When Bob Marley sings about a government yard in Trenchtown, I’ve always imagined something like the scene greeting us at the bus depot in Luanda, the capital of Angola. Arriving after midnight, we join the passengers huddled in the walled compound, straw mats spread out on the damp ground, sleeping bodies lined up in rows, with travellers from across the country mingling under the lamps. Somebody is selling beverages from a cooler outside the gate. I’m only missing cornmeal porridge cooked over a campfire. More…….