EXCERPT I am afraid. Gadjos normally know nothing of fear. They are only afraid of death. Otherwise, they are fearless. Each one stronger than the next. In the buildings where they store their most precious Objects-and-Ideas, they organise jousts between themselves and themselves, inventing singular battles between enemies who have never met, never touched each other, battles in which no blood is shed, but which attract a crowd of strangely animated young men and women—not driven by a thirst for revenge, though. All around them, in the streets and down to the quays…even further away, Negro people, grassboys, hygienboys, bottelboys, gutterboys from Abidjan, dockers, porters, labourers, smugglers from Accra on the borders of the Slave Coast, are busy before their blind eyes. When they finally see what these people are doing, only then do they become afraid. As I am now afraid.…