School Days

Its occurred to me that I haven't written at all about my day-to-day work here. Now 4 weeks in, its probably time...

At the beginning there was lots of cleaning and building and fixing. We cleaned the classrooms of the school, reorganized them, rebuilt broken desks and chairs. We cleaned out the old dorm room, which were actually classrooms, used as temporary dorms while the proper dorm buildings were under construction.

We also stocked the library; AT received a shipment of some 20,000 books from an organization called “Books for Africa,” and the boxes and boxes of books needed to be unpacked and sorted. We created several shelves of “haram” or “forbidden” books in the teacher's lounge. Books with references to sexuality or other sensitive topics belong there.

We have built and are building more bookshelves and desks and benches. Most recently, we've cleared out the building that is to house the science labs of last year's leftovers – the building was used as the temporary girl's dormitory. Now the girls are in their own (absolutely lovely) dorm, and the science building is clear and ready to be filled with equipment and chemicals and specimens and students. Part of my job as science (Biology) teacher is to aid the department head and physics teacher, Daniel, in stocking the lab. This means, essentially, building the lab up from scratch. We've laid out a wish-list “floor plan,” and now we need to order proper lab benches and counters, and ensure the right type of sinks are installed. We need to make sure that electrical outlets are built into each lab bench. We need to order all of the equipment necessary to make the science program at AT competitive with the best science programs at Western high schools.

As classes are starting on Tuesday (9/28), we must accept that the science labs will not be completely ready for the students this year. I'm brainstorming lots of ways to introduce students to experimental methods without the fancy equipment. By starting out the year with a unit on ecology, I hope to show my students that the entire outdoor environment here is our laboratory. Wish me luck.

In addition to preparing the physical lay-out of the school, library, laboratories, and even the dorms, all of the teachers here have been busy planning out curriculums. We are using US, GCSE, and other sources – AP and Teach-for-America – to create academic programs in each of our subjects that will prepare students to compete well on the SAT, and enter Western colleges on par with their peers from the best college-prep schools in the world.

I will be teaching Biology, yes, and a 9th-grade Geometry course too, and so far I've been planning out diagnostic tests and long-term plans in accord with the resources available here. It is fun to look back at material mastered long ago, and know that I can teach it with confidence. It is also fun to think that I have the chance to not do those things that annoyed me so much as a student in the past.

Fortunately I've had a chance to sharpen my teaching skills with a 2-week program here designed to immerse the AT Finance University students in English before the start of their fall term. I co-taught courses on Logic and Study Skills, and found (to my surprise) that I really, really, really loved the whole thing. I did not anticipate that I would enjoy the process of teaching nearly as much as I do. I completely underestimated the extent to which I would become invested in the student's success, and I did not realize how much I would value their respect and trust.

The students here are everything I'd silently hoped for and more. They are very warm and welcoming. They use the term “Teacher” as a title, such that whenever a student is speaking with me they say, “Teacher, would you please....” or “Teacher what is....” Or “Teacher do you like....”

Watching the students interact with one another is one of the more endearing behaviors I've witnessed. They outwardly display their friendly affection through platonic physical contact. They are always hanging onto each others shoulders, walking arm in arm, or even holding hands – boys with boys, girls with girls. Picture this: A group of strong, healthy Somali teenaged boys, crowding around you. Each member of the group either has his arm around another's shoulder, leaning in, or an arm around another's waist. Two might even be holding hands. And to them, this is completely cool. It is so so different from the stand-off-ish male behavior I am accustomed to. This does my heart good. The girls are just as affectionate with each other, and will often include me in their circle of hugging/shoulder-leaning when we are speaking informally. But there is no interaction between males and females – girls naturally sit on one side of the room, boys will segregate themselves to another. The gender-divide affects every aspect of life.

