Alice sat on the old wooden stool, her foot resting in a basin of warm, soapy water. The sting of the antiseptic made her flinch, but she didn’t cry out. She had been through this before. Too many times.
Her mother knelt beside her, carefully examining the tiny black spots buried beneath the skin of Alice’s toes. The jiggers had returned. It had been only a few weeks since the last time, and yet, here she was again—enduring the painful process of having them removed.
“We need to be strong, my girl,” her mother murmured as she reached for a small, sharp needle. Alice nodded, bracing herself.
The first prick sent a wave of pain up her leg, but she remained still. She knew the jiggers had to come out. If left untreated, they would multiply, burrowing deeper, making it impossible to walk. She had seen what happened to others in the village—children who could no longer play, elders who limped in pain. Alice refused to let that be her future.
Her mother worked with patience and precision, extracting the tiny parasites one by one. Each removal brought both relief and fresh pain, but Alice focused on the thought of freedom—the freedom to run, to dance, to chase her younger brother through the fields without wincing with every step.
When the last jigger was finally out, her mother sighed, wiping her brow. “You must wear shoes, Alice,” she said, echoing the same words she had said before.
Alice bit her lip. They both knew the problem. Shoes were not easy to come by. She had worn her last pair until they were full of holes, barely holding together. She had tried to make do, but bare feet against the dusty earth meant the jiggers would always find their way back.
“I will find a way, Mama,” Alice whispered, determination burning in her eyes. “I will not let this happen again.”
Her mother smiled sadly, wrapping her foot in a clean cloth. “One day, my girl,” she said. “One day.”
And as Alice lay in bed that night, she made herself a silent promise. One day, she would walk without fear. And she would help others do the same.
