Clarisse Kambire’s nightmare rarely changes. It’s daytime. In a field of cotton plants that burst with purple and white flowers, a man in rags towers over her, a stick raised above his head. Then a voice booms, jerking Clarisse from her slumber and making her heart leap. “Get up!”
Amado Kafando tilted his head back, smiled and pumped his fists into the west African sky. “We praised God, and said, ‘At last!’” said Kafando, 45, standing amid the mud huts where he lives with 11 children and no electricity.