tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-63213233016345997352024-03-05T21:30:54.477-08:00Djohn's Djibouti DjournalNotes, thoughts, photos and ruminations on my 7 month tour in the Horn of AfricaDjohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-78981077789703966972009-12-07T11:21:00.000-08:002009-12-10T13:02:30.045-08:00The Tail of the Shark Whale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRPWbS5g7LAt9jyJ2X2mqaJ8QssM6jtebZcdA3HFtBZJamyI6G5z0gU6N0_nFITppyTOwxtnzTgQKv4yPNR5idxwx0JwN7U3poTiuvP2pD5hNmBj_zDk1S2GHI-gK5VI4OKK6D2ADenXQ/s1600-h/Whale+Shark+Trip+Olympus+2009+086.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRPWbS5g7LAt9jyJ2X2mqaJ8QssM6jtebZcdA3HFtBZJamyI6G5z0gU6N0_nFITppyTOwxtnzTgQKv4yPNR5idxwx0JwN7U3poTiuvP2pD5hNmBj_zDk1S2GHI-gK5VI4OKK6D2ADenXQ/s320/Whale+Shark+Trip+Olympus+2009+086.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412577744352004114" /></a><br />Most often you see the dorsal fin first. The boat chugs to a halt, and as quietly as you can from 2 feet above the water line, you slip into the water. As with all feet-first entries, you remove the hand pressing the dive mask to your face to be greeted by the explosion of bubbles you carried down with you. In this turbid blue water they resolve gradually into something approaching clarity, and you begin to kick. Carefully of course - you're snorkeling and the trick is to get power from the stroke at the hips without bending at the knees, and slapping your fins on the surface. That's inefficient and inelegant of course, but more to the point it's startling to the scenery. The shouts of the crew and riders on the boat, in French and English direct you at first. "To your right!", "<i>A droit!"</i>, and then suddenly the hazy blue resolves itself into a coherent shape. The spots seem at first to be bubbles, or floating detritus, and then they all move in unison and your visual cortex says "Aha!", and a vast fish swims out of the murky sea. <i>Le Requin Baleine</i><b>, </b>as our French friends call him. The Whale Shark.<div><br /></div><div>Twenty of us had crowded onto a twin hulled dive boat, which met us at the very tip of the peninsula that <i>Djibouti Ville</i> occupies. At about eight in the morning we cast off lines and powered away south and west down the length of the gulf of Tadjourah. For an hour or so we cruised along the austere coastline, the volcanic hills heaping themselves one upon another to our left, as they climbed steadily higher, approaching the great central rift which birthed them millennia ago. The moderation of the searing heat of summer and fall, and the occasional rains of the winter season left the hills and escarpments a bit greener than when last I had ventured down this passage, but in all truth it is a subtle change. To the newcomer to this part of the world I'm sure it would seem desiccated, brown and lifeless. After an hour or so, our skipper slowed us down, and we began to scan the water for large blue shapes, or the tell tale dorsal fins. Within 5 minutes we had spotted our first, and our first group of swimmers took off in pursuit. It took us a couple of tries to get the knack of quiet entry and approach down, and the first few of the great fishes disappeared effortlessly down into turbid blue gulf - a glance of spotted flanks, the graceful sweep of a scythe-like tail and then emptiness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally though we were able to approach without disturbing our quarry, and for a surreal 20 minutes I was able to swim alongside an enormous natural wonder - ranging from the cavern like immensity of the mouth, watching the huge gills filter the plankton rich waters, contemplating the slow arc of the tail as it propelled this great and gentle creature along. At last he left - swimming with stately grace deeper down toward the sandy bottom some fathoms below. For a few moments, suspended above him, I watched the whale shark fade from view - vast, mysterious and altogether wonderful. It was as if Djibouti had yielded up the last of her great wonders during my last day here on the Horn.</div><div><br /></div><div>For that is what this is. The Whale shark trip was 2 weeks ago, and tonight as I write this is my last night in Djibouti - presuming the notoriously unreliable rotator flight is on time. We are to report at 0300 tomorrow, and with any luck at all sometime later we will start the long, circuitous flight home. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Home". You can only really experience all the nuance that word can hold when you are long away from it. The absolute ache for things familiar, comfortable and well loved. The never quite silent hunger for the sight and sound and feel of wife and child. Has it been worth it? I think so, yes. This has been a great and interesting time. I don't know that I have extracted every lesson there was to be learned here, but I have made good friends, seen all manner of amazing, appalling and inspiring things, and tried to profit as much by opportunities afforded here in this corner of the world. I believe that we are doing - or trying our best to do - great work here. The shape of what we want to achieve - helping a volatile part of this old continent develop its own solutions to the myriad daunting problems which beset it - swims constantly before us, now clear and distinct and now lost in the turbid complexities of geography and human nature. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'll end here. It's midnight, and I have about 2 hours to try to sleep. I'll try to write more - to ruminate a bit on my time here - but this will serve as <i>finis</i> for a while. Many thanks to those of you who kept in touch, who waded through these maunderings and who supported me and my family. God bless you all, and allow me to wish you joy on your own travels, and happiness on your return home.</div><div><br /></div><div>Au revoir</div><div><br /></div><div>Djohn.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-67308693912739240762009-11-19T09:46:00.000-08:002009-11-23T10:35:07.005-08:00Whew!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nWpKlm38sVaCO_bu0UQaLf_wReucyX6fLHdtc8OpcLB_oSm7vXLttSR4BC9slAg9N20X9AHsONw4mq3RMnMHcB-e2uhU0eraLkOBxrjUo9MkZig_Oc9XbGdQ9ogB5TWQl96o_ey3giU/s1600/Picture2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8nWpKlm38sVaCO_bu0UQaLf_wReucyX6fLHdtc8OpcLB_oSm7vXLttSR4BC9slAg9N20X9AHsONw4mq3RMnMHcB-e2uhU0eraLkOBxrjUo9MkZig_Oc9XbGdQ9ogB5TWQl96o_ey3giU/s320/Picture2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405873397083134242" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Hello All,</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Well it's been a busy few days here at Camp Lemonnier (an aerial view of which appears above). It's a bit odd that, as time grows shorter, we seem to have accelerated our pace here at the best little EMF in Djibouti, but the additional work has been welcome. This is especially true as we had expected a bit of a lull while our point of contact at H</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">ôpital Général Peltier - Dr. Elias - is away in Mecca on the </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Hajj.</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> We've been preparing for some coalition military exercises, for which we will share medical duties with our French colleagues, so our drills have have taken on a new intensity (we've been working on our "walking" blood bank - that being the pool of folks walking around with blood of various types in their veins who might consent to bring it along to us in case we needed a bit extra in an emergency). The lab bit is a challenge, but it's really the administrative bit that's a nightmare - getting folks in, screened, and processed. Good practice though. Speaking of good practice, we've had a lot of practice with Medevacs and critical care patients. We've seen that big Air Force bird with a Critical Care Transport team in its belly touch down 3 times in the last week for a patient with heart trouble, a pharyngeal abcess and what we thought might be a case of acute meningitis. The former two were on ventilators, and as the de facto respiratory therapists my pal Herman and I spent a couple of long nights doing ventilator management. The weekend was dedicated to taking it easy and catching up on sleep.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Juxtaposed on all this is the ongoing H1N1 vaccination process. As an underemployed anesthesiologist, I ended up with "Public Health Emergency Officer", and as you can imagine I've been busy this past couple of months. With extremely able assistance (and extremely able assistants) however, we're almost done with the military folks here on Camp, and will start in on our contractors and other employees soon. We've been relatively spared so far, so that has been a blessing.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">did</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> get my 11 mile run done this past Sunday though. My friend Kevin was kind enough to send along a book on treadmill training for runners, which has some helpful techniques, but most of the credit for not losing my mind must go to The Teaching Company, and to Professor J. Rufus Fears' absolutely engrossing series on Famous Romans. Having gotten to Marcus Aurelius, and the end of the series, I confess to being at a loss for next weekend's 12 miler. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Came back to a bit of sad news, as poor old Hektor, our long time patient Djiboutian military working dog, passed away. He had developed severe anemia and despite transfusions, and every other intervention we (and an international coalition of e-mail advisors) could think of, we could never get his bone marrow to restart production of blood cells. He had become a favorite of all of us at the EMF, and we were saddened to hear that he had passed on, albeit peacefully, last night. I will say that Hektor helped us all to become familiar with working around military dogs, and as that turns out to be part of the "expeditionary" mission, I would say he left us better than when we first met him - no mean accomplishment for anyone.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">On a happier note, it now seems fairly certain that Mark, my replacement will arrive here on Thanksgiving day. It's an appropriate enough occasion: I shall of course be glad to see him, and - after a 30 hour flight - he'll be glad to get off the plane! Presuming that all then proceeds as scheduled, that'll put me home around the 14th of December - in plenty of time for Christmas, and with a bit of time to try to acclimatize in 70 degree San Diego before heading to Tahoe for our annual post-Christmas ski trip. I can't even imagine what 10 degrees is going to feel like on top of Heavenly. Brrrrr.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Other than that, not so much to report. With drills and critically ill patients we've been pretty close to base for the last couple of weeks. Weather is gorgeous, and it would be quite pleasant outdoors save for an explosion in the fly population - we're actually a few weeks into it now. The flies, which seem like ordinary house flies, have a discomforting tendency to land on one and ti refuse to take a hint. They aim for ears and eyes and noses and are thus a nuisance out of all proportion to their size or number. They also are sort of slow and not too agile, which doesn't work out that well for them - but it can make the outdoors a bit of a trial.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> Anyway, reckon I'll sign off here. My CO pointed out to me the other day that Camp Lemonnier now has its own cool website. Should the mood take you, you can check it out at "https://www.cnic.navy.mil/cldj/index.htm"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Ciao!</span></div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-15877679199918852222009-11-08T04:50:00.001-08:002009-11-09T08:47:09.216-08:00A melancholy little week<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIXztkVa2ldnW3KDxicNQNKudRqzSoSk-ruEMTzMPZ2QCoOcj-gqsW3w6FPclwcIU87RFXP4yVav2mJeA6-n_MVbPvXlpYLLas2tioqnTOcybe3ru_iNgmc13kFvB3emKfiThI9uHBY0/s1600-h/DSCF0605.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGIXztkVa2ldnW3KDxicNQNKudRqzSoSk-ruEMTzMPZ2QCoOcj-gqsW3w6FPclwcIU87RFXP4yVav2mJeA6-n_MVbPvXlpYLLas2tioqnTOcybe3ru_iNgmc13kFvB3emKfiThI9uHBY0/s320/DSCF0605.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401726315654726722" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xHgxPhZFFPj0e3QRLxXlXAXbvIkD894kqjfuZcmdCpwdmeQNaO62DiuHM-hA2huiyxWyX1UheSIMsAcn8lruZBsg4RaSrtfJXoUlScVrG81lDLkAgnPdj7RMsjtwgHKJC3GR8a_9Xuc/s1600-h/DSCF0608.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8xHgxPhZFFPj0e3QRLxXlXAXbvIkD894kqjfuZcmdCpwdmeQNaO62DiuHM-hA2huiyxWyX1UheSIMsAcn8lruZBsg4RaSrtfJXoUlScVrG81lDLkAgnPdj7RMsjtwgHKJC3GR8a_9Xuc/s320/DSCF0608.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401714967430410210" /></a><br />Hello All (any?),<div><br /></div><div>Well, another week's worth of days has vanished into the the vastness of the Horn of Africa. No spectacular triumphs or catastrophes to report, but instead a group of small enough events that have conspired to bring on a sourish sort of feeling.</div><div><br /></div><div>Chief among them must be ranked the departure of my friend Jeff - off to future endeavors in Jacksonville. In my experience, one fairly rarely runs into folks with whom a wide ranging discussion is as possible as a comfortable, companionable silence. Jeff possesses both gifts in abundance, and I found him an immensely easy person to hang out with. It doubtless speaks of my many character flaws that I have found such people have been few and far between. I guess it makes me appreciate them all the more. A life in the Navy is all about wishing "fair winds and following seas" to one boon companion after another, but it always leaves one - or me anyway - a bit wistful.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was in this frame of mind then that I went to visit the nearby cheetah refuge. It's a place I'd intended to visit for some time, but as the afternoons and evenings are no longer poisonously hot this seemed an ideal time to check it out. We piled on the MWR bus one late afternoon and bumped and jounced about 4 miles down the road toward Somalia. Having cleared the village of Douda (for which the nearby dump is named) we came to the entrance to the refuge. It is a property of some dozens of acres that is a lovely, peaceful green(ish) spot in an area that is otherwise dotted with rubble, refuse and signs of hard scrabble existence.</div><div><br /></div><div>The refuge is the result of the work of Dr. Bertrand LaFrance, a French veterinarian who has worked with the Djiboutian government to establish a spot for captive cheetahs confiscated by the authorities. The refuge currently has six of the cats, along with miscellaneous other African animals (gazelles, ostriches, caracals, tortoises, etc.), some of whom are destined for reintroduction to the wild. The "green" of the acres of enclosures is provided by scrubby acacia trees, extravagantly festooned with needle sharp thorns. The red sand and dust make these stubborn survivors appear an intense green, especially in the slanting light of the early evening. We strolled around the dusty paths, enjoying the soughing of the wind in the trees, the warbling of song birds - the environs of Camp Lemonnier being the near exclusive preserve of crows and pigeons, neither of whom produce much in the way of melody - and the absence of industrial noise.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cheetahs were in generously sized enclosures, separated from the walking trails, so the viewing wasn't ideal (although I'm sure this is actually better from the cat's point of view). The place is as nice as it could well be, given the constraints of location and finance. I guess I couldn't get past the contrast of even a large enclosure with the vast sweep of the Masai Mara, and the contrast of the pacing of the cheetahs back and forth along the fenced perimeters with the sinuous grace they display stalking through the tall grass of the African plains. For all that though, there are less than ten thousand cheetahs left in all of Africa, a tenth of the population just decades ago. I'm sure these caged carnivores don't feel all that lucky, but lucky they are in point of fact. It was a pleasant enough afternoon, but suffused all through with just a hint of sadness at the thought of these graceful cats relegated to life "inside the wire". Anyway, soon enough we piled back on our bus and headed back inside our own wire.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later that week, we saw one of our canine patients from a week ago. Back then, he had just needed an adjustment of his boy parts, but this time he presented gravely ill. For reasons that are still unclear, all of his blood cell lines had taken dramatic drops, leaving him severely anemic and and low on platelets - the little clotting cells that keep us from bleeding and bruising at trivial trauma. We tried one transfusion from a brave "donor" dog, but nothing seemed to improve. Best bet seemed to be related to his massively enlarged spleen filtering out the blood elements , and after some debate we decided to attempt a splenectomy - a risky business in a critter with low blood count to start with and the inability to clot properly. Thanks in large part to Bill's meticulous technique, the procedure went well enough, and our shaggy patient made it through. He was still desperately short of blood cells though, and another transfusion the next night didn't really seem to help. Suggestions for treatments poured in from all of our email contacts around the globe - special kudos to friend Mitzi for sending some of the most helpful - and by dint of much effort and many medications, he has hung on - to this point at least. He's a sweet natured Shepherd, who will need to be retired from life as a Djiboutian working dog, and who already has multiple volunteers to take him home. I hope he makes it, and I hope any future owner knows how to say "sit" in Somali.</div><div><br /></div><div>The week ended on a bit brighter note, as the crew from Norwegian Frigate <i>Fridtjofnansen</i> pulled in for a port visit. They toured the EMF and we met them for dinner at The Melting Pot, a French/Greek/Japanese restaurant located not so far from their hotel. They were a congenial bunch, who spoke English very well and had a gift for humor and lively conversation. It was a very pleasant evening, and we are promised a visit to the ship's sickbay when next they pull in.</div><div><br /></div><div>Beyond that not too much. A quiet weekend and a short week ahead, given the Veteran's day holiday. Might head out to Moucha island again, as chances to enjoy the beaches and reefs will diminish rapidly as the month goes on. My replacement reported to Fort Jackson this past Sunday, and while I still don't know exactly when I'll depart, the prospect is becoming more substantial.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reckon that'll do for a bit. Take care all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pictures are of Cheetah refuge.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-53656427431326232622009-10-31T08:23:00.000-07:002009-11-01T09:47:51.456-08:00Les Chiens et les Chinois<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOyW__710HJ-Q9jCkWRD9nrvxaeKxVYMeLIC0qCJrewHRTMFGOoT2SDOIZYpum49SYBPdj3i-BUZDjdVcdaQ8dTaPdZMPrSoGlLQpYSS77dvVL8EdgI6GVWtei6hJFhFwIfJxq7Qxz7M/s1600-h/DSCN2798.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivOyW__710HJ-Q9jCkWRD9nrvxaeKxVYMeLIC0qCJrewHRTMFGOoT2SDOIZYpum49SYBPdj3i-BUZDjdVcdaQ8dTaPdZMPrSoGlLQpYSS77dvVL8EdgI6GVWtei6hJFhFwIfJxq7Qxz7M/s320/DSCN2798.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399176884145578082" /></a><i>Apologies for the blank verse appearance - some artifact introduced by writing this mostly on a different computer and then e-mailing. Of course, if you want to include this in an upcoming poetry reading, be my guest!</i><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><br /><br />Greetings All,<br /><br />Well, another interesting week here on the Horn. Weather continues to moderate, with relatively cool mornings and evenings, and even mid-days that are not blisteringly hot, or oppressively humid. That said, as I was thinking how pleasant the temperaure was yesterday around 5 pm, I happened to glance at a thermometer which read about 90 degrees Fahrenheit. "Ah", thinks I, "maybe that's part of what has changed". I've turned into a desert creature. It makes me wonder how San Diego and the low 70's will feel on my return.<br /><br />I must apologize again for the all too obvious decreasing frequency of these<br />missives. I'm essentially a lazy creature of course, so that is likely the<br />root of the explanation, but I must admit to a certain sympathy with those<br />Europeans - mostly notably Colonial Service employees working in British<br />East Africa - who during the first quarter of the last century were<br />diagnosed with "tropical neurasthenia". This was thought to be "not<br />psychosis or madness, but was rather an ennui or loss of "edge" brought<br />about by the strains of tropical life...". I reckon I'd much rather be another<br />tragic victim of Tropical Neurasthenia, then a lazy sod! Many thanks to<br />friend Red for sending along the excellent article "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><i>What Was Tropical about<br />Tropical Neurasthenia? The Utility of the Diagnosis in the Management of<br />British East Africa</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">" from the Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied<br />Sciences.<br /><br />At the root of it all I reckon is a growing sense of "being done". It is<br />not that the work is any less abundant, or the days any less interesting,<br />but instead that I grow increasingly impatient to be home. My days here<br />interest me less and less as that day grows closer, and they are<br />commensurately less appealing to write about. But today I've had an extra<br />cup of strong coffee and shall endeavor to catch you all up.<br /><br />As you'll recall from the last entry (you can go back and read it...I'll<br />wait), we have only recently become aware of the existence of a Chinese-run<br />MRI scanner here in the city of Djibouti. We had a chance to go visit it a<br />couple of weeks ago, and found it just outside the Chinese embassy building<br />(which is a gorgeous new building near the French Naval base on Islet de<br />Heron, at the very tip of the peninsula). The scanner itself is a small 0.4<br />Tesla, open design unit. It is located in a small purpose-built<br />construction, in front of what will ultimately be an office and reception<br />area, but is now a two storey cement and rebar skeleton. We were able to<br />tour the facility, see some of the images, and meet the folks in charge.<br />Now, as I'm informed by my more imaging savvy colleagues, more powerful<br />units of different design will provide clearer, more detailed pictures - but<br />it was obvious even to me that we have just seen at a stroke, a quantum leap<br />in the availability of high quality diagnostic capability here in Djibouti.<br />Prices were pretty good too - about 300 USD for a head MRI ( and a discount<br />on your 2nd study!). We're pursuing some arrangement to allow the folks<br />here at the EMF to order studies, which will hopefully allow us to avoid a<br />couple of unnecessary and expensive medevacs here and there.<br /><br />The scanner is run by Dr. Fong, a Chinese trained urologist and his wife -<br />also Dr. Fong - who is a radiologist. They have an administrator whose<br />anglicized name is Lydia ( I can't think of that name without hearing<br />Groucho singing "Lydia The Tattooed Lady".) They all speak tolerably good<br />English, although Lydia's is the most fluent. They were very pleasant and<br />accommodating, even inviting us to try out the scanner. Sadly, I couldn't<br />think of anything I needed scanned at that exact moment. Anyway, we made<br />plans to come back with all of our providers (the first visit was just Bill<br />and I), and did so one evening about a week ago. While the scanner was the<br />main reason for the visit, the highlight had to be dinner afterwards.<br /><br />After our colleagues had toured the tiny building, and asked polite questions about the MRI, we hopped in our car and followed the staff to a nearby Chinese restaurant. I must admit to having some misgivings about Chinese food in Djibouti, having become something of a Chinese food snob after growing up close to Vancouver's large and thriving Chinese community and dining well there many a time. My worries were somewhat allayed when the owners of the tiny place proved to be expatriate Chinese, and were further assuaged when the next patrons of the place to walk in turned out to be guards from the Chinese Embassy. Dr. Fong and Lydia did all the ordering from a fairly extensive menu, and shortly thereafter dishes began to arrive at table. I couldn't possibly describe them all, but there was crab in black bean sauce, a steamed fish in ginger, spicy beef and spicy shrimp, dumplings, and about half a dozen other superbly prepared dishes. The company was delightful, and the meal was simply one of the best Chinese feasts I've had the good fortune to stuff myself on (you know that sensation when you're full, but you squeeze one more bite in 'cause it's <i>so good</i>?). Dr. Fong told us that he had first come to Africa as a volunteer - sort of a Chinese version of our Peace Corps - and had felt that there was a need for a few centers with MRI capability. He has set one up in Ethiopia, and is now establishing a site in Djibouti. His wife was a bit quieter, but was clearly excited about the prospects of their new endeavor. The only time the Drs. Fong seemed a bit less than enthusiastic about their work on the Horn of Africa was when the conversation turned to families, and they spoke about their 4 year old daughter, at home in China - Mandarin language education being scarce in these parts. We all sympathized and raised glasses of beer or tea to those left at home. Djibouti is certainly a place full of unlooked-for gratifications, and this night was another such. Anyway, we've invited them (the folks from the MRI center) over to Camp Lemonnier for a visit, and shall hope to hear more of them.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Later that week, we had a chance to help out our local veterinarian, and the Djiboutian police by assisting with surgery on a couple of Djiboutian military working dogs. Tona and Hektor stopped by for some x-rays, a few lab tests and a bit of surgery. Tona - an older German shepard female - needed an abdominal mass removed, and a couple of superficial lumps excised. Hektor, a younger male, needed some, um, boy surgery. Anyway, I got a chance to place the endotracheal tubes, and run the anesthetics, while Bill and Heather (the vet) set our two canine customers to rights. It was both comfortably familiar and pleasingly different. Although many of the medications are used in different ways or amounts, the anesthesia volatile agents have similar effects in most all creatures and were easy to titrate to the appropriate level. Surprisingly, temperature control proved to be a bit of work. The OR's (we used the second, back-up OR at the EMF) are fairly cool, and despite their fur the dog's body temperatures seemed to drop more quickly than I would have thought. Nothing a little forced air warmer and a warming blanket couldn't fix though.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Both dogs did well initially, and were returned to their Djiboutian handlers with antibiotics, pain killers and instructions to watch them closely (apparently those cone-head collars are just not available here to stop the dogs from worrying at their incisions). We saw Tona back today for a small wound breakdown, and little dental work, but she's a tough old girl who we think will do fine.