I am participating in blog month at Compassion. Assignment no. 3 requires bloggers to tell a story behind a Compassion image. Here is that story.
The sound of gentle breathing hummed in the humid air. Red dust particles wafted lazily through the opening in the mud wall. A goat was bleating in the distance. Nzuri anxiously wondered if her eldest son had finished milking the neighbour’s goat. Gratitude filled her heart and she murmured a prayer of thankfulness, relieved that her son had acquired this particular chore and hoped the small offering of maize tucked carefully into a raffia bowl would be received with delight. Nzuri adjusted the wadding of material that firmly held her napping babe in place across her slender back, and gingerly kneeled on the worn spot in the center of her hut. Tightening the cocoon of the sleeping infant, she continued her Chapati ritual. Pounding out the lump of unleavened dough, Nzuri intentionally eyed the two little faces sitting cross-legged on the earthen floor before her. Lifting her finger to her lips she encouraged their silent vigil as they eagerly watched her knead the dough into shape. Her rhythmical motions rocked the baby snuggled tightly against her, contented snoring filled every space of the simple hut. As she kneaded, she allowed her thoughts to wander aimlessly, exploring every nook and cranny of her mind. Fears came unbidden, opening old worries, and forming new ones. She wondered if there would be enough milk to sustain this babe longer than the last. Dared she hope for her own goat! Perhaps this year would be different. Her thoughts shifted to her Compassion sponsor, and her eyes rested on the rumpled photo wedged into a crevice high in the mud wall. Immediately the worries vanished, her heart settled once again. Nzuri smiled confidently at her children. “Soon my little ones, the Chapati will be ready soon”, she breathed to the expectant faces sitting before her.