Isene Dagelaish
The Village in the Forrest
I live in a small village in India. Every day I walk two miles to provide fresh water for my family. I carry two buckets on a pole. My shoulders buckle as I hike up the mountain. Our village is far from any remnants of civilization. We have no electricity or running water. Everyday my grandfather wakes me up early to get water for the family. I want to go to school like my brother, but I need to get water for us. Water is life.

My body aches from the heavy pails of water I carry. The trip gets longer in the summer when the sun stays in the sky all day. The hot sun makes tiny beads of sweat fall off my head and bounce off my feet as I traverse the rough terrain. The sun rises early and sets late, the sun makes my skin hot like our pan that cooks the chicken for supper. I dream of a day when I can rest or sleep in late.

I love reading. I try to read the book my brother brings home, but I don’t know all the words, I get stuck a lot. He says I am a girl, and I shouldn’t read. I run to my room, and my eyes flood my pillow with tears. But it’s ok now. Soon papa will return from farming and get the water for us. Soon I will be the one reading. Soon I will be the one sleeping in late. Soon…


the author

Senior Completing Under Graduate in Political Science Minor in Sustainability at MU Competition is for the Weak. Jobs are for the sick. Hammers, Nails, One Tool, One Solution. Homo Homini Lupus.

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