I’m used to being there, always, at the correct time. The act can take place on the road, at the entrance of a man’s house, on the political platform, at his desk in his workplace. Nothing is haphazard. I’m no explorer discovering the unknown. My mind is the map. The landmarks are clearly drawn in red ink. I am as meticulous as a scholar or scribe. Knowledge of a man’s personal habits is integral to the task. Where and at what time precisely he breakfasts, the exact hour when he will step out of his house to enter the car that will take him for his assignation with high-ranking policy-making diplomats and ambassadors. Then again I must have the order of the speakers on the political platform. I don’t listen to anything they say. My mind is blanked out. I prepare myself. Concentrate. Take regular breaths. Screen off the crowds who are hysterical with the euphoria generated by the speeches, and by the provocative and aggressive body language of the election candidates whose voices blast through the grating loudspeakers with all their shrieking distortions. Against the banners, the flags, the blank-faced bodyguards, the spotless white sheet covering the table with the jug of water and tumblers, the man stands up. He begins:

‘My mithrayo, my friends, you have suffered deprivation for so many years. I promise you your freedom. And I promise you jobs, yes, employment, your right. We shall remove all abuses that have hindered you. We shall have religious toleration. We shall end this war, end the terrorist problem, have negotiations, dialogue, debate. Look into the grievances of these misguided youths …’