"I want my husband to come home, if he has money. If not, I want him to stay," says Marianna, 33, a mother of five in the town of Gidan-Illo in western Niger. "If the millet crop is good, it is not important that he return now," she adds.
A robust, hard-working woman, with a kind, gentle face and a hearty laugh, Marianna is keenly focused on the business of survival. Sixteen months ago, her husband made the several-day journey by foot to neighboring Côte d'Ivoire, in search of seasonal work. He has yet to return, or to send money or food. Not only do Marianna and her children count on him, but so do her husband's second wife and their six children. Living side-by-side, in mud houses connected through a walled-in courtyard, the two women have had to rely on their own ingenuity to make ends meet for the 13 of them.
"Each of us borrowed money from MMD to start businesses," says Marianna, referring to Mata Masu Dubara (MMD) — loosely translated into English as "women on the move" from the local language of Hausa. Created by CARE, through funding by Zonta International and CARE Norway, MMD is a network of women's community savings groups in villages throughout Niger. Each week, members put a small amount of what little money they have into a group savings fund, from which they can take low-interest loans based on past contributions and good credit.
With her loans, Marianna opened a take-away restaurant, from her own courtyard. Each day, she prepares rice, meat and tomato sauce, just in time for the villagers returning from their hard day's work in the field. The food is tasty and smells good. Boys and young men stop by with empty bowls, purchasing meals for 100 CFA (19 U.S. cents) each for themselves, their little brothers and their fathers.
"Sometimes, I do not have enough to eat for my own children," says Marianna. "So I send them to the neighbors, who are better off, to eat. They do not refuse them." Marianna and the second wife refer to each other's children as their own. "We do help each other, but we do not work together," Marianna clarifies. The second wife runs a business making and selling beignets, croissant-type rolls, throughout the day for 10 CFA apiece.
"Normally, my husband is gone for only six or seven months at a time," Marianna explains. "He has never been gone this long. Before, he had a job in a perfume shop in Abidjan, the largest city in Côte d'Ivoire. Now, he does not. There are fewer jobs and less food now."
At the moment, Marianna's second eldest son Alio, age 11, has a severe case of conjunctivitis and desperately needs to see a doctor. He walks around the courtyard crying, as his mother prepares food to sell to the returning field workers. Alio cannot even open his eyes. "She needs to take him to the nearby health center," explains CARE field agent Hadiza Chaoulani, a native of the region. "But that costs money — 1000 CFA (US$1.90) for the consultation alone, not including the cost of the medicine." Marianna also must find and pay for transportation to the center, which is located in a neighboring village 15 kilometers away.
Niger does not offer publicly funded medical care. "There is only one doctor for every 300,000 people in Niger," explains Dr. Saidou Hangadoumbo, a Nigerien doctor who serves as CARE Niger's HIV/AIDS Program Coordinator. "A consultation at a doctor's office costs 3000 CFA," he continues. "Normally, poor women with malnourished babies have no access to free health care. It is only when humanitarian organizations provide treatment that the most vulnerable people have any access to affordable health care."
During this year's food crisis, Marianna has spent her mornings searching for wild plants and leaves for her children's dinner. She also works the millet crops on her and her husband's fields. "God willing, we will have a good harvest this year," she says. "God willing, there has been a lot of rain. Last year, we produced nothing."
With help from CARE, and her own hard work, she hopes next year will be better.