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Beyond that, not so much to talk about. We did have an interesting symposium of the various expatriate medical services here in Djibouti at the French Naval base in mid-week. We met with our French, German, Norwegian, British and Belgian colleagues to discuss our respective capabilities, and to work out areas for mutual support. The officers of the latter three countries were here as representatives of the EU's Operation Atalanta (no that's how they spell it), which is an anti-piracy mission out of Europe. Discussions were warm and friendly, and I'm optimistic that much good will come of them. (Now </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"><i>that</i> sounded like a diplomatic press release, eh?)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;"> If nothing else it's just nice to have faces to put with the names one sees on e-mails. We've agreed to a monthly informal dinner meeting, and a quarterly official get together. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Whale shark diving plans for this weekend got scrubbed for one reason and another, so it's been a fairly quiet one. And...you're caught up! Plans for the upcoming week include surgery at Peltier (it's like a box of chocolates - we never know what we'll get), a trip to the Cheetah refuge, and of course Taco Tuesday, which will leave 5 more to go. I'll try to keep you updated.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:medium;">Picture is of me, Bill and Tona. She's the furry one.<br /></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><br /></span></div></div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-81503898156010991132009-10-16T06:58:00.000-07:002009-10-23T09:27:34.150-07:00A busy week<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxWpmnxYem9z2NTpeOkKYHlfevvCXwG_AXhZtheVa5eq_PbZH5-3_GGv9g1EP2GaiE39PX1MUW-iYvATTaulMYg2S137kZ6LksoDVo39MkQHpJaaUWTYN9yIwbYxhNQ3LTPDMy_pKXTk/s1600-h/DSCF0349.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRxWpmnxYem9z2NTpeOkKYHlfevvCXwG_AXhZtheVa5eq_PbZH5-3_GGv9g1EP2GaiE39PX1MUW-iYvATTaulMYg2S137kZ6LksoDVo39MkQHpJaaUWTYN9yIwbYxhNQ3LTPDMy_pKXTk/s320/DSCF0349.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393199259517249970" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XXZvH3QUHD9RbInDFnVA5z-zsBqFW0zbsg3N5X2H-KBpsWUi2X5uJUPw1i9b5yTp2ozuTuSJ1e4iSvU00LgUYGpeYAkTMXbdRkknzaSFwuZhOqKwN9PtARVlw9aLH11chvmYXjuuBIs/s1600-h/DSCF0348.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9XXZvH3QUHD9RbInDFnVA5z-zsBqFW0zbsg3N5X2H-KBpsWUi2X5uJUPw1i9b5yTp2ozuTuSJ1e4iSvU00LgUYGpeYAkTMXbdRkknzaSFwuZhOqKwN9PtARVlw9aLH11chvmYXjuuBIs/s320/DSCF0348.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393199252213380418" /></a><br />Or that's the way it feels!<div><br /></div><div>The week started off on a pleasant note, as on Monday (the Columbus day holiday), I joined a group from the EMF for the long drive out to the little beach at the west end of the <i>Ghoubbet El Karab - </i>the enclosed bay at the extreme end of the Gulf of Tadjoura. I'd stopped there before, on the way back from a trip to Lac Assal, for a quick swim. At that point my companions and I had noted that the breakwater that separates the pebbled beach from the bay itself teemed with fish and corals. Unfortunately at that time we had only a single pair of swimming goggles to share between three of us. I'd been curious to head back with a proper set of snorkel gear to really explore, so the opportunity was too good to pass up.</div><div><br /></div><div>We piled our gear in the Mystery Machine, and headed out about 1000. It's about a 2 hour drive, with passable roads much of the way (otherwise the venerable van probably wouldn't have made it), and we went in convoy with some other intrepid souls from camp lest either one of us develop automotive trouble en route. The weather was pleasant - the sky was full of dark rain clouds and even occasional warm sprinkles over Camp Lemonnier, but as we drove west the skies lightened and cleared eventually. The temperature was very pleasant - warm, but warm like a tropical island not like a blast furnace. Life in shorts, a tee shirt and sandals is actually quite comfortable. And the constant breeze is startlingly close to refreshing sometimes!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway the trip out was uneventful. The diving proved to be quite as rewarding as hoped, despite a bit of surge on the bay side of the breakwater. Sightings included copious corals, anemones, clown fishes, sea turtles and three enormous red lionfish, lurking ominously in a rock and coral crevice - along with countless wrasse, parrotfish and other reef dwellers. The water was a perfect temperature - one could bob for hours without getting hot or cold, and we passed a very pleasant time indeed.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had to speed back, in order to make a 6 pm appointment with our friends from the German medical detachment. They had switched teams again (they switch out every 8 weeks or so), and the newest group was coming by for a visit. The newest physician, Achim, and the EMT, Nicole, proved to be delightful. Friendly, funny and eager to continue to foster warm relations between the various medical detachments here in Djibouti. They stayed for dinner, and then joined us at "The Old Cantina" - the quieter of the camp's two watering holes - for a beer before heading out.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Wednesday back to Peltier to try to help an unfortunate Somali refugee boy. This kid is an adorable 3 year old, who somehow contrived to aspirate a screw - sucking it deep into his right lung. The x-ray is astonishing as the vividly visible flat head screw appears to take up most of the main air passage on that side. Anyway, as there is no pediatric surgeon, ENT or Thoracic surgeon in the country, not mention no pediatric equipment we had to improvise a plan to try to extract the screw. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that with the challenges imposed by having to get some form of 'scope, and a some grasping instrument down the same slender passage that the kid must breath through defeated even our most original and creative efforts - both on Wednesday and Saturday. We're still scratching our heads over what to do - referral options are essentially non-existent for Somali refugees. There is some possibility of bringing in some skilled help, but we're continuing to explore options. The child continues to do well, and to be as cute a bug's ear. Although he's not too thrilled with the sight of us at the moment...</div><div><br /></div><div>Mid week we were presented with the case of a SeaBee who had been holding a couple of boards while a colleague nail-gunned them together. He missed, and the lumber nail shot straight through his coworker's hand from thumb side to pinky side. She was lucky enough to miss nerves, tendons, joints and bones, but we reckoned a trip to the Orthopedic surgeon at CHA Bouffard was in order. We got her to the OR there where Franck, their orthopedist removed the nail (she has it as souvenir), and an hour later the wound was washed out, drains placed and a splint applied. While she recovered from the anesthesia, we went for lunch with Franck. En route we stopped to admire the new CT scanner, now functional in the parking lot of Bouffard, which will be an incalculable aid to diagnosis here in the 'Bouti. Franck then dropped this bombshell: the Chinese have built an MRI, open to anyone who can pay the very modest fees, for a quantum leap in diagnostic capability. I swear, with all this and the lovely weather, I may have to reconsider buying a time share here!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, all this led to an invitation to our French colleagues to visit us at Camp Lemonnier - and this past Sunday, along they came - six doctors and nurses - to politely tour the the EMF with every appearance of interest. They showed considerably more enthusiasm when visiting the Bob Hope Galley (we can't match French food, of course, but the ice cream bar is the great equalizer), and the little Navy Exchange. I can't be sure of course, but it think it was a banner day for Franco-American relations.</div><div><br /></div><div>That Sunday evening, clad in my whites, I joined Bill and, for a visit to the French base. We had been invited for a reception in honor of the feast of St. Luke, attended by all the officers, spouses and dignitaries of the local French military medical establishment. It was quite an event! The festtivities were held at the French naval base on Islet de Heron - the very tip of the peninsula on which the city of Djibouti sits. We were ushered into an open pavilion, overlooking the bay, across which the lights of city reflected on the water. It was a lovely setting, and with the breeze from offshore, even the polyester white uniform wasn't uncomfortable. So we listened to a speech by one of the French medical generals, and then mingled with the crowd, savoring cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. The French officers were tres charming, and their spouses tres chic, and we passed a delightful evening mutually assuring each other of our good will and amity. Probably the last time I'll get to wear the whites this tour - which can only mean it's time to at least start thinking about boxing things up and sending them home!</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I'll end there - as I'm almost at the end of the next week, which has been full of international meetings, Chinese intrigue and dog surgery...until next time then.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pictures are of our dive site.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-76700258673042290942009-10-08T07:01:00.000-07:002009-10-11T03:06:05.793-07:00Mara part III<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-rRDJ0dzDgvJB4Z7gwEqfJzSaXipK7JwaRD4wchTGansLhZdwrnQ89mfhx7BLU7-My4rSYvQwVtCsk6Kuei5HSHIXp0JlkqhY85DcmR7HpH3kMELB0IfXKc8czAVpm8LfePFbBtFd-o/s1600-h/DSCN2761.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV-rRDJ0dzDgvJB4Z7gwEqfJzSaXipK7JwaRD4wchTGansLhZdwrnQ89mfhx7BLU7-My4rSYvQwVtCsk6Kuei5HSHIXp0JlkqhY85DcmR7HpH3kMELB0IfXKc8czAVpm8LfePFbBtFd-o/s320/DSCN2761.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390254965170954546" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCqV5_ep_ip4b8axQwNHyYxA3NOdUc09eGBdlsOKwbcoKS2pN9Ys4Lj84w3QOWkPGdnJ9a1RH9gvAhWKMr2JUj53gV-oaQkzjP8V-YJ-e7wpkpHUMqhYZxzaH9NhkgL0zikr3FDi1-TA/s1600-h/DSCF0566.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCqV5_ep_ip4b8axQwNHyYxA3NOdUc09eGBdlsOKwbcoKS2pN9Ys4Lj84w3QOWkPGdnJ9a1RH9gvAhWKMr2JUj53gV-oaQkzjP8V-YJ-e7wpkpHUMqhYZxzaH9NhkgL0zikr3FDi1-TA/s320/DSCF0566.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390230418975315106" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHC44G-3IIcd9gCR_JI_To1o2MlJbe6Xa_tfR8gtypqNwm3ZYlf96lIQe70ryo-fct8rfJqCsKNn755SH8hoLySDS8He1zVSvNgfcu3NUyOyafigORymxju92YSI0RgPSxvAFCa-ty88/s1600-h/DSCF0477.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDHC44G-3IIcd9gCR_JI_To1o2MlJbe6Xa_tfR8gtypqNwm3ZYlf96lIQe70ryo-fct8rfJqCsKNn755SH8hoLySDS8He1zVSvNgfcu3NUyOyafigORymxju92YSI0RgPSxvAFCa-ty88/s320/DSCF0477.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390230407953450258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQla_LXOLI5sCyXbMQu4-hZYSQCQYF5qEdAZ-b_hfMPM6fXBsq4IwAiW1SMZJCzhoTZQRyU5RjDKPhscUbw73y-9ZVzUvoEKwWawk64P3B-o7ix9J68nXFwgmhD8znvHg-dkK6q9nROtg/s1600-h/DSCF0448.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQla_LXOLI5sCyXbMQu4-hZYSQCQYF5qEdAZ-b_hfMPM6fXBsq4IwAiW1SMZJCzhoTZQRyU5RjDKPhscUbw73y-9ZVzUvoEKwWawk64P3B-o7ix9J68nXFwgmhD8znvHg-dkK6q9nROtg/s320/DSCF0448.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390230400154158738" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxm6Gwmsn4Y2CMgyMDjoBKwxIjBQy6cfeh0OFYtpf_8nH7uTSro5O1ZeeNefZeAg6guQiegQODzsUqucgMqbHIzaa8ozCaAEIcTK_VpT1NNJ92HKXgFzKIuOAXNbJ1WtsvSsGV-BkAscc/s1600-h/DSCF0405.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxm6Gwmsn4Y2CMgyMDjoBKwxIjBQy6cfeh0OFYtpf_8nH7uTSro5O1ZeeNefZeAg6guQiegQODzsUqucgMqbHIzaa8ozCaAEIcTK_VpT1NNJ92HKXgFzKIuOAXNbJ1WtsvSsGV-BkAscc/s320/DSCF0405.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390230392850789746" /></a><br />Greetings All,<div><br /></div><div>Sigh, well I think I've put off writing this third and final post on my safari trip because it seems as if to so will mean that the event itself is completely over. You know how, after you get back from a particularly good holiday, you get the added bonus of those first few days home when you still glow from the joy of the time you had - a few days of extended holiday inside your "I just got back from..." bubble? It slips away soon enough, and normal life takes back over of course. I've just been trying to draw the process out as long as I could - wrapping the time spent at Serian and on the Mara around me like a protective garment against the "Groundhog Day" routine of life here on Camp, the cloth becoming a bit more threadbare every day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Or I could just be a lazy sod.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, before I launch into another post, I'd like to send out a Djohn's Djibouti Djournal thank you to...a rock and roll band! The group <i>The Scarlet Ending</i> came by Camp Lemmonier this past weekend to play a couple of shows. We got to meet them as they toured the EMF on what they later referred to as "bring a rock band to work day" - the day between concerts when they toured the base. They were nice, funny, and genuinely impressed with the things that the folks over here do and deal with every day. All of which was nice and all, but they were also really good - an eclectic mix of music that reminded some folks of slightly harder edged Indigo Girls, some folks of Tori Amos, some of the Cranberries or Dave Matthews, and one friend of mine of The Squirrel Nut Zippers (go figure). Anyway, despite truly awful acoustics in the metal barn of 11 Degrees North (our all hands club), they put on two great shows, and hung around afterwards to chat with the folks interested. It was <i>so nice </i>to hear live music - Djibouti is a ways off the beaten track for USO tours and the like - and such a pleasure that it was so well done. They're a band on the rise, from Syracuse, NY. Check 'em out on iTunes or at "www.thescarletending.com". My current favorite song is <i>Before I Fell</i> off their last album. Whew! There it is. My first official endorsement!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, back to time on the Mara. </div><div><br /></div><div>Well, although I think I could still give an accurate day by day account, I'm not sure it would make for good reading. Instead I thought I'd tell you about some of the really amazing moments we had a chance to share.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the first full day of safari (a Kiswahili word from the Arabic <i>safara - </i>to travel), we were in the Land Cruiser rumbling along a dirt road on a short-grass plain, punctuated with low shrubs, termite mounds and occasional bunches of taller grasses. As far as could be seen - to the horizon in every direction - were wildebeest, gazelles and antelope in small watchful groups. If they were on the road they would scramble out of the way as we approached, but mostly we were ignored - although the herds always seemed a bit more on edge when vehicles got within 20 feet or less. Jonathon, from the driver's seat (on the right in Kenya) exclaimed "Look!" and pointed out to his right as he coasted us to a halt.</div><div><br /></div><div>There on the grass, maybe 20 feet away, was a female Thompson's gazelle in the process of giving birth. We watched in rapt amazement as new life, in the form of a tiny, perfect gazelle made its miraculous appearance beneath the rapidly climbing mid-morning sun. The mother was nuzzling and licking the little Tommy, encouraging it to stand when there was a commotion behind us. We heard, from out of one of the other safari vehicles that had pulled up alongside us the word "Cheetahs!". We whirled about, now looking out the left side and there, slinking through some taller grass were 4 cheetahs - a mother and her 3 adolescent cubs. You can't imagine the mix of admiration and anxiety we felt. The cheetahs were so obviously lovely - casual power wrapped in sinuous grace -and so patently lethal. We knew that the angelic little gazelle just meters away to our right was doomed to a tragically short stay on the grasslands once the cheetahs saw him, to say nothing of his exhausted mother. "This will be quite sad" said Jonathan. We held our breath...and then it happened. </div><div><br /></div><div>The mother cheetah, who had been strolling slowly in our general direction was, in the space of three strides, running faster then any other animal on earth, a lightning blur of cruel poetry in absolutely liquid motion. She veered to her right, and a small group of Tommys exploded out of the brush, bounding and scattering in every direction. In less than a second, she had locked on to a slower moving juvenile and, pivoting with an ease that should be impossible for a cat running so fast, she reached out a paw to sweep the desperate prey's hind legs out from under it. In an instant the chase, which had been all linear speed and the arcuate path of the springing gazelle, exploded into a rolling, struggling ball. A matter of seconds after that, the cheetah (<i>Shakira</i>, as it turns out is her name - you can check her out on Big Cat Diaries) came trotting back with the catch in her jaws. I'm sure I hadn't exhaled during the whole sequence. Anyway, she dropped the gazelle in front of her three cubs and it was then we saw that the little creature, while wounded, was still quite alive. "She teaches her children to hunt" whispered Jonathan. And sure enough, like kittens chasing a mouse, the adolescents with various degrees of skill or clumsiness pursued the doomed gazelle for a minute or two until finally one of them obtained a neck hold and made the kill. It was an amazing, riveting, horrifying and beautiful thing to witness.</div><div><br /></div><div>Behind us, the newborn had struggled to his feet, and as we looked back he trotted off with his mother to join the herds that blanketed the plain. We would come back by that way some hours later, to find the site of the cheetah kill now occupied by Maribou storks and white-backed vultures. It sounds so dopey now to say that we had seen the whole of the circle of life, but at that time, in that place it felt true and profound.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later that day, after baboons, crocodiles, hippo and hyena aplenty we were on our way back toward the camp - heading roughly east I think - when we saw another solitary cheetah. He was seated atop a termite mound, gazing serenely across the Mara as clouds and dusk gathered in the eastern sky. He let us drive up quite close, and again Jonathan killed the engine, letting the utter stillness of the African plain wash over us. We spent what must have been 10 minutes just studying him - this gorgeous, lithe cat atop his hill like a statue on a pedestal. He gave no indication that he noticed us, appearing to look right through us when his head swung in our direction. After a time, he stepped delicately down, and strode away from us to the west carrying himself with a dancer's grace into the darkening evening. It was like seeing a Greek statue, suddenly fluid and agile, stride out of the museum. Amazing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Another day we headed to the Trans-Mara reserve, a bumpy ride through the back country to the other side of the river in pursuit of a black rhino. Our ride was interrupted as a family of elephants descended from the hills above us as we negotiated the high country of the Ooloolo escarpment north of the river. They crossed the road behind us - adult females and some babies - and disappeared into the trees on the the slope below us, their presence revealed now only by the shuddering of the trees as the adults shouldered them aside. As always, they walked with an unhurried gravity that seems all the more real when they are free and wild and out and about on elephant business.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don't ask me how Samuel and Jonathan did it. Dropping down out of the highlands, we navigated through marshy roads along the river marge, along paths choked by reeds and thick grasses. We seemed to be headed nowhere in particular until Samuel sat up (he usually spent his time seated behind high atop the canvas cover of the cargo compartment, his legs dangling down behind our seat) and pointed. "There he is!" he exclaimed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, odds are you've seen black rhinos at the zoo, and they are remarkable creatures in any setting. Here though, as the solitary creature made his way through the grasses and marshland, he was a breathtaking figure of power and odd grace. The zebra and antelope moved warily out of his way, for he has a deserved reputation for a bad temper. The tall grass opening before him and closing behind reminded me of the way that warships look as they cut their way through the water - an uneasy mix of gracefulness and lethality. His gray flanks recalled to me the USS Missouri (BB 63) - the most curvedly beautiful, and unabashedly lethal ship I ever had the pleasure to see underway. Like the sea foaming off her ample beam, and the brutal 16 inch batteries on her fore decks, this creature shed the brush and greenery, his massive head and wicked horn sweeping this way and that - in search of food, danger, or anything foolish enough to challenge him. He was at once ominous and tragic - there are said to be only 5 black rhino remaining on the Maasai Mara.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later that day, we patrolled the bank of the Mara river, hoping to catch a "crossing". Somewhat differently than I would have thought, there is no <b>single</b> crossing of the river by the herds of wildebeest and zebra. Instead, having arrived in the Masai Mara after migrating from the grazing lands away south, the herds cross back and forth across the river - seeking the best grass, or the most congenial setting, or whatever motivates wildebeest. Jonathan and Samuel had no particular explanation for the hazardous traversals of the crocodile infested stream except to attribute it to the essential fickleness of the wildebeest heart. With this in mind then, small armies of safari vehicles - vans, buses, Land Rovers and others patrol the banks of the Mara, watching for the telltale gathering of large groups (and they really are endless) of wildebeest at the river's edge. It is an odd truth that perhaps the most reliable sign of a crossing is the cloud of dust kicked up by the swarm of pursuit vehicles. Spotting such a cloud, earlier that day, Jonathan had had us hurtling along the dusty road toward the river - it felt like we were trying to win the Paris to Dakar rally. As always though, his driving was impeccable and we arrived just at the end of a major crossing from our side to the other. </div><div><br /></div><div>Just as we rolled up, a young wildebeest was clambering out of the current to the far shore when the the muddy water roiled and and enormous crocodile snatched the creature, vanishing into the river so quickly as to make one doubt that a 250 animal had been there just seconds before. At that though the crossing ceased. The day stretched on, and although we saw a few zebra cross at another place upriver a little later - crocs made a a couple of half hearted attempts, but zebras are sturdy little fellows, and shook off the hungry reptiles with ease - there was no other significant activity. We had pretty much decided to to head back to the camp - it had been an amazing day in any event - when 200 yards from where we sat the wildebeest on the opposite bank began to surge toward the water. It was on. We were in prime location to see hundreds and hundreds of wildebeest splashing across a shallow part of the river . A major crossing! You can see the beginning of it on the video clip attached to last week's post.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, your average wildebeest isn't a prepossessing beast at all, looking for all the world as if it had been assembled from spare parts left over at some "hoof 'n horn" assembly plant, and it seemed as if the odds were stacked against them. At the first step into the watercourse, the crocs arrowed to the site of the crossing - large, sinister, and dangerous looking. The wildebeests appeared doomed as they and the waiting crocodiles converged , and then...they all made it. Every blessed one of the horde! As it turns out wildebeest have this sort of sideways rear legged kick and bounce move that wrested every one of the crocs' intended meals out of their snapping jaws. In part the reptiles seemed confused by the sheer multitude of the herd, but most of the individual credit for their escape must go to the surprisingly agile wildebeest. At the end, we all breathed a sigh of relief - for as happy as I am to grant the ancient race of crocodilians their right to a meal - I must admit to a certain sympathy with my fellow mammals. </div><div><br /></div><div>The sigh turned out to be premature however, as hard on the heels of the big and agile wildebeest came a small herd of Tommys, who apparently reckoned that the wildebeest must know something to go to all that trouble. Now the Thompson's gazelles are graceful athletic creatures in their own right, but in the chest high water of the river Mara, their best strategy is to, well, bounce. And bounce they did, reaching incredible heights out of the surging waters. Alas, it availed them only a little. The crocs were revved up and waiting. After the hoof slashing, horn tossing confusion of the wildebeest crossing, the Tommys were like popcorn to the crocs. The great tails would thrash, the water boil and "snap!" - a Tommy would vanish. In unbelievably rapid succession five of the gazelles were gone. But at last they were across - maybe 15 of the little chaps. And then, incredibly, they couldn't find the route up from the river bank to the pasture above...and they headed back across the river. Two more fell to the crocs, who by now were growing sated, and then they were back on the other side. Everyone in the caravan of safari vehicles (another 10 or so had rolled up) cheered the stunned survivors as they scrambled up the bank to safety. The evanescence of life in the natural world, and nature's profligacy with her gifts could not have been writ more plainly before our disbelieving eyes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ah friends, I could go on. There were more such days ahead: hikes along the Mara bank with a Maasai warrior guard and an elephant encounter, a pride of lions hunting in the rain and lightning laced darkness of the Mara at night, an incomparably beautiful leopard lounging on a tree branch - inert until those huge yellow eyes opened and gazed speculatively in our direction, skidding to a halt on a rain slicked dirt track when a petite mother crowned plover stood fearlessly in our way, wings raised over her head to prevent us from hitting the handful of downy chicks that scurried away on her left ( the sheer self abnegating courage of it still catches my breath). And the birds...hawks, eagles, vultures, cranes, storks, shrikes, rollers, bulbuls, fly-catchers, hammerkops, bee-eaters, gorgeous starlings, guinea fowl, bustards, mousebirds and my favorite, the go-away bird (really!). It was every day a pageant, and every night a feast. It was among the best vacations I can imagine - made almost perfect by virtue of my congenial travel companions, and only almost perfect because I couldn't share it with my wife and son.</div><div><br /></div><div>But I'll be back .</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, gonna end here and move on in my next.</div><div><br /></div><div>Besides the animal pix (the Cape Buffalo sat under that same tree every day as we passed them), there is a picture of our little safari crew - Johanna, Adrian, Samuel (next to me on the right) and Jonathan (between Jo and Ade), and me. There is also a picture of the EMF crew (the one in uniform) with The Scarlet Ending.</div><div><br /></div><div>You could do worse today than to buy an album, and book your stay at Serian.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Ciao!