A Hand to Hold
Survival was no longer just about hunger.
It was about finding a place to sleep before darkness swallowed the village. It was about avoiding the sharp gazes of people who saw me as nothing more than a stray animal. It was about staying invisible—because being seen meant being chased away, insulted, or worse.
I had no one.
No mother to hold me.
No friend to lean on.
Just me.
Alone in a village that was not mine.
---
The Longest Nights
I found shelter wherever I could.
Sometimes under the eaves of a shop, curled up on the cold, hard ground. Sometimes beneath a tree, where the wind howled through my torn clothes. But the worst were the nights when the rain came.
The first time, I hid under a wooden shed, my body trembling as the storm raged around me. The roof leaked, dripping cold water onto my skin. I hugged myself, trying to keep warm, but nothing helped.
I thought I would freeze to death.
I thought I would die, just like Mama.
But morning came, and I was still breathing.
I was still here.
---
The Hunt for Food
Hunger became my shadow. My constant torment.
The kind ones gave me scraps, but it was never enough. I learned to search for food where no one else looked—behind the market stalls, where rotten fruits lay abandoned… in the corners of the village, where people tossed leftovers without a second thought.
One day, I found a half-eaten piece of bread covered in dust. I picked it up, wiped it on my tattered dress, and took a bite.
It tasted like hope.
But hope could be dangerous.
Because the moment I started to believe I might survive, the world reminded me how little I mattered.
---
The Beatings
Stealing was never my plan.
But hunger makes you desperate. It makes you do things you swore you never would.
I stood near a food stall, watching a woman roast plantains. The smell was too much. My stomach growled so loudly I was sure she heard it.
Before I knew it, my hand had moved.
I grabbed a piece and ran.
I didn't make it far. A strong hand caught my arm.
"You little thief!"
The slap came hard and fast.
I hit the ground, the stolen food rolling into the dirt.
A crowd gathered. Some laughed. Some shook their heads.
"Beat her well!" someone shouted.
The woman raised a stick, her eyes filled with fury.
I closed my eyes, bracing for pain.
But then a voice broke through.
"Enough."
I opened my eyes to see an old woman stepping forward. Frail, with deep wrinkles and wise eyes that seemed to see everything.
She placed a hand on the woman's arm. "She is just a child."
"A child who steals!" the woman snapped.
"Because she is hungry," the old woman replied gently. "Would you not do the same if your belly burned like hers?"
Silence.
Then the woman tossed the stick aside with a hiss. "If I catch you again, you won't be lucky."
She turned and walked away. The crowd dispersed.
And I was left in the dirt. Trembling. Ashamed.
---
A Hand to Hold
The old woman bent down beside me.
"Come," she said.
I looked at her, not understanding.
She sighed. "If you want to survive in this village, you must be wise. You cannot keep begging and stealing. You must learn to earn your food."
"How?" My voice cracked.
She studied me for a long moment. Then nodded. "You will work for me. It will not be easy. But you will eat. You will sleep under a roof."
Tears welled in my eyes.
It wasn't comfort. It wasn't love.
But it was something.
And something was better than nothing.
So I
wiped my face, swallowed the pain, and followed her.
Because in a world like mine, survival was all I had left to hold on to.