Camp Wife , Farmer Wife-Written by a camp woman

[Nat Quinn]

 

Camp Wife , Farmer Wife

I’m a squat camp woman but still a farmer wife.

It is early morning and the sun is playing over the horizon. I am trapped in miserable poverty. I’m making a fire, the kids gotta eat. I have one cup of cornmeal, I will share. I am a farmer woman.

Today I have to make a plan again for something to eat, how made? I know I can, I must because I am a farmer wife.

The kids are complaining because it is cold. I fold them in my old jersey, nice and cozy. I’ll torring my old one loose later and knit them socks, because I can, I’m a farmer’s wife.

Today is laundry day. Our women in the camp share the long green soap in pieces, each one gets a piece. We scrub and soap the laundry in the water while our women pray each on their own, I know what they pray for… I’m doing it myself…. for a washing machine. Where have those days gone? Quickly I realize again I must finish, I must, I am a farmer woman and I can.

The road is getting long, I’m swallowing my dry throat. Finally I am at the traffic light. I am standing. I say nothing in hopes that someone can see the raging hunger and worry in my eyes. If I can only get enough for a packet of soup and a loaf of bread….. or maybe…… just a loaf of bread. They don’t even look at me. Today my courage is in my old broken shoes. I just have to keep trying. I just have to get something, I’m a farmer wife then.

Today has been a good day. I could get a loaf of bread, a packet of chicken and a bag of maize meal. I need to hurry home now, the house….. our house, a sink built that makes the heat unbearable and sends winter’s cold deep through my legs. I have to pick up pieces of wood on the way because in the camp there is nothing. With food and wood I walk on fast, my strength is few but I can, I am a farmer’s woman.

The children’s dirty faces brighten up when they see me. Little arms wrap me around. They are so happy to see me. My heart cries, I want to give them the world just like all the other mom’s. I must be able to I am then a farmer’s wife.

Time to make a fire, the bath water must rise. Then it is cooking. I bath my children in a bucket. They splash and play and laugh, they don’t know what it is to take a bath in a real bath. Tonight they are eating nicely and there is porridge for breakfast. My feet are blisters and by the time I get the kids to bed, a mattress on the floor, I can feel my tears just pouring. I look at my angel faces and pray that one day they will forgive me for this poverty. They will I guess I’m a farmer wife then.

Finally I’m done it’s late night. I look up to my Father and pray for deliverance from these evil forces that want to bind me, I cannot give up. Tomorrow I will do everything again, I can…….. I need to…… because I remain a farmer’s wife.

Written by a camp woman, a farmer woman, South Africa.

 

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