“J'ai peur de mourir de faim”.” Marie-Julina said.
“J'ai huit enfants et quatre petits-enfants qui vivent avec moi”, a-t-elle déclaré. “Je suis responsable de leur survie. Cela fait huit ans que nous n'avons pas assez à manger. Nous avions beau planter, rien ne poussait.
“Certains de mes enfants n'ont jamais eu plus d'un repas par jour. Ils n'ont jamais eu l'occasion de manger à leur faim. Leur estomac les ronge en permanence. Je suis très inquiète pour eux.”
Marie-Julina motions toward the house behind her. It’s tiny, doorless, and completely empty except for the straw mats she drags outside to sit on.
La plupart des de Marie-Julina's les petits-enfants ne connaissent que la faim. A lifetime of hollow stomachs is visible in their stunted and frail bodies. Yet they play as any child would. Marie-Julina watches them, smiling at their simple games. But she doesn’t know how long it will last—their games, or their lives.
Marie-Julina does what she can to earn some income. She collects and sells firewood. And she makes and sells straw mats. But the selling part doesn’t happen very often. Most of her neighbors struggle too. She feels she has to do something, even if it is for a meager and unpredictable income.
On the rare occasion when she can make a sale, Marie-Julina will buy three cassava. She cuts the tubers (much like a potato) into small pieces and boils them. Then she divides them between her family—all 13 of them. Think of it—three large potatoes (and nothing additional) to feed more than a dozen people!
Ce sera leur seul repas pour toute la journée. Et peut-être le lendemain, et qui sait combien de temps encore.
“When I don’t have enough money to buy cassava, we look for cactus fruit,” she said. Some of her neighbors have planted cactus as fences around their houses. Marie-Julina and the children will walk through the village to find what they can.
Everyone is suffering in Marie-Julina’s village. Most of the other families have fathers and husbands that help provide. Marie-Julina faces each day alone; the survival of her children rests on her shoulders.
Harvest and heartache go hand in hand for Marie-Julina and her family. For the past eight years, the drought has multiplied her family’s suffering. No rain means no crops. No crops mean no income. No income means no food. No food means, well, eventually someone will die.