I found the old house near the harbour, between a dilapidated building and a stale hangar. It was owned by a cute and fashion-conscious lady, who couldn’t be younger than 50 but didn’t look older than 40. Her name was Chris Madimi.

I was still a young man then, trying to make a stand by living on my own in a big city and earning my money by writing all sorts of articles and publish them online. She rented the apartment on the first floor; I had found the ad on the internet.