</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-62257760237175873082009-10-01T07:19:00.000-07:002009-10-04T05:08:53.411-07:00Mara part II<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dztrUTzgoEWVusDSyYUgXsRchdxvhN3wNbskaQyuYSkFBFbPpA6i48_ikr5O7jIeWozOIsTJB-OUL1YB7NG' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe> Hello again! I've decided to try adding a very brief movie bit to the blog (sophisticated, I know). I hope it comes out well. I reckon it might add a bit to the time it takes the page to pop up, but trust you'll forgive the inconvenience.<div><br /></div><div>Well, when last we left our heros, they were rumbling off across the Maasai Mara, their 4X4 bouncing over the rocky, rutted roads, as Jonathan and Samuel, their Maasai guides ushered them into this living Eden. As it turned out, we had arrived at about 1500 - too early for dinner, but with plenty of light left in the sky for sight seeing. With that in mind, when our guides saw a herd of elephant proceeding with stately miens across the plain, we swerved from the road onto to barely visible path and rumbled down to have a closer look. Within a minute we were a mere 10 meters from the herd, and Jonathan cut the engine. The first impression was of the utter stillness of the place - the wind tugged and skirled around us as it streamed down from the Oloololo escarpment, but save for its soughing there was near silence - not an engine, a car, a plane, a radio...nothing. The peace of Eden at the end of the sixth day.</div><div><br /></div><div>The second impression is that we are now surrounded by a herd of wild African elephants - matriarchs, babies and a few young males - who have parted to walk around the truck...and it is still almost completely silent. If we had closed our eyes, we would have had no idea that on either side of us 10,000 pound mothers and their 3000 pound children walked methodically by - so silent are their footfalls. The herd disappeared off into the approaching evening, and we all exhaled...."Wow"! It was to be the first of many such magical moments - it will stay with me forever, I think.</div><div><br /></div><div>And so we made our roundabout way to the camp. Within an hour of landing we had seen elephant, giraffe, gazelles and antelope in a bewildering variety and birds of myriad form and song. Eventually we came to a spot where the primitive road became little more than a rocky path, sloping steeply down to the river bank. We were so fascinated, with Cape buffalo on one side, Dik-dik and Topi on the other that it wasn't until we stopped, practically, that we saw we were there. Two more Maasai gentlemen ushered us out of our truck, and welcomed us to Serian - one of the really special places it's been my privilege to visit. (You can check it out at http://www.serian.net/ if you're at all inclined.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Gosh, it all seems so dream-like, sitting here in an air-conditioned CONEX box with Oingo Boingo blasting on the speakers...there, I changed it to "Africa" by Toto. Anyway, the camp sits on the bluffs on the southern side of the Mara river, and looks out across the river valley to the Oloolo escarpment. In the river below us hippos rested in "rafts" of 2 to 20 individuals, and our nights were punctuated by the snorts and guttural exclamations of these gigantic river horses. In the middle distance, on the plain at the highland's feet, giraffes, zebra and all manner of hoofed creatures wandered from copses of acacia to the glades and meadows that dappled the gently rising ground. The tents were luxurious affairs - for tents. Mine had two wrought iron 4 poster beds with white sheer curtains, and a sisal carpet. On the veranda, under the tent fly, were two chairs with a low table between them. This proved a perfect place to sit with binoculars, a cool drink and a field guide to the birds of East Africa, and watch the wonders of the Mara roll by. I brought books to read, but in the hours I spent sitting, dreamily gazing at Africa, it never occurred to me to open one.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At night, staff from the camp picked their way down the trails that led to the tents scattered along the riverside with kerosene lamps that were placed at the edges of the tent platform, and on the way to my private bathroom. I haven't mentioned this, but it was one of my favorite things about the place. It sat a few steps lower than the tent - closed to the whole camp behind, but open on its north wall, with that same mesmerizing view across the vale of the Mara. It was literally possible to sit in the stone bathtub, sip a cool glass of white wine, and watch the hippos bob in the stream, while Egyptian geese and egrets picked their delicate ways along the bank. It seems now that this has always been my mental image of bliss, but memory is a tricky thing and I can't promise that this is not a recent addition. In any event...it ain't bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>We dined either outdoors beneath a huge tree (it had silver bark and deep green leaves, and its limbs wound gracefully into the sky, providing pools of cool shade, but I never did learn its name ) or in the evenings in a central room with a grass roof, canvas sides that rolled up to let the evening breezes waft through, a fireplace at one end that gave off a delicious warmth as the night temperatures dropped into the 50's, and a dining table that sat at least twelve off to one side. Separating the two spaces was a carven chest whose ample top was covered with either tea and cakes or ice cubes and liquors - depending on the time of day one wandered through. On a typical evening we'd wander up about 6:30 p.m. , freshly showered after a long day on safari, sit round the fire with folks from the camp, and visitors like us and talk about the day's happenings, and who had spotted what where. Around 8:00 we'd move to the dining table where, night after night, dishes of such superb flavor and freshness were served that the trip would almost have been worth it just for the food. Californians are used to fresh fruits and vegetables of course, but I must say that I never tasted fruits and vegetables to equal the ones we were served. Kenya too is a fertile source of produce for which I now have whole new appreciation. Living was easy...</div><div><br /></div><div>Most days had the following pattern: at 6:00 am, as the sun was rising, one of the staff of the camp would call from outside your tent, and pushing back the bed curtains, one would walk to the tent door , unzip the mesh door flap, and step out to find a carafe of hot Kenyan coffee awaiting. Suitably fortified, one accomplished one's morning ablutions - accompanied by bird song and hippo chorus - and walked up to the area where the Land Cruisers sat waiting. After being greeted by Jonathan and Samuel, we'd reconfirm the plans made the evening before - say at trip to the Trans-Mara reserve to look for black rhino or a major river crossing by the wildebeest. Then we'd clamber into our seats, bundled in fleece jackets against the morning chill, and away we'd go. The advantage of our own vehicle, driver and spotter was that, as the circumstances of weather, animal movements or whims of the passengers changed, we could change our plans accordingly, and we were thus always actively pursuing (or more often awaiting) something our guides thought both worthwhile and likely, or something we all particularly wished for. At about 930ish, we'd find a convenient spot (with no worrisome brush nearby that could harbor any hungry lions) and the guides would set up a breakfast - bread, jam, sausage, bacon and the freshest tropical fruits - while we stalked about the plain, stretching legs and basking in the quiet of morning on the Mara.</div><div><br /></div><div>After breakfast, we'd re-embark, and head off in search of our next adventure - stalking lions or cheetah, or sitting in hushed expectation as they stalked the numberless herds of gazelle or wildebeest (we rapidly exhausted our stock of "gnus" puns). About 1:30 or 2:00 we'd find a shaded spot for lunch - often near the banks of the river. Again the table and folding chairs would be brought out, and the board set. Lunches were lovely - light, delicately spiced and delicious. I would usually wash it down with a cold (well, cool) Tusker. One of Kenya's superb local lagers, Tusker is a bit sweeter than its European style competitors due to the addition of cornstarch and sugar to the usual malt, hops and water. At the end of lunch, we'd head out again. By this time on most days, the heat of the day had peaked (maybe the low 90's), and clouds would be forming. The overcast would rapidly cool the air, and around 5:00 as we headed back, cumulonimbus clouds would have formed. Most evenings featured a brief tropical shower, and on a couple of occasions there were spectacular displays of lighting and thunder, including an impressive hail storm on our last night. In general these would soon pass away into the darkening night, and the cool evenings were ideal for bundling by the fire, quaffing any of the various beverages on offer, and then slipping exhausted into one's comfy four poster bed - lit by lanterns, covers already turned down by the ever attentive camp staff. The nights were restful, if you could ignore the nocturnal chorus of crickets, frogs, hippo and the occasional other large animal noises. I slept like a rock.</div><div><br /></div><div>Next post - what we did and saw. Not trying to be coy, but I don't want the posts to get too lengthy. </div><div><br /></div><div>Until then! </div><div><br /></div><div>PS: I've been fortunate enough to get several very thoughtful gifts in the last few weeks, and wanted to acknowledge them here, as I don't have e-mail addresses handy for most of the folks kind enough to send them</div><div><br /></div><div>I'd like to thank Kevin for the book on treadmill training for runners - lots of great ideas for those of us who get the majority of our mile on a rotary belt. Great book! Thanks a million!</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to sister Moira for sending along a double album of The Tragically Hip's bigger hits - wonderful stuff that I can't believe I've missed until now. It's been at the top of my queue the past week.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks to friends Justin, Tara, and Ramona for care packages. It is such a pleasure to open a box of treats, magazines and other goodies. It seems silly, almost, that it should delight me so - but every package from home makes me feel like a kid on Christmas morning - delighted, and most importantly thought of with affection. Thanks all - you make this sojourn as easy as it can be.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-40852693508053218342009-09-29T08:42:00.000-07:002009-09-30T09:06:39.528-07:00Mad about the Maasai Mara (part 1)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5q860YpFSL_bIvQfUOcJE-GxzwEvrv7cZB5Z2QUSXk0hr4zxW24L_njKJMgLV4pRYDHaH65CzyAW3dlpIx4QIJ_W_NQ4Bg8U2mc1Qy9ezrWW1TnSZ-zcoVBnXIzXje0zJFpObcSGysI/s1600-h/DSCF0542.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic5q860YpFSL_bIvQfUOcJE-GxzwEvrv7cZB5Z2QUSXk0hr4zxW24L_njKJMgLV4pRYDHaH65CzyAW3dlpIx4QIJ_W_NQ4Bg8U2mc1Qy9ezrWW1TnSZ-zcoVBnXIzXje0zJFpObcSGysI/s320/DSCF0542.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386928801516554770" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrRGw_B5wb54Xo3oNGd2Cui3kxtlvVC8qnfdyLDrpB4pOHV-z7ct-k-8zu04cgdrAoQN0r9tGmh2Fusr_OfIsCglP9grHFpFIKjpbsyyXS7KWiJ-RuAYf-6SmOPpoDhQrkTfolPy27Oo/s1600-h/DSCF0430.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJrRGw_B5wb54Xo3oNGd2Cui3kxtlvVC8qnfdyLDrpB4pOHV-z7ct-k-8zu04cgdrAoQN0r9tGmh2Fusr_OfIsCglP9grHFpFIKjpbsyyXS7KWiJ-RuAYf-6SmOPpoDhQrkTfolPy27Oo/s320/DSCF0430.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386928793143071122" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivXiHFhEJ35IVEXj6QWbAFoqmZuyPOm7ySF7kQYBOAg8F7KcJ-desvYWo4xVRon0lezsKAKPhFZeQsJrfJKWUAXSSzgM1UFkZ7IMqhZ3tsCCZsmjQ7X__BCjMPNJEbBVbbIg9GttmHyk/s1600-h/DSCF0444.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivXiHFhEJ35IVEXj6QWbAFoqmZuyPOm7ySF7kQYBOAg8F7KcJ-desvYWo4xVRon0lezsKAKPhFZeQsJrfJKWUAXSSzgM1UFkZ7IMqhZ3tsCCZsmjQ7X__BCjMPNJEbBVbbIg9GttmHyk/s320/DSCF0444.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386928784868947138" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN7Pxf8wred5rDSWqprCwELLCUaW5vJ9qibibX6Q-SGrl5EYBMpJ1dG6JQ-ZN4kEsDY-g_2PWjNE-Q-Fh6x6of_uhHlYX6F8qBpRsaS_YmV8zCQeM81UNdg38Rg8B1y93d03T89jm41oM/s1600-h/DSCF0430.JPG"><br /></a><br />Hello all,<div><br /></div><div>Many apologies for the long hiatus since my last posts - a combination of fairly full days, multiple sleep-interrupted nights, and of course there was this little trip I took...</div><div><br /></div><div>So there I was, on the morning of Thursday the 17th, waiting in the cavernous belly of an Air Force C-17, and wondering if this trip would be worth the agonizing days of uncertainty leading up to it. I was embarking on my "96" - a 4 day, travel time not included, little holiday granted to those of us staying out here on at least 6 months of assignment. Months ago, my dear sister Johanna and her impossibly likable husband, Adrian had not only agreed to meet me here in Africa for a safari trip, but had gone to the trouble of making all the arrangements - hotels, cars, planes, the lot. My plan was to ride the "Flex" - a weekly logistics flight that departs Djibouti for some of our downrange activities in East Africa. The deal was that I could hop off in Nairobi, meet Joey and Ade for a trip to the Maasai Mara, and then catch the plane back a week later. It's a bit longer then 96 hours, but this exception is commonly granted, as the flight is so convenient for our folks...</div><div><br /></div><div>What I hadn't really counted on was the uncertainty of traveling "Space Available". The military, having multiple missions, limited equipment and lots of taskings feels no particular compunction about bumping passengers in favor of needed cargo or passengers with more priority. There is no hesitation to ground equipment for crew or mechanical reasons and there is quite commonly no replacement flight offered. All this, which I suppose I knew abstractly, seemed manageable 3 months ago when discussions of the trip first started, but as the day came nearer the implications of possibly having no flight, but definitely having confirmed safari reservations of dubious refundability sunk in. No one had been able to tell me if would be a "go" until until finally at 0530ish my bags and I were weighed and manifested on the flight. I hadn't slept all night with worry (and with getting called to the clinic at 0300 to see an unfortunate chap with a kidney stone), and as those four big turbo props rumbled to life, and as that chubby bird picked up speed and her wheels left the warm asphalt beneath them, I sighed and slumped down in relief. Away!</div><div><br /></div><div>Slumping actually proved to be a mistake, as I was supported only by a canvas seat stretched over aluminum rods beneath, and a sagging nylon cargo webbing behind. The back rest turned out to be the back of the chap sitting on the other side of the center mounted seating apparatus. A nice fellow, I'm sure, but wiggly. Conversation was impossible due to the din of the engines. Reading was a challenge as the only light came at such an angle that to see my book I had to cant my head to the left, where it ran into the emergency breathing apparatus hanging from the bulkhead. I couldn't hear my iPod - noise reduction earphones be damned - over the din, so I just stuffed the foam ear-plugs thoughtfully provided into my ears, and tried as best as possible to sleep, while directly behind me my opposite number apparently was keeping loose by doing a seated version of the mambo...A lot of time was spent thus, being started out of a fitful sleep, staring at the single porthole across the narrow aisle, and nodding off again. </div><div><br /></div><div>Three and a half hours or so later though, we touched down at Jomo Kenyatta International in Nairobi, and after waiting another half hour we were allowed to debark, check in with the Kenyan Country Coordinating Element (the US Military folks who manage activities in that country), and finally get escorted off the flight line. It was about noon by now, and as we wheeled our luggage toward the International Arrivals terminal, the first thought that struck was that here I was, outside at noon, and rather than feeling I was about to broil, I felt agreeably warm. Nice. Definitely not Djibouti. And then we were in the Arrivals area.</div><div><br /></div><div>My sister Johanna has always had a smile like the sun breaking through the clouds on a grey day. Her smile now seemed to light the dim interior of the airport concourse. I hugged her, shook Adrian's hand and was escorted by my family and Sammy, our driver, out to the waiting van. We were whisked through the chaotic, traffic choked streets of Nairobi to Wilson Airport, from where most of the small planes headed out to the safari areas depart. As we had a few hours before departure though, we made a side trip to The Carnivore restaurant - a near obligatory stop on the safari trail. The restaurant is close to Wilson, and we arrived in plenty of time to enjoy our fill of the house specialty - skewer after skewer, platter after platter of meats. Chicken, sausages and roast beef were followed by turkey, ostrich meat balls (quite yummy!) and lamb kebabs - all superbly seasoned and roasted, and all explained in detail by the army of servers who brandished skewers, platters and large knives with aplomb. In times past the restaurant made its reputation serving exotic game meats such as zebra, warthog and crocodile, but these have been removed from the menu for better or worse. On reflection, I think I might have had a bit of a guilty conscience when I later saw warthog families trotting along the road had I earlier dined on one of their relations. As it was, I had a hard time looking the ostrich in the eyes...</div><div><br /></div><div>Lunch finally finished when we turned over the little white flags provided us for the purpose, signalling that we were full. Still savoring the various <i>viandes</i> we pushed away from the table, and waddled off to the van. Sammy had us at Wilson 10 minutes thereafter, and soon we were waiting on the tarmac while a single engine, 8 passenger Cessna Caravan taxied toward us. Our bags were loaded, we were ushered on, the pilot twisted around in his seat to welcome us aboard, the engine coughed its way to life and then Nairobi dropped away beneath us. Within a minute, looking out the starboard side, in a field right beside the city I saw an unmistakable herd of striped quadrupeds..."Zebras!" I exclaimed, enchanted. Ah, if I had know then of the wonders ahead...</div><div><br /></div><div>The engine droned. The land beneath us grew wilder and less settled. It dropped away at one point into a great red walled valley which I presumed to be the southern beginnings of the great Rift Valley - which would tear through Eastern Africa's crust up to the Djiboutian coast away north. On the other side of the rift, the landscape climbed again, becoming a bit greener as grasslands were interspersed with row after row of square cultivated plots.</div><div><br /></div><div><div>We landed once, on a dirt strip with a small hut and several waiting Land Rovers and most of the other passengers on the plane debarked. We headed back into the air, skipping and hopping down the earthen strip and headed further west, into the heart of the Maasai Mara. At one point the gentleman sitting in the co-pilot's seat - had there been a co-pilot - turned and asked "Where are you staying, then?" "At <i>Serian</i> camp."we replied. "Oh...then you'll be staying with me". Alex, our host and the owner and proprietor at Serian, was our fellow traveller. A great chap of whom I'll speak more in my next. "There's the camp, down there", he said as the plane banked right. We saw canvas rooftops nestled among the green trees lining a brown river that snaked its way through the plain. Another 10 minutes and we alit, at a much sparser strip - marked only by a black and white wind sock snapping crisply in the afternoon breeze. Waiting for us was our own Land Rover - a canvas sided affair, with a single row of seats up behind the driver's cockpit. Beside it were two striking African men, clad in (what we learned) were traditional Maasai garments. Alex introduced us to Samuel - our spotter - and Jonathan - our driver. They smiled warmly, greeted us and shook our hands, tossed our bags in the back and motioned for us to get in. Comfortably seated, open on three sides to grasslands and the weather, we started down the rutted dirt road that led to camp. Beyond nature documentaries, and some Joseph Conrad and H. Rider Haggard stories, I had no idea what to expect. But here we were with 6 days to find out.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'll stop here, and take up the story (soon) in my next.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pix should be tolerably obvious: Lions, leopard and cheetah.</div></div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-18506049993644309732009-09-26T07:00:00.001-07:002009-09-26T07:56:11.825-07:00A visit to Bremen<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvtLZLx6tScPfv1QI2kPozU7jRrLRO8LBoiCqiL2dAaW4mK1VSsQ7n5AL8ESuL5gZAqkE16WUY37gAz7m2Fcn_IZdoxA6mnSG59iaCSyMa1_-3z-F1T0vM99OiaiRHr_haTfezGp2cOk/s1600-h/120px-F207_Bremen,_Clyde_26_2_06a.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 120px; height: 83px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQvtLZLx6tScPfv1QI2kPozU7jRrLRO8LBoiCqiL2dAaW4mK1VSsQ7n5AL8ESuL5gZAqkE16WUY37gAz7m2Fcn_IZdoxA6mnSG59iaCSyMa1_-3z-F1T0vM99OiaiRHr_haTfezGp2cOk/s320/120px-F207_Bremen,_Clyde_26_2_06a.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385776102044382210" /></a>(Written September 16th, mostly)<br /><div><br /></div><div><br />Okay, Okay...<br /><br />I've launched myself at this post 3 times now, and just haven't been able to make anything of it. As I look to be out of communication for a week when I take my 96 hour liberty trip to Kenya on the day after tomorrow, I am just going to grit my teeth and power through. Grit your teeth and come along.<br /><br />Weather is starting to moderate a bit. Days are still "Africa Hot" but mornings and nights are positively pleasant - providing the wind isn't blowing off the dump. That is certainly a mercy for the devout Muslims here on the Horn, as they are in the midst of the Ramadan fast, and may take nothing to eat or drink throughout the hours between sunrise and sunset. At the beginning of the (lunar) month, we had quite a few of our Djiboutian workers brought to the EMF with dehydration from the combination of hard work and fasting. In the past week or two though no new cases - whether this be moderating weather or adapting Djiboutians, who can say? It does make me speculate about the unhappy fate of the faithful who live in the far northern climes, where evenings - even this late in September - can linger for extra hours before the sun dips below the horizon. They are faithful indeed who follow the way of the Prophet in Yellowknife or Vladivostok!<br /><br />Well, in keeping with with the Teutonic theme of last weeks post, the highlight of this week was a visit to the Bremen, a German frigate who pulled in this past week. Her medical folks contacted us wondering if we could help them out with some sterilization of surgical instruments, a couple of dental needs and a tour of our facilities (usually a veiled expression of a wish to visit the Galley's ice cream counter, and shop at our little NEX). Happy to oblige, we were offered a tour of the Bremen in return.<br /><br />We found a trim little vessel, pushing 30 years old but gleaming as if she had rolled out of the shipwright's yard last year. She was moored in the spot that the Korean ship had occupied when we celebrated there a month or so ago. In the daytime drive through the docks we had a chance to see the livestock pens - full of grumpy, complaining camels and docile, introspective Sanga cattle - where the output of the pastoral inland plains paused on the journey. They'll be loaded on ships bound across the Red Sea and thence to the UAE and points north. Which are you, gentle reader, pausing here before you hurry on your journey? A vociferous, skeptical camel, or a placid, inward-looking Sanga? There is virtue in both, I suppose.<br /><br />Anyway...as it turned out, on our arrival at about 1000 that morning the Bremen was in the midst of a stores load, as chains of Deutsche sailors handed crates, boxes and the like up the gangways, and down into the holds. We were met with good cheer despite the business of the crew, and whisked off to sick bay where our host - the German ship's doctor - showed around his tiny, overstuffed combination OR, lab, dental, treatment, x-ray space. It was a marvel of ingenious adaptation, miniaturization, and clever organization - capable enough, but I'll wager almost impossible to use in any sort of sea state. The cramped space was no doubt exacerbated by the addition of a surgeon, dentist and anesthesiologist to their crew for the purposes of their current mission - piracy interdiction off the Somali coast. It may not seem like much, but the additon of 3 extra persons on a 220 person ship can have quite an impact.<br /><br />Off to the Helo deck next, where the aviators and ex-flight surgeons oohed and aahed over the two Sea Lynxes. They seemed like fine enough little birds, but alas I have no eye for helicopters, and have always sort of distrusted the things. Too many moving parts.<br /><br />It was while we standing there that I had a chance to meet the 4 other folk who had joined us on this tour. One Norwegian and 3 Finnish Naval medical officers had joined us in the sick-bay for a tour of the boat. They were all involved to one extent or another in facilitating or planning for European Union naval efforts in the anti-piracy campaigns away east. The Norwegian chap, who visited us here at Camp Lemonnier the next day was a lithe, weathered fellow, of about my own modest height, but the Finns looked every bit the Nordic warriors. They were all some shade of blonde, tall and powerfully built. While the Finns in general were not known in days of old for going a-viking it was not hard to imagine these chaps leaping from the prows of long ships, swords in hand. My fantasy world aside, they were charming folk - funny, pleasant and polite.<br /><br />Sadly, even though noon was fast approaching, and "cold German beer" had been hinted at when the visit was first planned, the ship's wardroom was closed for the stores load, so we made our farewells, exchanged business cards and promised good will and assistance at need to all and sundry, and left with thirsts unslaked. Not that talk of beer had prompted us to visit, you understand...but the opportunity to more completely acculturate to the ways of our coalition partners, well that seemed a shame. Ah well, next visit perhaps.<br /><br />A couple of days later, our German and Danish colleagues joined us here at Camp Lemonnier, for tours, ice cream and shopping. I don't know exactly what the experience here is preparing me for, but a job at the UN, or perhaps as a tour guide seems an easy reach from here...<br /><br />I'll end here (as I'm returning from a week's vacation to find this still un-posted on my computer). Just returned from 6 days on the Maasai Mara, and I'm excited to get some photos and commentary posted.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-85067535194202274162009-09-04T01:14:00.000-07:002009-09-08T10:35:22.627-07:00Djohn's Dgerman Djaunt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKo3WKydZEukCkSB-sk8pvDdJ_9GjBK3GyJ0kyQJzAi9QCS3HOq4dZ2FJZZI2fNP55L_R0YmeV_j3CMg1b4bHc7QjVulNWqJkVOm4OkzDrxgAKvxfqbEYpMuoo9FEAK5qrDiY2vomJE4/s1600-h/DSCF0394.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKo3WKydZEukCkSB-sk8pvDdJ_9GjBK3GyJ0kyQJzAi9QCS3HOq4dZ2FJZZI2fNP55L_R0YmeV_j3CMg1b4bHc7QjVulNWqJkVOm4OkzDrxgAKvxfqbEYpMuoo9FEAK5qrDiY2vomJE4/s1600-h/DSCF0394.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZKo3WKydZEukCkSB-sk8pvDdJ_9GjBK3GyJ0kyQJzAi9QCS3HOq4dZ2FJZZI2fNP55L_R0YmeV_j3CMg1b4bHc7QjVulNWqJkVOm4OkzDrxgAKvxfqbEYpMuoo9FEAK5qrDiY2vomJE4/s320/DSCF0394.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378701872954127698" /></a><br />Gruss Gott!