NAGAMMA

By Vera Johnson

Doctor Lotta's children are spread through many lands
Reaching out with hungry eyes and empty searching hands
Little bloated bellies, each finger like a claw
And one among the millions is the girl called Nagamma

Nagamma is thirsty, the sun keeps beating down
She has to keep on moving her bare feet across the ground
Mud and stone for mortar in the basket on her head
She has carried it for years now, she will carry it till she's dead

Nagamma has never been taught to read or write
She spent her school years working on this construction site
There's no need of schooling for her to earn her pay
For labouring eight hours she makes thirty cents a day

Nagamma is helping her family to survive
They need her daily earnings to keep them all alive
Girls are not like babies, they must work so she's been told
So Nagamma keeps working, after all, she's eight years old

Doctor Lotta's children are spread through many lands
Reaching out with hungry eyes and empty searching hands
Little bloated bellies, each finger like a claw
And one among the millions is the girl called Nagamma


Vera assigned the royalties from this song to the Unitarian Service Committee, founded by Dr. Lotta Hitschmanova



Art, I don't thing Vera is being held in seclusion, exactly. She's in the secure ward of an old folks' home, which just means there's one or two additional locked doors between her and the outside world with it's traffic, tripping hazards, and bad weather. She, like Arthur's mother-in-law, has every chance to have visitors--it's just that nobody does visit her. Except, now, for Arthur.