It’s 6.30 in the morning and the dankness hangs over the city trapping the smells of poverty and despair. The curfew has ended, the roadblocks are being dismantled and the exhausted troops are returning to their barracks near the airport. From the slums and shanty towns near Massacres a long line of emaciated bodies head out towards the town centre in search of food and the wherewithal to survive another day. Luanda, the capital of this once proud country totters on the brink of self-destruction as the guerilla war rages on its outskirts. We stand on the tarmac next to the domestic airport staring at the planes loading their cargoes before taxiing out towards the runway. Huge Russian Aleuyshins laden with tanks, armoured personnel…