For many days the scorching sun had been beating down on the surface of the earth like a hammer. The huge waves of moving families, including my own, could find no escape. We had no roof over our heads for the majority of our long and grim days. But we pushed through like a plow through a field because we had no other option.  The heat was a stab in the back to our families; the struggle was endless. The adults, my parents, whispered among themselves while us children sat waiting patiently.

At least it isn’t raining. What would we do then? Where would we go? This tent can’t handle a flood. And the kids are already panicking.

Don’t talk like that. We can’t afford to worry about things that aren’t even happening yet. Worry about one obstacle before moving on to the next.

I just have this feeling that things are about to get worse. Seems like they always do.

The dark and gloomy clouds began rolling in as suddenly as our families being forced from our homes. The calming blue that the sky had once been had vanished just like the belief that things would get better. Now the atmosphere was a daunting gray all around, as far as the eye could see. The tent flaps blew in the wind as the horrifying realization set in among the families in the camp. It would only get worse from here.

Get the children inside while I figure out what we’re going to do.

The men stood outside contemplating what would be best for their families. Should they risk staying here, waiting? Wondering if there was any better option, they stood and listened to the leaves of the bushes blowing violently with the beginning of the storm. All of us children and the women stood huddled together inside the tents, waiting, watching, in silence. Ready to do whatever the men told them to do. Fear was rising inside of me like a flame.

The first drops began to fall, and all remaining hope faded like dust in the wind. Thunder roared and shook the earth, and lightning lit up the sky for only a split second at a time. 

We can’t stay in this ditch. If it floods everything will be ruined. Hurry and pack everything up. We don’t have much time.

It’ll stop soon enough. And besides, we have nowhere to go. We’re gonna wait it out.

We all started moving about the camps like ants in an anthill. Some families,  like mine, staying, some leaving. All of us wondering if we were making the right decision. The younger children cried with fear; we could all sense the uncertainty of the adults. Still, we helped because that was all we could do. The rattling of pots and pans and other belongings being packed up couldn’t be heard over the booming roar of the raging storm.

The storm was unforgiving, relentless. It seemed to be against us all, like it was holding a grudge. We were all struggling enough already, and the storm had to make it worse for us. Will things ever stop going downhill? This thought ran through the minds of the anxious parents and us terrified children. Was the burden of having too many mouths to feed and not enough food not bad enough? The storm didn’t care about our struggles. The storm only cared about destruction.

The rain continued pounding on the tents, trying to break through. It seemed endless. It would have to stop soon or else everything would be ruined. All of us that remained in the camp waited anxiously for it to pass. But it never did.

Maybe we should’ve left. This was a mistake. Pile everything in the car. Maybe it’s not too late.

The water level continued to rise as time passed. Every minute felt like an hour. One by one the families, my own included, still left in the camp found that the cars wouldn’t start because of the water. It was like a stab in the heart, realizing that our only mode of transportation was now useless, like a piece of trash carelessly thrown onto the ground. Adults gathered helpless children and led us to higher ground on foot. The rain violently hammered on us as we walked grumpily on the side of the road. No one said anything. The young children shivered and whined like little puppies. We were hungry. Freezing. Frightened. And there was nowhere to go.

Keep walking. Maybe we will find shelter, or maybe someone who will help us? It was hopeless. Nobody could help us because we were all in the same boat. Keep going. Make sure the young ones survive. Hopeless. Nothing could help us now. Even I knew that. I may have been young, but I could feel the threat of death lurking very near to me and my loved ones.

We trudged along, waiting for an unlikely miracle.