“Father and mother had 7 children. A boy after 6 girls. For survival, they left home at dawn and wandered around the village asking for grains. If the rich of the village were generous, they would return home and start a fire. All morning, we waited at home, hungry. There were many days they would come home with empty bags. That day Father and Mother drank their own tears. It was not that Father did not have any skills. He made water pots and storage containers out of clay, for clay was the only raw material he could get for free. And his hands were his only available tools. On a lucky day, he would barter the clay pots with grains – rice, maize, and wheat. That would be a happy day for all of us, as together we filled out hungry stomachs. I have a few memories of tailing father when he went for his business. But sir, let me tell you, girls and women were not expected to learn how to mold clay. It was something only for men to do.

Even though Father and Mother wanted me to go to school, they could not. I am sure, by now you understand the reasons. When I turned 11, I was married to a boy. He was also from the same community. My first daughter was born when I was 14 years old. I bore 4 more. After the first 2 daughters, we did not have enough money for an abortion. But we also needed a son. It is with a lot of shame I tell you this. But it is what it is. After 4 girls, we had a boy. And people around us have stopped talking behind our backs. But, you might ask me, what has changed? And I will tell you. Nothing.”