Poorest of the Poor Written by Terra H-N

It is my first time. My mom had been before. We get out of the car and children surround us right away wanting to carry our bags. I follow my mom down the dirt path. One little black girl slides her hand into my mom’s hand and walks along side her. On a mat outside the brick building a woman sits, yelling something in Chichewa. Next to her are a pair of crutches. Her one foot is turned inward. It looks like a knob on top of a staff. Her one leg has no muscle. She is obviously upset about something. I shake her hand and greet her in chichewa. “Muli Bwanji”, I say politely. No answer. Not even eye contact. I quickly move away from her and onto the next hand shake.

The building we go into {of course} is very run down. It is dark inside. The only table is missing half a leg, dust everywhere, and broken chairs. A couple of kids place some rocks under the leg to balance the table. It still wobbles. Lined against the wall, people sit on benches. Many women are scattered on the floor, nursing babies and holding children.

I had been curious to see an albino. I had heard my parents speak about them. I asked my mom to point one out to me when she saw one. I didn’t need her to do this. While I scanned the room, amidst all the black faces, I spotted several whiter than mine. Their faces pale, chalky white, their skin cracked and wrinkled from sun exposure. Even their hair is a yellowish color.

The plan for that afternoon was to give each family a bag of maize. The people that were supposed to deliver the maize didn’t show up so the club members didn’t get their maize. They were so disappointed. The people are hungry. The harvest has not come in yet. We’ll have to give it out next week.

First we sing a couple of songs and then the adults do knitting while I go with the children to do a craft. This week we’re making paper eggs and decorating them for an Easter party that we’re having next week. It is fun but the language barrier is always a problem. My mom and I sat with some older kids that speak very good English. Blessings, is 25 and Cecilia, is 16. They both come with siblings who have handicaps. Blessings carries his brother,Yosef, on his back to and from the club. My mom thinks that Yosef has muscular dystrophy. Cecilia’s brother can walk but with a crutch. There is something wrong with one of his legs. At one point Blessings asks my mom if he could become her son in law! Ahhhhhhh....bad news for me! Luckily my mom just laughs and says, “NO!”. One little girl that I was introduced to is about 4 or 5. She was 3 years old when a truck hit her and she had to get both of her legs amputated! It is so sad and now she has two fake legs. Since in this culture men think they’re more important than woman, when the truck driver hit the little girl he didn’t even stop, he just kept going. He didn’t help pay any of the hospital bills or anything.

These are the poorest of the poor in Africa. They are the handicapped and disabled. If they have a disability, their families are too poor to help them. They can’t afford eyeglasses, braces or wheelchairs. The government offers them no money or assistance. Many people with handicaps are treated like outcasts. They have terrible unwanted social stigmas attached to them simply because of the way they were born. Some people in the USA consider the disabled unlucky or unfortunate, but when my mom and I went to this program for the disabled and handicapped I came home saying that the disabled and handicapped in America are so lucky and fortunate compared to these people. If something was wrong with a child in America they would be helped and treated right away and would get attention and care from many people. The people with handicaps in Malawi are alienated, ostracized, and looked down upon. Yet despite the way they look I found these people humble, brave, and gentle.