Saba served tea to her mother and the midwife without looking at them and sat back on her stool. The square bathed in the silver light of the moon.

I used to make the best butter, Saba’s mother said, recalling how the landlord she worked for would even bring her minced beef so she could marinate his meat in her spicy butter. He loved kitfo made my way, she said.

That man, said the midwife. He had money but no morals. The Europeans emptied him of everything our culture instilled in him. Let’s hope that Eyob is different. I pray to the Lord that he is a man of God.

Who is Eyob? asked Saba’s mother.

That man who came with his son last night, said the midwife. Apparently he is self-made. He owned shops and a transport business back home. He also had a hotel in Addis Ababa, but that and everything he owned was confiscated by the dergue, curse on them.

A businessman! Saba only realized she had yelled out when her mother told her to be quiet. She turned away with a smile.

This tea tastes of home, said the midwife.

Hagos taught Saba how to make it, said the mother. God bless him.

He’s a blessed boy, said the midwife.

Saba drew her stool nearer to the women. Sipping on her tea, the midwife carried on speaking: Apparently Eyob opened a shop in the city before he lost that one too when he was forced to move to our camp with his son, Tedros.

Poor man, said Saba’s mother, shaking her head.

Don’t worry about him, said the midwife. I heard he brought with him some of his stock. He will be fine.

The following morning, Saba arrived in the deserted square, firewood tied to her back. She paused when she saw the new arrival standing in front of the makeshift aid centre. The businessman looked around him. Saba wondered whether he was prospecting the area, looking for a spot to start his business all over again. The frown that had sat between her eyebrows all morning disappeared.

When the businessman turned around, their eyes met. But Saba lost sight of him as soon as the square filled with people who made clouds of dust rise everywhere. Saba shuffled the weight of the wood from her back and, hunching forward, she whistled on her way home.

Inside the hut, she untied her ponytail. Running her fingers down the back of her neck, she raised her hair high. Sweat trickled down to her nape. With the businessman’s arrival, she could see the camp transformed. Months from now, she imagined the square as a replica of her hometown market. Shops dotted along two sides facing each other. Fresh vegetables and fruits ripening in the sun. A butcher’s knife wedging the meat in portions. Traders selling chickens hanging upside down from sticks on Fridays and Sundays. Clothes of the latest fashion swinging from a hanging rack outside a boutique. Women selling henna and perfume, or braiding hair.