Karamoja: When the silence of guns also means going to bed hungry

Esther Napeyok, from a Tuesday evening walk, sits by the side of Moroto church looking on as the night approaches. From here she can hear hymns in her native language, Ngakarimojong, rehearsed by the church choir in preparation for the next service.  A chilly dry wind whistles through the green trees surrounding the cathedral, tossing in the air some dust and dry leaves. She slowly turns back to look at Mount Moroto, the giant of the town who was once green and pretty but has over time gone grey. It is the end of another hot and dry day in Karamoja. More here