If I am publishing these literary chronicles written in 2003, it is for two reasons. The first is that we have few accounts by Haitian writers about Chad, and the second is that they allow us to understand how reality can remain at a standstill in certain countries. A situation that recalls our own. This series should be read as a text dated in relation to the situation in 2026.

The taxi has been driving for some time beneath the starry sky of N'Djamena, the capital of Chad. Wide dusty streets lined with rickety houses. Swarms of insects beneath the few lit streetlamps. Fleeting shadows. Suddenly, a man in a large white boubou runs across the street. The taxi does not slow down. The eyes of a frightened animal caught in the beams of the headlights. The city is not inviting and tourists are rare, which reminds me of Port-au-Prince, where the presence of the rare tourist does not alter the way city dwellers behave.