All for now – there is more curriculum/lesson planning to be done, I need to be sure the girl's dorms are fully prepared to handle 20 more students tomorrow, and I promised I'd play basketball with the girls. :-)

Storms in Africa

The rainy-season has been – and continues to be – unusually long and productive in Somaliland this year. I came to Somaliland expecting to find only the dry heat of the desert, and instead I've found a green, fertile, almost arable oasis. It's rained nearly every day since I've arrived. The days progress like this: the winds pick up just before sunrise, then continue to gust through the morning as the sun lights up billowing clouds and warms the air. The winds calm a bit around the midday, as if oppressed by the weight of the heat. Then in the late afternoon the winds again stir, ushering in even more massive cloud formations – some of them dark blue thunderheads. As the storms gather and grow on the horizon around our hill the sunlight beams through breaks in the clusters, creating a dramatic spot-lit background on which the lightning begins to dance. Rumbles of thunder roll their way to our hill and wash out again into the distance. All this while the wind rushes to meet the theatrics with ever more fortissimo gusto. When the wind reaches its hilt having blown the dark blues directly overhead, the rain begins. The rain always begins gently, but will sometimes decide to pour with a strength matching that of its fellow element, the wind. The marvelous production seems to end with sunset; perhaps the disappearance of the sun-spotlight takes away the fun of such a performance. There is a moment when it becomes clear that evening has completely ensconced the whole world, quietly, while the storms were creating their artful distraction. Everything becomes still, until the wind returns, and howls its way through to morning.

If you want to hear what it feels like to live in this environment (from my point of view) listen to the song “Storms in Africa,” by Enya. Yep, Enya. Really. Life is good.

On nights when the sky is clear of clouds, the stars are revealed like I've never seen them before. I've seen more shooting stars here in 4 weeks than in my entire life before Somaliland. I can also confirm that the Milky Way actually does exist – because I've seen it here with my own eyes. The school has a very high quality telescope, and Daniel, the resident PhD in Physics, happily sets it up when the opportunity for star-gazing presents itself. Tonight he zoomed in on Jupiter and its moons. Venus was also visible with the naked eye as were millions of other twinkling orbs. Millions more were probably hiding in the bright light of the moon, tonight. 

the latest, including some local drama

There has been some drama here in the wake of Abaarso's decision to “press charges” and imprison Omar and his brother Mulit, (Mull-eat) the psychologically unstable man who vandalized the track and threatened a certain track-runner. There is a bit of a backstory involved. When Abaarso Tech was first being built, a quiet deal was made between one of the AT Directors and Omar regarding the use of the land on which the school sits. Omar claimed ownership of the land, though every government official consulted deemed the land “public,” to the extent that it had been virtually untouched for many hundreds of years. But to appease Omar, said Director promised that in return for Omar's “donation” of the land, he would be given a job at Abaarso Tech. Omar's job, for which some say he was grossly overpaid and under-qualified, was to turn the school's generators on-and-off at the appropriate times of day. He was quite complacent about this duty, and was generally difficult to work with, and so the AT administration had long been unhappy about his employment here. Now that Omar committed a blatant act of vandalism, AT had a legitimate reason to terminate his employment and find someone who would work earnestly for pay here.

In the meantime AT has relied on some of the other employees here to manage the power generators – the guards, mostly. But a day or two ago the Abaarso Village Elders decided that none of Omar's clansmen are permitted to take over Omar's position. This is essentially the Somali version of Western-style Labor Unions. The AT administration hold 2 viewpoints on this simultaneously. On the one hand, they agree with the employee who relayed the news of the Elder's decision: while in Somaliland, we must obey the ways of the people here. We cannot push too hard and expect Somalilanders to want to convert instantly to Western practices. They value their way of life, even while demonstrating a deep respect for Western learning and progress. On the other hand, AT cannot function like the “tight ship” its founder envisions if the school is expected to maintain a payroll of employees who do not work.

Conclusions: 1.) This may be a good time for me to learn how to turn on-and-off these power generators. 2.) Maintaining a positive relationship with Somalilanders, especially the Tribal Elders, is a complicated business.

