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The first sign that I’ve left modern civilization-and whatever thin veneer of order might accompany it-appears as I try to exit baggage claim and customs at the international airport in N’Djamena, Chad. I walk through the customs doorway into the terminal lobby and suddenly find myself in a real-life variation of the jail scene in Disneyland’s Pirates of the Caribbean ride. Except that the pressing, noisy crowd of people whose arms are draped around and reaching through the bars are wearing flowing white djellabahs and turbans instead of pirate garb. And I’m the one inside the cage.
