He sat amid the dead and dying animals and people.
A year of drought. And now all was parched and dry.
The pastures were all bare and dusty. The rivers all dried up and gone. His people, his village, his family, all dead or dying of thirst.
People came, sometimes, in trucks. They gave him flour, when what he needed was water.
So he sat, with his arms folded across his drawn up knees and his head resting on his arms.
The breeze touched him gently. He raised his head and smiled. On the breeze's breathe, he could smell rain.
p.s. Today, in Ethiopia, conditions like what I describe above actually exist.