**

The other day I had the a startling realization: there are desert roses right outside my apartment window. Many, many months ago when I was meditating constantly on where I wanted to be in the next phase of my life, the song “Desert Rose” by Sting kept popping into my head. For some reason the imagery conjured up in that song resonated strongly – and now, right outside my window, are the very desert roses I had seen in my mind's eye. Ojala!

**

In other news, I'm fast becoming a proficient catcher of house flies. The house flies here are a good deal slower than those I remember from home, making easy targets on the kitchen table at lunch. Other than the flies – which are not really that bothersome – I've seen only a handful of other bugs. Very pretty, interesting, and fairly large bugs, but not in the hoards I'd expected. My guess is that the wind here makes life difficult for the delicate winged creatures. And so when I do happen upon any new type of arthropod I'm intrigued and curious rather than creeped out. (To be fair, I attribute this attitude of child-like-wonderment-in-place-of-fear in part to an Invertebrate Biology course at The UofC). But still, personal growth comes in many forms.

**

I happened upon another land tortoise on the AT track. The fellow was roughly 1' high at his peak, 1' max width, and 2' long. He looked kindly upon me with eyes as old and wise as the hills, and seemed to say, “Yes, I will permit you to stand there and gape. Take your time.”

**

To my EAA friends: Kiette says that she's spotted USAF Drones flying overhead recently, buzzing about with their distinctive sound. I've yet to see one, but perhaps if they're really sending drones over, they've already seen me. My guess is that the drones fly from the airbase at Djibouti through Somaliland to the front lines at Puntland or wherever – but who knows.

Also for my EAA friends: I think that glider flying here would be as good as anywhere in the world. With the combination of hilly (almost mountainous) desert terrain, strong hot winds, and clear thermal swells, there must be just about everything a glider could want. I've also caught myself on several occasions thinking that one aircraft in particular - an aircraft on display at the EAA museum, the Lockwood AirCam – would be perfect for flying 'round here. So if any of you pilots desire a vacation to really get away from it all, come visit me in your aircraft. And bring along a care package.

**

A women (Hinda) whom we'd met on the plane into Hargeisa recently came out to visit the school. She gave me the Somali name Marwo, which she explained means “the woman who has everything – beauty, brains, work ethic, charm, kindness, sincerity, wealth.” What's not to like about this name? And it is such a natural adaptation of “Margaret”! In exchange for the tour of AT, Hinda offered to give a tour of Hargeisa General Hospital. The other female AT teachers went on the tour, but I couldn't bring myself to go with them. I was simply not in the right frame of mind for that type of tour. And I'm glad I didn't go. The girls came back a bit shaken, as the hospital is apparently a fairly gruesome place. A reminder that this is indeed the 3^rd world.   Jonathan said that at one point he worked with the hospital administration to find out what improvements they most desired. The administration asked for training, and so J. got doctors and other employees of Massachusetts General Hospital to offer their assistance – at which point the people at Hargeisa General stopped responding to his emails. After hearing this I find it difficult to feel too sorry for the state of the hospital - I think of the cliché, you can lead a horse to water...

But anyway, I'm sure the experience is one the girls will not soon forget, and will provide great material for the one teacher in particular who is looking to “cut her teeth” as a journalist here. And I really do like my new Somali name.

**

New list of wants from Hargeisa: Head-wraps/head bands, gladiator sandals (vain fashion statement), a blanket, shea/coconut oil-butter, some sort of fragrance (myrrh or lavender or something), and Chickens.

**

We are in the final stages of chicken coop prep! We've secured a thorn-and-bramble perimeter and created a door/gate into the chicken-compound, we've moved the coop into place, raked the stones out of the soil to expose the healthy soil, built a ramp for the chicken coop, bought water-bins, and heaped piles of dried sorghum stalks in the area, to use for the nesting area inside the coop. We already have a “chicken pail” established as a compost bin, so all that's left (I think) is to purchase some corn to use as chicken scratch, and choose our chickens!  J knows where he'd like go to purchase these chickens, so we're waiting for the date to make that happen. I'd like to start out with no more than 8 chickens, and get them to lay healthy eggs at the most efficient rate possible before expanding. I've read that we can expect about 2 eggs per day from 3 chickens – so that's the rate we'll shoot for (unless anyone knows otherwise??!!!)

