I’d already gone to the gate, but he wasn’t there. They said he was on patrol around the perimeter of the camp. I just hoped that we were walking around in different directions so that we would eventually meet. As I walked, I noticed that there had been a shift in the fence. New poles had been set farther out and the fence restrung to allow more room for tents to be put up. The camp was still growing. There was a saying that misery loved company. We had more and more company. More people meant that more food and water had to be brought in, more latrines dug, more soldiers to guard us, more tents to house us, more of everything. Some of the new arrivals moved into tents that had been vacated by people like Jomo and his family. But this expansion was filled with tents that were obviously new. They were bright white, not weathered by the sun or coated and made dingy by the dust, or ripped and worn through use or abuse. Our tent was still holding up well. We’d weighed it down with rocks so it was anchored to the ground.
