It was easy to see what Adanne and Emmanuel were talking about. Most of the people we found to speak with were women who were working outside their shelters. They reminded me of Moses and his friends, because of how eager they were to share their terrible stories with someone from the outside.

One woman, Madina, cried as she wove a straw mat and told us about coming to Kalma. The Janjaweed had destroyed her village and killed and mutilated her husband, her mother, and father. Most of her neighbors and friends were burned alive in their huts.

Madina had arrived with three children and literally nothing else. Tragically, all three of her children had died at the camp.

The sleeping mats she made were in demand because of dooda worms, which came out of the ground at night and burrowed into the refugees' skin. Whatever she earned went toward onions and grain, though she hoped to have enough to buy a patch of cloth one day. She'd been wearing the same toab since she'd gotten here.

“When was that?” Adanne asked.

“Three years ago” was Madina's sad answer. “One for each of my children.”

Chapter 82

“I HAVEN'T LOST sight of your Tiger,” Adanne said as we trudged along. “He recruits boys here. It's easy for him.”

“You were right about the horror, Adanne,” I told her.

I was eager to speak with people in as many sectors of the camp as possible, but when we came to one of the few medical tents, I had to stop again. 1 had never seen such a bewildering sight in my entire life.

The tent was overflowing with sick and dying patients, two and more to a cot. Bodies were jigsaw-puzzled into every available space. To make matters worse, long lines extended outside, at least three hundred very sick women and children waiting for treatment, or for a better place to die.

“Sadly, there's little to be done to stop their suffering,” Adanne told me. “Medication is scarce, much of it stolen before it can get here. There is starvation, pneumonia, malaria. Even diarrhea can be fatal-and with the water and sanitation problems, there is no end to it.”

I saw one doctor and two volunteer nurses. That was it. The entire hospital staff for thousands of very sick people.

“This is what they call the 'second phase' of the crisis,” Adanne went on. “More people dying inside the camps than outside. Thousands. Every single day, Alex. I told you that it was horrifying.”

“You understated,” I said. “This is unimaginable. All these people. The children.”

1 knelt down by a little girl in one of the few beds. Her eyes were clouded and looked unreal. I brushed away a buzzing cluster of black flies gathered at her ear.

“How do you say 'God be with you'?” I asked Emmanuel.

“Allah ma'ak,” he told me.

I said it to the tiny girl, though I don't know if she heard me.

“Allah ma'ak.”