The thorn-and-bramble fence makes the chicken run look like a maximum security poultry-penitentiary. And the thorns as so strong, thick, and sharp that they stab their way right through even the most thickly-soled shoes.  I spent a good 45 minutes plucking the thorns out of my basketball shoes with tweezers after we'd moved the “fence” into place. While plucking away I kept thinking of the biblical stories of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, and the thorny crown they say was jammed down on his head. Before coming here the only imagery I had for “thorns” were those on my mother's rose bushes.  Not so anymore.  Here in the Sahel, thorns are serious business.  At the very least, the thorny brambles should keep the chickens in, and everything else, out.  

This Somali-chicken thing will be (and has been) an experiment in all kinds of things - that's what I know for sure.

All for now.

Nighttime Outting for Tea

A few nights ago the AT team walked out to Abaarso Village at sundown for a little tour of the village and to have some Somali tea and sambusas, the traditional way to break the Ramadan fast. En route we discussed the difficulty of taking a census of such a village, as “properties” are very vaguely defined – many people lay claims to the same plot of land – and so there may be several housing structures (huts constructed of corrugated sheet metal, cardboard, and scraps of cloth) to a section of land, and several families living in these huts, or even sharing them. Perhaps the goat is a metaphor for the Somali definition of property: goats roam freely throughout the village and over the land that pleases them, but when night falls, they know where “home” is.

Continuing on a winding and loosely defined path toward the village main road we passed small herds of cows – 2-3 per group – and here and there a shackled donkey, its front legs lashed together with rope so that it would not wander far. In the US we build fences, and even electrify them, but we let our donkeys walk freely within their clearly defined pens. In Somaliland, fences have no place. One simply knows where one should go, and where one should not go. The donkey, valued for its labor, and less common than the goat, must stay close to its owner at all times, but without the assistance of a stake in the ground. The goat who is at any moment just one of a hoard, and nearer than not to his death in the dinner pot, has the pleasure of freedom and latitude. It is strange that the animal that must work for its supper suffers in its leisure time, shackled such that any movement is a spectacle, while the animal that will soon become supper lives an easy and natural life, apparently ignorant of its destiny.

We finally stopped at the three-sided corrugated-steel-and-cardboard hut of a Somali woman serving tea. In we went, removing our shoes, and sitting cross-legged on the burlap carpeting over the dirt floor, preparing to be served. The light was somehow bright and glowy, and so despite my close proximity to a convention of cockroaches crawling the walls and floor, I was at ease. Still, I just couldn't bring myself to guzzle Somali tea. It seems to me that Somalis are actually having tea with their sugar and milk, not the other way around, but for me this beverage wouldn't make for a comfortable evening. Nonetheless, I was absolutely grateful for the generous service, and for the chance to sit on the ground and share an evening tradition in Somaliland with happy company.   

Strange Encounter #1

The other morning I went out for another jog around the AT track. The track is a path following the perimeter of the school; one lap is roughly 1 kilometer in distance.

I've enjoyed my morning runs here immensely. The vistas from the track are a feast for my eyes, I love taking in all that open space under the ever-changing Somali sky. On every run I've met fascinating residents of the animal kingdom - from geckos/lizards and interesting bugs to a very large land tortoise to a wild dog looking for scraps.

