Lifting the coffee grounds to her nose, Neith inhales, and winces. She cannot afford the brand she really likes because it is frankly luxurious, so she buys the cheapest she can stand. It is counter-intuitively called Truth. On the packaging is a picture of the company’s owner, a very handsome retired footballer from Benin. Benin coffee is usually very good, but Truth is not. She has been trying to acquire a taste for it, and while she still hates it, she now misses it as well when she can’t get it. It is the worst of possible outcomes, one she hopes very much is temporary.