<div><br /></div><div>I find myself in the distinctly odd position of feeling obscurely unfaithful to my temporary home here in Djibouti by contemplating a description of my past week, spent at the foot of the Bavarian Alps. Suffice to say then that while the Alps are beautiful and Djibouti is exotic, I'm not sure that there is much to be gained by the comparison. Anyway, come away with me to Garmisch-Partenkirchen on wings of imagination...</div><div><br /></div><div>As I said last week, I was sent off to the "Public Health Emergency Officer" annual meeting in Garmisch to learn more about the flu. THE flu. It is a matter of some debate of course as to whether I am indeed a "PHEO", but I guess on the grounds that I often appear in Public, and appear to be pretty Healthy, and that I am an Officer, I had met 3 of 4 qualifiers for the position. Close enough for Government work, I suppose. This being a social media site, I suppose in all conscience this would be a good place to put in plug about good public health practices, but honestly the sum total wisdom I have acquired on the matter is this: wash your hands. A lot. And stay home if you're sick. Got it? Then you can be a PHEO too!</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, as it turns out I was lucky enough to get on the single Air France flight a week that leaves and returns to Djibouti. Not that I have anything against Ethiopian Airlines you understand, but all of their routes involve an 8 hour lay over in Addis Ababa. The flight left Ambouli airport here around midnight, and plunked us down in at De Gaulle Paris 7 hours later. The dissonance between the tiny airport in Djibouti and huge, modern, bustling CDG was breath taking - I'm sure I walked the whole length of terminal 2D with a stupid grin on my face, just looking at shops and concessionaires, smartly dressed business travelers, gleaming chrome and glass, escalators and elevators...what bliss! I poked my head out of an open sliding door and breathed in air with a bit of early morning crispness to it. Breathtaking!</div><div><br /></div><div>I made it to my Munich bound flight with enough time to order a real espresso and savor it, and then in about an hour or so we touched down in Germany. The Munich airport was, if anything, more modern than De Gaulle, and moving sidewalks brought me right to the train ticket kiosk, and thence to the train stop below the airport. My friends...the trains really do run right on time. The ticket agent was kind enough to print out for me a detailed itinerary, as I had to change trains once, and as God is my witness, we were never any more than 30 seconds off our projected station ETA. It was awe-inspiring.</div><div><br /></div><div>From Munich, the route is south to Garmisch, and as you leave the city behind you find yourself in a gently rolling countryside. The greens and blues of forests, fields and mountain lakes seemed almost bizarrely intense after 3 1/2 months in the muted duns and grays of Djibouti. Late summer, it seemed, was happily settled into the hills and valleys of Bavaria - tall fields of corn undulated in the breeze, fine fat cows stood placidly in fields that could have been sculpted by a talented artist trying to express the essence of "rolling hills", and plump apples reddened amidst the boughs of gnarled old trees. This was nice. I sat in the railroad car watching this bucolic scene slip by - the electric train almost silent around me - and don't recall a film or play of recent years that has pleased me as much as that hour's journeying. </div><div><br /></div><div>What then of Garmisch? My friends, if Walt Disney were to sit down to create a "Germany-land", this is exactly what he would envision. The town sits in a fertile mountain valley, guarded on both sides by towering heights with conifer wrapped shoulders and grey stoney heads. The houses have steep peaked roofs, multiple gables, balconies with tumbling riots of geraniums and carefully tended yards full of flowers and fruit trees. The fields are dotted with small wooden huts, in which logs hewn from the fertile hills are stacked and left to dry for firewood. The landscape is laced with bicycle and walking paths, and the paths themselves full of families in their twos and threes and fours walking, cycling, or just sitting gratefully in the lengthening rays of the late August alpine sun.</div><div><br /></div><div>And the Alps...they are always the first thing to catch your attention as you walk outside. The town is so compact, and the slope so close and so steep, that the eye must encounter them as the doors close behind you, and encountering is drawn up and up as peaks pile on top of peaks until at the very southern end, the dominating height of the Zugsptiz brings you to a pause. At almost 10,000 feet, it is Germany's highest mountain, and it sits surrounded by its lesser peers, serenely surveying the life of the village at its feet. This is one of the most naturally beautiful places on earth, and seems well loved and well tended by the folk who live there. The town manages to strike, I think, a nice balance between rural charm (the streets of the central village are closed nightly at 1730 so that the dairy cattle who have grazed on the west side of town may be walked through to the barns on the east), modern comfort, and ancient wilderness. And of course the fact that the city, the paths and the hills are studded with impossibly charming beer gardens doesn't hurt a bit.</div><div><br /></div><div>The conference was like many of its ilk. There was some valuable stuff said and done, but honestly how long can you sit on those uncomfortable conference center chairs without your mind wandering? Food and lodgings at the Edelweiss Lodge - the Army's own recreational facility in Garmisch - were quite nice, if a bit generic. Food outside the gate was generally good. I had a lovely Indian dinner one night, but devoted the rest of the evenings to food stuffs ending with "schnitzel" or "wurst" washed down with cold beers of many varieties. Not elegant cuisine in general, but it certainly felt true to its surroundings. I didn't do too much touring, but spent a lot of free time in shorts and running shoes trotting north or south at the feet of mountains as seemed best. I did take a tour of the Partnach Gorge - a twisting, tumbling river running along the bottom of a fantastically sculptured valley, carved out of the limestone of the mountains over millennia. At times it was almost dark save for the light reflected from the torrent's churning surface from the narrow ribbon of sky visible overhead. All of this surrounded by the kind of deep green forests that must have given the Roman legions pause when first they regarded the land across the Rhine. Pretty spectacular stuff.</div><div><br /></div><div>The conference wound to an end after 3 days, and I packed up the next morning. Rain clouds had tumbled in over the last two nights, accompanied on the first evening by rolling peals of thunder which echoed back and forth between the towering mountain walls of the valley. The trip back was uneventful - the previously resplendent late summer scenery now a bit duller under gray skies. I had a moment of panicked ambivalence when the Air France agent felt that she couldn't put me on a flight to Djibouti unless I could show her my visa (which as a military member stationed there I do not have). "So, I can't go back to Djibouti and I'll be forced to stay here in Germany?" I sighed and protested a bit more out of a sense of obligation. This may have been a mistake however as a second order agent was contacted who swiftly approved my passage. I mean, I <i>knew</i> I'd have to go back after a while, but who am I to break the rules? Oh well.</div><div><br /></div><div>Left Paris at about midnight on a direct flight. This flight was interesting in that it was full of the wives and children of the French forces stationed in Djibouti, all returning from their summer vacations for the start of the school year. Infants and toddlers fussed and tumbled at every corner, and bigger boys and girls read, played games or harassed their siblings as their natures and opportunities dictated. The kids weren't bad though once we got in the air, nodding off in short order after the meal service. I would have done the same except for a willowy 14ish mademoiselle seated inboard of me, who apparently would expire if she didn't go to the WC every 45 minutes - waking me with a sweet and demur "Pardonnez" each time, so that I couldn't even work up a proper scowl. Oh well - I slept well the next day.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally we were here. We clambered down the boarding stairs to a waiting bus for the 20 foot drive to the terminal. It was 0730 or so and already pushing 100 degrees, with a leavening of humidity to really help one appreciate the heat. The wind, back in the east now, brought the slightly sour scent of the city to us as we stood in line to have our temperatures taken before going through immigration (no visa problems). I'd forgotten the smell - it fades out of your awareness after a day or two. I wish I could describe it better for you - it is a tang, with something of industry, something of agriculture, something of densely packed humanity and their refuse and another element of the blending of ocean and desert. Familiar now, in a rueful sort of way.</div><div><br /></div><div>My colleagues were waiting for me outside the baggage claim, and off we rolled, past Khat corner, down the Somali road, and through the trebly guarded gates to home and CLU. Oddly comforting to find my wee metal box as I'd left it. I put a brave face on things for a couple of hours, then collapsed for a 3 hour nap. It's not so much that Germany seemed like a dream when I woke up, as that both places - Djibouti and Germany - seemed less substantial after comparing and contrasting them. Both are echoes, you see, simulations imperfect in one degree or another of what continues to seem more real to me than either. </div><div><br /></div><div> Home.</div><div><br /></div><div>Pictures are of ... well c'mon now!</div><div> </div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-34211492976801390512009-08-25T09:13:00.000-07:002009-09-02T12:57:35.174-07:00Lac Assal<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGcQ4vbRQPEUeFIsYhuFfocooNn-WjLDvi4bnfQ_4o1WvTGOrD-WOhIgkjOTEz_QvWTLgdcGY3hAU65A38sd2RGr7RDJUaVz_6pi0kEmi07SuAq6WIP6H-WAAxQ3pBRxSUt2gTP_d3ig/s1600-h/DSCF0296.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbGcQ4vbRQPEUeFIsYhuFfocooNn-WjLDvi4bnfQ_4o1WvTGOrD-WOhIgkjOTEz_QvWTLgdcGY3hAU65A38sd2RGr7RDJUaVz_6pi0kEmi07SuAq6WIP6H-WAAxQ3pBRxSUt2gTP_d3ig/s320/DSCF0296.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375829269991314226" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQW2fV6ANfL5X8PyeRF3hyphenhyphenfho8vWa62grweJ2CvPIl2uWI_T_kbEryMjsyuFB6ZZuRztO4IfJ4ORLM7UcjxMyqAp1uKyQd0yzNJoRkf2VwnF2Q6-xFy6JmVAdp43xSzazPX6fNMC0r2mA/s1600-h/DSCF0334.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQW2fV6ANfL5X8PyeRF3hyphenhyphenfho8vWa62grweJ2CvPIl2uWI_T_kbEryMjsyuFB6ZZuRztO4IfJ4ORLM7UcjxMyqAp1uKyQd0yzNJoRkf2VwnF2Q6-xFy6JmVAdp43xSzazPX6fNMC0r2mA/s320/DSCF0334.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375829262325985762" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZlY-fKZ0GSNluQiJaq0FPxQ3opw9gcd2drT_gwgiYKyFo4KOU-5Yskq_JPfMoETDfxDFAPgaON1LFw4cWic8hnpNSBCmhy8Ol0nuOag9_4mVa3KEwGmihr36iETB2sr5wX9NK7pLHtM/s1600-h/DSCF0351.JPG"><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIZlY-fKZ0GSNluQiJaq0FPxQ3opw9gcd2drT_gwgiYKyFo4KOU-5Yskq_JPfMoETDfxDFAPgaON1LFw4cWic8hnpNSBCmhy8Ol0nuOag9_4mVa3KEwGmihr36iETB2sr5wX9NK7pLHtM/s320/DSCF0351.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375829249153968626" /></a><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Hello All,</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Well, no complaints of nothing to do this week. It was evident early on in the week that change was in the air as, against all expectation, it rained. I don't mean a little rain either. I mean a loud-hammering-on-the-metal-roof, dirty brown water cascading down the main street, soaking your bathroom rug because you forgot the little window was open kind of rain. A cloudburst which has since repeated itself twice. The season of the Fifty Days is emphatically over, and remarkably close to the 50 days of the folk wisdom. The weather may be a trifle cooler now (say in the high nineties), but the humidity is truly astounding. The air has the feel you might get in resort steam room, minus the eucalyptus scent. At night, as temperatures drop into the 80's, the air has a palpable, almost silky feel on the skin - a sensation I remember from summer nights down near the riverfront in St. Louis. It's not unpleasant until the sun comes up and you get to feeling again like you're a turkey in one of those self-basting bags. Phew!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">One definite improvement though is the clarity of the air. The air for the</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">past two months or so has constantly had a perceptibly dusty quality.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Sometimes it has been just at the edge of perception - a taste in the wind,</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">or the dun cast of the sun as it nears the horizon - and sometimes it has</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">been the dominant fact of negotiating the world outside of the CLU - a</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">gritty, stinging miasma swirling and eddying in every corner and creeping</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">into every imaginable spot. No more! The air is clear, the distant hills</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">of Somalia and the truncated volcanic cones standing guard over the</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Djiboutian plains stand out in sharp detail. At night the Southern Cross</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">can now be seen pointing the way down the Great Rift Valley to Africa's</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">ancient heart. It's as if nature has polished its spectacles and only now do</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">we realize how used to the haze we had become.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">This all could not have come at a better time, as I had a chance last week</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">to join the CJTF-HOA geologist and some companions on a trip to Lac Assal,</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">and to enjoy some spectacular vistas on the way. The lake is the saltiest</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">in the world, outside of a couple of hyper saline ponds in Antarctica, and</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">is the lowest point in Africa, at about 153 meters below sea-level. It sits</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">in the Afar depression- one of the most interesting geological spots in the</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">world where the East African plate is tearing itself away from the rest of</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">the continent and from the Arabian peninsula to its north. This is</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">technically an mid oceanic ridge spreading zone, and the only other one</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">above water is in Iceland. The landscape is some of the starkest and most</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">interesting I've seen. And that was only part of the fun!</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">So, we set out in two separate vehicles at about 0900 on a Sunday morning.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Clouds from the last rain storm still darkened the western horizon, but at</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">our backs the African sun set to work to boil away the overcast, and by noon</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">it would be almost cloudless. We headed west out of the city, angling</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">toward the tip of the gulf of Tadjoura, just inland of the Bay of Goudouk.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Driving out of the city on the N9, one quickly climbs into an arid plateau.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">We passed Arta, the town that overlooks the bay where I had done such</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">rewarding diving a month or two ago. The road, except for a 10 mile stretch</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">a few miles part Arta, was pretty good. Most of the traffic was made up of</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">heavily laden trucks in various degrees of disrepair, many pulling trailers</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">of equal or greater decrepitude. They were laden with all manner of</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">produce, machine parts, construction materials and other goods too various</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">to name, all bound for land-locked Ethiopia. The country on either side of</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">the road was rocky and arid, with mostly drab brown and muted green scrub,</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">and the occasional flashes of vivid green where water rose close enough to</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">the surface to sustain some vegetation. There were scattered small</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">settlements as we left the port well behind us. Some were ramshackle</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">affairs of crumbling cement and dilapidated stone buildings. Some were</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">collections of corrugated metal and whatever scraps of wood and cement the</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">occupants seemed able to collect. The larger villages had mosques, whose</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">minarets were the tallest structures for miles around.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Some score or more miles past Arta we turned north. We were now high on the</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">plateau that descends as if in giant steps down to the basin in which Lac</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Assal sits. Our first stop was " The Japanese Monument", which Len - the</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">geologist - said had been erected to commemorate the deaths of some Japanese</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">citizens in a traffic accident on that lonely highway. The monument was</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">surrounded by a low cement wall, enclosing a space in which two weathered</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">pyramidal markers sat, with the explanatory plaques on the front long since</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">pried off and presumably sold off as scrap metal. The melancholy scene was</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">completed by the soughing of the dry breeze off the Ethiopian highlands, and</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">the bleaching bones of a long deceased camel. We paused, reflected, drank some water and headed back on the road.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The next stop was considerably less sombre. We arrived after another 15 minutes at a site called (by Americans) The Djiboutian Grand canyon. I haven't found a formal name on a map, so I can't give any more details, except to say that the comparison is not altogether unwarranted - it certainly could be taken for a small section of that great American monument. The photo in the top right doesn't quite do it justice. It was formed by water erosion of the alternating layers of basaltic lava and paleosol, as the water ran off the plateaus to the west down to the Gulf. We spent a few minutes clambering about, snapping photos and "hallooing" into the maw of the canyon, which gave back quite a satisfying echo. Then off to the next stop...</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">We paused at a scenic vista, looking from the lofty shoulders of the high country down to the Gulf of Tadjoura at our right, the Gulf's all but sealed off western end - the Ghoubet al Kharab, a bay with a slender channel into the greater gulf, and beyond a lava bridge, plummeting to the lowest point of the continent, Lac Assal. I don't have a photo that does the scene justice, but suffice to say that, geology-wise, this is a happening place. We stayed long enough to buy some carved pumice, geodes and obsidian flakes from the vendor who seemed to have an informal franchise at the lookout - a dilapidated box roped to the side of the guard rail. Then back to the cars to begin our own descent to the nadir of the Rift.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The road deteriorated a bit and finally gave way to rutted dirt - not the worst such in Djibouti by far. Next stop was a valley toward the Western shore of the lake. Here a five minute walk led us to a spring at the end of a box canyon. The stream that bubbled up from beneath the rocks was scalding to touch - we measured 170 degrees Fahrenheit at the source. It is heated by the volcanic processes churning away beneath the thin crust of this spreading zone. More than moment spent in that clear running water would parboil the flesh on your bones, but literally the width of a decent long jump away, in a small pond with a slightly cooler water source, swam prolific schools of tiny fishes - smaller than minnows but in great number. What a marvelous thing is nature, how ingenious and how profligate with her genius! The failure of the barrier wall, the slipping of a well placed boulder and the little colony would be so many bite sized sole meuniere. Ain't that all of us in miniature though..?</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Finally the lake itself. We arrived at the great salt pan - a vast precipitation of halide and gypsum crystals on the marge of 21 square miles of the saltiest water north of Antarctica. The water was shallow and warm. The lake is normally fed mostly by sea water which seeps through the fissured basalt that forms the bedrock as well as the bridge which keeps the lake separate from the larger bodies of water away east. It's an impressive sight. The water level was high that day, the recent rains having added their substance to the lake's total. For that reason we avoided a swim - the camel and goat dung bobbing high atop the hypersaline surface were indication enough of what might have been rinsed from the surrounding hills. Embarrassing to contract diarrheal diseases when you're the most senior medical guy. We clambered, snapped, picked up and bought samples, and loaded the enterprising teen-age boys selling souvenirs with some of our extra water before calling it a day and heading back east.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">The trip was interrupted for a quick descent to the the western shore of the Bab al Ghoubet, where we parked the sturdy little SUV's and splashed into the water. Another group of Camp Lemonnier based travelers were already there, refreshing themselves after the torrid trip to Lac Assal. We splished, splashed, and there may have been some cavorting although I wouldn't testify to it. We dried off quickly in the late afternoon Djiboutian sun, and then into the cars for the final leg...home.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">There was much more to the trip than I have mentioned here - geologic sights, wildlife, and the people of this end of the Afar Depression eking out their lives, but I have tarried too long in getting this out already. Indeed as I write this, I am seated in a hotel room in Garmisch, nestled among the Bavarian Alps - so there is much to tell. I did want to mention one animal sighting though. En route home our lead car pulled over to let a troop of baboons cross the highway. This they did, deliberate of foot and stately of mien. The alpha male crossed first, and watched us dispassionately as the ladies, children and subordinates proceeded across. Wow. This really is Africa. What an amazing place.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">We made it back weary, salty, sunburnt, and entirely enchanted. For all its heat, inconvenience and grinding poverty Djibouti is one of Earth's special places. I'm not ready to start my own eco-tourism business here you understand, but with amazing diving, geologic wonders, exotic animal species, and French food...well such a thing could be imagined. As long as your air-conditioner held out, I guess.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Anyway. Next entry more from the alps...</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Photos are of the Salt Pan, the "Grand Canyon" and the Alpa male baboon.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Auf Wiedersehen!</span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">PS: Sorry about the weird spacing in some of the paragraphs. It's not an attempt at blank verse. It's an artifact of cobbling together bits written on different computers and different programs. I'll spare you blank verse...</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p></div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-23333138018717515422009-08-20T08:23:00.000-07:002009-08-21T09:37:55.545-07:00Peltier moments<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkx3BO2jp9mrPYZHCjG4B5zYuMM-JG0OzuGrIUWkY9XSvvabnV9NbGZKi_dMOXHkqneZsd83FuJWZAKuxlA52rJ_dGQzaJTXe1r_BliE3-RLYVRSZJNsvqPHZhZdUsUnk5305qZbJKbg/s1600-h/DSCF0226.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkx3BO2jp9mrPYZHCjG4B5zYuMM-JG0OzuGrIUWkY9XSvvabnV9NbGZKi_dMOXHkqneZsd83FuJWZAKuxlA52rJ_dGQzaJTXe1r_BliE3-RLYVRSZJNsvqPHZhZdUsUnk5305qZbJKbg/s320/DSCF0226.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372068041235590258" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkx3BO2jp9mrPYZHCjG4B5zYuMM-JG0OzuGrIUWkY9XSvvabnV9NbGZKi_dMOXHkqneZsd83FuJWZAKuxlA52rJ_dGQzaJTXe1r_BliE3-RLYVRSZJNsvqPHZhZdUsUnk5305qZbJKbg/s1600-h/DSCF0226.JPG"><br /></a><br />Hello all,<div><br /></div><div>This will be a brief entry for the fairly good reason that little has happened, and the less satisfactory reason that I've been sitting and typing at a computer pretty steadily for the last few days and I'm afraid it has lost its considerable power to charm. This is especially so as I am, alas, a wretched two fingered typist. Doubtless that's why I selected medicine as a career instead of, say, law. Lots of typing in law I reckon. Yuck.</div><div><br /></div><div>What have I been typing? I'm trying to knock together a plan for managing the flu (you know, <b>the</b> flu) should it have the temerity to show its infectious little head here in Djibouti. You'd think any self-respecting microbe would find a more congenial climate, and abandon this dusty corner of the world to the vipers and sand flies. We'll see, I guess. The fact that my last formal infectious disease training was a bit more than 20 years ago has compounded the problem for my less than dexterous digits. Ah well.</div><div><br /></div><div>I did have a chance to visit with our colleagues at Peltier, the Djiboutian hospital, this past week. Herman, Bill and I assisted with a prostatectomy, a hydrocele and a neck mass removal. It wasn't exactly the most challenging anesthesia in the world but it was a pleasure to spend a little time in the OR. The prostatectomy was illustrative (I should mention that the next bit may be a bit, um, medical. If you can make it through "Nip and Tuck" you should be okay. Although there's no sex). As there is really no such thing as a <i>recovery room</i> in the sense we use it - an area staffed by highly trained nurses, carefully monitoring each patient to be sure that they emerge unscathed from the arms of Morpheus - general anesthesia is generally avoided where possible. This means that we do a lot of spinal anesthetics, and because there are very few sedative medications available this means that we do a lot of spinals, and operations, on wide awake people. They are comfortable, of course, being unable to feel pain, but sleep they do not.