LITMIR.BIZ

       Foreword

      It was well past midnight, and in Cairo airport’s transit lounge it was clear most passengers had already entered the trance-like state of passivity that accompanies long-distance travel. Outside, in the fluorescent glare of the hallway, a trio of stranded Senegalese women traders, majestic in their colourful boubous, were shouting, with operatic volume, at the Egyptian airport staff behind the counter, who were responding with an icy silence that said more about Arab attitudes towards black Africa than direct insults ever could. But here in transit, eyes had glazed over, the energy had leached from the air. A group of Nigerian youths, whose clothes gave off the nose-tickling aroma of dried fish, lay slumped in the plastic orange scoop seats, spines turned to jelly. They were being messed around by EgyptAir staff, who couldn’t be bothered to check them in to the airport hotel their tickets entitled them to. They seemed past caring, anger had long since given way to exhaustion.

      A few seats away, a middle-aged Pakistani businessman was fighting the prevailing mood of stupefied indifference. Visiting cards at the ready, he was in defiantly chatty mode, and was taking the fact that the airline had mislaid his luggage in his stride. (‘EgyptAir no good,’ he confided. ‘Hmm, yes, I know.’) He worked for a company that manufactured soap powder, he said, and constantly travelled the African continent and the Middle East, sizing up possible markets for his multinational.

      â€˜And you, what do you do?’

      â€˜I’m a journalist. I’m writing a book about Eritrea. That’s where I’m going now.’

      His brow furrowed, he must have misheard. ‘You are writing a book about Algeria?’

      â€˜No,

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