Amina lives in a sprawling refugee camp that sits at the base of a mountain in the Horn of Africa. From where she stands she can see the rows of white tents stretching to the horizon, a small, teeming city of some 40,000 souls.
Inside, the air reeks of the sharp odor of donkeys and open latrines, of charcoal cooking fires and the sweet scent of tea. It is a city unto itself, where boys fly kites and marriages are made, where donkey carts crowd the dusty paths. But it is largely unknown to the outside world.