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, this might be an awkward thing in the best of circumstances - say where you and your patient shared a common language. As most of our patients speak either Afar or Issa (seldom both) it is trebly so. Although much can be conveyed, one hopes, by means of gesture and glance, we are of course in masks, hair covers and scrubs and this type of communication is limited at best. For all that though, the patients are incredibly stoic. We start IV's, we sit them up and place spinals - an uncomfortable procedure that is made worse by knowing that <i>there is someone behind you with a needle and <b>he's going to stick it in your back</b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">. But our patients are almost unflinching, uncomplaining, mute. They do not protest, they don't pull away and they don't seem to be anxious as a rule in that most alien of environments - the OR. </span></i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Sometimes I think that perhaps the lives of the people here are so hard, and pain and discomfort such a commonplace fact that the transient discomfort of the anesthetic procedures is meaningless. As to their forced immobility (for with a spinal one loses not just feeling but movement below the level of our block), this seems to be accepted unquestioningly. Is this the embracing of </span>Imshallah</i> - the unquestioning acceptance of God's infinite power and wisdom? Is this a cultural stoicism? Or having commended oneself into the mysterious realm of the medical men, does one just resign oneself to their unintelligible jabberings, their annoying piercings and the odd effects of their medicines, serene in the knowledge that what can be done for you is being done? Something of all three I expect.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, there we were at the end of a prostatectomy. Bill and Dr. Elias had skillfully worked together to remove this organ whose overgrowth had caused almost complete obstruction of urinary outflow for our patient, a dignified older Djiboutian man whose beard was dyed red with henna in keeping with the local custom. The operation over, the gentleman lifted his head up and asked Elias a question. Replying in his language, Elias reaches over to the stand at the foot of the table, picks up a set of forceps, and grabs the now ex-vivo prostate with them, producing the offending organ for the patient's intent examination. The patient studied it silently for a moment and then asked another question in the Issa dialect. Elias responded thoughtfully and at length - all the time with the excised prostate on the end of the forceps waving about in his gloved hand, occasionally being gestured with to make a point. It was a singular sight. After a bit the patient nodded, laid his head back down and we wheeled him to the recovery area.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later Elias explained that is was important to almost all of his patients to <b>see</b> the thing that had been taken out of them. In fact he showed us a small collection of gall stones he keeps in jars in his spartan surgical supply office. In many cases of gall bladder surgery for stones, the stone will not be extracted intact but will be found as sludge or sand in the gall bladder once it's out. The inability to see the stones is such a source of concern for patients and their families post-operatively that Djiboutian surgeons have found it best to keep some stones around to show as evidence of a successful surgery. The patient is cured, the family is happy and much worry is thereby avoided.</div><div><br /></div><div>So that was one thing. The other was this. As the day wore on, I sat, paced the room, stretched, peeked over the drapes, fiddled with the stuff on the back table - stuff that anesthesiologists do while surgeons struggle on. Herman was watching the patient as well, so I felt no compunction about walking over to the far corner of the room and squatting down on my haunches - much as a cowboy might do out on the range by a campfire (providing he was careful about his spurs). It is a way I have of working the kinks out of my back. It seems to stretch out some nameless bits of ligament and muscle that start to protest after a morning plying my trade. As I sunk down, eyes half-closed, waiting to feel the tension in my lower back ease, I felt a hand in mine. </div><div><br /></div><div>I looked up, and Ali (whose name as far as I can tell is Ali Hajji), the surgical "tech" whose job it is to assist with setups and breakdowns, to bring the surgeons anything needed during the operation and in general to function as dogsbody for the OR suite, Ali had taken my hand. You must understand that all day the halls of the OR's at Peltier reverberate with the call "Ali!" or "Hajji!" as this slender, quiet man runs from room to room fetching and doing for the surgeons and anesthetists. Ali had been slumped on a stool in a corner of the operating room, but when he saw me squat at my end of the room, he figured that it was because I had no seat. Squatting is a common posture of - especially poorer - Djiboutians relaxing in shade or around a fire. The rocky ground is unkind I'm sure to those who would sit or lay down. Anyway, Ali smiled, took me by the hand - Djiboutian men will often walk hand in hand - and led me to his stool. It was done with such gentleness and such thoughtless generosity despite my protests that the moment has stuck with me all week. There is a solemn courtesy that many Djiboutians carry with them through their hot dusty days, a generosity with the little that they have which may serve to ease a bit the harshness of their lot.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that's it for the week. Nothing terribly profound, I guess, but I hope you get some of the flavor of the people we live among and sometimes work beside.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have great hopes for next week's entry, as a trip to Lac Assal, an ascent of the cliff trail near Khor Ambado, and even a possible trip to Garmisch, Germany may all have taken place ere I put digits to keyboard again. Not sure if all or any of these will come to pass - but they'd be good blog fodder if they do. Check back next week then, gentle reader and we'll see.</div><div><br /></div><div>Picture today is of the surgical ward at Peltier in the noonday sun. </div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-46478875226695597872009-08-14T12:09:00.001-07:002009-08-14T14:16:12.685-07:00Comedy...it's hard work<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQOy55AURnqwwPdLOPAL8HWGVepCRrpaxDH9du659-Z-9QEjsE2qbd-zZP_0ZDphveqijJw_CGnk92Vs-lhONalXEaAIaagGIcDRg9oY1Oaon7oAFN5ZZCAaoI4eTL402-qPVR_1orMs/s1600-h/Picture1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsQOy55AURnqwwPdLOPAL8HWGVepCRrpaxDH9du659-Z-9QEjsE2qbd-zZP_0ZDphveqijJw_CGnk92Vs-lhONalXEaAIaagGIcDRg9oY1Oaon7oAFN5ZZCAaoI4eTL402-qPVR_1orMs/s320/Picture1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369903521128812098" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Well, this is dangerous.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I’m starting the entry without a single specific topic in mind, but as nothing keeps threatening to happen, if I just wait for actual events to report I’ll never set fingers to keyboard again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>So…it’s been a quiet week at Camp Lemonnier, out here on the edge of Africa...</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">The big event so far was the visit, this past Tuesday, of a troupe of comedians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As it turned out, these folks hopped on a plane in LA and flew straight (or as straight as one can fly) to Djibouti.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I guess we were the first stop on their tour of the military bases in the region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I hope they have a bit better luck at their next stops, for while they made it here a few hours before they were due to go on, their bags never did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Thus they found themselves, deep in the insidious grip of jet lag, clad in what they could find off the rack in our tiny exchange, and on a large, bare stage in an echo-prone barn of a building, trying to make people laugh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The performances were a bit uneven - predictably I guess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">It made me think a little bit about the phenomenon of stand-up comedy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyone who has ever told a joke and <i>made </i><span style="font-style:normal">people laugh must have a little taste of what it would be like to, by the mere force of your words and gestures, </span><i>make</i><span style="font-style:normal"> an entire roomful of people laugh. It must be a tremendous high: you establish a connection in real time with people who, helplessly as it seems, reward you again and again with the audible evidence of their approbation – unforced laughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Anyone - say a diminutive, bookish, socially maladroit future anesthesiologist - who ever coped in school by occasionally playing the clown must at least speculate about living that life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Much as other folk ponder how their life might have turned out if they’d just stuck with those guitar lessons and gone on to be a member of U-2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">On the other hand, have you ever had the excruciating experience of being at a stand up comedy performance wherein the performer and the audience just don’t connect?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Where bit after bit is followed by silence, the shuffling of chairs and not so furtive glances at watches?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is for me one of the most exquisitely painful forms of social collapse to watch – indeed I’ll often literally avert my gaze like some might from a gory accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is so absolutely naked – a plea for acknowledgement and its stony-faced denial.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, without being critical, and without ascribing blame to either performers or audience for their poor relationship, let me just say that I spent a lot of time with gaze averted Tuesday night. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I had the chance to see the performers – two women and one guy – as they toured the EMF the next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We were on our way to Peltier for what would prove a challenging day of anesthesia, so I just had moment to dash over, shake hands and thank them all for coming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Off stage they were sweet young people, who were doing what it was that they could to make this little part of this long, long struggle a little better for the folks involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We’re all brave in our own way I guess, as providence grants us the scope to be brave. I was proud of them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Not much else of note.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We’ll have another pizza night and screen Godfather II this weekend, and with some luck I might get back to the beach although there are no concrete plans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Skype has been spotty these past weeks, which some are attributing to conflicts with Djibouti Telecom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Never heard that confirmed, but it is making the role of “away” parent a bit more of a challenge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sigh.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>When I went away I told Jack that what we were both doing, he and I, was making a sacrifice that lots of fathers and boys had to make so that the right stuff could happen for America and the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I believe that with my whole heart - all civilization needs to begin its slide into barbarism is the inaction of the well intentioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That said, there is not a day that goes by that I don’t wonder if I’ve done my son more good by trying to live the way I conceive that men (and women) should, than I might have done by being there while he made his way from 8 to 9 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I know there’s no military parent who doesn’t wrestle with this every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In the end I guess we must live out our values in front of our children, and give them credit for the ability to learn the value of sacrifice and to glean what strength of character it may bring them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I’d still be happier if Skype worked better.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Otherwise I am well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’ll attempt my fake ½ marathon on Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>13.1 miles on a treadmill…I’m not sure if I’m more worried about my knees or my sanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> Many sincere t</span>hanks to the folks who have left such kind comments on the blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is a small source of joy on many an arid day to feel that I’ve let anyone who is interested have some insight into our life out here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’ll make a concerted effort to go out and have some actual experiences in the next week, and send you all the results.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Picture is of the sign outside the gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Take good care all.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Ciao!<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p></p> <!--EndFragment--> </div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR66Wlr7POC72vFNIlly8FxCNDr10v0_COZqDN8g4y0CUob4iBjl3SzdAXYFhyphenhyphenfaOkCo4apIIosX6yjvn3n2AyN3DdfzSp2zOAGsUi5tzaWFR5eVz_7g6Dg5bPCXrah1Cf5UA0UI2iv94/s1600-h/Picture1.jpg"></a>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-8269485718848668362009-08-10T08:03:00.000-07:002009-08-10T08:55:57.549-07:00How far would you walk for a camel?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnRPs6PK-tacFRY8FsACPUXylwlPCYV1UIw4_7m7rV_hSX_YJQrgcsj1lcu9ZNycpHsgsuynfSme6V4nwrsQUW6V5JG25zjsk2LSgroM_eAIVfe7iW6qRbr8v9P_-GHVXdsG9XmWe8ck/s1600-h/DSCF0278.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEnRPs6PK-tacFRY8FsACPUXylwlPCYV1UIw4_7m7rV_hSX_YJQrgcsj1lcu9ZNycpHsgsuynfSme6V4nwrsQUW6V5JG25zjsk2LSgroM_eAIVfe7iW6qRbr8v9P_-GHVXdsG9XmWe8ck/s320/DSCF0278.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368353309171425682" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnT-PiyA71n0MlQrPn89h-57jgxmMPnTskcRuJmhWQOL_7QAZvUKGaAanYNKny5EkjXmSdNslxIjmixr0sGq1jGHegatQvWKY7J1urSN91TBIei1bS42M7JdmS4v9sTIkcboJxVmaR0DY/s1600-h/DSCF0279.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnT-PiyA71n0MlQrPn89h-57jgxmMPnTskcRuJmhWQOL_7QAZvUKGaAanYNKny5EkjXmSdNslxIjmixr0sGq1jGHegatQvWKY7J1urSN91TBIei1bS42M7JdmS4v9sTIkcboJxVmaR0DY/s320/DSCF0279.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368353301882638066" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M6khylcLz1uNSIGi8eJTAP-DP5F8k71FuvawAC8IWKT9WI-hgo6IxfjBzU_kC56Wy_KxRrGiPOjpwLfN6S_nEigdM7UtdQvBw6LbUcdcY0NEvmpceolAG2jxxqRhcDVjolHGJLZtHWY/s1600-h/DSCF0283.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0M6khylcLz1uNSIGi8eJTAP-DP5F8k71FuvawAC8IWKT9WI-hgo6IxfjBzU_kC56Wy_KxRrGiPOjpwLfN6S_nEigdM7UtdQvBw6LbUcdcY0NEvmpceolAG2jxxqRhcDVjolHGJLZtHWY/s320/DSCF0283.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5368353297041485394" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Apparently this has become a weekly blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I reckon that’s alright, as it’s probably better to blog weekly than to blog weakly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ouch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sorry you had to be there for that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, this week found yours truly once again on my way to Khor Ambado beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The aim of the trip was a bit more complex this time then mere enjoyment of sun, sand and swimming.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There is a small group of folks here on Camp Lemonnier who will be undertaking a climb of Mount Kilimanjaro in the not too distant future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Because the ascent has to take place within the 96 hours of the liberty granted to all of us temporary sojourners here at the Camp, the climb will be a bit more rigorous than it might otherwise be.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A method for achieving the optimal conditioning of both prospective climbers, (and their brand new hiking boots) was arrived at by the last group of Lemonnier stalwarts to attempt the heights of Kilimanjaro.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What could be a better way of conditioning then hiking 5 kilometers of truly inhospitable country under the baleful glare of the Djiboutian August sun?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And what better incentive than a refreshing plunge into the welcoming waters of the Gulf of Tajoura at the end.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The plan of course involves two parties – the walkers and the drivers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Although in truth I was intrigued by the idea of the trek, I was selected – no doubt for my skill in the use of the vehicle climate controls – to be among the latter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This is why the small company of trekkers were growing smaller and smaller in the <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>rear view mirror as the car bounced and jounced along the “road” to Khor Ambado (sounds like a Hope and Crosby movie) shortly before midday this past Sunday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All were of course amply laden with water, smeared with sun block, armed with GPS and cell phone – and some with new hiking boots.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Still, I felt like one of the less savory characters in <i>“The Treasure of the Sierra Madre”, </i><span style="font-style:normal">as I scanned the skies overhead to see if any vultures were circling expectantly. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The plan was for the drivers party <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>to secure a spot at the beach, while the hiker party negotiated the path on foot, with the expectation of a dip in the ocean, an icy coolerful of water, soda and Gatorade and a sandwich as recompense for the ordeal.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The suggestion that one might instead just follow in the SUV having been roundly pooh-poohed, with a few misgivings I gingerly threaded the vehicle past the rocks and ditches which composed the majority of the trail, and glancing once more in the rear view mirror saw that the walking figures had dropped out of sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The drive is sufficiently challenging that in truth I was unable to spare another thought for the perspiring perambulators until the car was parked in the shade of the trees lining the marge of the beach.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This is the parking area not merely for the northern end of the beach but also for one of the restaurants that sit along the shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I should say that, were you to arrive with a more western idea of “restaurant” in mind, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>you might be mystified as to where among the collapsing cement walls, windowless cinder block constructions and apparently haphazard collections of wooden planks and plywood the path to the restaurant might be found.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is only with acclimatization you realize that this <i>is </i><span style="font-style:normal">the restaurant. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As I stepped onto the sand, a figure detached itself from a small family group of figures who had been splashing and playing in the water at the beach edge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Squinting in the intense light of the noonday sun, I saw it was a shirtless Djiboutian man of middle age who strode toward me, smiled and indicated in French the vacant beach cabana that our party should occupy. The proprietor, of course.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I indicated that we’d be waiting for friends, and out of curiosity asked if they were serving food and drink today (remember – there is no external evidence that there is a restaurant anywhere around, except for the hand drawn sign averring it).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Mais bien sûr”, he replied, smiling broadly. Thus it was that when the intrepid walking party toiled up, a bit sweaty but otherwise no worse for wear, I was leafing through the menu and sipping ice cold water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In fact, driving had only beaten walking by about 30 minutes – a testament both to the dreadful road, and the good time made by those who elected to travel via “Shank’s mare”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Reunited, waters and Gatorades were drunk, swimming and bobbing were accomplished, and half of us ordered lunch (the other half choosing the sandwiches we had brought along).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Despite the unpromising surroundings, lunch was quite nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Baguettes, of course, and I had a sort of Nicoise salad, some beef brochettes and banana beignets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The breeze was onshore, and while this made snorkeling unrewarding as visibility was reduced to neglible, it made the shaded area beneath the awning quite cool.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Lunch, looking over the Gulf to the faintly visible highlands above Tadjoura and Obock, cooled by the sea breeze, was as pleasant a meal as I have eaten here on the Horn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>After a couple hours of lounging we packed up and prepared to head out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That’s when we had our, um, encounter.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">As we packed the last of the beach accoutrements in the SUV, I spotted a couple of camels about 50 feet away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Hmmm,” thinks I, “I’ll try to get a picture”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In my experience, camels are pretty stand-offish, so I carefully aimed my little Fuji at the beast and…click.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then she wandered closer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Oh good”, I murmur, “This’ll be even better”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Click.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Then it occurs to me that the camel is still moving closer. Quickly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And soon after that it occurs to me that camels are big.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Now, I defy you to look in those big brown eyes and not imagine that a gentle soul lies behind them, but camels do have a bit of a reputation for spitting and biting…so I was hesitating between wildlife encounter and hiding in the car, when with a final burst the camels made the decision for me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As the sequence of pictures above shows, we spent a brief amount of quality time together and, while I suspect my dromedary companions of designs on my hat, in the event we got on famously until one of the boys who’d been playing in the surf earlier shooed the beasts away as one might chase a pesky rabbit out of one’s vegetable patch.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Strapped once again in the car, we rattled our way back to the paved road and then home to the comfortable, but completely camel free confines of Camp Lemonnier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> It occurs to me that the camels wanted nothing other than to be fed, or perhaps some water. They are remarkable beasts up close, and at least in this case were quite as gentle as their placid gaze and long lashes suggested. Maybe next time we'll bring along camel treats...or maybe not.</span><o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> Not much else of note. We watched "The Godfather" on Saturday's Wardroom movie night, and my friend Jeff and I picked up some pizzas from a nearby pizza place to lend a bit of Sicilian atmosphere to the event. The movie, despite having become a cultural cliche, is still a great cinema experience. I must admit to feeling just the slightest catch in my throat at the scenes of village life in Sicily, where we lived for 3 very happy years when Jack was a toddler. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Doubt I'll choke up when I see Djibouti on the big screen in the future...but it's been an interesting time so far.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <!--EndFragment-->Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-89733716414822030122009-08-05T08:16:00.000-07:002009-08-06T07:03:10.594-07:00Khor Ambado<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCO2aHeI8ueKo2n1WGdQzOU_XyJ4JzkqFEweyHmbFa3vjICpVW_SxEIHjDU4W5-qO9xHp7lbY4AqaWmcDLGt66kwgonUHaI04hjbU97KGjWjtRdO280eMV29_gM2luafDUo653NtvYrs/s1600-h/DSCF0274.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzCO2aHeI8ueKo2n1WGdQzOU_XyJ4JzkqFEweyHmbFa3vjICpVW_SxEIHjDU4W5-qO9xHp7lbY4AqaWmcDLGt66kwgonUHaI04hjbU97KGjWjtRdO280eMV29_gM2luafDUo653NtvYrs/s320/DSCF0274.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366516409682709602" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw64BgvMIyWUzTBAjZg2mTUrKb8vAkkILOpuN0bdko8lAtD9rzq-pyOrCmFUQ1XcACsNBj5MS7zVdtNXhj5mmyAUdAcjhu3POQhSAioSvue-LNn0EMCjIIESUgdDWI3-RaOuWmbWmoYE/s1600-h/DSCF0276.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvw64BgvMIyWUzTBAjZg2mTUrKb8vAkkILOpuN0bdko8lAtD9rzq-pyOrCmFUQ1XcACsNBj5MS7zVdtNXhj5mmyAUdAcjhu3POQhSAioSvue-LNn0EMCjIIESUgdDWI3-RaOuWmbWmoYE/s320/DSCF0276.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366516398829677330" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Greetings, Gentle Readers,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I was “leafing” through my older posts last night (another great book related activity that the rise of the web, the Kindle and the tablet computer is going to force us to rename), and realized with dismay that it has been a while since my last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My internal Editor seems to have forgotten to insist on a deadline this last week – sorry if this has left any of you desperate for news of life here on the Horn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There have indeed been a couple of “blog worthy” happenings in the last week, so settle back, turn the heat in your room up - way up, and have someone set fire to trash in the room next door as I take you away on wings of imagination to Djibouti.