Chapter Twenty-Five: Chains of Labor
The village was nothing like she had imagined.
She had envisioned a warm, welcoming place—where kindness bloomed in every corner. But what she found was a stark contrast: cold, indifferent faces and empty hands. It felt like she had stepped into a place where hope had long been buried.
The first house she approached belonged to a woman pounding yam in a mortar. The girl stood a few feet away, waiting for the woman to notice her. It took a moment before the woman finally looked up, her gaze scanning her with quiet suspicion.
"What do you want?" the woman asked, her voice sharp as the yam she crushed.
"I… I need work," the girl said, mustering every ounce of courage she had. "I can sweep, fetch water, anything."
The woman scoffed, wiping the sweat from her brow before turning back to her task. "Another beggar," she muttered under her breath.
Her heart sank, but something inside her shifted. This wasn't new. Rejection had become a part of her life, but it no longer had the power to crush her. She moved on to the next house, then the next, pushing herself forward with a determination she hadn't known she had.
By evening, her legs ached from walking, and her stomach was empty, but her resolve had only grown stronger. She wasn't going to give up. Not this time.
Then, just as she thought she had reached the end of her strength, a voice called out.
"You. Come here."
She turned to see an older woman standing in the doorway of a small, modest hut. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, but there was no cruelty in them—just a hint of something else. The girl took a cautious step forward.
"You say you want work?" the woman asked, her voice cool and measured.
The girl nodded quickly. "Yes, please. I'll do anything."
The woman studied her for a moment longer, then jerked her head toward a large clay pot by the side of the house. "Fill that pot with water from the stream," she ordered.
The girl's heart fluttered—this was no easy task. But she had done harder things. She had survived worse.
She grabbed the calabash and headed toward the stream, the weight of it pulling at her shoulders, but not breaking her spirit. The path was farther than she expected, and her arms burned with every step. But something inside her said: keep going.
When she returned, her legs trembling, the woman inspected the water with a keen eye, nodding in approval.
"You will fetch water every morning before the sun rises," the woman said. "You will sweep the compound. You will wash my clothes and scrub my pots. And at night, you will grind pepper until my hands say stop."
The girl swallowed, but her voice was steady as she spoke. "And the food?"
The woman raised an eyebrow. "You'll eat when I say. And if you're lazy, you won't eat at all."
The girl's heart didn't drop this time. She had learned the hard way that food wasn't always guaranteed. But she would earn it. She would fight for it.
That night, she lay on the mat outside the woman's hut, her body exhausted but her mind clear. The stars above offered no comfort—only the cold, unfeeling expanse of the sky. But she wasn't looking for comfort anymore.
She had already been through too much. She had fought too hard.
As she closed her eyes, a different question echoed in her mind this time.
"What if this is just the beginning?"