Dusk was playing a lullaby on the stained glass windows
of the catholic cathedral across the street as I sit, pondering about life and
death, in front of the blue and white tent that has served as home for my
family for two weeks now. The tent, one of hundreds in an internally displaced
refugee camp in Benin City, is part of a tent village. It started life as a
screening centre but now houses more than a thousand families. The number will
grow and this place will become crowded. We would have to move then, for more
people would mean less hygiene and death would follow.
