would notice. No such luck. The first Djiboutian friend I saw hugged me, looked me over and said “Wow Hannah! What happened to you? You got so fat!” After she finished laughing, she exclaimed “You look great! Now you are truly beautiful.”

Now it was my turn to laugh as I imagined an American friend bluntly telling me how fat I’ve gotten in one breath and how beautiful I look in the next. But in this culture, a little fat makes you more appealing. When so many women are stick thin, a little meat on the bones is a good thing I guess. None of my western friends made any mention or seemed to take any notice of this change, but almost all my close Djiboutian friends commented on my weight. I overheard our houseworker telling my roommate “My goodness, Hannah has really gotten fat hasn’t she?” I yelled from the other room “Hey! I can hear you and I am not fat!” She laughed and kept saying the Somali equivalent of “Fattie fattie Hannah! You’re such a fattie!" She also told me quite delightedly "Now I look like the young single woman and you look like the fat old married woman!” Trying to hide my laughter, I grabbed a wet towel and hit her butt with it before we both collapsed on the ground in fits of laughter. But I still maintain I am not fat, the most I will consent to is only a slight extra pudginess at best. :)

I don't even know how friends can see any difference in weight since the clothes I normally wear are so long and loose I've practically got enough room for another person. They all say they can see it in my cheeks. Judge for yourself. The picture on the top is my "thin picture". It was taken last winter when my Mom came to visit. Many people commented during this time that I looked like I was losing weight. Some even asked if I was sick, but I was fine--just working a lot. The picture on the bottom is my "fat picture", taken recently while I was visiting a Masaai village in Kenya towards the end of my "eating frenzy." Personally, I don't see it but I seem to get more compliments now that I am "fat."

"Do You Speak English Too?!"

Earlier this summer, I moved to a new neighborhood. In the old one, most people spoke French and many of our neighbors were foreigners. In the new place, it’s all Somalis. As far as I know, my roommate and I are the only foreigners in our section. And since she is South American and is often mistaken for an Arab, I am the only white person in our area. So I rarely speak English when I’m in our neighborhood. Usually at shops and little restaurants, I practice my Somali or resort to French if I can’t make myself understood otherwise. I usually also wear Somali or Arab clothes, so many people ask if I am either Arab, or a French woman married to a Somali (or a single French woman looking for a Somali husband). The other day, I saw one of my students on the street and we started talking in English. A woman from one of the nearby shops who I had only spoken French and Somali to exclaimed in English, “Wow!!! You mean you speak English too?” I laughed and said “Yes, of course! ”
“That’s great! You speak really well. Did you learn here in Djibouti?”
“Umm, no actually. I learned in the US.”
“Oh really? How long did you study?”
“I been working on it about 24 years now.” She looked at me curiously and said “But you don’t look that old.” I laughed and said “Auntie, I’m American and English is my mother tongue! Didn’t you know?”
“No!” she laughed. “It’s just that you seem so Djiboutian. I just thought you were French and had learned English and Somali.”
We both cracked up, but I still can’t tell if this is a compliment to my French or an insult to my English. :)

Alternate Uses for a Veil

Before I moved here, I thought as many American women do, that for most Muslim women wearing a veil must be something dreadful and oppressive and restrictive. I especially wondered how women would be able to keep wearing their long dresses, headscarves and enormous veils during the intense summer heat. Yet they do and they don’t seem to mind too much. I’ve asked some friends why they cover so thoroughly during even the hottest months and here are some of the responses I’ve gotten: “Because it is fitting for a Muslim woman.” “Because the Qur’an says we must be covered.” “Because I respect myself and I want men to respect me too.” “Because I’m a little shy and don’t want to show off.” “Because it is our culture.” “Because modesty is a woman’s glory.” “Because it’s beautiful!”

