Village Girl

A fiery heat wave smothered a barren, desolate corner of the sub-Saharan Desert. The militant flames of wind kicked the grains of sand leaping into dancing spirals, before cascading back into the dunes. The scorching sun, a spectator of its fury, stood isolated in the sky and observing nature at the hands of its mercy.

Suddenly a river trickled into the village, irrigating the land and quenching the ground from its thirst; a young girl’s laughter flowed into the vicinity and cooled the heat of day. Her joy cast a shelter of shade. Nature was remitted. Splashes of water would jump out of the bucket mounted on her head, as she attempted to steady the heavy load. Her eyes focused upwards, calculating how to synchronise the motion of her neck with the centre of gravity. A smile grew on her face- she loved a challenge.

Carefully, she lowered the bucket onto the ground and her little brother gleamed at the parcel.

“Is this one for us?” He exclaimed.

“Yes, Omedi. Bring your bottle so you can fill it up,” said Sarah.

He ran into his corner of the room to quickly grab his plastic bottle and return to his sister. His pace slowed down, and his footsteps staggered as he approached the bucket of water. He inhaled a breath of gratitude and exhaled his excitement. His eyes darted all over the sight of this fresh water. He just couldn’t contain his joy. Today was the first day that the local charity installed a clean water pump in the village.

“Thank you, sister.”

“You’re welcome, Omedi.” Sarah felt a maternal fulfilment encompass her heart. The responsibilities of motherhood have been appointed to her ever since their mother passed away. She strived each day to make her proud. It wasn’t long ago that she would regularly break down and cry because she had to leave her childhood village. She was missing her mother and she was missing home.

Omedi fastened the cap on his water bottle and ran off to play with all his friends in the village. But as his footsteps fainted, a sound with the same pace and rhythm intensified. Sarah squinted and tilted her head in confusion. It couldn’t be Omedi returning, he was far too light and fragile to create such a loud, pounding rhythm. Instead, she detected the origin of the source to be from behind her. Her eyes slowly followed the trail as she pivoted in response to sound of the percussion. To Sarah’s amusement, her friends, the fellow villagers, were performing a dance for some visitors. The village elders played the drums to welcome them: the Westerners were here.

Their high heels burrowed into the ground as they dismounted from the safari truck. Every attempt to level themselves was futile. A chuckle escaped from her mouth. What were they doing here? She thought. Drowned by the sound of the drums, were the sniffles escaping these privileged women. They were crying? Sarah thought. They’re sad?

The ladies held out a basket of donations to the village elders, to which they all bowed in gratitude for. But Sarah still could not comprehend the reason for the reason that they were crying. After a while, she surrendered the guessing game. She shrugged and thought, hmm... perhaps they’re just missing home.

Sarah had wondered how their lives had become a spectacle of misery, how out-of-touch these women had to be in order to be reduced to tears by merely observing the lives of her family in the village. Because although they couldn't afford the six-inch stilettos that burrow into the soil, or the designer handkerchiefs they used to wipe away their tears, Sarah had Omedi and Omedi had Sarah- that was all that they needed.