Next to the warehouse was the house Kwesi was looking for. It had a small, walled compound that looked as though it were slowly sinking

The journey out of the Guinean wilderness was a true test of human endurance. For over twenty agonising hours, Kwesi, the elderly merchant, the mother

A heavy, mud-caked boot struck Kwesi in the ribs, knocking him sideways into the thick mire. “You! Empty your pockets!” the bandit leader barked. Kwesi

Lola was not so much a town as it was a muddy scar carved into the edge of the immense, suffocating Guinean rainforest. The air

Patrice swept the thick stack of CFA notes into the deep pockets of his worn woollen sweater. His cloudy amber eye gleamed with satisfaction. “Two

He looked at the torn, bloody ropes still clinging to his wrists. The name “Nana Kwame Mensah” was supposed to be a flawless legal fiction.

Before Diallo’s finger could depress the trigger, the heavy iron barricades exploded inward in a shower of rust, splinters, and rain. A massive, reinforced Renault

The rain had started just past 8pm, transforming the dirt alleys of the Adjamé market into slick, treacherous ravines. Kwesi locked the heavy iron shutter

Time in Abidjan did not pass; it accumulated. The short rainy season gave way to the stifling, dusty heat of the dry months, marking the

Abidjan was not an easy place for refugees. For a man who had once navigated the orderly, predictable logistics of the Ashanti Cocoa trade, the