ABSTRACT
Few would have recognized me, had they seen me one
morning shortly after my return to Djibouti, at work down by the water front in the company of Abdi, my former muleteer, who had definitely chosen to cast his lot with mine. Abdi was a Warsangali from Cape Gardafui, a man in his early twenties, broad shouldered and bronzed of skin, his long hair bleached yellow with lime. A true amphibian, he was equally at home on land, in a boat and in or under water. As a lad, he had been a pearl diver in the Dahalak Islands. A precious collaborator, a friend of whom any man might be proud, during the years that followed he proved equal to every circumstance, brave, tactful, and good humored.
