Rasoa is tired. She tossed and turned all night and could not sleep. She shares her thin mat of straw and raffia with her mother and two younger sisters.
Sleeping on the floor takes up more than half of the brick house, which has neither windows nor a proper door. Groaning, Rasoa rises and leaves the room.
Normally Rasoa would go to the market, but she doesn’t have enough strength. When was the last time Rasoa had felt full of energy? It had been a few months. Maybe when she was at the festival in one of the neighbouring villages? At the festival, she had met Olivier. He had turned her head – and then robbed her of any chance of a promising future when he left her only a short time later after learning of her condition.
