It’s strange, how you go from a being person who is away from home to a person with no home at all. The country that is supposed to want you has pushed you out. No other country takes you in. You are unwanted, by everyone. You are a refugee. One day when we were walking with our sorry group, a Red Cross truck arrived. The driver invited the pregnant and wounded among us to get on. The rest of us were told to follow, until we arrived at two hills covered with blue and white tents.

Clemantine Wamariya and Elizabeth Weil write beautifully about family, genocide, Oprah, and what the world owes us.