The sun wakes me before I’m ready, slipping through the gaps in our old tin roof. My stomach hurts again, the same dull ache that has become part of me, like another heartbeat. I lie still for a moment, hoping it will fade, but hunger doesn’t listen.
Mama is already outside, boiling water for tea. We don’t always have sugar, but the warmth helps. She smiles at me even though I can see she’s tired. She always hides her own hunger behind soft eyes. I drink slowly, pretending to be full so she won’t worry.
Before school, I walk with my little sister to fetch water. The path is long, dusty, and warm even in the morning. We talk about silly things — games we’ll play, dreams we’ve had — anything to distract ourselves. When we reach the pump, there is already a small line. Everyone is quiet, saving their energy.
At school, it’s easier to forget the emptiness in my stomach. My teacher tells stories that make the whole class smile, and for a moment I feel like any other child in the world. When my mind wanders, it always drifts toward food — bread, rice, anything… But I try to focus. I want to learn. I want a future where I don’t have to worry about my next meal.
When I get home, Mama is cooking porridge. It’s thin, but warm, and I share it with my sister. We sit together, laughing softly as the sky turns orange. Even on the hardest days, we still find small pieces of joy. As night comes, my stomach still aches, but my heart is a little fuller.
I dream of a tomorrow where hunger isn’t the story of my life, but just a memory.