Normally, I wear long skirts with a longer sleeved shirt and a scarf tied around my head—modest but not completely Djiboutian. But since it’s been getting warmer and since I’ve moved to a more conservative neighborhood, I decided to start dressing more the way local women dress—big cotton dress with a thick underskirt, scarf tied around my head with a huge colorful veil which envelopes me from head to waist. And I’ve discovered something I would not have ever imagined: I actually somewhat enjoy wearing a veil here and now when I go outside, I almost feel naked without one. I have also discovered some practical uses for veils:

1. Protection from the sun. A veil protects your neck, arms, and face if you pull it down low enough.
2. A ready-to-go shield from the blowing sand. When a blast of desert wind or a cloud of exhaust from a truck comes my way, I just slide my veil over my face and have no worries about getting dust or smoke in my eyes.
3. Hides as well as absorbs some of the copious amounts of sweat I have experienced.
4. Anonymity—if I walk slowly and sway a bit like local women do, from the back people can’t tell if I’m Djiboutian or not.
5. Bird poop shield. No kidding. The other day, I bird pooped right on the side of my head and left shoulder. Fortunately, the veil was there to keep me dry and poop-free.
6. On cooler winter nights, it doubles as both a thin blanket and a mosquito net.
7. Apron/pot holder for cooking and bib for eating.
8. When no one sees your hair, you never have a bad hair day.
9. Carries loads well. I have seen women tie everything from babies to bundles of wood on their backs using their veils.
10. The next best thing to stamping “Men, please do not disturb” or “Hey, I’m not that kind of girl!” on my forehead.
11. Excellent prop for playing peek-a-boo with children.
12. Interesting conversation starter. Strangers do everything from pepper me with questions, compliment my clothes, tell me how beautiful I look, invite me to visit their families, laugh at me, stare at me with looks of bewilderment, and greet me in Arabic.

From what I have gleaned from local friends, in my new culture’s eyes wearing a veil is the secret to beauty, mystery, modesty, honor, respectability and power. If putting on one article of clothing can do all these wonders, then I will happily leave the jeans and t-shirt in the closet.

Would You Like Some Hot Tea to Go With Your Khamsin?

As we are going along with the hot summer months, one of the most noticeable changes is the switch from humidity to dry heat. I can’t remember the exact day, but it seems like in late June the humidity went down as the temperatures started going up. The heavy wetness that causes such bad body odor I don’t even want to be around myself half an hour after showering went away and was replaced by the khamsin (pronounced “hamseen”). The khamsin is the hot dry wind that comes from the western desertlands of Djibouti (as opposed to the breeze that comes off the sea to the east the rest of the year). I would say it is somewhat akin to someone filling a huge hair dryer with sand, setting it on “hot” and “high” and then blowing it in your face. The house I live in is open-air, so mopping and sweeping the floors is a fairly futile activity. About an hour after they are done, it is dusty again. But if I leave it for longer than one day, it is downright dirty and friends who come over look at me like I must not have cleaned in a month. Actually, sometimes I look at the floor myself and wonder if it really has been a month instead of a day.

But one thing that I find very curious is that for all this hot weather, people still make and enjoy drinking hot tea. Shaah, as it is called here, is a staple in the Somali diet, particularly at breakfast time. No matter how hot it is, people still drink and even crave it. What is more curious, I have recently found myself in this category as well. It started off innocently enough, just having a tea break during long morning language lessons. But now I find that the morning (even though it’s about 100 degrees when the sun rises and the temperature goes up 15 degrees from there during the day) just doesn’t seem quite right unless there is a cup of hot tea in there somewhere. My language helper has had to give up her tea for the last month or so because it was giving her headaches. She bore the loss well, but definitely missed her beloved drink until she finally found a way. “Hannah, I think if I just drink it warm instead of hot and maybe a half cup instead of a full, I can still have some without the headache.” She tried, and low and behold, her headaches have still not come back. I guess this is the Djiboutian way—wear three layers of clothes, sweat through them all, get blasted by the khamsin and then have some hot tea to relax!

Who Knew a Country Could Run Out of Bananas?

I’m not so great at baking, but the other day I finally set my face towards making some banana bread for a friend who really loves it. Her birthday was coming up soon, so I wanted try my hand (for only the second time in Djibouti) at baking. I found a simple recipe and everything I needed, except the star ingredient—bananas. That morning at the market, I noticed that prices were a little higher than normal and that bananas, the most populous fruit in Djibouti, were strangely missing. Not a single vendor had any. My houseworker and I walked around and asked. Apparently, eastern Ethiopia had some flooding issues, so the train that usually brings us fruit and vegetables from our more bountiful neighbor was delayed—hence the scarcity of bananas. “But they’re so common” I thought to myself. “Even if the train was delayed, surely there must be some bananas somewhere in Djibouti.” I was wrong. I scoured the downtown market where you can always find bananas. There were a few apples, grapes and dates, but not one single banana. The entire country was out. I knew stores and shops and markets could run out of things, but an entire country? Needless to say, my friend had to wait a little while for that banana bread.