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">So, I'm walking CLUwards on Saturday night after the Wardroom movie - "Bottlerocket", an early Wes Anderson film that I can only recommend to his most enthusiastic fans - when a couple of my compadres mention that they are headed to the beach on the morrow. I offhandedly opined that, were they to run into any problems, having a doctor along could prove the difference between life and death. And that I had a new dive mask and snorkel I was dying to try out. And that I'm really quite compact. And sweet natured. Anyway, they spontaneously asked me if I wanted to come along. </p><p class="MsoNormal">So it was the next morning, about 1000ish, I set out with 3 stalwart companions, and copious amounts of ice, water and gatorade to "French Beach". The beach's real name is <i>Khor Ambado</i>, and it sits about 15 km from Djibouti town, heading roughly west. The first part of the drive, which connects the port road to the fuel pier and storage facilities at <i>Dorale,</i> is the nicest road in Djibouti - smooth seamless black top with clear lane markings. This reflects of course Djibouti's dependence on the port and the pier, and on the good will of Dubai Ports World for such affluence as the country may claim. Once you pass the fuel pier however the paved road soon runs out and one finds oneself on deeply rutted dirt roads . Initially you wind your way on flat country between desiccated acacia trees, but after a few hundred yards the route leads uphill and your 4X4 climbs onto the plateau just inland from the Gulf of Tadjura. Here the trees vanish and, save for the occasional brambles, the scene could be on Mars - red iron-rich earth, covered by tumbled black volcanic boulders. </p><p class="MsoNormal">The road which has been bad before now becomes spectacularly so - choked with rocks, pocked with holes, and altogether absent in places where some hard to imagine rain storm must have washed through. And there you'll be bumping along a sun-baked boulder field that looks less hospitable than the moon, A/C at full blast, nervously looking out the window to see if vultures are following, when strolling along will come a goatherd and his hooved charges, looking quite as comfortable as if they were walking through the mall on a lazy Sunday. In a second they are gone and you are back to contemplating your extraterrestrial surroundings, wondering how....? It may be that this stretch of the Horn has produced no lasting work of art, nor a monument of architectural significance, but I think you could argue that mere human survival on this parched shore is its own Coliseum, Great Wall, or Sistine Chapel.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, after about half an hour of this, and just when you think the road couldn't get worse, off the right side the land drops away and between two headlands appears a tawny crescent of beach. The rub is the steep, twisting downhill that leads to the bottom. That haltingly negotiated, there is a short stretch of soft dirt, and and a few green trees to pass before you are there. Khor Ambado is about as idyllic a place as one can find in Djibouti. It is a fairly clean arc of sand between two projecting rocky arms. There must be fresh water close to the surface as the highlands tumble down to the gulf here as there are about a dozen lush green trees which provide shade, sited about 50 meters from the water's edge. Out on the sand are scattered <i>palapas</i> with table and chairs. The beach is sandy and this soft sand shelves very gently away as one swims out. The water is so close to body temperature as to make wading in an almost imperceptible change. At about 50 more meters offshore corals, marine plants, and reef fish are to be found. Not with the spectacular visibility and variety of some of my earlier excursions, but enough to make for an entirely satisfactory day of paddling, floating and peering. </p><p class="MsoNormal">There are a couple of restaurants on the beach, whose attendants will politely but firmly collect a 1000 franc fee for the use of their beach front and tables. The food by report is quite good, but on Sunday we met up with a large contingent from Camp who had braved the road with grill and grub in the back of their trucks and SUVs. Thus instead of <i>poisson yemenite</i>, we lunched on hot-dogs, hamburgers and beans. We were a party of probably 15 all told, and our only company on the beach were some of the folks from the German base, who joined us for food, drink and a couple of games of beach volley ball. It was a grand day out, and we bumped our way back home over the rough roads weary, salty, sandy and happy.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Next day was notable for a visit to Camp Lemonnier by the Secretary of the Navy, the honorable Ray Mabus. He is the former governor of Mississippi, and joked that he was glad to finally be someplace that the weather reminded him of home. The clinic was scrubbed from top to bottom in case of a visit, but in the event our only chance to see him was an all-hands address and question and answer session. He seemed like a very nice chap, and did a superb job of passing on how important he felt the Africa mission to be while acknowledging the many financial, organizational and geopolitical challenges we and the Navy face in the years ahead. Like all successful politicians of my experience, he had a gift for seeming both wise and approachable. Can't say as how I envy him his job (learning all the acronyms would do me in), but it was thoughtful of him to make us his first overseas facility visit.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Since then a pretty standard week. Mornings are relatively pleasant when the wind blows, but the heat is brutal by midday. My CLU faces west, and by late afternoon my brave little AC just gives up and blows warm air for a couple of hours until the sun drops low enough. But that way I don't feel cheated of the full Djibouti experience. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Reckon I'll stop there. Nothing big on the horizon, but I'll try to get another post up a bit sooner next time. Take care, all.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Oh, pictures are of Khor Ambado from the plateau inland, and of the landscape en route. Sorry they can't really convey the feel. Hence the thousand words...</p> <!--EndFragment-->Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-19618910987673087942009-07-31T09:00:00.000-07:002009-07-31T09:17:28.510-07:00Ethiopia, Korea and Djibouti<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OzuW_4_0y3UxlO6dUAQDaGHQPJeDutKyqN1CEst9uwTzCKcfZbUakBuWNW8iMbi_5Shli-h-wXMiycaghE8c79VS3nlh0glm9_ACg8GFRsdIfe-xXA0cSF7eTctWjJzQWy65CsO0eEQ/s1600-h/DSCF0247.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 261px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OzuW_4_0y3UxlO6dUAQDaGHQPJeDutKyqN1CEst9uwTzCKcfZbUakBuWNW8iMbi_5Shli-h-wXMiycaghE8c79VS3nlh0glm9_ACg8GFRsdIfe-xXA0cSF7eTctWjJzQWy65CsO0eEQ/s320/DSCF0247.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364658636039617538" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5FDkdhWBZ0bo74LPJYqeXS7xjKW0nait_wRHXuXk7liMviR5UdIVyqjYKy8CebxShrURMVadP4DT_VjzAh785XJp0USrrNzYEM1z_rupjXkghFLyvsAPJC8XNSFLR6jc_giev301a4Q/s1600-h/DSCF0260.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik5FDkdhWBZ0bo74LPJYqeXS7xjKW0nait_wRHXuXk7liMviR5UdIVyqjYKy8CebxShrURMVadP4DT_VjzAh785XJp0USrrNzYEM1z_rupjXkghFLyvsAPJC8XNSFLR6jc_giev301a4Q/s320/DSCF0260.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364656420795192098" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"><br /></span></span></div><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">What is your memory like?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Is it an organized place where you can readily retrieve any file you need at a moment’s notice – subdivided by sights, sounds, smells <i>et cetera</i>?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Or is it more like mine, wherein it seems as if I stand on a modest height in the middle of a junk-yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>From here I can often see the specific memory I wish to retrieve, but just as often must rummage around through the heaps – peering under the theme-song from “The Courtship of Eddie’s Father”, past the cake I had for my 7<sup>th</sup> birthday, and around the minimum alveolar concentration of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>methoxyflurane (0.2%) to find what I want.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I know it’s all there, but it’s often impossible to lay a hand on it at a moment’s notice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Thus when I look back at the highlights of this busy week, they seem to me as a jumbled, riotous kaleidoscope of sights, sounds and tastes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The demands of narrative however would be ill-served by presenting them to you thus, I reckon, so come along and let’s do this in order.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Tuesday night we assembled to bid a final farewell to Christian, the departing French general surgeon.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Now, those of you with more linear memories may well recall that we had made our “adieus” in a past<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>entry, but as it happened at that time, the topic of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>L’Étoile-Kokeb came up, and it was decided that nothing would do but that we all meet again one last time for an evening there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As Christian’s flight was Wednesday morning, Tuesday evening was decided on – and off we went into the bathwater warm Djiboutian night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We stopped first at Pierre-Emmanuel’s house at the French hospital for a chat over the obligatory pastis, and then headed <i>tout ensemble</i><span style="font-style:normal"> into the heart of the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was full dark as we parked on a side street off the central square.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We were immediately met by enterprising young men who insisted on the honor of watching The Mystery Machine while we dined – recompense to be decided later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This by the way is always the case in Djibouti – sometimes the, uh, attendants are there from the beginning and just as often they show up only when you are about to leave, insisting that unknown to you they were watching your car the whole time, preventing only through their vigilance and good stewardship the direst of fates for your vehicle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We always pay them a few coins, dismaying the French – but we’re Americans after all, and far too simple creatures to be appropriately skeptical.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, let’s leave the van there in any case.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Why L’Étoile-Kokeb?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The restaurant, whose names mean “star” in both French and Amharic, is an Ethiopian restaurant where the food – either Ethiopian dishes or fondue – is tasty and plentiful, and the service is accompanied by a <u>floor show</u>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As listed on the laminated <i>programme </i><span style="font-style:normal">music and regional dances from 11 of Ethiopia’s distinct cultural groups (did you know that there are 84 indigenous Ethiopian languages?) were to be performed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In the event, the entertainment was provided by two musicians – playing the </span><i>krar</i><span style="font-style:normal">, a type of 6-stringed lyre and the </span><i>kebero</i><span style="font-style:normal">, a large hand drum – and a male and female dancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The music sounds a bit alien to at least these western ears, as it uses a unique pentatonic tonal system, but the rhythms are immediately appealing and are made more so by the dancers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Each of the 11 dances involved a costume change and often different props.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am alas but an indifferent student of dance so shan’t be able to describe to general satisfaction the grace and vivacity of the dancers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Suffice to say then that we were entranced by their agility and finesse, charmed by their evident enthusiasm, and impressed by their fortitude.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Despite the ceiling fans, the nine of us were warm just sitting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>How the pair were able to gyrate, shimmy, twist and gesture for the hour or so of the performance without being visibly fatigued was a matter for wonder.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anyway, the evening was a great success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The food was lovely – I shared Ethiopian style food, served on <i>injera</i><span style="font-style:normal"> – the large sourdough pancake/flatbread made of </span><i>teff</i><span style="font-style:normal"> flour - with Paul, the new French surgeon, while at the other end of the party beef and cheese fondues were the call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Delicious and plenty, but I’ve described both before and shall not bore you further.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We finally waddled out after a couple of hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We thanked (and tipped) the dancers and musicians, and made our </span><i>au revoirs</i><span style="font-style:normal"> and mutual pledges of hospitality in France and San Diego before slipping our indefatigable vehicle attendants a few hundred Djiboutian francs and heading home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And that was just Tuesday.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Wednesday evening was an altogether different affair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The Republic of Korea ship Choi-Young (DDH) pulled into port on a training cruise, with 122 South Korean Midshipmen aboard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The Korean Chief of Naval Operations, Admiral Ok-keun Jung, flew in to meet her and a gala reception was to be thrown aboard the vessel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>At 1800 therefore, clad in my summer whites (some day I’d like to meet the genius who decided that white shoes would be a cute idea for a Navy uniform and pelt him with the 10 or so useless, uncleanable pairs I’ve accumulated in 20 years), I picked my way through the dust and gravel, and through the fierce heat of the fleeing Horn of Africa July day, to the bus waiting outside the air-terminal here on base.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There I joined about 20 other service members as we waited for the bus arrangements to be finalized – that is for a bus with functioning AC.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This ultimately accomplished, away we rumbled.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The Choi-Young was docked in a part of the port I hadn’t visited before – through the commercial section of the docks and cranes to the military docking area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Through the bus windows the scene was that of a post-apocalyptic science fiction film – weathered machinery, cranes, crates and containers lit or sunk in shadow according to the whim of the harsh sodium lights.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Choi-Young when we reached her was draped in lights, with a red carpet leading to the gang way, and side boys standing by to render military honors to the arriving guests.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The military niceties were executed to perfection, and we were ushered by immaculately uniformed crew members through the passageways (the cleanest shipboard spaces I have ever seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ever.) to the aft helo deck, where a brightly colored and lit awning transformed the deck into a reception hall, and the immaculate hangar into a buffet line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We arrived and were all greeted by tables of smiling, eager, respectful midshipmen and officers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>They were by turns charming, deferential, funny and informative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Their eagerness to please, pride in their ship and pride in their service made cynicism utterly impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was ushered to bar and buffet, the dishes sweetly explained – with cautions about the hotter ones.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Recommendations were made for the condiments which would best compliment my soup, and my rough skills with chopsticks praised beyond their meager degree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was already a lovely evening when the entertainment started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We were treated to music performed by a small band and by a quite junior enlisted sailor with an American Idol-ready voice.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The music selection was startling at first: “Tonight” from West Side Story,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Besame Mucho” and then a spirited rendition of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Funiculi Funicula” by the Midshipmen’s chorus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was a bit surreal at first – standing on a Korean ship, in a French- speaking African country listening to Italian popular music…but as I said, the pride and joy evidenced made any response but honest enjoyment impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There was a too brief performance of Korean music as well – a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>4 piece percussion group with an amazing 5 minute piece that wrung more rhythm, melody and emotion from drums and gongs than I would have thought possible.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The evening wound down about 9 p.m..<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The breeze, which had made the evening bearable, had ceased at about 8 30, and as reluctant as we were to say goodbye to our hosts, the thought of that air-conditioned bus was a considerable inducement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A wonderful night.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The last part of the week was given over to the visit of General Ward, the 4 star head of AFRICOM, here on a visit to his largest asset on the continent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He brought a team with him that included the AFRICOM surgeon.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We spent a busy morning touring the local hospitals and other exotic locales like the city dump – long story, I’ll tell you more of some time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Last night an evening social and dinner in honor of the General and his team here in the little common room of the “White House”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The general seems like an awfully nice guy – a characteristic I’ve observed of most Flag officers (Generals and Admirals), likely because so much of their success depends on their ability to inspire loyalty in other folks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that brings me<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(via a 2 a.m. call for a contract worker with severe asthma) to today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Whew!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I hope you won’t think me a dull fellow if I say that the chance to stay in tonight and watch <i>Firefly</i> reruns on my computer sounds like bliss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There is doubtless much more to be mined from the experiences of this very rich week, and I look forward to revisiting them as summer stretches on<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>- for my edification and your possible amusement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Tonight though that is it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Pictures of Ethiopian dancers, and some Korean cadets with a possibly recognizable US Navy guy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-35603758936637775762009-07-26T02:36:00.001-07:002009-07-26T04:15:18.663-07:00In hot water, again<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9AMwiRs0VfGjO09Ag_qTiLcrtLnbxHNh_DxmPKo2cWU2v8bIwa8go76a1q4RMGATAXONeYz_2K2OK0CL-cYYPpvtauVuL4sddQ0WBRZWK-kCSgCRS_Khi-jFiY9XGq2alsTGtB0bTY0/s1600-h/DSCF0174.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju9AMwiRs0VfGjO09Ag_qTiLcrtLnbxHNh_DxmPKo2cWU2v8bIwa8go76a1q4RMGATAXONeYz_2K2OK0CL-cYYPpvtauVuL4sddQ0WBRZWK-kCSgCRS_Khi-jFiY9XGq2alsTGtB0bTY0/s320/DSCF0174.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362700885110440306" /></a>Not that I'm counting, you understand, but presuming that I go home when originally scheduled I am officially at the 1/3rd mark of my wee trip to Africa. I'll celebrate with a bowl of ice cream, I think. Maybe strawberry.<div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So here's the thing. We "make" all of our own water here on Camp Lemonnier. It is generated by an immense reverse osmosis water purification unit</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">p</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">containing </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> you wouldn't want to drink (let's call it solute) is forced by external pressure through a synthetic membrane leaving all the solute behind and emerging as pure solvent (let's call it water). Of course, the military being who we are, we can't resist an appealing acronym. Revere Osmosis Water Purification Unit is thus R.O.W.P.U., pronounced "roh-poo". Refreshing glass of ROWPU anyone? Anyway, this is all very impressive when done on the giant scale we do it here - hundreds of thousands of gallons a day - but there is one <i>little</i> problem. As you can imagine, all that water is pumped through the miles of pipes to its final destination - let's take my CLU for instance. And indeed here it arrives, flow in gushing abundance from faucet and shower head. It's fresh, clean, potable and...hot! I have never once turned on the hot water in my months here, and it is almost uncomfortably hot to get in the shower - especially after coming back from the gym already steaming. Not that I'm complaining you understand. I'm appropriately grateful for the wonders of science and the dedicated engineers who make my morning shower possible. Besides, it feels marvelous when it stops.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">What else? Let's see...we have a new French surgeon in town. He's here to start his 2 year tour, and is now looking for a house in town so that he may bring his wife and children here with him. Naturally such an event can only be marked with a dinner, so we gathered up a group of our surgical staff, piled in the Mystery Machine and headed out. We met at the house of Pierre-Manuel, the French anesthesiologist, and after sitting for a bit to chat and gather the rest of the diners we headed out to <i>L'Historie. </i>T</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">y</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">restaurant just off the by now familiar main square, with a Franco-Djiboutian menu. It is one of the few places open on Fridays, the Muslim sabbath day. Food was superb. I had the house <i>aioli</i> - intensely garlicky sauce with a mayonnaise-like consistency - served with a plate of vegetables and steamed fish. It was lovely, but made me a bit wistful. The best <i>aioli </i>in the world is made by my lovely wife, laboring with mortar and pestle, carefully combining olive oil, garlic and egg to make a condiment that will knock your socks off. The <i>aioli </i>was good. But it wasn't Donna good. Sigh.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Anyway, it was a delightful evening. As an aside, as you'd imagine in Djibouti on a Friday night all the restaurant diners were European. More interestingly, they were almost all tables of men in smaller or larger groups. One of the French at our table told me that the locals call late July and August "the season of the whites", as all the French families have gone home to the cooler climes of France, and the men left here are out most nights for dinner. They did look a bit morose, on reflection - a recognizably hang-dog expression that men too long away from their families begin to wear. School starts again in September, and spouses and children will be back by then, so our wistful </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">oldats français </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">don't have too long to wait. Interestingly, the French school here is quite large - the largest Francophone school outside the mother country - and has an excellent reputation.</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;">Yesterday we spent at Peltier, but were limited in the morning by the fact that the hospital was </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; font-size:medium;">out of oxygen (!). This was amended by early afternoon in time for a laparoscopic </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; font-size:medium;">cholecystectomy. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">x</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">y</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">b</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">k</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">'</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">v</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">b</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">L</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">v</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">C</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">O</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">H</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">F</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">B</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">H</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">b</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">k</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">p</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">D</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">j</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">b</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m with a stabbing victim who had sustained an injury to his kidney and great vessels. (They're call great vessels because when your trauma team hears they're injured they think "Oh great, just great...). </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">'</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">k</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">l</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">k</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">'</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">v</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">k</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">g</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">n</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">d</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">'</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">i</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">t</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">u</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">c</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">h</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> appreciated</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:medium;">.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">s</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">f</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">o</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">r</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">m</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">e</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> I was left to make what conversation my poor abilities would permit with my table mates, and to once again be deeply impressed by the multi-country, polyglot group we've got here; by how well they function together, and by how strong the bonds thus forged seem to be. We bid farewell to officers from Pakistan, Egypt, France and Great Britain, all of whom went on at length about the value of what the team here is doing and, as importantly, about the value of the coalition experience itself. It is at such times one sees the world as it might be - a place where difference is respected and cherished, while striving for a common good forges bonds of amiable good will. But there I go getting all "UN" again.