While there is no electricity and we sleep at night with a candle stuck to the floor to ward off black magic (yes – I would agree – major fire hazard), there are plenty of boreholes (wells) throughout the villages. I enjoy hanging out at the boreholes, as this is where you can find most women and children. One day, the well was empty, except for some boys and men standing around. A jug of water was set on the head of a small girl, barely 3 years old. Her little arms stretched up to hold the jug and the man let go. She immediately started crying loudly…the jug was clearly too heavy, but she wouldn’t let go….just stood there, with tears streaming down her face. I went over, picked it off her head, dumped some water out and put it back on her head. She then slowly walked home by herself….not spilling a drop, which is more than I can say for myself when carrying a cup of coffee across the kitchen.
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