Djibouti is the eighth smallest country in Africa. It is situated in the volatile environment of the Horn of Africa, facing the Red Sea and bordered by Ethiopia, Eritrea, and Somalia. The landscape is largely desert. The etymology of the name Djibouti has two primary theories. One originates from the phrase “Jab Bouti” which refers to an animal that preys on livestock. The second theory is that the Afar, early occupants of the land, called it “Gabouti,” meaning flatland. It was ultimately the French who formalised the name as Djibouti.

While the name Djibouti often brings out smiles and giggles, there is a very dark side to the country. It currently holds the dishonour of having the third-highest prevalence of female genital mutilation (FGM) in the world, following Somalia and Guinea. An estimated 93% of women and girls between 15 and 49 years of age have been subjected to genital mutilation. Although FGM was criminalised in 1995, the law is not actively enforced. Fortunately, grassroots campaigns have had some impact, leading to a decrease in prevalence among girls aged 15 to 19. Nonetheless, the practice remains a primary driver of the high maternal mortality rates in Djibouti.

These harrowing statistics cast a heavy shadow over our stop of Djibouti. 

The Djibouti dinner

As the community of Virtual Nomads grows, it is hard to cater cuisine from such a small country to a large group of people. Therefore, one lovely winter Friday, my daughter Lisboa – a pseudonym –  (whose busy schedule usually does not allow Friday nights at home) and I decided to invite our dear friends Langkawi Capri-Colombo and Sofia Capri-Colombo (their Virtual Nomad pseudonyms)  for an early Djiboutian dinner. Both are seasoned Virtual Nomads and were some of our first friends in Australia; we met them just eight days after landing here many moons ago. But enough of that—it is wonderful to have beautiful friends over, and we had a lovely night.

The Djibouti menu consists of two dishes and an accompanying salad. Skoudehkaris (on the right) is the national dish of Djibouti. Made of lamb, rice, and several spices, it is prepared in a single pot over a long period. The meat is slow-cooked with tomatoes and spices such as cinnamon, cardamom, cumin, cayenne and cloves. This dish reflects the blended traditions of French, Afar, Somali, and Yemeni cuisines. Its name is said to come from the Somali phrase isku-dhex-karis which means “cooked together”, or from an Arabic phrase meaning “meat and rice”.But first, as always, food.

As a festive and important dish in Djiboutian cuisine, Skoudehkaris originates from ancient trade routes where Arab spices and African cooking techniques merged into a refined French colonial presentation. It is time-consuming but fairly easy to prepare. Because I ended up cooking a very large pot, it was well-received not only by our guests but also by the friends and family who received leftover portions (as I end up preparing a very large pot). 

The second dish is a vegetarian version of Maraq Fahfah (on the left). Traditionally, this is a meat-based soup with vegetables (such as cabbage and leeks), potatoes, and spices like coriander, lemon juice, and chilli. Because it follows a traditional Somali recipe, it is often called a Somali soup and is usually prepared with goat meat. I used a meat substitute instead, but the result was still wonderfully rewarding—a slightly spicy, rich soup that is perfect for a cold winter night.

A hot arid land

Djibouti has been inhabited for over 3,500 years and is believed to have been part of the ancient Kingdom of Punt, a major trading partner of ancient Egypt. It was also one of the first regions in Africa to convert to Islam, later becoming part of the Ifat Sultanate (1285–1415) and subsequently the Adal Sultanate (1415–1577), both of which were in continuous conflict with neighbouring Christian Ethiopia.

In 1683, Djibouti became part of the Ottoman Empire. The French later arrived, establishing French Somaliland, which lasted from 1888 to 1977 (and was renamed the French Territory of the Afars and the Issas in 1967). Following a third referendum in 1977—after previous votes in 1958 and 1967—the country finally gained its independence.

However, the post-independence government under President Hassan Gouled Aptidon heavily favoured the Issa Somali clan, leaving the Afar population feeling sidelined. This tension culminated in a civil war from 1991 to 1994. The ethnic and political conflict pitted the Issa-dominated government against the Front for the Restoration of Unity and Democracy (FRUD), which represented the Afar people. Although the constitution was amended in 1992 to allow a multi-party system and a peace agreement was signed in 1994, hostilities did not fully cease until 2000.

Ismaïl Omar Guelleh, the nephew of Hassan Gouled Aptidon and only the second president since 1977, has been “re-elected” five times. The opposition has accused him of fraud, and his human rights record is poor. He initially  hand-picked his son-in-law to be his successor, but when this guy then had an affair with an employee and was forced to divorce the First Daughter, Ismaïl shifted his favour to his wife’s son from a previous marriage. The family owns properties in Dubai and Paris, and French authorities have investigated them for corruption and fraud.

