Gbarnga, Bong County –As dawn breaks over the serene hills of Gbarnga, an 81-year-old Ma Kpannah slowly rises from her mat, beginning yet another day defined by struggle and resilience. With aching joints and trembling hands, she engages in her daily ritual: harvesting potato greens and collecting discarded bottles from her small patch of land. Each morning brings a flicker of hope that today’s labor might yield enough to afford a modest meal—a solitary cup of rice.
Dressed in worn attire, a faded lappa, and flip-flops barely clinging to her feet, Ma Kpannah navigates her way through the bustling Gbarnga market. Once there, she settles on a simple mat in a quieter corner and displays her meager collection of greens—an embodiment of her tireless work. As she observes the stream of passersby, she is met with fleeting glances; some stop to purchase, but many walk past her without acknowledgment. Every coin she collects is a step closer to her next meal.
“I don’t want to be rich,” she confides softly, her voice tinged with exhaustion. “I just want to eat, and maybe rest a little. I’ve worked all my life.”
Her life’s narrative is etched with sorrow and profound loss. “I gave birth to two children,” she reminisces, her eyes clouding with memories. “One died during the war. The other… a house fell on him. He didn’t make it.” A heavy pause follows as she reflects, “I have no one. No help. No hope.”
Without a pension or a social safety net, Ma Kpannah’s only resources are her dwindling strength and an unyielding will to survive. Despite her circumstances, she dares to dream of a better existence. “If I could get just a little help,” she pleads, “maybe a small table to sell from… or money to buy more greens to sell. I wouldn’t have to suffer like this.”
Her plight is not an isolated case. Across Liberia, elderly women like Ma Kpannah endure lives marked by quiet poverty, often overlooked after years of sacrifice. Their voices fade into the background, unmet needs lingering in the shadows.
Yet, Ma Kpannah’s narrative should resonate beyond the marketplace. She is not begging; she is expressing a desire for dignity in her twilight years—a chance to live without constant anxiety about survival. A simple act of kindness, a small donation, or even sharing her story could profoundly impact her life.
Now is the time to ensure her voice is heard and that she feels remembered. Let Ma Kpannah’s remaining days be characterized not by suffering, but by dignity and peace.
