The plane ticket has been purchased; I was just lounging around until tomorrow to catch the flight out to Addis Ababa. And then Ahmed met up with me in the afternoon and offered up another crazy scheme – "You want to go to Addis Ababa? No problem!" he proclaimed. "C'est tres facile! Tu veux aller mainenant? Pas de probleme! Allons!" he yelled, in combination with that wry smile he has given me all too many times – a smile, that I am learning, means "I will do my best for you, because I want tourists who visit my country to be satisfied."





One of the first things I heard while heading out of Djibouti City was a familiar song titled "We Are The World", which somehow seemed ironic. If he is rarely successful and has a hard time explaining what's going on slowly enough for western minds to comprehend it, Ahmed is certainly charismatic – before I knew it I was in a minibus headed towards the buses to Addis Ababa, or so I thought – standing on the road at the edge of town, Ahmed hailed town a fuel tanker truck.

Ahmed and I hopped up in the cab with the driver: a small, scrawny man who spoke okay english. He was headed toward Galafi, and was taking his truck all the way to Kemboltcha. That was good enough for Ahmed, and going anywhere in Ethiopia was good enough for me. As long as it wouldn't take too long.

We rode in the tanker to a police outpost, where we all disembarked. Ahmed put on his charisma again to talk to the police: he motioned me over. The police began asking questions in French: good french, with not too strong an accent, but still indecipherable to me. I thought I knew this language.

I turns out that foreigners are allowed to leave Djibouti via the lesser used Galafi border crossing, but the police must radio ahead first. So how do you make sure the police do this for you? "Give him a bit of money," Ahmed said, "otherwise he may forget to radio for you."

I thanked the men for notifying the border crossing that I was coming – and wished my goodbyes to Ahmed. Certainly a character, very animated, and a good resource – even if he did fail often. Still, this part of Africa is not known for smooth operations of anything, and I believe that he did what he could. He told me to contact him once I reached Addis Ababa. I gave him a hug and hopped up into the tanker with my new friend. "This is a signal," the driver said cautiously, choosing his english words carefully as we rolled slowly along in the scorching heat. "I want my daughter to study in Canada, and to meet a Canadian, will mean good luck!"

He smiled. I smiled. He was certainly timid. But more importantly, he was a real person. And to encounter those in your travels is the most rewarding thing you can ask for.



To Galafi

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