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The smell of fried potatoes seeped from my car as I pulled into the orphanage that November evening. I didn't fully appreciate what that smell meant until I saw them — small hands beating on metal window plates, older boys howling with laughter from inside, the whole place vibrating with a kind of desperate, joyful hunger. Twenty-four young men were waiting for me. Not just for the food. For the feast. For the moment. I had brought what I could — a hunk of banana bread, some