Behind us, a rusty, wire fence; under our feet: dry grass and dust. We were thirsty. Above us loomed an enormous, leafless tree; it looked as if it might touch the shivered, June moon. Samir gestured, or maybe it was Salima, and we all leaned back and peered into the darkness. We somehow understood that a piece of the tree, or the moon, had broken off and was hurtling towards us—but we had no idea where it might land, so we just trembled and waited for thunder and shake—or the end. Later, we tried to count how many of us were missing. A woman ran towards us, screaming. She was carrying a small child in her arms. Only his hand, she sobbed. It only took his hand.