In My Shoes

Giving Tuesday



Four days ago I left my little village in the mountains  and took a four-hour bus ride to the nearest hospital. I was due at any moment. The following morning, I spoke to my husband to tell him that I was okay and our baby would soon be born.

 I didn’t know that was the last time I would speak to him. While I gave birth to a healthy baby girl, my husband was murdered in the street near our apartment. They gave me the news when I called his phone. 

I was broken hearted and alone.  I felt hopeless and didn’t know how I would care for my daughter and so in desperation brought her to the orphanage. 

 But when they asked questions,  I had no words, amidst my sobs, I was met with kindness.  They gently encouraged me to name my daughter and after two days I reluctantly obliged.

 The thought of raising a child in the midst of my grief overwhelmed me. The morgue threatened to dump my husband’s body in a mass grave if I didn’t come to claim him.

 I didn’t have a choice. Without the support of family or friends, I had to go back to my village. I left my daughter, feeling unsure if I would return.