Sticks poke every which way. Thorns tear the flesh. Together they divide one family from another. They protect the cattle, chickens, and other paltry possessions from would-be thieves. Duck down…lower. Even the chickens must duck to get through this tiny gate.
One woman grinds millet. The millet will be used to make local brew…alcohol. The residue of which will feed the children. No amount of reason from this cadre of pastors would convince her that her labors could be better used in another way.
Curious children look on. Clothing reveals swollen bellies. Flies swarm.
(Photos compliments of Bahati Photography.)
|Maama rolled over, perhaps drunk and sleeping, and little one lost her hand in the fire.|
|The big ring signals having owned many cattle at one time in the past.|
The wood piece is a portable stool.
|The work of the men is to sit under the tree all day.|