December 9, 1995 - Dewele, Ethiopia

“I still can’t get used to this.”

Bilillee kept her head down as she continued to pile meat unto a plate. She kept her mouth shut, though she wanted to say, “We’ve been living in this hellhole for three years, you’ve been used to it. You just like to hear yourself talk.” But she liked not being hit more than she enjoyed speaking her mind. No matter how much his voice irritated her.

Bilillee looks down at the child that stands beside her and gives a slight smile. A gesture so tiny that her husband can’t see it but that her daughter would still get its warmth.

The baby girl looks up but doesn’t smile back, it’s too dangerous in mixed company. She holds her small hands for the enormous platter. Bilillee hands it over and watches her three-year-old carry it over to the table where her five-year-old brother and stepfather sat.