Service disruption is normal when order breaks down. Water and electricity are usually the first victims of war. During the day when curfews are partially lifted, hunting for food and water is imperative. I am determined to follow my mom and aunties. Only women could venture out because any man could be considered a rebel. Whenever the women prepared to go out water hunting, I would pick up a tiny bucket and attempt to follow them. My mom always chased me back into the house. I made several attempts and on this particular day, my mom relents. Carrying a small plastic bucket, we set out into the neighborhood to scavenge for water. I am so excited to be in the midst of this adventure; too young to understand the gravity of the situation. There is a practical reason for my mom’s sudden change of heart. When we get to the first house, the doors are locked, and that is where I am needed. I am hoisted up to go in through a broken window and open the door. Very young and agile, I squeeze in through the window, hop on to the floor, and proudly unlatch the door. One of my aunties heads for a tap that was right there in the kitchen, and I follow my mom along a narrow corridor. She opens a door and suddenly pushes me back so hard that I fall to the floor. But it is too late, as I fell back, I see the body lying on the floor. She has a bullet wound in her face, no bra, and a white petticoat. She is lying in a pool of water. Her facial skin is contracted to form what look like lines. Every time the image of her body comes to mind, I think about a black lifeless sun-dried fish, mouth open, and the skin contracted from sun drying.