Meenaben's story

I am surrounded by people every day — as I draw water at the well, work in the fields, or walk along the dusty paths to nearby villages. The women and children of my village are like a colorful swirl around me... All day I hear the sounds of people: working, chanting prayers, arguing, yelling orders, singing. The noise of daily life stops for a just few hours each night...

I am never alone. But I am lonely. Does anyone see ME? I am part of a community. But I feel like I have nothing to offer anyone. When I was a girl, my mother told me to pray that the gods would give me sons...that a mother can depend on her sons to take care of her when she is old. I think that if it weren't for my husband and sons, I would be worthless.

Yesterday I went to the market. The vegetable man wrote down the price and demanded money. I kept giving him coins until he stopped asking for more. But I don’t know if I paid the right amount or if he asked too much. Sometimes I come home with too little food and no money left to buy food the next day. I am very embarrassed that I can’t take care of my family’s basic needs.

I remember when my son Suresh was very little and woke me in the middle of the night, screaming. I reached for him and felt his skin burning so hot I thought he was on fire. I didn’t know what was wrong with him! My husband Karsenbai was hundreds of miles away. There is no doctor in our village...or even the nearest village. I knew there was a bus I could take to town, but how would I pay a doctor? I clung to Suresh as he screamed for what seemed like hours...I can’t tell time.

Finally, as the sun’s rays began to peek over the mountains, I bundled Suresh in blankets and ran to the witchdoctor’s hut. He told me the spirits were angry with me. I had to offer extra sacrifices and chant a special prayer for healing. He sent me home with some herbs that I paid for with my last few precious rupees. Suresh did get better and after a few weeks he was a normal baby again. But I never stopped worrying that I might do something else wrong—and the gods would make my baby sick again.

During the planting season, I work in the fields to make more money. Sometimes I pull the plow, or we plant seeds. The days are long and hot. At the end of the day I must wrap bits of dirty cloth around my fingers to stop the bleeding. There are other women with me in the fields. Our children are in the fields too—the littlest ones strapped onto our backs or playing nearby. When they are old enough to help, they work alongside us. That way we can earn a few more rupees.

When the fields are planted, it is time to wait. We will work again when the harvest comes. In the meantime, we pray that the gods will bless our fields. Sometimes they send too much rain and the seeds are washed away by the floodwaters. Or they don’t send enough rain and the crops wither before they can produce any harvest. I know I could help my family earn more if only I could read.

Sometimes my husband sends letters but I cannot read what he wrote. And I can’t send a letter back telling him news about Ravi and Suresh, and how they are growing so tall and strong! Karsenbai hopes that someone in the village will read his letter to me and help me to write back, but I am too ashamed to ask. Maybe if I could read his words, I wouldn’t feel so lonely and afraid...

Enjoy this week's activities and be sure to check your email again next week, when you'll read part 3 of Meenaben's story!