I’m in a foreign city. It looks modern, well developed. The rule of law has broken down. It’s a dangerous place. Somehow, I get on board a final flight out of the place. The other passengers all seem to know one another. I wonder if they are all spies. There’s no working seatbelt, and the door is open as the pilot takes off. I look down into the city.
Armed police fight running battles with armed civilians. One side begins to win, then the other. The civilians are mixture of all ages and genders. There is no mercy here. I realise it is Rwanda. I take photos of people dying in gunfights. I’m glad to have escaped.
I’m back on the ground, in the city, with the other passengers. They swarm towards the quickest route out of the city. I know we will die if we go that way. We are unarmed. Large gangs of armed civilians are along that route. No one listens to me. A woman slides a heel from her shoe. She has a tiny beretta pistol hidden there. I follow her. At least she’s armed. We talk about how her little dog may have WKD disease. I win her trust. She asks me to hold the gun while she does something. I turn on her. I explain we have to go a different route. She won’t listen. I leave her to it, but keep the gun.
I walk past a garage. A man is in a queue. He looks like a reporter. I don’t trust him. I leave that scene.
I climb across concrete structures, rooftops, and along deserted main roads. I come to a dark park. Crossing it, I meet someone from work. We enter a cafe together, where we will be safe.