O Africa, Hear My Cry

The midday sun was scorching down, turning the ground into an oven, and the harsh wind kicked up sand that stung anything in its path. A tiny figure struggled to stand upright and slowly made its way across the sea of Niger sand. So tiny and frail was the figure that it may have been mistaken as a mirage at first glance. After all, who would be walking this treacherous path in such conditions? A closer look would identify the tiny figure as that of a young girl, perhaps 12 or 13. She wore a tattered dress and torn shoes that exposed most of her feet, and nothing but a thin blanket to protect her from the harsh elements.
The girl hugged the blanket to her small frame and steeled herself against the onslaught of wind and sand. Her lips were chapped from lack of water and there were tears in her eyes. The tears, however, were only her body's natural defense mechanism at work. She had no more tears to shed for her loss.


To be continued...