Houses burned. Stores and market stalls—the fruit of years of labor—were abandoned. Life savings and passports and family photographs were lost as an entire community fled into the mountains.

With no phones and no way to coordinate, the displaced scattered from Cabaret, heading wherever instinct guided them or wherever they thought they might know someone.

In a village roughly eight miles away, a young mother opened her door to an older woman she had never seen before. The stranger had four children in tow, and her husband had been fatally shot in the stomach trying to defend their home in Cabaret. Their relatives in the village had no room for them.

“Pretend this is your house,” said the young mother, who asked that neither she nor her town be identified for fear that gangs would target her neighborhood.