Last trip to the Gulf of Aden: Part 12

The restaurant was filling up with the hotel’s guests. Most were aid workers. There were men with crisp ties and dress shirts who looked as if they had momentarily stepped away from their desk at some bureau in the UK. Others, probably from the East African region, wore photographer-style vests covered in pockets and the names of NGOs embroidered on the back. They seemed about to embark on a long, dusty trip into the field. 

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Last Visit to the Gulf of Aden: Part 9

We found ourselves at a wooden kiosk decorated with colorful hand-painted signs depicting juicy bundles of khat. Vendors came out from behind the booth, displaying their wares cheerfully like budtenders at a dispensary back in Colorado. They hunched into the windows of our vehicles waving bunches of leaves. Everyone suddenly was a connoisseur.

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Last Visit to the Gulf of Aden: Part 7

There was nothing left for us to do except drive back to the Mansoor, try to find a working air conditioner, drink some fruit cocktails, and eat more fish. Mo’ drove us back to the hotel, passing through town. The call to prayer echoed in the streets and Berbera’s residents roused themselves from their midday slumber to pray, converse, trade, chew khat, and drink tea. Kerosene waifed in through the open windows of our SUV.

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Last Visit to the Gulf of Aden: Part 5

As we waited in the cool shade, the cooks in the back sweated over giant, subterranean tandoori ovens. Coals glowed deep inside of them over a bed of sand. Entire skipjacks were slit open and fanned out along the bottom. Dough was then slapped along the brick walls of the inferno until they bubbled and crisped into enormous pieces of chapati. The fish and the bread came out at once, steaming as they were dished onto silver serving plates.

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Last Visit to the Gulf of Aden Part 4

The men hollered at each other to push. Still, the boat wouldn’t budge. The sound of the SUV grew louder, its wheels spun in place. Wisps of smoke bellowed around them. The men threw all their weight into the vessel. Their legs sucked into the sand until they were waist deep in the water. Then there was a metallic snap. The chain was free, arcing through the air. Everyone abandoned their posts to flee to safety.

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