“We must hurry, Miss,” the girl said for the tenth time, but it was her little body that was slowing them down. Daisy couldn’t stand it another minute. She bent and scooped her up.
“Abia, why don’t you just point me in the right direction? My legs are longer, this will be really fast. I promise,” Daisy said slowly in Arabic, hoping she got the pronunciation correct.
The little girl looked up at her with assessing brown eyes. Her body might look like a baby’s but her eyes were that of an adult. Finally, Abia nodded. She relaxed against Daisy and pointed. “That way.”
How the child could determine which way to go was a mystery to Daisy, since all the tents looked the same to her, but the girl was steadfast. She continued to lead Daisy down different rows of tents until she finally screeched, “This one!”
She scrambled to get down from Daisy’s arms.
Abia scurried into the tent, leaving Daisy outside waiting. There was no way she was going to enter without an invite. She heard a lot of talking inside. Many people walked past her, looking at her curiously in her Western garb. She smiled and wished them well.
The canvas door of the tent was brushed aside and a woman was staring at Daisy suspiciously, Abia by her side. “Hello. What do you want?” she asked. She was just this side of rude. Apparently, Westerners had not been her friend over the years.
“I’m here to ask you some questions, and see if I could help you.”
“How?”
Daisy dropped down to a crouch and undid her backpack. She pulled out a one-gallon plastic jug of water. The woman’s eyes went wide with avarice. Daisy handed it to her. Then she pulled out twenty packets of the surprisingly tasty, protein-rich peanut butter paste that had been a Godsend for those countries enduring famine. The woman’s eyes teared up.
“May I come in?” Daisy asked as Abia grabbed for the peanut butter packs.
“My name is Maysa,” the woman said as she opened the tent door further. Inside it was bright, and Daisy could easily see at least eight other children sitting around. Three of them were coloring in coloring books. Two were listless, lying on blankets. Maysa called to the two oldest, a boy and a girl, to come and get the jug of water. The others stared at Daisy.
“How can I help you?” Maysa asked. She pointed to a spot on the dirt floor with a precious rug on it.
Daisy watched as the water and peanut butter packs were carefully put in a box. Not one child made a play for the contents, instead respecting that they would get something later. Maysa had taught them restraint, which was amazing considering the circumstances.
“I’m here trying to better understand the specific needs of the Yemeni women. I need someone who can help me better understand what it’s like to be the head of the household for more than your own family.”
“These children are my family. Some I gave birth to, some are my brother’s children. But they are all my family,” Maysa said with quiet dignity.
Daisy bowed her head in apology. “I am sorry. Of course, you are right.”
“There are other women who have taken in their neighbors’ children after their parents have died. They too, consider those children to now be their family. It is what they must do. It is the right thing.”
Daisy’s heart swelled as she thought of the desperate straits that Maysa and the children lived in. She knew that in a camp like this, they were in desperate need of clean drinking water, as well as anything to burn so they could cook.
“Miss? Where do you come from?” Abia’s curious eyes latched onto Daisy as she sat down next to her. Was she going to be the next generation of Yemeni women who would be eking out a living caring for other people’s children?
“I come from America,” Daisy smiled.
“Oooooh,” Abia sighed, her eyes wide.
“Where do you come from, Abia?” Daisy asked.
Abia looked up at her mother.
“Sana’a,” Maysa said wistfully. “That is where I met your father.” She turned to Daisy. “I do not understand how I could help you.”
“My job is to help women around the world, but first I need to understand what they need. I know that there are currently agencies working night and day to provide food, water, shelter, and medical care to everyone they can. But what is something else that can be done?”
Maysa kept her eyes down, not answering her question.
“Maysa, this is important. My job is to help women all over the world. During war and famine, women have different needs than men. Our troubles are different. Our sacrifices are often greater, but people don’t notice. It is my job to notice. I have many people who work with me, and we find ways to help. But we can’t help if people don’t tell us what needs to be done.”
“You can’t help,” Maysa whispered. “It is always the same.”
“You’re right, there is no way I will ever be able to help if I’m not told what the problem is, but if you tell me, then there is a possibility I can.” Daisy prayed that her Arabic was good enough that Maysa was understanding her. “Please tell