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;">Not much else. Got in a simulated 10K today, and an early brunch. I'm in the CLU now, as my valiant little AC unit, turned to "Antarctic", struggles unsuccessfully against the mid-summer Djiboutian sun. I've got a couple of things coming up this week which should be interesting (and yes, they both involve a meal). My friends in the OPSEC world suggest that I tell you about them <i>after</i> the fact, and so I shall. Stay tuned!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 12px; white-space: pre-wrap;font-size:medium;">Today's picture is of sunset over the mudflats of Djibouti city - the cranes of the port are visible in the background, and a soccer game in silhouette is in progress.</span></div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-66339827640666199142009-07-21T08:33:00.000-07:002009-07-21T09:24:27.953-07:00A marvelous bird is the pelican...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPD2QBJ4UtbefCTMA72CYUuR2XXHHQ1imeYQltizsoUadCWfb-JdAb64UVHY4RBaKAT03Bs2eBBoYP_Of-9PJUBK26X62GFY14keCnGd0_lTCmmfja-HIFvSU5lZiDalJX_g08zRXYv7c/s1600-h/Great_white_Pelicans_Im_IMG_8560.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPD2QBJ4UtbefCTMA72CYUuR2XXHHQ1imeYQltizsoUadCWfb-JdAb64UVHY4RBaKAT03Bs2eBBoYP_Of-9PJUBK26X62GFY14keCnGd0_lTCmmfja-HIFvSU5lZiDalJX_g08zRXYv7c/s320/Great_white_Pelicans_Im_IMG_8560.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5360949213733456802" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Hello All. </span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Once again what has been a fairly diverting weekend by the standards of camp life may not seem so in the telling, but here goes…</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My first big event was the arrival in the mail on Friday of my long awaited “Birds of the Horn of Africa”.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">It seems odd, but at least as regards avifauna, Djibouti (or at least the Horn of Africa) is a pretty diverse place.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are at least 70 unique bird species, and a huge number of Palearctic species, which transit the region from Europe to winter over in Africa.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">In a few minutes of reading I was able to put names to many of the species I’ve run into so far.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">These included Great White Pelican, House Crow (gruff but knowledgeable birds that walk with a cane and are experts in differential diagnosis), Osprey, Speckled Pigeon, and some variety of swift that I need a better look at, and my favorite, the Shining Sunbird (Cinnyris habessinicus).</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There are at least a dozen more I haven’t gotten a good enough look at yet to venture a guess, and I rather suspect that when the temperatures drop into the merely scorching range, more species may be visible.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I think, save for the heat, the abysmal roads, the remoteness, and the occasional land mine left over from old border conflicts, Djibouti could be the next big eco-tourism destination.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Seriously though, the geology, marine life and the birding are first class.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And we’ve already established that there’s plenty of good food out here.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A propos of the last, we had a chance to explore the cuisine at Djibouti’s true 5 star resort, the Djibouti Palace Kempinski.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">You can check it out, and even make your reservation at </span></span></span><a href="http://www.kempinski-djibouti.com/en/home/index.htm"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">http://www.kempinski-djibouti.com/en/home/index.htm</span></span></span></a><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The property sits oceanfront on the western side of the peninsula, and is notable from the outside for its well manicured lawn (Lawn!) and palm tree lined driveway as well as the tight security at the entrance points.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This is characteristic of a couple of the resort type hotels around here, and must reflect the dangerous neighbors that the wee country of Djibouti keeps.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Anyway, past the gate guards and other measures, you find yourself in an immaculately groomed, marble and tile, Middle East-meets-Africa motif luxury hotel that compares well with some of the nicer places I’ve stayed in the US.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">There is a cocktail lounge bar complete with piano jazz combo, a casino, a couple of nice pools and a spa.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p> <p><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The occasion for our visit was the Hail and Farewell for our arriving and departing wardroom officers.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This was held in the hotel’s restaurant, which features a large seafood buffet, highlighting French inflected Red Sea fare.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The food was lovely, the setting refreshing and the speechifying well done and graciously received.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I caught the bus home early, as there was some possibility I would have to take an aero-medevac patient to Germany.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This turned out not to be needed, and I wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I’ll have to take a “personal sanity” break and stay overnight at the Kempinski some time soon.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The thought of a bathtub sounds very tempting.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span></span>Incidentally the Kempinski is a hotel chain that had its origins in pre-war Germany.</span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The NY Times reports the following “</span></span><span style="color:black;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">As part of the Nazi regime's Aryanization program in the 1930's and '40's, the Kempinski family was pressured into selling what was then a chain of restaurants and wine dealerships to a non-Jewish competitor whose finance director was a member of the Nazi party. The Kempinski family scattered, some of its members escaping while others were arrested and sent to their deaths in concentration camps. Later, some relatives received compensation, but others remain embittered that the hotel, which opened in 1952 on the site of their restaurant on the chic Kurfurstendamm, continues to carry their name." </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And so it goes.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">The next day we had a smaller get together at the American Embassy's pool, for the officers and enlisted of the EMF. The Ambassador has a nice place, once you get past the security gates and barriers, on the ocean looking eastward from the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Plage des Tritons. </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">On the grounds are the Ambassador's residence, the pool and barbecue facilities, some administrative buildings and a small clinic overseen by a charming and delightful Kenyan nurse. The grounds are full of large trees, and roosting in one (besides the inescapable crows - house crows) was a solitary Abdim's stork. These are normally a gregarious species, but apparently the noisy Americans splashing in the pool below were more than enough company as he remained alone the whole time. Anyway, great fun was had by all, and I once again took the early ride home as I was the "duty Doc" and didn't like to be away too long. Beyond a solitary benign chest pain case though, I wasn't needed the rest of the night.</span></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Since then, not so much. Met a couple of other groups of interesting and friendly French officers - one a pair of Mirage pilots over a superbly prepared omelette at the local wine </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">négocian</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">t</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> and the second the French veterinarian and epidemiologist who came to Camp Lemonnier to visit and discuss our common interests. Off tomorrow to Peltier hospital to help out our Djiboutian colleagues, and perhaps a beach/snorkeling trip this coming weekend if the winds in the gulf permit.</span></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Hope you all are well. I learned of another Djibouti article in </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Esquire</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> while chatting with some folks last night. I read it over today, and while the author's biases are obvious, at least some of the information he gives about the Camp, the CJTF and the mission is a good synopsis of what it is we think we're doing here. You can find it at </span></span><a href="http://www.esquire.com/features/africacommand0707"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">http://www.esquire.com/features/africacommand0707</span></span></a></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Take care all. Write if you get a moment.</span></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-82541623874319432282009-07-17T02:26:00.000-07:002009-07-18T08:23:49.685-07:00Pizzaiolo<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyRlyEd1poW65EZDQmsahOPTzuQjnOC4O7gmBo7WfqzQ1t9mVMI-CL6V5EAaof1UOdpY4-QheNlfOfBndK0gvT4xNMT1s8qqa9-gxEVJRoc2EyZJ4Qa4ENmK7Torhu4dfbMeU5_1y88Y/s1600-h/DSCF0229.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAyRlyEd1poW65EZDQmsahOPTzuQjnOC4O7gmBo7WfqzQ1t9mVMI-CL6V5EAaof1UOdpY4-QheNlfOfBndK0gvT4xNMT1s8qqa9-gxEVJRoc2EyZJ4Qa4ENmK7Torhu4dfbMeU5_1y88Y/s320/DSCF0229.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5359359236362993474" /></a>I know that many regular readers will have gone without sleep these past nights wondering whether French conversation class or shopping and pizza won out for my Wednesday night plans. Well, tossed on the horns of a cruel dilemma, I did what any right thinking chap would do in similar circumstance. I rationalized until I arrived at the answer I wanted. In the end I reasoned that, whereas there was no reason not to consider ordering a pizza in French a type of "conversation", it was unlikely in the extreme that our French class would feature any pizza at all. <i> </i>The preponderance of benefit therefore was going out to eat and shop. <i>Quod erat demonstrandum. </i>Ah, the lifelong benefits of higher education!<div><br /></div><div>Anyway, about 6 pm I joined about 40 other folks from base at the air terminal. We received a briefing during which we were urged to stay together, remember our status as representatives of the US of A, as well various other cautions, admonitions and exhortations aimed at avoiding a clash of cultures. Suitably prepared, off we went. </div><div><br /></div><div> There is something very relaxing to me about travel as a bus passenger, head resting on the window glass, watching the world slide by. Every traffic stop is a little vignette, a little silent movie starring the passers-by. The eye takes in the costumes, the action, the background, the<i> mise en scene</i>, and almost as soon as our busy hominid brain assigns some meaning to the protagonist's actions, the whole affair slides away to be replaced by another. It is a curiously pleasant type of passivity and especially so in a new country where the actors, costumes and settings are new and fascinating. Of course, this was an air-conditioned chartered bus, and thus I wasn't crowded and sweaty, and I didn't have to sit next to anyone with a live chicken...</div><div><br /></div><div>We made our way up the peninsula, angling to the northwest off of Blvd. General de Gaul just past the French hospital, heading into what is denoted on the tourist maps as the "European Quarter". As sunset this near to the equator is always pretty close to 1800ish (it varies from about 1750 to 1830), dusk was falling as we touched down at our first stop - the basket market. This actually sounds a bit grander then the actual site - a short parking lot alongside an office building with cars parked on one side and the sellers sitting on the ground on straw mats opposite. All the vendors - there were about 10 - were women. Some of them were engaged in weaving while displaying their wares, and others smiled or called out to the 40 or so Americans now milling about the little space. Most of the actual selling though was done by men - youngish Djiboutians of about 25 years I would guess, whose relationship to the artisans was hard to guess at. They tended to speak a bit more english in any event. Were they brokers? Relatives? Anyway, the weaving was quite extraordinary, and I bought some baskets of various sizes and patterns to send home. I spent about 10,000 Djiboutian francs, which I'm sure was an awful overpayment, but I have nothing of the haggler in me. I left happy anyway. The women, all wearing colorful <i>shash </i>headscarves and brightly printed <i>garabasaar </i>shawls over their traditional <i>dirac</i> dresses, alas all declined to be photographed, a wish I respected. I had to smile at their girlish giggling when the question was put to them, though.</div><div><br /></div><div>20 minutes or so and back on the bus, and off through the rapidly darkening streets to Pizzaiolo. This is a pizza place (no, really) about half a block off Place Menelik, the heart of the <i>quartier Europeen. </i> It sits in a non-descript block of businesses, shops and offices and is a popular place with the French, American and other ex-pats. Pizza was really quite good - a wood fired thin crust very much in the southern Italian or Provencal fashion. My "Sicilian" featured oil-cured olives, capers and anchovies, and would have been at home in Palermo or Catania. It cried out for a nice Cotes-Rotie or a cold beer, but as we were not off base on that type of a liberty chit, a Perrier had to suffice. Sigh.</div><div><br /></div><div>Dinner finished we trooped back up from the cozy cellar dining rooms of Pizzaiolo, into the full dark night and back to the bus. Now we headed south to the approximate area of Place Rimbaud - the beginning of the <i>quartier Africain.</i> Here one is on the border of the "blue door" district, at the end of the sealed road and in what the Lonely Planet calls "the real soul of the city". It is a bustling, crowded, cacophonous and chaotic place, so I don't know what this implies for souls in general. What of you gentle reader? Is your soul a hurly burly market place or a quiet sunny piazza? I'm afraid mine may be a strip mall somewhere in Ohio, but that's a different matter...</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, if you've ever been to a 3rd world outdoor market you'll have a good idea of the atmosphere. The one street we were allowed to explore was lined on both sides with shops and booths selling a colorful array of clothes, electronics, African jewelry, art, carvings, masks, spears, knives and doubtless a thousand other things. As you can imagine, a busload of Americans being conspicuously dropped off in the middle of this teeming third-world center of enterprise has an effect somewhat like throwing a fresh side of beef into a tank full of hungry sharks. In seconds we were surrounded by dozens of men who ardently claimed to be our friends and to have nothing but our best interests at heart as they urged us in one direction or another, assuring us that everything at <b>their </b>kiosk was practically being given away. It was fun for a while to saunter along, peeking at this and that and surrounded the whole time by a small crowd of hopeful entrepreneurs. I bought a child's T-shirt for Jack. I would have loved to get him one of the Afar or Issa style tribal knives, as these are among the very few actually Djiboutian artifacts available. The carvings of camels, giraffes and elephants as well as the masks and jewelry are from Kenya mostly, and the clothing from China. Alas tribal knives are not permitted to be bought or to sent through the mails (and it may be that they aren't the best gift for your 8 year old anyway). A T-shirt it will be.</div><div><br /></div><div>After about 50 minutes of wandering about, we were shepherded back on the bus. The fuss had died down as the shoppers became less and less interested in the wares on display, but it was still with a good deal of relief I plopped back into the relative calm (and cool) of the bus. An old friend of mine once used the term "Mall Head" to describe the sensation of saturation with noise, bright lights and bustle that the mall shopper begins to suffer from after too long an immersion at the local Galleria. I had Djiboutian mall head. <i> Mall a la tete</i>?</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway home we went, bellies full of pizza and arms full of purchases. It was nice to have a chaperone for the trip, but I think I feel comfortable enough now with the streets and the city that I'll venture out in a smaller group next time. Does anybody out there need a wooden camel? I can get it for you practically free!</div><div><br /></div><div>Talk to you next time.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-14782660168349576792009-07-15T02:30:00.001-07:002009-07-15T06:38:29.233-07:00Earth, Wind and Fire<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkc8XeL6rj8wOrEaukSijdr0pyBD-KpKblD70auHg4XL20ZB6Yn0cQCC5ZFy7ahLheEUgOZ-AUbIqIJrX6dJB_L9LI-QZD_4R5UrQLQ2ZyGT1zeuUmkrifAz0E5xu-Eat4ALq2W3l-vfk/s1600-h/DSCF0161.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkc8XeL6rj8wOrEaukSijdr0pyBD-KpKblD70auHg4XL20ZB6Yn0cQCC5ZFy7ahLheEUgOZ-AUbIqIJrX6dJB_L9LI-QZD_4R5UrQLQ2ZyGT1zeuUmkrifAz0E5xu-Eat4ALq2W3l-vfk/s320/DSCF0161.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358617379564342402" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0aOWQ6DBfr_Ncpl_8DM9GRlSIAMtOs1nu9WFeHRWHH8Dj7FLelnN1E7yBf_Z8wLnsGB6HnkJomzFhenRjbbU4rCAkuBb_6pPkKqGTuRTrXxKDHxZgdQ_EkQir-gbiyrsDzt0PiK4WdkA/s1600-h/DSCF0161.JPG"></a><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">I guess I should be careful what I wish for. I was thinking to myself that I really didn't have anything newsworthy to put in a blog entry, and was wondering if this would be a good chance to embark on my long delayed career as a free verse poet when...</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Well, first thing I noticed this morning as I stepped out of the CLU was the wind. This wasn't very perceptive of me, as it blew the door shut while I was blinking furiously trying to get the gritty sensation of Djiboutian dust off of my eyeballs. Gusts into what I would guess were the 20 knot range swirled around me, the resultant eddies marked by dust swirls, like smoke in some test lab's wind tunnel. I was in a hurry, and was running late after a frustrating morning of trying to get Skype to work. In general Donna, Jack and I will chat at about 0500 my time, 1900 theirs as this leaves some time before Jack's bed and my workout. This morning we couldn't get the video portion to work at all despite several efforts at troubleshooting. It's interesting of course what one comes to consider the acceptable standard of communication. Last deployment (the 1st Gulf War), Donna and I would number our handwritten letters so that if one or two were delayed in the mail we would know what order to read them in. 4 weeks was pretty good turn around time, and the ability to call home after a 45 minute wait in line by a pier side phone booth seemed the height of convenience. Today I'm still irked that all I could do was a voice-only chat from the comfort of my CLU. It's a small enough thing I guess, but gosh it's nice to see their faces.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Anyway, forgive the divagation. Too late to make breakfast, I headed straight to the Green Bean - our little coffee house - for a little fortification against the day's labors. Coffee in hand I made for the EMF. With my hat brim pulled low against the wind (I believe this is the <i>Khamsin</i> - the summer wind from the northwest), I almost didn't notice the group of people gathered near the flagpole on my left. When I did look up I saw that it was most of the medical department - in various states of dress suggesting they had rapidly exited some place without time to locate hats or DCU tops. As I stopped, it occurred to me that perhaps the sirens I had caught wind-whipped strains of as I was walking might not have been a test as I presumed (they do test them some mornings). I walked up to the group. "Fire" said a petty officer, "in medical".</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">After checking to be sure we were all accounted for, or that steps were being taken to do so, I walked the 50 feet to the EMF. The front doors stood open, and a couple of our nurses and corpsmen were at the entrance. The smell of combusted material - the acrid scent of hydrocarbon and volatiles - wafted out. As it turned out, in one of the OR's, a light fixture had shorted out, causing a small electrical fire, which was in the process of spreading to the adjacent wall and ceiling when our nurses noticed it and quickly extinguished it. This was lucky, as the ORs are unoccupied at that time in the morning, and the fire didn't have a chance to do any real damage. Still the smell was pretty spectacular and has remained so through the first part of the morning. My office in the adjacent ICU was sufficiently aromatic that I've elected to "telecommute" until afternoon to give the fumes a chance to dissipate. Fortunately no surgeries were scheduled, and we have reserve OR capacity readily to hand. Still...pretty exciting stuff for our little clinic. We are getting things back to normal though and should be open for routine sick call this afternoon.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Had been a pretty routine week to that point. Sunday night a few of the officers were invited to a small dinner at the home of one of the embassy's officers, and she and the embassy nurse - a Kenyan native - put on a lovely spread for us. The meal was wonderful - a Kenyan style of baked chicken - and the chance to eat someplace with crystal, real plates and actual silverware was a great treat. Our hostess has been here about 3 years, a typical posting I guess. She will be heading back to the States in a month for the purposes of getting her "tween" age son into a school. When asked though, she was was eager for another chance to come back in a few years. I guess life here, especially outside the camp, is not so charmless at that. We do provide medical care at need to the embassy staff - dental most commonly - and it was a pleasure to get a look at life in HOA from their perspective.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">On Monday we were back at Peltier assisting with a bit of rudimentary neurosurgery. A young man with an old (a month or so) depressed skull fracture and a chronic accumulation of fluid beneath the site. Bill assisted the Djiboutian surgeon as they drilled through the skull, and drained the subdural hematoma. He (the patient, not Bill) woke up quickly enough, and time will tell if the decompression of the fluid collection will help him. No word on how the nurses strike was resolved, but we'll presume it was to general satisfaction.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Tonight I must choose between Major Perot's French class and the Morale, Welfare and Recreation trip to the shopping district. I guess you can watch this space for the ultimate outcome. Coming up this weekend is both the wardroom Hail and Farewell at the Hotel Kempinski - a true 5 star resort on the on the tip of the Djiboutian headland - and the EMF going away/weclome aboard party poolside at the American Embassy. I've been to neither locale before, and am looking forward to each happening.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px">Today's picture has nothing to do with the fire, unless you wanted to make believe my little reptilian friend there could be a dragon. This is one of the skinks that lives under this row of CLU's. I haven't seen him since this photo was taken about a month ago. Could it have gotten too hot for even the cold blooded? For the answer to these and other questions, tune in next time to your faithful Djibouti correspondent. See you then.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 16.0px Georgia; min-height: 19.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></p>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-11576703348653481842009-07-12T02:44:00.000-07:002009-07-15T06:39:12.602-07:00Doctor, the Nurses are striking!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJooxBfvTbKxbUt8U4uRQVjl2b39waPSSdCO14MWPvwk1J63RJDB5C_6FztMPTT-0kvz-20T-hNpq2yNk7AzYZKXIk1oMiVB9GCQn7YjC_4gYhdoxBW04EKapxkk2Fqveh1YrfynLv9w/s1600-h/DSCF0187.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJooxBfvTbKxbUt8U4uRQVjl2b39waPSSdCO14MWPvwk1J63RJDB5C_6FztMPTT-0kvz-20T-hNpq2yNk7AzYZKXIk1oMiVB9GCQn7YjC_4gYhdoxBW04EKapxkk2Fqveh1YrfynLv9w/s320/DSCF0187.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5357508273639262338" /></a><br />Yes, they're very attractive, but that's not important right now. We've got a surgery to do! <div><br /></div><div>Okay I apologize. There may be some medical term for the constitutional inability to resist a good straight line. If not, maybe I could get it named after me...<i>Shapira's syndrome</i>. Hmmm, not bad.</div><div><br /></div><div>Have I mentioned that the EMF's van resembles nothing so much as "The Mystery Machine" from old Scooby Doo cartoons? Well, there we were, bombing down the Somali road en route to General Peltier hospital to assist with evacuating a chronic subdural hematoma, and then a possible gastrectomy for gastric outlet obstruction of unknown etiology. Given the dearth of diagnostic technology - the countries' only CT scanner is currently broken - surgical exploration of the Djiboutian patient population is like a box of chocolates. Never sure what you'll get, to quote famous medical expert Forrest Gump. The cell phone queeped (Jinkies!) and Bill-the-surgeon answered, turning to us a moment later to say that surgery was on hold due to a nursing strike. Well, actually he said "The nurses are striking." So <b>I</b> said...well you get the picture. We'll try again on Monday.</div><div><br /></div><div>Besides the doctors at Bouffard (french) and Peltier (djiboutian), there are a couple of French flight surgeons who work at the clinic at the French Foreign Legion base, right across the airport from us. They are nice folks, one chap is from Aix-en-Provence and the other from northern France. They are flight surgeons by training, and fill a sort of emergency medicine/family practice role for their posts. Remember that the French are here for 2 to 3 years at a time, and bring wives and children along to experience <i>la vie djiboutienne. </i>The French clinic thus has a significant pediatric and limited OB/GYN role which we by and large avoid on this side of the runway.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, Christophe, the northerner and his wife Muriel were headed home for a month's vacation in France, and we got together with them and Christophe's provencal colleague at a nice restaurant en route to the airport last night to make sure that they were properly fed and wined prior to the 7 hour midnight Air France flight to Paris. We went to <i>Restaurant Bel Air, </i> and were seated in their outdoor courtyard for yet another superb franco/ethiopian meal. I had a greek salad with the local feta (hey, all those goats must be good for something), and then grilled grouper (<i>merou </i>in french), and quite tolerable rose, which held up well on the addition of ice. We communicated by means of smiles, gestures and mutual assaults on each other's native tongues. On the whole, I'd say English came out of it better than French. Sigh. Back to Rosetta Stone. Anyway it was a delightful evening.