Tent cities are alive and dancing with flapping laundry but the people are in a seemingly endless shuffle competing with the massive slow moving piles of rubble. We don’t have to stop for much in the way of traffic on our way to the government compound but our progress is certainly slow and steady as we negotiate slow moving foot traffic. We pass what might be loosely called a market square and I see a young woman haggling with a boy. She looks out of place, too well dressed for a local. He can’t be more than 16 but he has a weapon slung over his shoulder as he counts the wad of cash that she has just handed him. A young local girl stands nearby. Something about the woman looks familiar but I can’t place it. Something about the scene looks wrong but we can’t afford to get out and issue challenges. Not today, when we have so much at stake.