The Mourning Feast

By / December 2012

Rachel Pieh Jones visits a funeral in Djibouti: “She returned with a smaller bottle of stronger perfume, smoky like burning flowers and cinnamon, and smeared it with her thumb on the backs of our hands.”


Let the Rain Tap the Metal Roofs

By / November 2012

Rachel Pieh Jones on the rainy season in Djibouti: “There is no lightning, no thunder, only wind and blooping rain and the chants of kids, cheering down the rain.”

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Dust on the Djibouti Trail

By / September 2012

Rachel Pieh Jones goes running in Djibouti: “A camel leaped into my path, startled by my footsteps. We eyed each other. She stepped aside, stretched her neck, and nibbled on a yellow plastic bag tangled in a thorn tree.”


The View from Djibouti

By / May 2012

Rachel Pieh Jones on the hottest country on earth: “Despite the listlessness of the waves, the winds off the ocean where the Red Sea bleeds into the Gulf of Aden provide a soothing breeze.”