When I look out my door I see our dusty market with a few corrugated-iron roofed shacks selling bread and tomato paste, plus other essentials like pens and gum. Beyond it rise green and relatively unpopulated hills. The lowlands are dotted with palm trees. I live in a corrugated-iron roofed concrete block house. I live in one of three adjoining 2-room apartments.
Next door is a similar building.
I'm a fairly important figure in the town. I can never forget the privilege of my background or the color of my skin here. It is a source of deep irritation and hurt. The official language here is French. There are several local languages, which people break into immediately when conversing among themselves.