“Well, you have to go in, the boy must be there, I can’t see how he can have been moved to anywhere else” I say to Ntate Machesa and Mme Maseretse. The boy has cerebral palsy, severe spasticity and is as rigid as a stick, impossible to bend in the middle by even the slightest degree. He is eleven years old and lives with his grandmother, after both his parents died. On my first visit he was lying on a urine-soaked mattress in the cold back room, pelvis rotated, both hips and his knee dislocated, dirty and malnourished.
I’ve returned today with Mme Maja and the other two helpers to see if things have improved. The morning started badly with news of the death of a child we only visited a few weeks back, cause of death unknown. There is nothing we can do but put the sadness aside and continue with the day. On the first two follow up visits of the morning both mums have taken on board the advice given on our previous visit and with their daughters both doing better. I’m hoping that we are on a roll and this third visit will be just as successful but since we have been knocking on the door for the last ten minutes and peering through the windows without any response, this hope is fading.
Ntate pushes the door a little more forcefully and it slides opens with some effort. For one moment I think that maybe grandma has collapsed behind the door, but it turns out it’s just a breeze block and Ntate is finally able to enter the house with Mme. Thirty seconds later they come out and announce that there is no one inside but the back door has a shovel against it, so how is it possible someone could have left both doors wedged closed, unless they climbed out of a window? Since all the windows are locked the mystery deepens and I circle the house again, looking for clues. Suddenly a young man pops his head out the back window.
“Who are you?” I look at him suspiciously, he looks stoned, and I call the others for a translation. It turns out he is grandma’s son; she has gone to a funeral, and he was in a room at the back which the others didn’t look in when they entered the house. The boy is in this room as well, at least this time the room is warmer, and he is lying on a mattress with a plastic cover. The son is working in South Africa and can’t give and detailed history on the boy, the last entry in the boys Bukana (medical book) is 2016. We need to work with grandma to try and educate how she can improve her grandson’s life, but grandma doesn’t have a phone and we can’t get hold of her. Mme Maja must try and call a neighbour to communicate with grandma through a third party.
Sometimes the series of obstacles that must be overcome even access a child, let alone help them, can be very challenging. I cast my mind back to Monday, when I walk through the door to find a girl with her hands bound together. I soon understand why as she bears the scars on her head from continually hitting herself, together with bite marks on the back of her hands. She is taking medication for bipolar and schizophrenia, but apart from helping her to sleep at night this medication is giving no respite from the self-harm during the day. I don’t know how to assist her but then I remember a soft helmet to protect the head that I brought in some years back stored up in Maseru.
For now, it’s the most practical thing I can come up with and on Thursday I retrieve the helmet from Maseru. I discover its far too small but hopefully with some Velcro and craftwork I can make it fit. The day is frenetic with visits to both school Principals and trying to adjust a bunch of wheelchairs. Suddenly in the chaos of the school yard, surrounded by primary school kids all fascinated by me using a spanner, I realise if I don’t hurry, I’m going to miss the 4pm deadline for signing the book of condolences at the British High Commission (BHC). Ntseliseng and Ntsukunyane turn up in the nick of time to help me and I quickly exit the school to beat my way down through the rush hour traffic. I arrive at the BHC with ten minutes to spare and persuade the security guard to let me enter.
The BHC have been very helpful both to me and the project and having received an email from them that a book of condolences was open should I wish to sign, I decide it might be prudent move to continue to build positive relationships with them. I missed the outgoing BHC’s leaving event and maybe this visit will present an opportunity to meet the new BHC. Adrenalin fuelled I zip through the inner security gates and screech to a halt in the hallway where a picture of the Queen and Duke of Edinburgh look down on the open book of condolences.
The new BHC, Harry, is standing right by looking suitably solemn. I didn’t expect him to be there, and a slightly stilted conversation follows as I find out he is from the Congo with two small children and likes hiking. He finds out that I also like hiking, know lots of great places in Lesotho to hike and that I’m a physiotherapist and make cardboard furniture for children with disabilities. He looks slightly alarmed by this introduction and I decide to move swiftly on to signing the book of condolences.
I open my notebook to the two short paragraphs which have taken hours to craft to try and avoid any offence to anyone connected with the project. Royalty and its associations can be a very sensitive subject. As I start to copy the piece, I realise it’s going to be hard to fit it in the allocated box. I make my writing smaller, but realise that not going to work, so I start to cut out parts. Harry notices I’m struggling and suggests I move onto the next box. I resist, but he insists, and I end up putting the cut sentences back in at the end of the piece in the overspill box.
I’m not sure it makes any sense at all but hopefully my writing will be too small for anyone to read. After this rather embarrassing struggle with the book of condolence I say I must leave and dash out the door to try and get back to Hlotse before dark. I just make it and am glad to wake in the morning to glad to find its Friday. We are taking out some equipment to children which hopefully will bring about a positive change to their lives.
The first visit is to a boy whose wheelchair was far too small and I am replacing it using money raised by the folks back home. The deal was that he would get a new wheelchair if grandpa built a ramp to improve access to the house replacing the two broken steps, which were dangerous both for the boy and his grandma to use. Grandpa kept his side of the bargain, and the boy is now able to sit comfortably in his new wheelchair and exit the house in style pushed by his grandma. On a flat piece of concrete at the back of the house the boy soon learns to self-propel in a circle and even forward and backwards, no mean feat as he can only use one hand. His face breaks into a huge smile. It’s a great result for his independence and a great result all around for the family.
On our second visit we are taking out an APT chair for a boy who was involved in a road traffic accident when he was five and suffered a serious head and brain injury. He has been unable to talk, move or sit up since. For the last ten years he has spent most of the time lying on a mattress in the back room. We put the chair in the kitchen and with some padding the boy can sit up in it and Mme Maja gives him some water to drink. Finally, the boy can be part of the family again and be fed his meals at a table with some dignity. Its massive change for the better for his quality of life and I think his parents feel quite emotional to see him sitting there.
We move on to the neighbour’s house, where an eighteen-year-old boy with cerebral palsy lives. His mum has just seen the APT chair we’ve given out and thinks her son would benefit from one too. I was concerned by the lack of space in the small shack and thinking a folding wheelchair might work better, but she feels the chair would work best for him. I go with it and measure him up. The boys quite funny and we enjoy a bit of banter in the process and some laughter. As usual this week’s been a roller coaster and at times exhausting with its ups and downs. It’s good to end Friday on a positive note but I know the peaks and troughs will just keep coming, it’s all part of the journey. Its best to hang on tightly and enjoy the ride when you can.
