Until I was handed a work assignment, I had never even heard of Djibouti. A few days later, I found myself thousands of kilometers from home, navigating unfamiliar borders and wondering what on earth awaited me on the Red Sea coast.
My journey began late September, when I departed Murtala Muhammed International Airport in Lagos for Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, where I had a layover before continuing to Djibouti.
I stepped off the plane into Bole International Airport at 5:17 AM local time, just past three in the morning back home in Nigeria. Running on pure adrenaline and almost no sleep, my first impression of Bole was its sheer scale. It was vast, sleek, and surprisingly easy to navigate despite the early hour.
But what caught me off guard was the crowd. Even before dawn, the terminal hummed with life: Ethiopians, Chinese, Americans, fellow West Africans, and Jewish travellers, all moving through the same bustling hub.
Then came the cold. Coming from Nigeria, I fully expected my journey toward the Horn of Africa to start with scorching heat. Instead, I stood shivering in an 11°C chill, nursing a stubborn nasal congestion courtesy of the plane’s air conditioning.
The airport was lined with shops and cafes selling everything from hot pastries and smoothies to fine wine, with signs blending English and Amharic. After a brief spike of panic when my roaming signal failed, the airport Wi-Fi kicked in, saving my sanity.
For six long hours, I waited, slowly coming to terms with the fact that this trip was going to be unlike anything I had experienced before.
At 11:14 AM, my flight lifted off for Djibouti. As we drew close around noon, I glued myself to the window. I had pictured Djibouti as a tiny, tightly packed patch of land, a place with just a few scattered houses you could cover in a single glance. But looking down from above, the country stretched on forever into the dry terrain. The landscape was so vast and open it felt as though there were far more houses than people to fill them.
When the cabin door opened at 12:30 PM, reality hit me in the face. The weather stood at a blistering 37°C. The chilly morning in Addis Ababa vanished instantly.
Djibouti sits at a powerful crossroads, bordered by Eritrea, Ethiopia, and Somalia, with coastline along the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden. From the air and on the ground, it is a realm of volcanic rock, desert plains, and broad horizons, a far cry from the lush greenery I take for granted in Nigeria. Because it controls the entrance to the Bab el-Mandeb Strait, this small nation acts as a massive gateway. It serves as Ethiopia’s main lifeline to the sea via a busy deepwater port and shared railway, and it hosts military bases for global powers like France, the US, China, and Japan.
Yet as I stepped off the plane, grand global politics were the last thing on my mind. I was just trying to adjust to the heat and process where I was.
After a slow, thorough hour passing through immigration at Djibouti airport, I headed into the city and checked into the Best Western Premier DJ Hotel downtown. Stepping into an air-conditioned room after that journey was pure relief.
The hotel was a comfortable sanctuary, and its kitchen quickly became one of the highlights of my stay. On my first afternoon, I opted for creamy pasta and fish. Later, I treated myself to a vanilla-ginger smoothie alongside a plate of crispy, perfectly grilled grouper with chips. It was my very first time trying grouper, a heavy marine fish native to warm reef waters. The meal instantly became one of my favorite memories of the trip.
Everything around me was a gentle reminder of how far I had traveled. The local currency was a puzzle I found myself constantly converting; one Djiboutian Franc was worth about 7.44 Nigerian Naira and I had to keep reminding myself that I was now two hours ahead of home time.
One of the simplest, most grounding moments happened right inside my room. Above me, on the ceiling of the room, was a small sign showing the direction of the Qibla. I paused when I saw it. As a Muslim, that simple directional arrow meant I could easily perform my salat without guessing where to face. Thousands of miles away from home, in an unfamiliar city, that quiet detail made the environment feel instantly safe and welcoming.
My room was on the third floor. Every now and then, I would crack the window open, letting a draft of hot air mingle with the chilled room. I’d stand there and look down at the street. It was quiet, just a few passersby and the occasional car drifting past the main road. Everything around me felt unfamiliar, yet standing by that window and watching life unfold on the streets below, I felt strangely at peace.
Eventually, my time in Djibouti came to an end, and I boarded a flight back to Ethiopia. This time, I checked into the 5-Star Ethiopian Skylight Hotel near the airport in Addis Ababa. The grand, 1,000-room property was a whirlwind of activity, filled with transit passengers and international travelers from every corner of the world.
Returning to Addis felt different this second time around. I was no longer the anxious traveler taking her first steps into the unknown. I had already crossed that threshold. That evening at the hotel’s ADD restaurant, I sat down to a hearty dinner of rice with spicy tomato sauce, grilled chicken, vegetables, and tender lamb chops. The next morning, over a quick breakfast of coffee and a club sandwich, I prepared for the final leg.
By 6:00 AM, I was back at Bole Airport, boarding an 8:40 AM First Class flight home to Nigeria.
Sitting in my seat, I thought about how fast it had all moved. Just days earlier, Djibouti was nothing more than a blank spot on a map; a name I had barely recognised. Then came the freezing layover in Addis, the sleepless night, the sudden wave of desert heat, the taste of grouper fish, the quiet prayers in a hotel room, and the stillness of a foreign street outside my window.
I flew back to Nigeria with far more than work reports and photos. I came home with memories and a fresh reminder that the world is full of incredible places waiting to surprise us the moment we step into them. Djibouti started as a job assignment; it ended as a story I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
Faridah Abdulkadiri
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