Raghad was thin and her appearance was as spare as the room that had become a new home to her and to her mother, her six brothers, and her uncle’s family.
Her thinness resembled the stem of basil she carried with her to the refugee camp. Her mother had yelled, “We have no place for the basil. Leave it!” But Raghad didn’t listen. “If I leave it here it will die, ma!” She carried it in one hand and a bag full of possessions in the other… no toys.