On a dry day in the wet Cameroonian climate, the morning sun peers over the hills on the east side of Yaoundé. The central bank building looms above the city, gleaming in the early light yet casting its shadow into the commercial center. In the streets below, piles of paper and plastic lie strewn outside the doors of the night clubs – the bottles and cans have already been collected by pre-dawn scavengers. In the old residential quarter of Mvog-Ada, roosters call the day into existence. In the newer quarter of Essos, the day begins with the motorized sound of generators, compensating for undependable central power. On streets throughout the city, meanwhile, vendors light their charcoal, set up plank benches for customers, and prepare to serve breakfasts of instant coffee (laced with canned and sugared milk), freshly baked bread, and scrambled eggs.

In the northern quarter of Tsinga, a comfortably established family begins its day at the breakfast table. The cook sets out a breakfast like that of the sidewalk cafes, but with the addition of papaya slices. The children are sent off to school: public school for the girl, a Catholic prep school for the boy. The man of the house takes the car to inspect the construction sites he directs; his wife, running late, hails a taxi rather than wait for a bus, and climbs into the seat crowded with two passengers already heading for the center of town. By avoiding the wait she not only saves time, but escapes having to endure the smell of the burning and festering trash in the nearby field.