Out on the red earth plain, scattered with shards of thorny shrub, the graves are shallow. Not even a strong, well fed man or woman could dig far into this baked ground.
There are a few concrete marker stones with names scratched on and dates of death in the past month or so, but most are simple mounds of earth patted into shape over whoever lies below, and topped with bouquets of thorns. This morning, Minhaad Abdi Khalif was buried here, in a row, it looks like, of mostly children. But already the grave appears timelessly embedded in the landscape.
