Something I through together quickly using the Bil.

A bell rang out across town as Vitumbiko finished hammering a nail into the joint of two wooden beams. The other workers, the dozen or so men left in this city healthy enough to work, downed tools and scurried for shelter as horns sounded in the distance. Horns from the sea meant France, from the desert, Carthage. Who was actually in control of the city he couldn't remember, the two armies had traded control again and again over the decades, each time the new conqueror took the spoils of war. Sisters, wives and daughters taken, brothers, husbands and sons put to the sword. Those left forced to learn customs and tongue. By sheer luck or the will of the gods he had survived long enough to see a vibrant growing city turned into a ruined slaughter house. Most of the people were gone, dead or preferring to take their chance with the relentless desert heat then beg for the invaders mercy. In the beginning things had been different, the armies who took the city brought food and medicine with them, they helped with the reconstruction efforts, spoke fine words about how we were being rescued form the tyranny of a barbaric empire and under their guiding rule a new dawn would break for our dear city. Dawn always did break for the city and with it another army would come, a different merciful saviour and liberator. How quickly things changed. The supplies stopped, the merchants all left. Soon the generals and soldiers on both sides decided we must be colluding with the enemy, after all how else could they constantly keep getting pushed back? Their invincible legions defeated. Even with so few people there was little food to go around, desperate and starving people signed on for garrison duty. At least that was usually a quick death, over ran by invaders in an hour. Black smoke rose to stain the blue sky, he was so tired. Vitumbiko was sick of this war and the two sides in it. Pulling a stool into the middle of the road towards the beach he wait, the horns getting louder and louder. No more lucky escapes, no divine intervention, just another forgotten casualty in the meat grinder that was life in Bilma.