But today, a good way into my run, having completed several warm-up laps and fully focused on avoiding loose rocks in front of me, I looked up for a brief second and noticed the figure of a strange man, standing by the track behind an acacia tree. This man was not one of the AT armed guards. As I continued down the track he stepped out from the tree into the middle of the path, completely blocking my way. This tall, strong, imposing Somali man was holding a large hoe in his arms, out in front of his torso, and he began speaking Somali in a forceful tone, pointing to the ground. I greeted him with an “As Salamu Alaykum” several times, (that's the traditional Arabic greeting, meaning, “Peace be upon you”) then said the words “Abaarso Tech, Jonathan, Kiette,” pointing at the school, and finally repeated “Nabad, nabad” (“peace, peace” in Somali). After this bit of coaxing the man stepped aside and let me pass. I decided to end my run after completing that lap, somewhat wary of the encounter, and planned to let Kiette know about this at breakfast. Kiette thought she knew the man I described, explaining that he was one of the farmers of some land south of the school. The head AT staff are not confident in the man's sanity, believing him in need of psychological help. She advised me to call over the guards if this ever happened again.

Later that day Kiette found that the strange man and his brother had come to vandalize the track, scattering heavy stones along a significant stretch of the perimeter path. Why the guards on duty did not stop them from this vandalism is unclear, but now that the damage has been done, the two guilty culprits are bring imprisoned as we speak. We speculate that the guards were in an awkward social/personal position with this encounter. Their social ties to the Abaarso Village community may have made forceful deterrence of this crazed man's behavior personally difficult. Which is not to say that the guards aren't fully capable of doing their jobs; they are reliable and well-armed, and I'm grateful for their presence here.   

Ramadan Kareem!

One Somali muslim here recently joked that Ramadan is an excuse for lazy men to do no work. He said this because many of our Somali workers sleep or request much rest-time each day of the month-long fast. Ramadan adherents in Somaliland do not eat or drink water from dawn till dusk, and they break the fast each night after sunset, traditionally with dates, water, and a Somali version of the samosa, called a “sambusa.” Our guards, for example, get anxious if kept with us on a mission that will keep them from breaking fast after dark. The construction workers make slower progress, and take frequent naps on the job. Prayer is important as ever during this holy time for muslims, and the Ramadan evening call to prayer can be heard even from the AT campus, as it is sung aloud from the mosque in Abaarso Village, projected though loud speakers, throughout the villages and in Hargeisa. AT is building a mosque on campus, which should be completed in a month or two.

Though none of the American AT staff is fasting, we try to avoid drinking and eating around other Somalis during the day, out of respect for their commitment to this custom. Fortunately our very understanding chef, Nimho, still makes our meals for us during this time. Just as long as we all make the effort to empathize, taking a moment to appreciate each other's current set of circumstances, we all seem to do quite alright, and things keep moving apace.

Some Facts about Life in Somaliland

Facts about life in Somaliland:

Electrical power is driven by diesel-fueled generators. There is really no centralized electrical power grid in this part of Somaliland; instead, power lines are hooked up to generator stations, and diesel fuel is trucked in to where it is needed. AT is in the process of installing a wind-turbine to supplement, if not replace, its own set of diesel generators. Though these generators are effective, they are highly inefficient. Here at AT the power is shut down twice a day for a total of 7 hours to let the system rest, so finding a better power source is not only the environmentally sustainable thing to do, it makes good business sense too. Since this is one of the most consistently windy areas in the world this wind turbine looks very promising. Until it's construction is complete, we continue to rely on the generators, and do without internet, electricity and warm water between 3-8am and 4-6pm.

The means of water provision is another source of shocking inefficiency to my American eyes, for it is trucked in, at least to our AT campus. The campus is located high on a hill, so that pumping water up from a hypothetical well in the valley below would be equally expensive, it seems. We are actively seeking new innovations to improve this aspect of life here, too.

Propane/Cooking gas has not been in the market here for 6 weeks.  This means that at AT, the 2-burner gas stove is useless.  Instead we've been using a single-place charcoal oven.  It's a fun challenge.  No one really seems to know why the absence of propane has come about - some say it has to do with the US embargo of Iran, but that doesn't really make any sense (to me...)  Others speculate that the problem is with the Somali supplier.  Who knows?!

