We are lucky to have such a learned and God-fearing man among us.

Saba recognized the midwife’s shrill blurting from behind. She didn’t look back.

The time is right to set up a qebele, said the midwife, pushing her way between Saba and Zahra to shake the judge’s hand.

What is a qebele? Saba whispered to Zahra’s grandmother.

Don’t whisper, ask them, loudly, said the grandmother.

Saba grinned at the theatrics of Zahra’s grandmother when the grandmother suggested that Zahra carry Saba on her shoulders so that her question would be heard by many.

Hesitating, Saba got on Zahra’s back and shouted: What is a qebele?

Heads turned towards them. Well, said the grandmother, now that she had caught the full attention of the crowd, this is a tradition that allows only men to rule us. God willing, it will be destroyed when our country is free.

Saba looked on amazed as the grandmother walked away head held high.

Soon after, the aid workers emerged from their makeshift offices. The white man, said to be an English aid coordinator, put up a signpost by the huts. The prospect of discovering a name for this place in the wilderness stirred Saba. Standing on her toes, she peered over shoulders at the sign in blue bold letters. It was the same two words in three languages. Refugee Camp, it read in Tigrinya, Arabic and English.

The elders shook the aid workers’ hands and, turning to the crowd, the judge called for a prayer. May God bless their work, the square prayed.

Food allocations were handed out from the lorries. Each family received coupons according to its size. The first morning only tins of sardines were available. The rest – maize, oil, milk powder and sugar – was on its way, so explained the aid coordinator to the people via his assistant who doubled as a translator.

People forged into the square from every direction. Saba had never seen such a wide variety of people in one place. Some had lighter skin, others dark features, the thin walked alongside those with bellies. Faces were different in more than expression alone – here were incised cheeks, and there were noses with crescent rings, eyebrows pierced, crosses tattooed on foreheads, hair braided with shells, beards dyed with henna.

There was so much to take in. Too many dialects and idioms she couldn’t understand. What glued her country together was more than one language or one religion, and Saba wondered if she could find it in this camp. She was pushed from one tribe to another. Her breathing became heavy. Yet, she drifted along as if she was on a journey, travelling across her country, visiting tribes she had only ever read about, encountering people who occupied different corners of a nation all in the same place. At the same time. Was it possible for a whole country to have evacuated to a camp? Was it possible for a land bombed day and night to seek rest elsewhere, along with all its inhabitants?