Back in downtown Yukocville, Amanda Wellington was standing on the balconey of her modest one bedroom apartment, looking over the squalid city. In the distance, a amplified voice carried on the breeze, calling in arabic to prayer at the mosque. Otherwise, the city was full of the sounds of traffic, construction and human voices. The smell alternated between sewage and diesel. Yet, enjoying a cup of tea and a quiet moment, Amanda felt more at home now than at any time since leaving England almost a month ago.
Her daydream was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Who is it?" she called. The responce was a louder knock, so that the door shook on its hinges, and a grunt in one of the local languages. At times like this, Amanda wished peepholes were more common on African doors. She made her way tentatively to the door.
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