Shipping: Not much gets here – certainly not the African staples I'd hoped for, at least – no avocados, no shea butter, no coconut oil...yet. Maybe someday at some stall in the Hargeisa marketplace I'll strike that gold, but no dice so far. The most popular foodstuffs here are an orange-drink mix similar to Tang, which the Somalis like to drink with sugar (Yes, sugar and Tang, together!) tea, which the Somalis drink with milk and, you guessed it, sugar, pasta, rice, beans, and yes, sugar. Copious amounts of pure sugar. Eggs are imported from Yemen, canned goods are shipped in from other parts of the middle East. Because of this, we are in the process of starting our own egg farm and chicken run here at the AT campus. The larger goal is to become as self-sufficient as possible, growing our own vegetables and fruits, and raising our own chicken and goats. Small steps on the way to this goal are beginning to add up, as the gardens yield more and more, and the chicken coop is nearer to completion everyday.

The Abaarso Tech Chicken Coop

Transportation throughout the area is as difficult as you might imagine, given that there are virtually no paved roads anywhere, and that the terrain is completely rocky and dry. In areas around Hargeisa where the dirt roads are compacted sufficiently so as to be classified as potentially “smooth,” there are well-constructed cement speed bumps to keep traffic flow at a reasonable pace. I'm told that the literal translation for the term “speed bump” in Somali is “sleeping policeman.”

Construction around the AT campus is done completely by hand, assisted by donkey-cart. Digging holes into this rocky, rocky ground is especially labor intensive, as is the creation of cement bricks from scratch, and every other component of “modern” construction achieved with such simple and ancient means. The delivering of supplies via donkey cart is really delightful to watch, but makes me grateful that I myself was not incarnated as a donkey in this life. Those dependable creatures really have a thankless existence in Somaliland.

And finally, a characteristic of lifestyle, here: exercise. While boys are taught to run about, taking care of physical tasks from a young age, girls are conditioned, generally, to be sedentary. They are to help with household tasks, such that partaking in more vigorous physical activity for girls is simply not customary. The AT staff is working to change this by requiring that basic physical activity and conditioning be part of their weekly routine. This year I am to be the girl's conditioning coach, and I've been warned that my job will be a challenging one. I've been warned that the girls will fiercely resist the struggle of work toward physical fitness with tears and biting language. But as a fitness devotee, I am fully prepared to help them on the road to greater physical well-being and empowerment. For my part, I've gotten to know the 1-kilometer dirt track around the perimeter of the school compound, and have found that life at AT is wonderfully active. We've been spending a few hours every afternoon playing tennis or basketball or taking walks in the desert, and this in addition to my own personal morning workouts, so I'm feeling as fit as ever. Hopefully I can help the AT girls find the joy and release of physical activity.

Beyond pure physical conditioning, AT will start it's first competitive girl's basketball team this year. There is one other girl's team in Hargeisa, and so we hope our girls will be able to play in real competition.

Assalamu Alaykum, and welcome to Somaliland

Okay, heeeeeere we go. I'm settling in Somaliland, and have had some time to collect my thoughts.

The trip out here was a bit long, requiring several steps: from the US to Dubai, then on to Djibouti, and from there, to Hargeisa. But I found myself in the good company of four of the other new AT teachers, and so the experience was enjoyable. During a 7 hour layover in Dubai (from 7:30pm to 3:00am) we all met up with another AT teaching-couple who showed us around some of the city. We went to the Dubai Mall for dinner at a relatively high-end Lebanese restaurant (we felt the mall would be a safe bet in terms of avoiding GI issues for those of us who were new to the region), and after dinner took a water taxi to Old Dubai for a stroll. Even in the dark, Dubai was impressive, if only because of the heat and humidity. The wealth and prosperity of the region is obvious at every turn, as is the society's reverence for the native Emirate. My travel companions and I came to the general consensus that, while glamorous, and a remarkable tribute to the possibilities of wealth, ingenuity, and urban planning, Dubai would be much more interesting if it had more of a substantial history – like that of its neighboring UAE states – Abu Dhabi, or Oman, or even Yemen. Since not one of us was in a position – financially, or in terms of luggage space – to partake of the most readily accessible entertainment (shopping,) the glitz of the place seemed a distant frivolity, almost irrelevant. Still, there certainly are worse places to endure a 7-hour layover.

