Your three-year-old daughter, Kholod, has deep brown eyes that have seen more than what she ought to in a lifetime.
You plait her thin brown hair. It hangs between her sharp shoulder blades, resting on her prominent vertebrae that look almost like a row of beads running down the centre of her back.
Kholod is sick. Really sick.
She’s been admitted to hospital with severe acute malnutrition. It’s unlikely she will survive.
Your husband is a teacher; one of the most important and noble professions on the planet. He hasn’t been paid in seven months.
You have no way of feeding any of your five children, let alone yourself. You feel as though you’re trapped in a nightmare, the kind where you already know the end.
You will watch your children die, powerless to stop it.