Abdourahman Waberi - Transit

“Who are those people?”

“The French, our colonizers.”

“Why are they here?”

“Because they're stronger than we are.”

My country was born more than two decades ago, wrapped in the flag designed by Mahmoud Harbi. 3I was young, handsome, and strong. I'd been back home for three years, equipped with a big diploma, big for that time at any rate, and accompanied by a young, touching, stubborn woman I'd met when I was a student in France. In 1977, Djibouti was stepping down from the high solitude of being the last colonial stronghold. My country was brought into the world wrapped in its flag (blue, green, white, and red star), and I was in my prime, hardly thirty.

1. Police de l'Air et des Frontières. — Author's note

2. Office de Protection des Réfugiés et Apatrides. — Author's note

3. An important figure in Djiboutian resistance to colonization. — Author's note

I WAS BORN YESTERDAY, I'm just saying, I mean I was born not so long ago, and even for this little chick of a country I'm not too-too over the hill, see. We're the same age, this country-here and myself, so believe me faithfully I snoop and look everywhere, men an animals like fine clean dressed-up dogs, stuff natural like women's thing. Rocks an flowers too. Oh Lord, I kind of lost Moussa an I got so-so scared. I'm talking all alone to buck myself up, I look overhere or overthere and I can't see nothing…I'm at Roissy, in front of the paradise of the Whites, gotta keep cool, act like professional military. I stare everywhere and name everything I see in the rush an crush of voices an lives. I do love sniffing out people; gotta sniff em up, sort of like them clean well-groomed dogs. That way you avoid problems an bullshit, little sonsabitches think they're Tintin's Captain Haddock. I hate soft old chewngums with no taste. I'm not afraid of nothing, not even foreigners (oh no! am I off my rocker or what? the foreigners, that's us now, the natives here, it's them). That's what we learned in the school of the streets cause real school way-way past. First I was born in tiny little village, Damerjogh its name. After that we came to the big city for my daddy's job. For he always like that, always at port being that longshoreman-there. So me, I cut out quick into the street, to look an look, an learn real-real good. School wasn't my thing, sure I finished fourth grade like everybody else, but school-there back home it's total pyramid. If you lucky you get big diploma, or else it's the street for you, like me. When I finish fourth grade they tell me fit for active work (we call that AW, active work). What you gonna work, little like that? So my whole neighborhood AW. After AW, I did everything in street. That's what I did to get by. Today my mom an dad not around no more to esplain me things I can't understand. I'm not so lucky, I'm all alone with no brother or sister in a country where every family can be a soccer team all by itself or send an emergency brigade straight to planets like Startrek.

Before, there was war back home, the war kind of over now cause the Big Foreigners they say: better stop that war right away or no foreign aid. The president he said OK before anybody else. Open little parenthesis. If I was president of the country of course I'd change my name. I'd call myself Moi like the president of that Kenya-there. Moi , it's best president name I know. Moi , it simple — beautiful too, right? OK, close parenthesis. So the ministers who wanted to go on with war were pushed out of the offices. The president signed peace with first group of rebels, Frud 1 it's called. Today two years after the war, we're up to Frud 4 (Front for the Restoration of Unity and Democracy, it said that on the big sign in front of Palace of the People). Restoration is very correct word too, they even say that in real French from France. Politicians, they never stop eating, stuffing their face, gobbling, suffocating on the leftovers. Fill belly fat as Port container. I'm saying Port cause Port's just across the way. People who know that, they not gonna say Binladen's a lie an a liar. After the war, end of the line, Sergeant Houmed yelled every day. We demobilized. You can leave this minute if you want. War's over. They gave us demobilize soldiers 40,000 DF and it's bye-bye front, gunpowder, an thirst. So I gave a lot-lot to the family an the tribe. The cousins who been unemployed ever since they could stand, they party with my money. A weeklong bash, two thousand francs a day, what with the khat, the girls, the taxi I paid for with a girl once cause I was being class, man. I was still wearing my American jeans an my wide belt I kept. We all kept a little something from the army. And anyways OK, war over. Ayanleh, he still wear his big army shoes. Aïdid, he walk around with his commando helmet on his head. Warya, they say that rifle he hid, he sold it to a jealous husband to rip the heart of the guy always after Naya, his honey who bleach her skin. Naya, she so-so strong for love. She volcano-love her honey says.

Oh, the army was big mess. Holy moley! We killed the Wadags, screwed their daughters, poisoned wells all the way to Moussa Ali, you don't know Moussa Ali, it's border. After that it's Eritrea, careful, don't mess around with Eritrea like our president doing now cause Eritrea stronger than Zidane for war. It's Ronaldo the Brazilian. They fucked Mengistu an all the Ethiopians with fifty times more harms than them. Ethiopians they got so much harms, right after Chinese, Japanese, Hindis, and so on-so on. So, Wadags they wanted peace right away. Pretty natural — they don't all wanna die. Frud 1, Frud 2, Frud 3, Frud 4, all the same and one. Lotta bullshit, yah. From now on, just to kid around we call that Frud-there Scud like Iraqi missile not always effective. Restoration, OK, that's good. Democracy, that hotair of politicians who take bread from whoever giving it.

After the war, for a few weeks it was a free-for-all. We did whatever we wanted. Ate in restaurants without paying, pirated big Arab and Hindi shopkeepers, even small shopkeepers native like us. Grabbing merchandise quick as chameleon gobbling flies. Even from mamas selling vegetables an khat on Place Rambo. When I say “Place Rambo” it's funny, sounds like real French name Rimbaud, right? Reminds me of singing in school Alaclairefontainééé, menononproméné, jaitrouvélosiclair quéjémisuisbaiyé… “Attaclearfountain, zahwenwokin, ahfounwattasocleah ahswimnit.” After the war, we did whatever we wanted. Beat up on people in the street for fun, robbed Arab and Hindi hardware stores. Drilled girls day an night. Goverment don't say nothing. There's still chaos, the situation will soon return to normal, said Morning Hyena, Minister of Police, on DRT. DRT, you don't know what that is yet, right? Djibouti Radio Television, it's written in big gold letters on the building, next to the Presidential. The asshole general who screwed up his military coup so bad, well, he got all his men together at the DRT. Thinks coup mean only TV, radio — DRT, see? The loyola tanks — or whatever, I forgot the word — anyway president's tanks they left from Camp Sheikh-Osman, went through all of Ambouli. Went through the traffic circle that go into Port road. Then, they go behind Arhiba and the asshole general's base right next to it. They don't shell police base of the asshole general. They come straight to DRT. Fourteen rounds of mortars, bang, bang, bang, the coup guys they sure cried loud for their mamas. Twelve down. The troublemakers, quick-quick prisoners without they hurt a goverment fly. The asshole general he left to hide in the French naval base, on the Plateau du Héron. The president came quick-quick out of his hiding place in Sheikh-Osman military camp, the one the asshole general spared. He get his troops together. I have triumphed he yell loud-loud. They all on TV a couple hours later. Morning Hyena, Stuffed Hyena, Pushy Hyena, Toothless Lion, etc., all there. Still shaking with fear. You could see the sweat flooding their faces on the color screen TV. Then, the president left with head of diplomacy to get the asshole general that used to be his true-true friend before, when they making restoration together. Together they knew how to conjugate the verb have, not the verb to be.