“A Woman Wearing Man’s Clothes?!” – And Other Signs of Cultural Adaptation

During my trip to Ethiopia and another shorter trip to a neighboring country earlier this spring, I realized in seven months how much I have adapted and how much I have grown accustomed to certain facts of life in Djibouti. Things that shocked or at least surprised me at first no longer even make me think twice. For example, some things I once found shocking but have now grown quite accustomed to are:

1. The Macwiis (pronounced “mahwooss”) or Man-Skirt as I used to call it. This is a traditional garment that only men here wear, and to most western eyes it looks like a skirt that falls somewhere between a man’s ankles and knees. But it is not a skirt. It is a macwiis, and from what I am told, quite comfortable in the hotter months. Men also wear pants to work or for more business-type settings, but the macwiis is the preferred attire of comfort. I didn’t realize how accustomed I’d grown to seeing men wear these until I saw a European woman wearing one like a beach sarong. I was so shocked and horrified that this woman was wearing men’s clothing. Later, my co-worker and I remarked to each other “Did you see that woman wearing a macwiis? Is she crazy or what? Doesn’t she know its men’s clothing and she can’t just wear it as a skirt?”

2. Khat—it is a green, leafy plant that comes from Ethiopia and helps keep the Djiboutian economy afloat. Actually, it is a drug. Men chew on the leaves to get a stimulant effect. Bus and taxi drivers like to use it to keep themselves awake all night so they can drive longer and make money. It was a little concerning at first to know that most of my taxi and bus drivers are on drugs, but I can’t walk everywhere, so now I just try not to think about it too much. Khat is widely hated by most women here as it steals their money and their husbands. If you ask a woman “What do you think of khat?” she might roll her eyes or go off on a rampage about what an evil it is. I sometimes ask men what they think about khat. Some are against it, but many love it. One man told me “Khat—it’s what makes a man a man!”

3. Comments on weight gain or loss. Friends freely comment on how big/small/tall/etc I am. I met a fellow professor at the university right after I arrived and then didn’t see her again until a few months later. I guess I lost some weight this spring because a lot of people kept telling me I was getting thinner. I don’t even know how people can tell this because I wear so many loose layers of clothing. But anyway, this friend told me that I must have lost some weight. I told her I didn’t think so, but she said “No, no. I’m sure. Because when you first got here, you were kind of fat, but now you’re ok.” “Umm, thanks.” Now I must be gaining again because the other day another friend I hadn’t seen in a while took one look at me and said “Oh my goodness! You’ve really gotten fat since the last time I saw you! You must have a boyfriend. (This is what people say to tease you when you gain weight. Sometimes it’s true for local women. Sometimes not. For me, it’s not.) If this were the US, these comments would probably hurt. But here, “fat” is more of a description than an insult and it’s actually kind of a good thing to be a little fat. A little roundness is more beautiful. And just for the record, I don’t think I’ve gained or lost more than about five pounds. People just seem to like commenting about these things whether they’re true or not.

4. The unwritten “No Touching” Rule between sexes. I rarely touch men here. Even shaking hands with a man is something I have to contemplate. I don’t extend my hand or initiate any touch, and if a man touches me (unless it’s accidental or we’re squished in next to each other on the bus), I let him know that it is not ok. But many men go out of their way not to touch me. The money-takers on the bus gingerly drop change into my hand or carefully take it so they don’t even accidentally brush their hand against mine. When I walk up and down the aisles in class to check on students’ work, I slither and slide between desks to avoid brushing against any of my male students. I don’t even tap them when I want their attention. I just walk over and put my hand on their desk. I make a conscious effort to never tap or touch my boss in public (actually I even try not to smile at him or laugh at his jokes in public) as I do not want people who see us at the university together to think there is something going on.

