Sandel watched through binoculars as Sudanese government militiamen moved into his home.
"Don't worry," his brother-in-law, Ibrahim Mohammed Hashem, told him. "We can receive you forever, if you want."
The well in Bamena, Chad, is crowded with people in search of water for cooking, bathing and livestock. The village, located across the Sudanese border, has 7,700 people and just three wells.
(Emily Wax -- The Washington Post)
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The men are part of the Zagawa ethnic group. As blacks, the Zagawa in Sudan feel persecuted by the Arabs who dominate the Sudanese economy and government. Sandel said he was called "slave" by the Arab militia. "I was told, 'You, black, go.' " Such attitudes are a source of solidarity with Zagawas in Chad.
Sitting in his cool hut, Hashem and other men said they were prepared to fight the Arabs and to go to war for their Sudanese brothers. Hashem has given Sandel land to build a new home and he is sharing his food and water. Within view, five carcasses of cattle and goats rotted in the sun, all dead from dehydration.
There are concerns that Sudan may bring the war to Chad. In late January, two Sudanese planes dropped bombs on a Chadian town, Tine, where 40,000 refugees have moved into homes constructed of sticks and blankets. Arab militias have rustled cattle in towns farther south along the border.
Although Chad's president, Idriss Deby, is a Zagawa, he has not challenged the more wealthy and powerful Sudanese government, which backed him in his struggle for power.
In the southeastern Chadian town of Adre, black Chadians and black Sudanese rebels joined to attack Chadian Arabs. They killed a prominent chief, raising tensions between blacks and Arabs. Aid groups fear battles like this may lead to a wider war.
"Yes," Hashem said. "I know that we all may suffer, too. We share everything, and if we must, we may have to share war, too."
'We Have Nothing Here'
Many Sudanese refugees are well-educated and in search of work as well as water and shelter. But there are no jobs. Amina Tinjany sat recently in a field with a group of 30 women -- all with college degrees, all once teachers -- who are now hungry.
Tinjany has lost 10 pounds since she left Sudan. She felt dizzy. Her orange polka-dot scarf and dress were falling from her body. She tied it onto her shrinking waist with a frayed blanket. She cried and then she shouted, "We have no food."
These women crossed the border three weeks ago. Men on horseback rode into her village, she said, stealing cattle and burning huts. The men of her village are gone, she said, perhaps killed by the bombs, perhaps kidnapped for use as soldiers by the rebel group. She didn't know.
Tinjany, 29, used to teach Arabic studies and education. Now she writes letters, begging for help. She wrote open letters to the Chadian people, to Britain, to God and to the president of the United States. She explained that she had attended her district's best schools and that her tribe was once a prosperous group of businessmen, government workers and health care professionals. The letters were written in Arabic and English, but there is no way to mail them.
She looked over the sad scene of her friends. Zenia Ibrahim, 35, used to teach math. Now she tended to her father, passed out under a tree, with two broken legs. He was injured in the bombing. She brought him here in a wheelbarrow. Another woman -- a history teacher -- had shrapnel stuck in her leg. Her flesh was turning purple.
"We have nothing here," she wrote, as tears streamed over her brown skin. "Will we just rot here like our animals have? We are all Muslims. We are all black. Does anyone care about us?"
