There are so many people in the camp, all of us in tents that do not protect from heat or cold.

Winds sometimes uproot tents. There are stray dogs everywhere. Every day we line up for drinking water. Sometimes the water runs out and we return to our tents empty-handed.

My family’s tent is in the middle of the camp. Next door is a medical point that supports those who have been displaced here.

I’ve seen doctors stitch up children’s wounds with care. Often there is no local anesthesia, so the doctors compensate with extra warmth and smiles. An elderly woman came to the tent for treatment for a chronic condition. They treated her with kindness. They did not have much medicine for her.

Since medical supplies are scarce, the doctors use what they have on hand.

We are being annihilated. We are running out of options. The north and south are separated, and communication is cut off. I used to hope that I would see friends and family in the north again, but now I just don’t know.

After this war ends, where will we go? [Neocolonialism] has destroyed our homes, and our favorite places no longer exist.