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Daughter of Dust
Daughter of Dust
Growing up an Outcast in the Desert of Sudan  
This edition: Trade Paperback, 304 pages
List Price: £12.99
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Prologue
Prologue

Prologue

The room is always different, always the same. The light is dim, the concrete floor covered in fine, red dust. The cots are still there, their bars dented, the paint worn away. The air is thick with the smell of urine, sickness and grief. The sound of crying bounces from the walls, echoes inside me.

I move from one cot to the other, picking up the children one by one. I hug them, kiss them, laugh with them. As I hold them, they grow calm. As soon as I put down one child, another begins to scream. I move from child to child, trying to give them what they need.

The smallest lie two to a cot, bottles propped in their mouths. In one cot is a bundle, wrapped in white cloth. It is stiff. Silent. Two more arrive under a nanny's arm, wriggling in a torn towel. She lays them on a mattress, naked and screaming.

I step outside, into the brilliant, relentless light. The veranda where we used to play lies empty; a plastic swing hangs motionless. A breeze rises and the seeds of the Beard of the Pasha tree shiver and rattle in the silence.

I know only one thing. It is my responsibility to help these children.