I travel to Kakuma twice yearly, making portraits and listening to the stories of the remaining Lost Boys and the rarely mentioned Lost Girls. I sit inside their makeshift church as they share their memories of their thousand-mile journey to escape genocide. They describe the misery of living in a place they're not allowed to call home, become citizens, or the dignity of self-sufficiency. They worry their children have no future. Surprisingly, they also express their continued hope that one day they'll have a chance for a better life. And then, in silence, they patiently sit on the dirt pews with light streaming in from the carved-out windows as I make their portraits.