The story haunts me. It won’t let me go. The people—Hutu refugees from Rwanda. The place—Mugunga Refugee Camp in a country once called Zaire. My story is about people I worked with and came to care about—all crushed by the malign forces of history. It was 1995 when I went to work in Mugunga Camp’s Health Care Center, nearly a year after the 1994 Rwandan genocide. Some Hutu in Mugunga directed and carried out the genocide that left over a half million Rwandans, mostly Tutsi, dead. A Tutsi army suppressed the genocide and then forced several million Hutu to flee across Rwanda’s borders to safety. The majority of those fleeing had not taken part in the genocide, but all ended up in camps like Mugunga.