Ali lies on the ground on a brown pillow with floral print. His eyes are open, but motionless. His skinny arms and legs feebly lie beside him, as if they were not part of his body. His mother Fawsa sits next to him, softly massaging his lower legs and caressing his head. Ali does not move. He does not blink, even though flies are making themselves comfortable on his eyelids. Fawsa’s gaze wanders through the small tent, which became their home a couple of days ago. Apart from a few mattresses and pillows, the room is empty. Fawsa’s other two sons are sitting in another corner of the room.