Huambo, hellhole of the world, destroyed by thirty years of fighting, where rusty tank wrecks sunk wheel deep in the mud are decorating street corners and UNITA leader Jonas Savimbi had his headquarters, whose dead in combat marked the end of the civil war in 2002. The praça after dark is an eerie sight, a large empty space, full of wooden poles sticking in the earth, used during the day to build the market stalls. A few stray dogs are searching through the heaps of trash left over from the day for food. Small fires are burning in the distance. Safety seems an issue with the locals: a woman with child insists being dropped off on the front of her doorstep where her husband stands waiting, to avoid “bandidos”, more than probably the dead poor, clothed in rags, who live on these heaps of trash recycling what they can and burning everything else on their fires.