The mother heard her daughter “crunching bones.” Now she seeks to help her.

Accompanied by the people of her village the mother walked toward the sound of crunching bones coming from her daughter.

The villagers said, “Keep calling. You are her mother. She will know your voice.”

The mother called her daughter. “Kambilocho! Kambilocho! Tuuu!”

From a distance she heard the response.

“Kukutu…kukutu…kukutu…pm!

I am crunching bones.

“Kukutu…kukutu…kukutu…pm!

Crunching people’s bones.”

“That;s her, the villagers said. Call her. You are her mother.”

The girl’s mother called, “Kambilocho! Kambilocho! Tuuu!”

“Kukutu…kukutu…kukutu…pm!

I am crunching bones.

“Kukutu…kukutu…kukutu…pm!

Crunching people’s bones,” called back the girl.

Now they were very close, those people. That girl was busy crunching. They crept all around her. Strong women. They grabbed her. Her mother touched her hand. They carried that girl home.

Back home, they surrounded her. All good things they brought for her. After a while she began to take porridge. A little. Then more.

They kept her in the village. They surrounded her and comforted her until she was able to eat porridge like all other people. This mother saved her child with the help of her village.

Instead of warehousing the mentally ill in jails, prisons, and institutions, maybe we need to take responsibility for them.