We’ve been stopped. A teenage boy approaches, AK-47 in hand. We smile and roll down the window. “Where you going?”, he asks. “We’re going to Buchanan. We’re from UNICEF. We’re going to help the children over there.”
“UNICEF”, he says slowly, his eyes checking over the front seat. Not in any systematic way, but in a slow, uncaring sort of way. “UNICEF”, he repeats. “UN-I-CEF”. He keeps looking, not saying anything more, making no motion for us to leave or stay. His fingers are curled over the rolled-down window. He seems a bit lost, a bit lonely and quite bored. After a few moments of awkward silence and no indication whether we should stay or go, we ask, “How are you doing out here?” He seems to come out of the fog for a moment. “Me? How I am doing? I’m too tired. Me want to eat. I’m hungry. We got no food.”
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