When preparing to board our plane out of Dubai International to Djibouti, the other female teachers and I decided it was time to cover ourselves with the traditional Muslim headwear for women – the hejab. I was quite self-conscious for the first few minutes wearing it. I felt like a fraud, I worried someone might think I were mocking the culture, wearing such unnatural (to me) and striking things, the head scarves. After about 5 minutes, though, I realized that no one even noticed – nor cared. And just when I had nearly forgotten I was wearing the flowing cloths, while walking down the aisle to my seat on our plane, a woman praised me for my modesty and cultural respect, asking with a smile, “Do you always cover like this?” expressing her approval of the behavior. Now, a few days later, I'm no longer worried about the possible implications of my adopting this customary wear; instead I worry about securing it tightly enough to withstand the strong Somaliland winds. It feels sort of – elegant, chic even – to wear the scarves now, and they do a wonderful job of keeping the dust out of your hair. And at the end of the day – no tangles! Nothing's windblown! So the hejab has its advantages.

For these few days I've been wearing my Western-bought Pashmina scarves with my (modest) Western clothing – we haven't acquired the full Somali “dirrha” or day-dress, yet; maybe I'll feel differently as I adjust, once again, to that style of dress. Time will tell.

Landing in Djibouti felt magical – it was my first Africa-moment, at 5:30am. The Djibouti airport is, of course, right on the Gulf of Aden, so coming in for landing right over the water was fun. The air in Djibouti is hot, dense with humidity. The civil/commercial part of the airport is small and old but very neat, with signs in French and English. The American military base there is much larger, and sprawls with quansit huts that hide F-16s in the sandy terrain. While military operations run according to a seemingly tight and heavily active schedule (several planes departed and/or carried out touch-and-goes on the runway during our 2-hour layover), the commercial operations are less driven by the march of time. We boarded our plane 45 minutes after the scheduled departure time, and this was not, apparently, anything out of the ordinary. This didn't bother me at all - I enjoyed the extra time to look around.

We flew a 1960s era Russian Ilyushin-IL 18 into Hargeisa, a cargo plane that had been converted for passenger use. It was by far the most pleasant leg of the flight for me – soothing turbo prop engines with that comforting drone lulled me to sleep, despite my desire to take in the aerial view of the landscape at such a low altitude. Ah me!

The change of climate upon landing in Hargeisa was very welcome – suddenly the air was cool, there was a stiff wind, everything was dry. There were few flies, and no mosquitos thanks to this steady and gusting desert-mountain wind.

We were met at the airport by the head Abaarso Tech (AT) staff, we waited for our luggage, (which all arrived on time - apparently a rare phenomenon. When the planes are fully loaded with passengers, there is not sufficient room on the plane for luggage. Because our plane was not full to capacity, our luggage came with us, Praise Allah.) As we proceeded with the exchanging of passports and luggage collection it became clear that things are slow, pleasant, and done in their own time in Somaliland. Eventually we carried on with a drive around Hargeisa in a couple of LandCruisers, en route to the Abaarso Tech campus. Along the way we stopped for watermelons at a stand; the unusual frequency of the rains this year has made conditions for the watermelon crop particularly favorable, and so lots have been produced. This has made the price of watermelons in the Hargeisa market very cheap, but this day our driver Hassan explained that the price had just gone up ever so slightly.

The main currency here is the American Dollar, with the Somali Shilling used as change. The conversion factor from the shilling to the dollar is ~6,200 to 1. Merchants in the city have this rate down cold, and are immediately aware of any changes, it seems. Merchants in Hargeisa operate according to the invisible hand of the free market, setting prices and constructing stands according to supply – demand – and opportunity cost. Merchants have even set up shop right outside the AT compound, which is an 18 kilometer drive from Hargeisa, far away from any other substantial settlement, for the sole purpose of marketing their goods (food, qat) to the construction workers and students on campus.