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm using Hal Higdon's Half Marathon Training program, and ran the prescribed 7 miles this morning. My hope is to finish both his "novice" and "intermediate" regimens prior to getting back home, with a view toward attempting the Half Marathon Triple Crown in San Diego in 2010. Be that as it may, allow me to observe that even with ESPN on the big screen, and lots of tunes in my iPod, 7 miles is long way to go on a treadmill. I don't think I could last the distance outside however...hopefully come fall it will be a bit more bearable on the outdoor track. Anyway, today's picture shows the Gym - it's the large cement circus-tent shaped structure on the right - and looking past it the dust obscuring the outlines of the eastern camp.</div><div><br /></div><div>First Netflix DVDs arrived last week, and having watched "The Wrestler" on Friday night, I believe that here in CLU 17 there'll be a Sunday matinee showing of "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button". As always, movie, music and book suggestions gratefully accepted.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that's a wrap!</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-10285210455343689762009-07-09T06:47:00.000-07:002009-07-09T06:56:45.332-07:00Pet Scan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahvsBrY4k2DFevsZP_qUPV42VxTnIfHp9pj7NkMdlzYpGqzJIg2p70VkX7y8RRMPgBZpA2NFZaI8jP8vVzrrlGS7fk-FS56icxKzV6ay-oZwqDYGOUOl6fun_0wqmn6FotWJzreL75kE/s1600-h/DSCF0214.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgahvsBrY4k2DFevsZP_qUPV42VxTnIfHp9pj7NkMdlzYpGqzJIg2p70VkX7y8RRMPgBZpA2NFZaI8jP8vVzrrlGS7fk-FS56icxKzV6ay-oZwqDYGOUOl6fun_0wqmn6FotWJzreL75kE/s320/DSCF0214.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5356458082318446498" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwHS5lWoL5rAlmclf9aCG7XFgPBcqWyDG95ouxvZITounnQTb5xwbCLGT_PXe3YBXiqn5s6wKFG9q3jfrdsVlfQlSHDVNu75-XIfK42ouYcj7Wbp6iMPG2dhqhjeqiDCfsnQ0uktcCjQc/s1600-h/DSCF0214.JPG"></a> <!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, if the length of the blog entry were to be proportional to the number of things of interest which have occurred since the last entry this one would have ended at “if”.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>As pictured above, one of our military working dogs (her name is Winni) developed a sore paw, so we brought her in for a quick fluoroscopy of her paw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>She was a good patient in general, and although I was intrigued to have the opportunity to assist with veterinary anesthesia, in the event no restraint beyond the comforting embrace of her handler was required.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sigh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>You’ll be glad to hear there was no fracture and all seems to be well.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Weather has varied from hot, dry, windy and dusty to very hot, humid and still.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Hard to decide between being steamed and being sand-blasted as being the more pleasant state of affairs – fortunately we don’t have to choose!</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I got a note from my friend DJ, one of my San Diego based officers who is deploying to Afghanistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He too has a blog, which deals mostly to this point with his <i>3 months</i><span style="font-style:normal"> of training at Fort Riley, Kansas in preparation for his imminent deployment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>If the topic of military guys headed overseas interests you, you should check him out at "<span style="mso-spacerun: yes">danieljmt.blogspot.com". </span>Of course, then come back …</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The big news here at the EMF is the arrival of the replacements for the majority of the folks here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Most of the officers and enlisted are here on a 9 month rotation – the current folks arrived last November and will head out in a couple of weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is a sort of sociologically interesting phenomenon that a career in the Navy affords one the opportunity to observe repeatedly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That is, as we are rarely in one spot longer then a couple of years, we are always replacing or being replaced – or observing the process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It is interesting to watch the new folks especially as they transition from juvenile wide-eyed newbies never more than a couple of steps away from their incumbent sponsors, to confident-appearing veritable teenagers just itching to get out from under the old guy’s shadow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A symmetrical sort of disengagement takes place on the opposite side as colleagues once passionately engaged in the matters of the day transition into absent minded, slightly vague creatures chafing to be gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Doubtless this growing impatience for the change to be effected is the product of evolution or benevolent Providence, assisting we sublunary beings to accommodate the unceasing change which is our lot.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Well, I can tell when the philosophy starts, it’s time for me to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I should mention in passing that today marks the 25% mark for my shorter (7 month) deployment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Well, 26.5% actually, but who’s counting?</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Ciao!</p> <!--EndFragment-->Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-61535591186049693292009-07-07T08:13:00.000-07:002009-07-07T09:23:58.159-07:00A Day at Peltier<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj718GK8cHjheHh4SCppGhtVBfatZz3tMaXfq5D0GOiZo0pZ_RTJXjmr6FHmUaeGYsJfRtH9WuDixd2T83mpU37P0fXyG77AMVMWhYBz3UuH-oyk4iNkManc1GG4UIkj4L4SUsisx3iTxk/s1600-h/DSCF0210.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj718GK8cHjheHh4SCppGhtVBfatZz3tMaXfq5D0GOiZo0pZ_RTJXjmr6FHmUaeGYsJfRtH9WuDixd2T83mpU37P0fXyG77AMVMWhYBz3UuH-oyk4iNkManc1GG4UIkj4L4SUsisx3iTxk/s320/DSCF0210.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355737364660850850" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgur22HaFOna488PKI8VsKQn1GjWVOijS1SazCXcZw2R4K_qCd1KjF43y7xsUJZw9_f6Jk-bh8yYnRi6ihquamv2iOOUVnP2a-NJEd5DnzbL6YCEFA83aBHkjYs0oH_R50kZo9o3YSN2Gk/s1600-h/DSCF0209.JPG"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgur22HaFOna488PKI8VsKQn1GjWVOijS1SazCXcZw2R4K_qCd1KjF43y7xsUJZw9_f6Jk-bh8yYnRi6ihquamv2iOOUVnP2a-NJEd5DnzbL6YCEFA83aBHkjYs0oH_R50kZo9o3YSN2Gk/s320/DSCF0209.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5355737360739717538" /></a>Monday was a day of anticlimax - a good thing in Anesthesia, perhaps less so in life's other aspects. As I'd said, we were off to assist our colleagues at the Djiboutian hospital with a sort of challenging case. If you study the neck film on the top you'll see a picture of a very lucky unlucky guy. The bright spot to the viewer's right is the way a bullet appears on x-ray. Many people with a bullet in that location - near some prime real estate in the human body - will not have survived to seek medical care. This chap did make it, still walking and talking, but developed a communication (that's a hole) between his carotid artery and his jugular vein on his wounded side. This turns out to be a bad deal - even if better then the other potential outcomes - as the high pressure blood in the carotid would <i>much</i> rather take a u-turn and head back down the low pressure jugular vein then take much more tortuous and wearisome route to its original destination, the brain. Brains though are pretty particular about getting all the blood they want, and this fellow had many symptoms of low perfusion of his cerebrum. Not to mention the constant hum (we call it a bruit) of the blood gushing from high pressure to low through the small rents in the vessels, which the patient complained about being too loud to sleep through. Finally of course, this type of post-factory modification of the Designer's original plan voids all warranties, and the abnormal junction between the vessels is likely to fail in time, with catastrophic results.<div><br /></div><div>Our mission then was to assist the Djiboutian surgeon and anesthesia team with a fairly complex case, combining such skill as we had and resources as we could spare with those of the good folks at Hopital Generale Peltier. We brought along one of our monitors, some materials for pressure monitoring, and a few drugs that we knew we would want if things went wrong. In the team were a couple of our OR techs, our OR nurse, Bill our surgeon, and Herman and me to provide anesthesia support. We probably didn't<i> both </i>need to go - but heck we've only got one surgeon so anyone who stayed back at camp wasn't going to be doing much. I was going to say that nobody ever comes by for just an anesthetic, but events surrounding Michael Jackson's passing may yet prove me wrong.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, although I could talk anesthesia and surgery all day, I'll spare you the details. Our set-up went well despite the failure of our expired carbon dioxide monitor to work as desired. As it turned out, the answer would have been to turn it off then turn it on. Try to find <b>that</b> in the instruction manual though. Anesthesia was uneventful (anticlimactic) and Bill and Dr. Elias quite skillfully found, isolated and repaired the injuries and closed the patient's incision back up. Our wake up was a little slower than we could have hoped. In Djibouti the anesthesia machines use halothane, an older volatile gas that tends to hang around longer than the more modern agents used in more well resourced areas (heck, we don't even teach halothane to our residents anymore). Wake up our patient did though, apparently doing well and with a normal neurologic exam. It was a long day - about 8 hours from our arrival to departure - but a good one. I don't mean to imply by the way that the Djiboutian team couldn't have done the case without us - they are excellent folks and would have done fine I'm sure. As it was it was nice for both sets of folks to have a chance to work together through a case that was a little unusual for everybody concerned.</div><div><br /></div><div>In any event, the picture on the right is of Herman, Dr. Mustafa and me right before we got started. I'm in the middle. :-)</div><div><br /></div><div>The next part of the day was to have been the party at the US Embassy celebrating Independence Day. It was to be in summer whites for officers and "business casual" for civilians. I was feeling just the least bit smug for thinking to have Donna send my whites against just such an occasion. As you can imagine, a bright white uniform with white shoes, is an awful potential burden here in the land of blowing dirt, so most folks leave them at home. When you need your whites though, it is nice to have 'em handy. As I started to get dressed, however, I realized with dismay that I had omitted to ask Donna to send along my name tag - it goes over the right breast pocket - and would thus have an incomplete uniform. Argh! As Proverbs 16:18 doesn't <i>quite </i>say "Pride goeth before the fall". (What it actually says is "Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall". Nobody ever quotes <i>that </i>though - the other being a bit more compact and pithy). I thought about it for a while, and decided that although it was a small omission, I didn't want to be out in a uniform that was less then perfect, not at the Embassy and not on that occasion. I called my ride and begged off. I felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball.</div><div><br /></div><div>As it turned out, the folks who attended had a fine, if hot and sticky time as the affair was held outdoors. I'm sorry I didn't get to meet the embassy folks, but I've met a few as it is and will hope to have other chances. As for me, I went to my CLU, watched the last of season 1 of <i>The Wire</i>, and had a grand night's sleep. Anticlimax again.</div><div><br /></div><div>And that wraps it up. After some thought, and some advice from my very thoughtful correspondents, I've decided to stay with the blog format. This seems to suit me just fine, and I can't help the suspicion that I'm just not cool enough for Facebook.</div><div><br /></div><div>Nothing big on the horizon, but rest assured that your faithful Djibouti Djournalist will keep his eyes open and his trusty Mac at the ready. Take care, gentle readers, until next time.</div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-28682257429123697912009-07-05T04:20:00.000-07:002009-07-05T06:11:56.982-07:00The Fourth<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17inh7ihYKVPEisFcKWl7XnrnewEwPtcYPODo2bynRk439OsjOYw-Tir8HDoKD52uwAUwEt62DaLXBbl3wdq2MtKBuP8sxM5WHs8p0YeuJzWs6kajuj0M52mWb2j6fgwIEfvAFFEjdU4/s1600-h/DSC02186.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg17inh7ihYKVPEisFcKWl7XnrnewEwPtcYPODo2bynRk439OsjOYw-Tir8HDoKD52uwAUwEt62DaLXBbl3wdq2MtKBuP8sxM5WHs8p0YeuJzWs6kajuj0M52mWb2j6fgwIEfvAFFEjdU4/s320/DSC02186.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354935528188056786" /></a>Happy Fourth of July!<div><br /></div><div>It's been a fairly sedate weekend here at this end of the great Rift Valley. The weather pattern here has entered the season of the "fifties" - this was described to me as temperatures in the 50's (Centigrade), winds gusting to 50 knots, and all lasting 50 days. We're on day 5. The wind is now a constant companion in any outdoor activity, and whistles and moans around the outsides of the buildings at all hours. I was grateful to the breeze at 0600 on the 4th when I was on the outbound leg of the Fourth of July 5K. It was a well attended event - there was some fear that they would run out of T-shirts and they were thus promised only to the first 100 or so finishers. As it turned out we all got one, but it was a near thing. The outbound leg was to the east, so the wind was a gentle hand, planted firmly in the small of one's back and there was the sensation of near effortless skimming over the gravel of the running trail. Just past the mile and a half marker though we turned and now the wind was both an impediment to forward progress - like trying to run through warm molasses - and the bearer of clouds of fine dust and sand. I thought of drafting behind some other runners, but the only ones I could catch up to were shorter than me! Rats. Anyway, made it to the finish behind many and in front of quite a few and <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;">most</span> importantly, got the T-shirt. The picture today is of the crew from medical (the runners anyway) prior to the race. I'm the guy in the white shirt. All I can say is that from inside them my legs don't <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">feel</span> that skinny.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of the larger contingents on the course was made up of the Japanese Maritime Self Defense Force folks, in their bright yellow PT shirts with the rising sun emblem on the breast, and JMSDF on the back. I'm trying to figure out how to trade a US NAVY PT shirt for a Japanese one, but fear that ours are a bit less attractive and the swap may not seem all that tempting (and of course we can buy ours here on base). Also, I'd need to speak Japanese.</div><div><br /></div><div>Later on that day I wandered down to The Oasis - our sort of movie theater - where as part of the day of festivities various patriotic films were being shown. It was now mid-afternoon, and the feature was "The Fighting SeaBees" starring John Wayne, Susan Hayward and featuring William Frawley in his pre Fred and Ethel days. As our CO is a SeaBee (well, a Civil Engineer Corps type), there had been a good deal of ribbing about the film on e-mail in the days before the screening. The film is perhaps not Wayne's greatest role - that would be "The Shootist" I think - and was a mostly formulaic recounting of the founding of the Naval Construction Battalions in World War II. What made the experience distinctly odd was the fact that about half a dozen of our Japanese colleagues wandered in as the movie started. </div><div><br /></div><div>Naturally, all the action in the movie takes place in the Pacific theatre of the war, and in keeping with the conventions of movies of that era, the screen resounded with casually racist references to the Japanese antagonists of the movie's central characters. With each utterance of "Japs" and "Nips" I felt increasingly uneasy about things, and by the time statements like "we aren't fighting a human enemy" were uttered by the cast, I was wondering how I might best slip out the door without tripping over too many feet. I stayed, in the end. And at the film's end the lights came up and we all blinked and stretched and smiled at each other and left.</div><div><br /></div><div> What an interesting world. Of course the Japanese officers and men must know the conventions of genre films of the era, and naturally insults in a foreign language never really have the bite they do to a native speaker (this is why <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">goyim</span> casually call each other horrible names in Yiddish like "schmuck" - they may know what it means, but it has no real purchase on the English speaking mind). And doubtless the Americans come off less favorably then we might wish in Japanese WWII movies (of course I don't <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">know </span>this). Still, I felt obscurely embarrassed. Good odds I was the only one - like poor old Basil Fawlty in the Fawlty Towers episode where the Germans come to the hotel, and Basil is so obsessed with not mentioning "the War" that mentioning it is all he can do. </div><div><br /></div><div>Still I wonder what they made of it. How odd it all seems, with these gentle, elegant, polite men sitting beside me in the mess hall, or running beside me on the Independence Day run, that two generations ago we would have been mortal enemies. So may it be for our children and our enemies of today.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Can you name the 8 John Wayne films in which he dies (without googling it)?</div><div><br /></div><div>In the evening I had the good fortune to attend a party given by one of the civilian folks who work with the Combined Joint Task Force here in the Horn of Africa. She and her partner live in a lovely 3 story place about a mile or so from base. This was another occasion on which Djibouti seemed to me like Sicily only more so. For all of the wonderful Italian contributions to design and architecture, most of the new buildings in many Sicilian towns are utterly charmless from outside - concrete slab walls, shuttered windows, wrap around balconies crowded with unused furniture, and surrounded by high walls with barbed wire or broken glass on the top to discourage intruders. Step through the double locked, steel doors though and you are in the Italy you imagined - tastefully appointed, full of fine and beautiful things and brimming with the warmth of italian family life. All this surrounded by the least appealing, most daunting outer walls and facades you can imagine. Djiboutian construction is similar, but the circumstances outside the gates are much more dire.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyway, it was nice to speak with a different set of folks - met two veterinarians who spend most of their time "down range" assisting folks in Uganda, Ethiopia, Kenya and the like - and to eat with actual metal utensils. American barbecue chicken served with croissants, and red, white and blue cupcakes with a superb bourbon flavored icing were the highlights. It felt like I had been sitting at the kids table for the last 2 months - eating on paper plates with plastic forks - but got to spend a night with the grown ups. A lovely Fourth.</div><div><br /></div><div>Reckon I'll stop there today. Our new contingent of medical folks arrive tonight at 0045ish. They'll be the replacements for the 35 or so of the EMF staff who didn't change out when we got here. Needless to say our colleagues have been a bit distractible of late. Big case tomorrow at the Djiboutian hospital, and a party - in summer whites - at the embassy tomorrow evening. Stay tuned for the latest in Djibouti's glamorous social whirl...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> </div>Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6321323301634599735.post-23069208675336110902009-07-02T12:22:00.000-07:002009-07-02T12:27:16.776-07:00The Summer Wind<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVZGEbij5TLC04tfOCIluna3gWvAZpsJnWh8mI9rPg14qHJpcGESO5M1pgwvjng7rOZuTHAJQOG5H2isHswlBy6NJ8lrxsenASZzLXjgCwlq5RYv0UQ1KyP1f4PWNLTF0ha4AY4PSmIA/s1600-h/Picture1.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 210px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVZGEbij5TLC04tfOCIluna3gWvAZpsJnWh8mI9rPg14qHJpcGESO5M1pgwvjng7rOZuTHAJQOG5H2isHswlBy6NJ8lrxsenASZzLXjgCwlq5RYv0UQ1KyP1f4PWNLTF0ha4AY4PSmIA/s320/Picture1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5353945744038015698" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Apparently summer here starts on the 2<sup>nd</sup> of July.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I say this because when I stepped outdoors at 0530 this morning it seemed like I was standing in front of an electric blow dryer, set to “hot” and full speed.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Humidity…gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In its stead a constant, slightly gritty breeze out of the west that takes one at first like that first gasp of heat when you open the oven to baste your Thanksgiving turkey – your muscles stiffen instantaneously as ancient reflexes try to prevent you from imperiling your primitive ape self, but <i>homo sapiens</i><span style="font-style:normal"> quickly reasserts himself and you reach in to baste the bird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Of course, maybe this is a bad analogy, as I believe I end up as the baste-ee in this scenario.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Seriously though, there was a moment yesterday morning when the wind – which has been from the east for the past 7 weeks (7.09, but who’s counting) – switched and began to blow from the west.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s like that cinematic trope where the coming of the tornado or the hurricane is foreshadowed by the creaky, hesitant movement of the old weather vane on the barn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Next scene is the crisis – sheets of rain, horses stampeding, Dorothy pounding on the door of the storm cellar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The equivalent scene here was me peeking out from under my covers this morning, and thinking that the alarm clock must be set incorrectly – it was just too dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>When I crossed my CLU threshold though, the reason was obvious - the sky was dark with dust.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>What had before been a haze, like a cinematic special effect, was now a smoky soup, dimming the light of the sun and thickening the parching air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As the day has gone on, the sun has brightened a bit, but the air is still startlingly hot at one’s first breath upon leaving the comfort of quarters or office.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sorry to have gone on at length about the weather, but in a life of general sameness it has been a startling if predictable change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Not much else of note, truly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’ve been afflicted for the past 3 or 4 days by an old and obscure injury which results from time to time in a knot of spasmed muscle beneath my right scapula.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It feels like an epèe may have been run through me – okay like I imagine that would feel – and fades transiently only to transfix one anew with any errant move,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>like a deep breath, lifting a cup, or rolling over in bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The odd thing is that this is like the visit of an unwelcome relative – not pleasant of itself, but reassuring in its familiarity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’ll last a week or two and fade away again I imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Odd how one comes to term with one’s advancing infirmities, making acquaintances of old enemies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The hidden benefit here is that the only thing which seems to help is running – after 3 or 4 miles I’ll usually be good for a few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Must be the endorphins I reckon, but I like to think of it as Mother Nature’s reminder that the niceties must be observed if I expect this ungainly assemblage of muscle, bone and sinew to carry me along another 48 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Okay, enough about that.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Had my second “conversational French” session with our French liaison officer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This is a class of sorts that he volunteers for on Wednesdays and attendance varies from six or so to just one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Last night it was the latter – just he and I.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He is a very nice guy with movie star good looks, but no particular teaching method.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In general we’ll just talk in mixed English and French until we get to the limit of my understanding – a short trip – and he’ll write out the relevant phrase on the dry erase board and go over the niceties of pronunciation and idiom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It’s good review and as it takes an hour out of his time time each Wednesday evening I am duly grateful.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The Fourth of July looms ahead.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There is to be a 5k run in the morning which I reckon I will hazard, and then multiple other activities throughout the day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The US Embassy is inviting the base officers to a reception this weekend as well, so I’m glad I asked Donna to send my whites out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In the further term, we’ve been asked to assist early next week with a carotid-jugular fistula (repairing, not creating) at the Djiboutian hospital which will pose some interesting problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>More to follow.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve been thinking about switching my blogging activities to a Facebook account for various reasons, but don’t know anything about Facebook and thus have no real data upon which to base a decision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Do any of you social networking savants out there have any thoughts?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I’d be glad to hear ‘em.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I guess that’s it for now.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Hopefully lots of interesting stuff to relate after the weekend. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Djohn's Djibouti Djournalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02791925973894417414noreply@blogger.com1