Short Essay About My Village

Short Essay About My Village-52
We started with breakfast at my favorite little tea room; a place where there is tea served, and where right outside you can buy big rolls of freshly baked bread and boiled sweet potatoes from woman sitting by the entrance.After breakfast we spent some time at the health center, chatting with mothers who had given birth last night and their guardians that had accompanied them.

We started with breakfast at my favorite little tea room; a place where there is tea served, and where right outside you can buy big rolls of freshly baked bread and boiled sweet potatoes from woman sitting by the entrance.

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The architects of modern India took note of the backwardness and horrifying conditions that gripped our villages in the past.

As a result of the integrated rural development schemes.

I responded by letting them know how much I missed being able to wear my sandals and chitenje to work and they all just laughed, knowing that that was my attire for two years while living in the village.

When they found out I am now wearing skirts above the knees and that my feet are usually clean and my hair brushed there were even more giggles—like I had changed into a completely different person over the last 4 months.

While we were there no mothers actually gave birth, Betsy was still able to see the maternity ward and speak with the nurses and midwifed on call.

She also was able to see babies that were born from the night before being HIV tested and registered.

Betsy and I chopped onions, tomatoes, and greens while Kathryn started the fire—something I don't miss at all now that I'm living in the city with electricity.

Betsy also learned how to make nsima, which is quite the experience because the outdoor kitchen becomes so full of smoke that you practically have to do it with your eyes closed.

I didn't understand how much it would mean to me to return to my village 4 months after saying goodbye.

How much it would mean to have children still yelling my name from afar, saying hello in Chichewa, or the little voices saying “Kettie, BO" over and over and over.

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