My husband passed away when my children were very small. I taught myself handicrafts to survive, but it barely earned enough for us to eat. When my oldest son turned eighteen, I found him a wife. I was hoping that she’d help with the household. But she abandoned us after my granddaughter was born. I came home from work one day and found the child alone. I could only get her to stop crying by soaking an apple in goat’s milk. I’ve been raising her ever since that day. She calls me ‘mummy.’ With a lot of hardships I have made her grow. She survives on apples and milk. But I’m old. And when I’m gone, I don’t know who will take care of her.
