We have all seen the commercials on tv to help the children of Africa. Their swollen little bellies, their sad faces covered in flies, their dirty, torn clothing. I remember seeing a commercial once and thinking I would really like to help one of these children one day, if I had the money.
On my first day here, I talked with Kelly, one of my co-workers who said that she had gone to a few of the orphanages to play with the children. I imagined myself truly doing some good, surrounded by smiling and laughing little African children, passing out lollipops and crayons to them. It's easy to imagine yourself making a difference in the lives of these people by some small gesture. Unfortunately, my reality was much different.
Well, the other day, I had my first uniquely third-world experience. I left the base, armed with my camera, ready to take photos of the impoverished people of Djibouti to show the people back home. I slathered myself in sunblock, put on my sunglasses and headed off base into the neighborhood, ready to meet the people.
Our destination was the French Market, but first we had to pay an invoice for one of my co-workers rental trucks. I figured this would be a short trip to pay the bill and then off to the French Market.
As soon as we left the base, we passed some living quarters on the side of the road. I am hesitant to call them living quarters, but since people were dwelling there, that is indeed what they were. The words "shanty", "shack", "hut" don't seem to quite fit. Imagine, if you will, being standed on a desert island, with no supplies. What would you build your shelter out of? Sticks, reeds, palm fronds, leaves, grasses...trash... whatever was available. That is what these were like. Just three- or-four walls and a roof, to keep someone dry and if needed, cool. There was trash everywhere. Old tires, paper, scrap metal... sort of like a landfill. There was even a goat eating some paper.
Seeing this came as a shock to my system that I didnt expect. I can't explain the feeling that hit me. It was like...shock and disgust and disbelief all at the same time. Suprisingly there was little sympathy or empathy, which I later felt guilty about. I realized after giving this initial reaction some thought that the reason that I didnt feel sorry for these poor people at first is because I really, honestly and truly did not understand how any person could live in this manner.
While paying the invoice for the truck, we encountered street corner vendors selling "kaht" which is an leafy, opiate-like substance that 92% of the population here are addicted to. Kaht is completely legal in Djibouti. We also encountered piles of human excrement, something that I did not expect somehow, but now am not suprised about, since these little huts that some of these people lived in obviously did not have indoor plumbing.
The French market itself was riddled with kaht-addled vendors selling jewelry, handbags, clothing, novelty items, shoes, etc for astronomical prices. You can usually argue them down to a reasonable price, but I felt almost guilty proclaiming that these prices were too high. Children, arms outstreched asked for money and food. A woman sat nursing her baby while her son begged passersby for something to eat. Kaht vendors sold their product happily alongside the other vendors. A gentleman with a spray bottle and a rag washed the windows of parked cars for money.
The only pleasant part of the French market was a wonderful little bakery where they sold french bread, pastries and croissants. When we got there the vendor had just placed out a brand new batch of piping hot chocolate croissants, which were fantastic. I had one of those and also a donut, which was very good.
Our whole trip lasted about two hours or so. Though there were many things to take photos of, I just couldn't bring myself to do it; it was too sad. It seemed wrong to photograph these people's misfortune.
I don't want my readers to think that I am being too hard on the people of Djibouti. The people are wonderfully nice and welcoming. My tone of this article really is just meant to emphasize the sheer terror that this experience brought to me. Not for the first time, I feel very lucky to be brought up in the United States. The poorest people in the US still have it a million times better than these poor people.
The sad thing is, there isn't a whole lot one person can really do to help. There are hundreds of organizations that come to Africa to try and erradicate disease, poverty, hunger, etc. If you want to donate money or time to these organizations, do some online research to see which ones may suit your interests best.
If you decide to visit Africa, the best thing you can give these people, from what I can tell, is a smile and a kind word. Sometimes that means more than lollipops or crayons.
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