Learn about Djibouti from an REI worker’s perspective.

Rachel and Tom Jones, along with their kids, have lived in Djibouti doing REI work since 2004. Read her story below as she reflects on what she’s learned as an American living in Djibouti over the past six years. To read more of her reflections on Djibouti, check out her blog.

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Being an expatriate in Djibouti is an opportunity to learn to live all over again.

I stepped off the plane in 2004 and thought I knew something about living in east Africa. I had already finished a teaching stint of eight months in Somalia where I had learned how to tell goat meat from camel meat, how to ignore machine gun fire and how to explain English idioms to non-native English speakers. But Djibouti is an entirely different place and I soon realized that I’ve only begun to learn.

I learn how to sweat. Djibouti is hot, the hottest inhabited country in the world. I’ve seen the mercury top out at 124 degrees. Add to that 95% humidity, and the heat index passes 150 – the recommended temperature for baking lasagna. Grab a slice of garlic bread and eat me for lunch.

I learn how to hydrate. Djiboutians drink Coke, Coke, tea and Coke. Coke is one of the rare items that’s locally produced, cheap, cold and the cure all. Do you have a headache, a fever, or diarrhea? Drink Coke. Are you tired, breast-feeding, or hosting a guest? Cokes all around! I’m a water drinker. No coffee, tea, juice and absolutely no Coke. But learning to live again means learning to wash down my lasagna with Coke and being thankful that it’s cold.

I learn how to live with gratitude. If I live as long as the average life expectancy of Djiboutians, I’ll be gone in 11 years, at age 43. Halimo is 23 years old, HIV positive and raises four boys on her own. She won’t make it to 43, but I have seen her give her last coin to a blind beggar and smile in thankfulness that she has both her sight and HIV-free children. Suddenly the exhaustion of raising my own three children in a foreign country evolves into gratitude for the opportunity they have to live by the ocean, ride camels and learn multiple languages outside the classroom.

I learn the value of education apart from formal schooling. If I were in school as long as the average Djiboutian female, I would have dropped out in fourth grade like Awo. She can’t spell, but she taught me how to cook in a country without frozen pizza or canned spaghetti sauce. She can’t do algebra, but she bargains for the best deals in the market and plans meals for 30 people in her head.

I learn how little it takes to change a life. I loaned $150 to Aisha and watched her start a telephone business and a small store, and then travel to the United Arab Emirates for merchandise. She became the first person in her neighborhood to own a washing machine and she hires a baby-sitter each day so her sister can go to work without chaining her three-year old to the bed to keep her out of trouble. She is growing in independence and the knowledge of her worth each day.

I learn the power of partnership. My husband and I have invested in University students like Abdi Salaan. First we were his professors, teaching him English. Then we partnered with him to open a premier English language night school in a slum area. Abdi Salaan had the chance to become financially independent and then to support his relatives in Somalia. He was finally able to afford a wedding to marry the woman he loves. He is now a proud, productive business owner, able to help meet the needs of his community through providing an opportunity for education, and through providing local jobs by hiring teachers, secretaries and cleaning staff in a country with nearly a 50% unemployment rate.

Being an expatriate in Djibouti is an opportunity for me to learn to live all over again—but only if this Minnesota girl is willing to sweat, drink Coke, be thankful, look beyond degrees, help an entrepreneur and come alongside a student.

Eight years after landing in east Africa to do REI work, I am still willing and I’m still learning.