desperate

Hunger, akoro, haunting my dreams and my reality. I know I should open my eyes and face the day that is fast approaching, but my body and mind feel void of energy. The wimper at my side finally nudges me awake – the tiny child voices what I can’t. I’ll try again to give the child milk, but my body refuses to supply nourishment to another when it doesn’t have any for itself. The ache that began in my gut has spread to my limbs and head – now I am constantly aware of the weight of my extremities, a burden to bear they seem.

Hope, when all seems so dire. There are murmurs around the village, food is to be distributed to each family today. We must gather in the centre, the local meeting place. It is a far walk with these weary bones. My eyes are drawn to the sleeping bodies I’ve just extricated myself from…a family composed of children, all trusting in me to feed, to clothe, to wash, to care for. They are worth the walk, they are worth the pain. The small child is tied to my back, safe within the warmth of the blanket I slept under last night. Let the journey begin.

Chaos. Shouting. Fighting. Survival of the fittest.

I’m tossed and turned within the mass of people gathered to get their ration from the large lorry. Hands upraised in petition, in desperation, in demand of sustenance. My bare feet are stomped on, my head knocked by elbows. Where is the food? Where should I go? Lost in the surge of bodies, I feel a bit lighter – my hands get hold of a bag, I must hold on or lose it. It will have enough sustenance to last our family a few weeks on one small meal a day…

The crowd is pulsing, it is difficult to extract myself. I reach the edge while hearing someone scream. I turn to see the crowd begin to break, and feel a deep emptiness rising within me. It seems the bag of food has replaced another weight I brought with me.

Panic. Terror. Shock. Puddle of tears and piercing wails.

The small child lies lifeless where I once stood. Battered and broken. Swept up and trampled by the deep hunger – for life, for food, for hope. What she never knew.

The sun is getting low. I must return with my burden, exchanging death for life. Turn my back and focus on what is, not what has been. An empty centre, my footprints leading away from a small child swaddled in dust.

Desperate.

Based on a true account of recent events, although embellished in regards to the mother’s personal view/experience.