“I don’t know!” Jenny cried.There was no time to do anything as the Ivory Coast border guard motioned Scott up next to him. “I thought we’d ...e stopped by the Ghanaian border guard not the Ivory Coast military first,” he complained.“Passeports s’il vous plaît,” “Passports please,” the guard asked, holding out his right hand. Scott inspected the AK 47 slung across his chest as he handed him their documents. Double magazines taped together, he noted about the weapon. The guard looked at Scott’s. "You people sure do work hard."You people? I was her fucking child. Now I'm one of "you people." Butthat was the way it was. Every day, I got a little blacker. Every day,I became less a part of their family. I didn't sleep with them. Ididn't eat with them. I rarely talked to them.What was worse? My face? My gender? My job? I had maneuvered myselfonto one of society's lowest rungs.One morning, Mrs. Thomas -- she insisted I call her that -- was talkingto me about a stain in her white blouse. She. More

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