Welcome to Djibouti

Swarms of flies, the stench of burning garbage and a passport officer who refused to believe I wasn't U.S. military greeted me as I stepped off the plane in Djibouti. The officer demanded an identity card I didn't possess, relenting only after a barrage of high school French and thirty dollars convinced the baffled man I was un touriste. The air conditioning that never works in the summer was turned on full blast. It's the coldest time of year.

This dusty, forgotten outpost on the Horn of Africa is not a place accustomed to tourists, at least sane ones. That was reason enough to visit. But my friends Paul and Kylie work as contractors at the U.S. base, Camp Lemonier, here and seeing them for the holidays cinched the deal.

Never mind that this is one of the trickiest countries in Africa to travel in and out of, that parts of it resemble a post-apocalyptic movie set, that it's one of Africa's most strategic points. The French military is here, so are the Germans and Spanish. And the U.S. base has quietly become a focal point of the newly-created Africa Command, along with plenty of soldiers who don't wear insignia, disappear for days on end and you're told aren't really there. Those guys.

Paul and I drove back from the airport with Chicago and Okie, contractor friends. We were in a futile search for beer that turned into a sightseeing tour when we realized it was Friday; Islam's holy day, and everything was closed.

Locals call the president Fat Joe, after a rapper he resembles. Elections are touted as fair and open, but he got 99.9 percent of the vote the last time around and ran unopposed. Most of the country is addicted to the mind-numbing and highly addictive drug khat that leaves the city in a zombie-like state each night. Infrastructure is crumbling, from roads to power plants. And contradictions abound, like the massive new port facilities rising in front of a sprawling
shantytown boasting as abject of poverty as anywhere in Africa. Soldiers are everywhere, as are ladies of easily purchased virtue. Thirty dollars is the going rate and they do brisk business, never mind the AIDS epidemic.

The only Americans are military or contractors. They're a motley, diverse crew. And they were shocked someone came here to simply visit. At a bar my first night, they thought I was crazy, tough or unbalanced. Maybe I am. After all, I crave the chance to visit Somalia and Afghanistan. Even the Djiboutians seemed confused someone would want to visit their country, a scant 15 kilometers from Somalia. They joke the only Americans who know their country exists know soldiers at Camp Lemonir. Touts hawk the most popular souvenir from the place: lighters that project a picture of Saddam or Osama.

This place is unlike any I've been, even in East Africa. The adventure is only beginning.