The deeper they went, the quieter everything became. Joy started feeling uneasy, not because she was scared of the old woman, but because the place looked like nobody lived around there.
She asked again, “Mama, do you live here alone?”
The old woman answered slowly, “I live with what life gave me.”
Joy frowned. That answer sounded like a riddle. She wanted to ask more, but she did not want to sound disrespectful.
Soon the path opened into a small clearing, and Joy slowed down because she could not believe what she was seeing. In front of her was a small compound. It was an old place, quiet and tired, as if it had been standing there for too many years without joy.
The old woman pushed the gate open gently and said, “Come inside, my daughter.”
Joy entered slowly, still carrying the heavy firewood. The old woman led her to the side of the yard and pointed to a spot near an old shed.
“Put it there,” she said.
Joy dropped the firewood and almost fell with it. She held her neck and breathed hard, tears almost coming to her eyes from the pain.
She looked at the old woman, then around the compound again, and she could not keep quiet.
“Mama, this place is dirty,” Joy said with concern. “You are too weak to be doing everything alone.”
The old woman simply watched her quietly, breathing slowly, as if she were waiting to see what Joy would do next.
Joy did not wait for permission. “Mama, sit down. Let me help you.”
She picked up a broom resting against the wall and started sweeping the leaves, the dust, and the dirt that had gathered in the corners.
As she swept, she kept shaking her head. “Mama, why are you living like this? This place needs care.”
The old woman replied softly, “People stopped coming here long ago.”
Joy felt pain in her chest, but she kept sweeping. After cleaning, she went behind the house and found a small bundle of dry sticks and a pot that looked unused. She washed the pot well, washed her hands, and asked the old woman, “Mama, do you have anything to cook?”
