i wake up at 2 am every night, as the power cuts out and my fan grinds down. sweat starts to bead, and i push through the mosquito net. dust falls onto the sheets. i grope for my headlamp, click it and step outside. the compound, usually full of the activity and noise of the 70people who share it, is quiet and dark. the wind, violent earlier, has calmed. stones crunch as i walk towards a chair in the centre of the yard. i sit down, click off my light, stretch my neck back. above, stars are scattered in the blackness, thousands of distant jewels. somewhere, in dadaab, someone is looking at the same ones, staring at the open space above, hoping that if you can free your mind, even for a moment, with it, goes your soul.