Out of sight, out of mind
In some communities, children grow up almost unseen. Not because they are not there, but because they are not talked about. Because they stay indoors because of their disability. Their existence is marked by fear, faith or shame.
In various villages in Sierra Leone, the same picture often emerges: Children with disabilities are cursed. They were said to be possessed by an evil spirit. That idea determines how these children are treated. This leads to fear. And fear leads to exclusion. Like in the case of Joshua.
Solution close at hand
Joshua (6) spends his days in the doorway of his house in Sierra Leone. He sits in a bright red toy car and watching children playing outside. He’s a cheerful boy, but no one lets him join in and stays where he is. Only his brother and sister drop by. Other children don’t play with him. Their parents say that Joshua is possessed. His world is small. Everything ends at the doorstep. So that’s where his development ends as well.
For many children, the solution seems to be close at hand. Access to healthcare and education. Support for the family. A safe place to learn and play. That way, these children can develop. No major interventions, but on a large scale because they change everything.
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Joshua riding his red toy car. © Photo: Timo Vorstenbosch
A matter of life and death
For other children, there is an even more pressing need for help. And it is a matter of life and death. There is a lack of proper care, therapy or medication. But a diagnosis is almost always lacking for these children. If you are a parent living in poverty, you simply don’t have the resources to get the right help for your child. And help is precisely what these children need so badly. The story of Alhaji underlines this.
Alhaji is ten years old, but looks much younger. His mother has left, his father has passed away. Grandma Reba takes care of him. Alhaji cannot stand or walk because of a brain injury. He is also unable to eat, drink, or indicate that he needs to go to the toilet independently. Alhaji is dependent on his grandmother for almost everything. And that becomes painfully clear in the future if nothing changes: “If I die, he will die too,” Reba says. Because no one will want to take care of him.
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Alhaji’s grandmother gives him a drink © Photo: Chiara Beltramini
Besides grandma, there is only one other person who accepts Alhaji as he is: Alusine. He sometimes plays with Alhaji and stands up for his friend when he is being bullied again. That’s great, but Reba also knows that Alusine can’t take over the care.
The solution is around the corner
Change often begins within the community itself. People who speak the language and understand the context know what is needed. They can support families. They can break the stigma. And they can ensure that children become visible again.
That calls for people who are nearby. Like Poreh, a care coordinator at Weofod, an organization in Sierra Leone that identifies and supports children with disabilities. He sees what Alhaji needs. ‘At Weofod, we can provide him with medical support. He needs that.’ Because if he gets that chance, he can develop and participate just like other children.
Watch this video to hear Alhaji’s story.
Hope is a verb
Where others see walls, the team of healthcare professionals sees opportunities. For Annabel, this means a plan for medical care. And for her mother, there must be a prospect of income and support from the community. But of course also a dry and safe place to sleep, a less threatening environment, a first physiotherapy exercise. Every small step brings a better future closer.
