Port-au-Prince is cut into four zones by density, parish, housing and work

Comhaire-Sylvain divided Port-au-Prince into quadrants using four measures: how densely people lived, which parish they belonged to, what their houses were made of, and how they stood in relation to paid work. Out of that she drew four class zones covering the whole city. The numbers and letters she attached to them were meant to widen the description rather than compress it, holding several kinds of information in one label without passing sentence on the people inside it. What she was after was relation, not accumulation of evidence. She had watched class labels do damage in Haiti: they hurt people, they held people in place, they inflated people, and they left people both unaccounted for and unaccountable to one another. Her method carried an ethic inside it. If the available way of naming people injured them, then the researcher's first task was to build a new way of naming. That is a harder standard than most social science sets itself, then or now.

Brussels intended to hold the Congo. Local elections in 1957 and 1958 were meant to satisfy the demand for reform, and instead they gave Congolese politics a structure it had lacked. Nationalist parties multiplied. The broadest of them formed around Patrice Lumumba, who in most respects was the only Congolese leader trying to build an organisation covering the entire territory rather than one region or one ethnic base. Political rallies in 1958 and 1959 turned into riots and the violence spread. The Belgians started losing control. They had delayed elections too long to manage the transition on their own terms or even in an orderly way. The colony had been run first as Leopold's personal estate and then as Belgium's, and it entered independence with almost no trained administrators and no political machinery of its own. The chaos that swallowed the Congo after 1960 was already implied in the way the last three years were handled.

In 1959 Duvalier gave his paramilitary force a formal existence as the Volunteers of National Security, the body Haitians called the Tontons Macoutes. Its declared purpose was to put down political opposition. Its real purpose was structural. Every Haitian government since 1806 had held office at the pleasure of the officer corps, and a president who wanted to finish his term had to keep the generals content or replace them faster than they could organise. Duvalier did something else. He built a second armed body, recruited outside the army, paid outside the army, and answerable to him alone, so that the regular soldiers were no longer the only people in Haiti with guns. From that year the VSN was the instrument through which the state reached into neighbourhoods and villages, and it did the work of surveillance, extortion and killing that a professional army might have refused or bargained over. The arrangement held until 1986, which makes it the most durable political invention of the twentieth century in Haiti.

Greene spent August 1963 in Haiti and found the Oloffson almost empty, with an Italian casino manager and an elderly American couple as the only other guests, a scene he transposed almost unchanged into his novel. The gossip columnist Aubelin Jolicoeur announced his arrival on 13 August and became the model for Petit Pierre. A New York paper ran a piece on 18 August noting that Greene was thinking of writing an entertainment beginning with a hotel keeper who returns to find only two guests. His own article appeared in a London Sunday paper on 29 September 1963 under the title Nightmare Republic, a bleak account of a people living under a strange curse in which he cast Papa Doc as the Vodou spirit Baron Samedi, a figure in top hat and tails haunting the cemeteries in dark glasses with a cigar. Diederich later learned Greene had been watched day and night throughout the visit.