I didn’t realize how much these little checks had become routine until I went to Ethiopia where it is not taboo for men and women to touch each other. While at a conference there, I was talking to an Ethiopian man and when we started laughing about something, he slapped me on the back and held my hand as we were laughing! You might think this is ridiculous, but can you imagine how scandalized I felt after months of almost no touch whatsoever? I silently freaked out until other Ethiopians explained that touching like this between men and women is pretty normal amongst the younger generation in their country. It didn’t mean anything—just that we were friends who enjoyed each other’s company. In Djibouti, I would have slapped a man without hesitation if had done this to me. And everyone who saw would have approved of my modesty and respectability for doing so.

5. Power Outages, Water Pump Breakages, and Frequent Household Repairs. Yep, it’s Africa so the power goes off, things break, and we don’t always have running water. Even though we do have a mostly working toilet and shower in the apartment, it doesn’t seem weird at all to shower with a bucket of water or to squat over a hole in the floor to go to the bathroom. Actually, there have been times I used a bucket or poured water down the toilet to flush because I just assumed the shower or toilet wouldn’t work. Only later did I find out that the water actually worked. I used to jump or throw my hands up when the power went off. Now I don’t even flinch.

6. Being in a continually dirty/sweaty/smelly state and yet still men tell me how beautiful I am! I suppose this has more to do with my unusual height, pale skin, big nose (they actually like big noses here!) and local dress more than how I look on any particular day. But still I get a kick out of sweating through my clothes, tripping over my dress and some random stranger still telling me that I look beautiful. Maybe this one I’m still getting used to.

7. Multinational and multilingual social gatherings. Earlier this spring, I went away to island for a women’s only weekend and there were 28 of us there from 14 different countries. I think I heard at least 6 or 7 languages spoken at the dinner table. But for some reason, it didn’t seem that strange. For such a small country, Djibouti is quite multilingual and multicultural. It seems rare to sit down with a group of people who are all from the same country or who all have the same native language. There is usually some translating going on because in a group of 8 or 10, there might not be a common language. Some people feel most comfortable in Somali, French or Arabic but maybe they want to practice their English too or maybe they picked up a little Spanish or Japanese or Hindi or whatever and want to teach everyone. So we communicate in whatever bits of whatever languages we know—French, Somali and English all mixed together with some Arabic phrases thrown in. More and more, it feels rare to hear a sentence that uses only one language.

8. The Yelling. When I first arrived, I thought everyone was always mad at me. Djiboutians tend to yell a lot. Especially on the street. I equated yelling to anger, but that’s not the case. I think it’s just part of the Somali way. One of my students told me that whoever yells the loudest in a disagreement is considered the strongest, which would explain why I hear so much yelling in the streets. People aren’t necessarily mad, they just want to win the argument. Some of my other students told me that if I didn’t yell at least a little, they couldn’t respect me. “How can we respect a teacher who is quiet and nice? You have to yell or you don’t have any authority.” I have noticed that some students need more yelling than others. :)

In fact, even when people are trying to be helpful, they still kind of yell. A while ago, I was walking up and down a street to find a hardware store. Finally, one exasperated man came out of his shop and started yelling at me “HEY, GIRL! WHO ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT? ARE YOU LOST? I SEE YOU WALKING UP AND DOWN THIS STREET. UP AND DOWN, UP AND DOWN! AND STILL NOTHING! WHAT DO YOU NEED?”

“I’M LOOKING FOR A HARDWARE STORE!! CAN YOU HELP ME?” I yelled back.

“Ok, sure. I’ll get my brother and he will take you.” The man’s demeanor softened a bit. He went and found said brother who then kindly led me to the nearest hardware store. Mission accomplished. So sometimes people yell because they want to help you, or want your attention, or want to make sure you know where you are going, or won’t fall out of the bus, or want to tell you that they like how you dress or want to play “Guess My Nationality” or want to prove they are strong and authoritative. Now that my language is improving, I see that it is not always anger. People just like being heard. :)

Visual Accompaniment for Previous Post

So these are some pictures from the trip: me with some fellow Ethiopian and Kenyan teachers, our preferred method of transportation while in the countryside in Ethiopia, and me with my infamous purchase (see post below for details)