The population is mainly split in two large ethnic groups: the Somali (50-60%, mostly of the Issa clan) and the Afar (35-40%). There are also Arabs of Yemeni-descent (around 5-10%) and small groups of foreigners, mainly from Africa and Europe. The official languages are French and Arabic, while national languages include Somali and Afar. 

In the Djibouti flag, the green represents the Afar people and prosperity; the blue refers to the Issa people, the sky, and the sea; and the white represents equality and peace. The star is a symbol of unity and independence.

Thanks to its strategic location, Djibouti is a massive geopolitical hotspot. The United States actually has its only permanent military base in Africa here, sharing the neighborhood with bases from China, Japan, and France. Geographically, you can split the country into three main zones: the coastal plain, a dry and rocky volcanic plateau in the interior, and the mountain ranges.

One of Djibouti’s most interesting features is Lac Assal. This stunning crater lake sits at 155 meters below sea level, making it the lowest point in Africa and the third-lowest on Earth (right after the Dead Sea and the Sea of Galilee). Djibouti also sits directly on the Afar Triple Junction. This is a spot where three massive tectonic plates—the African, Arabian, and Somali plates—are literally tearing away from each other.

Two books from one author 

Books from Djibouti are hard to find. I ended up reading only two, both by the same author. While Djibouti is said to have a rich storytelling history with authors who “blend traditional oral poetry with modern French-language novels”, it is very difficult to access these works from Australia. While some novels by Abdourahman Waberi are available online through the Internet Archive, works by other authors—such as Mouna-Hodan Ahmed and Chehem Watta—are not. This left me with no choice but to read what was available. I was especially hoping to read Mouna-Hodan Ahmed’s Les enfants du khat (2002). Khat is a highly addictive plant whose leaves are chewed.

Transit (Abdourahman Waberi, 2003)

Abdourahman Waberi is the most celebrated author from Djibouti. Currently Professor of French and Francophone studies at George Washington University, he first left Djibouti to study English literature in France. His most famous book is In the United States of Africa (2006), a satire of a prosperous Africa that sends aid to an impoverished, conflict-ridden Europe. Since I could not get hold of that book, I read Transit (2003) instead. 

The novel opens with two men at the Paris Roissy-Charles de Gaulle Airport. Both are exiled from an African country—presumably Djibouti—and hold very different perspectives; one is an intellectual, and the other is a former child soldier. The story is narrated by both men, alongside three other characters who are also given narrative power in a confusing storyline. It is not until the end that the plot somewhat comes together, with the epilogue finally explaining what it is all about. This epilogue ultimately saves an otherwise uneven and disjointed narrative.

This book reminded me of Ahmadou Kourouma’s Allah is Not Obliged (2000), which I read for Côte d’Ivoire and truly enjoyed, despite its harrowing subject matter. That book provided excellent context and offered a fantastic introduction to what I would call “West African conflict for dummies.” Although the child soldier in Transit is a similar caricature—he adopts the alias Bashir Binlader, which is supposed to be funny —it does not achieve the same effect. His character is meant to reflect the horrors of war, but his narrative mostly consists of boasting about the rapes he has committed, without any deeper character development. That alone was enough to make me lose interest. The book is also highly fragmented, difficult to follow, and lacks clear direction. I would give it a one-star rating out of five, if not for the epilogue that brings structure to the confusion and earns it a second star. Ultimately, this title joins the ranks of my least favourite books in the Virtual Nomad project.

Passage of Tears (Abdourahman Waberi, 2009) 

My second book by Abdourahman is about a Djibouti-born man who has lived in Canada for most of his life. He is sent back to Djibouti by a big corporation for economic espionage; and while there,  he reminisces about his past and his relationship with the country. Meanwhile,  a Jihadi terrorist observes him from jail and wishes for his demise.

This author just is not for me. The book has a good premise, but it does not land well. I do not know whether the translation is clunky or if the book tries too hard to be something it is not. There are many attempts at philosophy and examinations of globalisation, colonialism, and environmentalism, but they feel neither authentic nor brilliant. The shifting narrative is unfocused and, when it comes to the jihadist, weak. I wish I had another author from Djibouti to read instead.

