I could smell rain in the air, Samhiya said.

The trees around them shuddered. The incipient whistle of the forest brought music that echoed in the valley.

As they trudged back home Zahra told the story of the day her mother had left for the trenches. I was eight, she said. It was early morning, my mother and I hadn’t slept all night long. My mother sat against the bed and I rested my head on her chest and cried. When the morning came, I had never hated the sun as much as that day. I hoped it would disappear, that our life would be one long night.

The three girls resumed walking in silence, their young backs arching under the heavy bundles. A raindrop landed on Saba’s forehead. The wind blew harder. They hurried on the pathway that was now obscured by whirling sand.

And then the rain poured down.

Let’s take cover under the tree, Saba said.

They joined hands to support each other against the wind and rain, their shoulders pushing against the invisible wall. The firewood squeaked against their backs. Once in the shelter of the eucalyptus tree, they stood panting. Saba looked in the distance where the rain had cleared the red sand off large rocks.

Samhiya took off her wet dress and hung it over the nearest branch. Can you wipe my back, bella? she asked, passing her scarf to Saba.

Saba gaped at the curvy body in matching bra and pants. She chased the drops of rain on the flesh that clung to Samhiya’s hips. Saba thought of Hagos, and hooked her fingers into the side of Samhiya’s underwear. Samhiya twitched.

These are the handles for a man to carry me to bed with, Samhiya said, laughing.

As if that man was Hagos and Hagos was her, Saba firmed her grip on Samhiya’s sides.

Ouch, Saba, stop it, said Samhiya. It hurts.

Saba let go. Hagos, like a brief sensation, fleeted away from her thoughts. Her heart quietened. She shuffled to adjust the weight of the bundle she carried. Samhiya’s oiled back glistened in the sunlight breaking through the clouds. Saba touched Samhiya’s silver necklace. Where did you get this? she asked.

I can lend it to you, but only if you get married before me, Samhiya responded.

You can keep your fancy necklace. I am not going to marry before I finish school.

School? In this camp? Please tell us this is a joke, Saba.

I asked the English aid worker and he told me school was coming soon, Saba said. They have already allocated the field in the south of the camp.

Aid workers promise anything to get rid of people, Saba. Do you know how many people queue to ask questions and request this and that? You could build a palace in the air out of their promises.

Saba swerved around Samhiya and pushed through the rain.

By the time they had returned to the camp, the sky was clear and the soil had dried out in the blazing sun. As they entered the square they went their separate ways. Close to her hut, Saba noticed a woman dressed in a long yellow gown standing in the square, the woman whose jerrycan Hagos had saved from the river. Saba waved. The woman closed her eyes and started singing an aria in both Italian and Tigrinya, her voice rising as if to silence the waning thunder. Saba dropped the firewood by her hut. She was drenched in sweat. Her dress, having lost a few buttons and its lustre a while back, stuck to her skin. A few threads pulled away from the bottom of the dress. Her body felt as torn.