The last time I struggled to push something was two years ago. It was a wheelbarrow holding kegs of water, I had to push to Mama’s hut. Life was hard in the village, and being very beautiful, I didn’t deserve it—Uncle said so. He said he would take me to a big city, where I would sell things, make plenty money, and send back to Mama. Mama smiled and danced. She couldn’t have known I would have to sell my body. She wouldn’t know I am now pushing a baby from my womb, for a man I wish dead.