At last, the city begins to quiet down as merchants pack up their stalls and settle into the myriad cafes for a cup of tea or the lastest imported delicacy. You figure it's a good example to follow and select one cafe at random. A white-bearded old man at the nearest table looks up, as the wind from your entry disturbs the papers spread out in front of him.
"Ah, the Harmattan," he sighs regretfully, "Each year it erases more and more of our past, one grain of sand at a time. I try to do what I can to preserve our national heritage. But I can only do so much." He glances down at the scroll he's been writing on, "Here, take a look for yourself."
On the scroll, the following events are recorded: