“SIR, OPEN YOUR bags, please.” My father lifts his enormous suitcases up on to the counter and unzips them. The customs official’s eyes widen.

“What’s all this for?” he asks my father. He does not wait for an answer, but thrusts his hands into the first bag and examines the CDs, perfume bottles, watches, jewellery, packets of spaghetti, toothpaste, cosmetics, boxes of tampons, shoes and women’s underwear. “Do you intend to sell any of this?”