Abigail walked through the stony path leading outside the quarry. Her legs were heavy, her palms, covered in blisters, were numb, still she tried to clench the handle of the metal bucket filled with gravels in her hands. It was a few moments before dusk and she was returning home after a laborious job at the quarry. A job that was not meant for her; not for any woman. But what was she to do? Life was not easy for a young widow who had to resuscitate her daughter. A four-year old dying of malnutrition.
It had been two years since she lost her husband, a police sergeant who died after a long illness. She was left alone with four kids to cater for. She had no job, learnt no trade. Her early marriage, which was a signature custom of her society had seen to that. To make matters worse, the police force had done nothing to palliate her bereft family. Schooling was over for her kids.
Two years before her husband's demise, he had been shot by armed robbers while on duty but he had somehow managed to survive. It was at that period she was carrying her Thelma, fourth child, in her womb. But now, Thelma was four years old, without a knowledge of her father and the required balanced diet to live as a normal child. In fact, she had been sick for a few days. This had prompted Abigail, her mother to double her labour at the quarry, the only place where she found the means to earn stipends for feeding herself and her children.
Her home was about two and half miles away from the quarry. Trekking, she pulled the weight of the stone-filled bucket along with her, hoping to sell it to some bricklayers working close to the street where she lived. Hopefully, she would get a few notes of Naira for it. That way she could buy some food for her children and drugs for Thelma. Thirty minutes gone, she neared her home, disappointedly. The bricklayers had refused to buy her stones, claiming there was no money. She was regretting her ill luck and would have almost cried had she not heard the loud wailings coming from the house where she lived in a room with her children. Alarmed, she dropped the bucket and ran towards the house with every strength she could muster. Alas, waiting for her was a news no mother in the world would be eager to hear. Thelma, her four-year old had given up the ghost.
Thanks for reading. Kindly share your thoughts with me in the comments.
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