Mama is thin. Her breast is flat and empty. Nne is small and clings weakly to Mama’s chest, sucking blood instead of milk.
The camp is noisy. The air smells of sickness — thick and almost palpable.
My head is bigger than my body, I can see my ribs when I look down at my torso; the doctors at camp say I am suffering, but I know better.
A truck arrives at noon and everyone runs to it, maybe there are supplies. When we look in the back, it is a body. A body with a missing toe which is Papa.


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