The merchants operate with a surprising ethic of honesty in their sales, in my experience so far, and this has been corroborated by the stories of others. The salesmen (and women) will not let you pay more than something is worth, no matter how gullible a foreigner you are.

My primary experience with the merchants to date was in purchasing a few cloths to have made into dirrha, the Somali day-dress, and the accompanying underskirt and hejab. We were encouraged to buy the cheapest, paying no more than $2.50 for the large sheaths of cloth. We have yet to get them tailored, but the cost of this service, I'm told, should come to no more than $2. So with a $7 underskirt that will go with every dirrha (or “moo-moo” as we affectionately call them) and roughly $5 for the hejab (combination skull-cap (not the offical term) and overhanging scarf), a total of $16.50 will get you at least one whole outfit. “Tailoring” your Somali dirrha is its own unique experience – you can get the most basic tailoring job done for just a few cents! The few-cents job is such that your tailor will cut and hem holes for your head and arms, and hem the sides and bottom of your “moo-moo.” This is the true “sack of potatoes” look, but unbeatably comfortable. The fabric patterns and colors of the fabric for the dirrha are not subtle. Somalis flaunt loud fabric patterns and bright colors. It's refreshing, actually. No need to worry about the latest Vogue while here. And the dirrha seem so cheerful and happy in their colors and patterns – the total opposite of, say, New York black and skinny jeans.

Just after my debut as a customer in the Hargeisa marketplace, the AT team went to dinner at a Hargeisa restaurant, supposedly one of the best around. The place was called “Fish & Steak.” Unfortantely, that night Fish & Steak had no steak, but I was saved by a plate of boiled goat. It was, actually, in all sincerity, pretty darn good. We ate outside in open air, in a yard filled with screened-in hut-like structures, which normally serve female clientele. These structures are to give women a bit of privacy to enjoy their meal while maintaining their modesty. The most eventful part of the dinner was the behavior of the feral cats roaming the area, mewing out pleas for our table scraps. There was a brief spat between two cats under our table, but no one was harmed.

***

One Hargeisa characteristic I noticed immediately, and that I was not expecting, was the litter all over the place. In the countryside, throughout the town, on every tree, there are blue plastic bags. The blue plastic bag is what every merchant gives with every sale. And because there is no waste-collection service in the country, the bags, and all of their non-biodegradable contents, end up all over the landscape. Figuring out an environmentally sustainable waste-management system at Abaarso Tech is a longterm but very important goal. Insh'allah, AT will figure this out post haste.

Garbage in a valley, west of Hargeisa, by Abaarso Village

Speaking of Post...this is also lacking from the Somaliland scene. There is no postal service. None. So don't bother with any care packages, and please don't expect any post cards. FYI.

Breathing space in Somaliland, outside Hargeisa

To shift the focus from the lack, I must take a few lines to say that there are many, many things in abundance here - goats, camels, land-tortoises, ants, guavas, and kind, good-hearted, peaceful people make me feel rich with joy and blessings. Most of the land is very pure and ruggedly beautiful. Rocky desert terrain dotted with acacia and desert aloe is the backdrop in which herds of goats and sheep roam. The wind gusts, and sometimes howls, the sun is almost always shining, its light broken by an occasional rainstorm. Rain here brings life to the red-rocks of the high hills, greening all manner of hardy desert plants. Somaliland is breathtaking and heartwarming and complicated and full of history and the potential of its people. This is what I've learned so far.

Goats in a valley

About to embark!

Hello there, and welcome to my new blog!  I intend this site to be a window into my life and experiences in Somaliland, East Africa.  


My adventure is set to begin on August 24th, 2010, when I will depart from my native home in the US for Hargeisa, Somaliland.  


Where exactly is this new home?  It is described here, at the website of the school for which I will be working: www.abaarsotech.org