Six months after we had moved, my father became very ill. He stopped eating. He stayed in bed all day. Father insisted he help tend the crops and feed the animals, but I told him to stay and rest. He needed to rest up, to gain his strength again.

           A month passed, and father was not getting better. He had become semi-blind and lost his voice. He could barely hear me because he was so deep in his thoughts. I was afraid. Afraid of my father's painful death. We did not have enough money for medicine, much less, money for a doctor. Father was in a tight spot.