All about Lula – the Djiboutian Film Festival 

Dhalinyaro (Lula Ali Ismail, 2017) 

While Djibouti has served as a filming location for several international productions, it lacks a formal film industry. The first feature film made entirely by a Djiboutian director is Dhalinyaro (2017) by Lula Ali Ismail. As a pioneer of local cinema, her debut feature has been incredibly important in encouraging local filmmaking and paving the way for regional training programs. Lula was born in Djibouti in 1978 and is of Djiboutian-Somali descent. Her family immigrated to Canada in 1992, but she later returned to Djibouti. Lula’s family helped fundraise for her first project, Laan (2012), a short film about friendship. Dhalinyaro was supported by the Organisation Internationale de la Francophonie and filmed entirely on location. Lula is currently preparing her next film, an adaptation of The Youth of God by Hassan Ghedi Santur.

Watching Dhalinyaro is a genuine treat. It is monumental in its achievement as the first feature film from Djibouti, yet beautifully conventional in its universal coming-of-age themes, such as dating, academics, friendships, and future plans. Three friends from vastly different socio-economic backgrounds navigate these hurdles much like young people anywhere else in the world. The movie opens with a miscarriage, weaving in a nuanced social commentary that never becomes overbearing. Djibouti City is captured as a modern metropolis blending tradition with a contemporary lifestyle, highlighted by its multilingual and multicultural presence. Because the director and many of the producers are women, the film beautifully captures the African female gaze. This perspective focuses less on romance and more on the authentic female experience of friendship struggles, career planning, family dynamics, social class, and independence. Even the miscarriage is treated as a natural event in life rather than a melodramatic focal point, which is both surprising and refreshing. Furthermore, the three young leads—selected from local students due to the country’s lack of a formal industry—are wonderful in their roles. The movie was well-received domestically and secured several awards on the international festival circuit.

Beau Travail (Claire Denis, 1999) 

While Djibouti lacked a formal film industry prior to Lula Ali Ismail, a few international movies have been filmed there and feature Djibouti-related storylines. One of these is the highly praised Beau Travail (1999), which frequently appears on “best film” lists. Directed by Claire Denis—who spent much of her childhood in colonial Africa—the story centres around a group of French Foreign Legion soldiers training in Djibouti. The movie is loosely based on Herman Melville’s unfinished novella Billy Budd (published posthumously in 1924). The film’s stunning cinematography is crafted by Agnès Godard.

It is hard to describe this film. Some reviewers have likened it to a ballet, and it certainly possesses a distinct aesthetic. A significant portion of the movie consists of long shots of young, shirtless men undergoing military training. They jump over fences, crawl through the hot, arid landscape, and wrestle. With very little dialogue, the film places heavy emphasis on an aesthetic appreciation of the male physique, and very repeated movements and sequences. This approach is unusual in cinema, where the female body is more commonly objectified. Some critics have noted homoerotic themes in the movie, though I did not view it through that specific lens. There is also a hostile tension between two characters, the underlying reasons for which I did not fully grasp. Ultimately, I found it to be an intriguing but quite uneventful movie—more akin to a heavily breathing picture book with a tense atmosphere. The surrounding landscape and the local people gaze at the young soldiers just as we do: with a slightly perplexed intrigue, but always from the outside.

L’intervention (Fred Grivois, 2019) 

Finally, I watched 15 Minutes of War (L’Intervention, 2019), a French-Belgian film directed by Fred Grivois that is loosely based on true events. Filmed on location in Djibouti, the movie tells the story of a 1976 hijacking where schoolchildren were taken hostage on a school bus. The film is a fictionalised account; in the real event, the hijacked vehicle was a military bus carrying 31 French children and a 19-year-old driver. Somali-backed separatists hijacked the bus to demand independence for the territory. They forced the driver to Loyada, near the Somali border, and eventually stopped in the no-man’s-land between Djibouti (then known as French Somaliland) and Somalia.

The French tactical police unit, GIGN, alongside military forces, stormed the bus the following day to free the hostages. A French social worker, Jeanne Bru, volunteered to join the children on the bus; her presence not only calmed them but also provided valuable information to the French forces. Tragically, during the rescue operation, two children were killed and another was permanently injured. In 2016, several of the survivors formed an association called Les oubliés de Loyada (“The Forgotten of Loyada”).

The film itself is a work of fiction that glosses over the complexities of the era, choosing instead to portray the GIGN as a band of heroic men assembled by their captain—a formula frequently used in action movies from Seven Samurai to Ocean’s Eleven. The result is a predictable, implausible superhero story weighed down by cliched characters, a weak script, wooden acting, and a ridiculous final product.

In the movie, Jeanne Bru is replaced by an American schoolteacher, and the number of children is reduced to 21. These “heroic” men are caricatures of bravery, even finding time for humorous banter amidst the crisis. None of them seem genuinely afraid, and the number of targeted Somali casualties is grossly exaggerated compared to the actual event.

Next stop: Dominica