This morning I set out with the collection truck, whose duty is to collect all the overnight dead from the hospitals and feeding centers. For the past three months, the workers have picked up three hundred to four hundred corpses a day. So many of the bodies are tiny. People bring aluminum pots or even plastic bags to carry away the food.
Skeletal children lie unconscious under a palm tree.
The starving wait patiently for food to be distributed. Even at the feeding sites, many die from malnutrition that cannot be reversed. The rainy season is expected any minute, and the situation can only get worse, with outbreaks of cholera and malaria. The refugees are bringing me home to something in myself. I'm utterly lost in their suffering, but I refuse to stay lost.