Not far from Somalia on a barren, windswept plain, a girl named Amina gathers firewood in the fading light of late afternoon. She is slightly built, with a long, delicate neck and thin, bony arms. The cheap Casio watch on her wrist tells her that she doesn't have much more time before she has to get home to help her mom. 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.
