Love At First Smile...

This blog entry is about a girl named Emelda. I may have spoken about this beautiful 10 year old in a previous post, but allow me to introduce her again. I met Emelda at an outreach that we did two Fridays ago. An outreach (which usually occurs once or twice every week) is where we are literally driven to a community or village (usually very far away) and people with all different kinds of issues form a line and expect us to “cure” them. Just to put it in perspective, at one of our outreaches we had about 150 people waiting for us when we got there, and at this particular outreach we may have seen close to 80 people.

Towards the middle of our day, Emelda came in with her father. At first, Christine (the physiotherapy student) and I thought it was her grandfather because he was at least 65-70 years old. We later found out that Emelda’s dad actually has two wives, with his youngest child being 8 months old. When we went to greet Emelda, she gave us the biggest smile we had ever seen. It was love at first smile.

Emelda’s dad brought her in because she was having erratic bouts where she would hit her head on the ground, hurt herself and then cry (I may have said this part in an earlier post). Besides this, we could see that Emelda could use therapy for her gait and her speech (as there are no speech language pathologists here, so OTs do speech) but we couldn’t assess her properly until she was seen by a doctor. When we asked her father about this, he told us that he didn’t have the money to take her there, and so Christine and I decided that giving her father $10 for them to go to the hospital and return home was money well spent. We asked her father if he would bring her in to the clinic for training week, and he said that he would do everything in his power to try and make it happen. Over the weeks, we have had many parents promise to bring their children in, but for a variety of reasons, mainly financial, they don’t end up doing so. Maybe it was the fact that he was so genuine when he made his promise or maybe it was his smile, but we believed him and hoped that we would see both of them very soon.

Training week is a week where clients who we feel could benefit from more intensive therapy stay at the clinic for an entire week so we can treat them for five consecutive days. They sleep here and are provided with three meals a day (this is also where your donations have gone to). On Monday morning, you can imagine our delight when we saw Emelda’s smiling face greet us as we entered the clinic. I was overjoyed and so happy to see her. We asked her dad what happened when he went to the hospital, and he told us that the doctor said that she looked okay, but that further tests would have to be done. He brought us the book from the hospital to prove that they went, and when I looked at the date, I saw that he had taken her one day after we had initially seen them. 

Since we split up clients amongst us, I decided that I wanted to work with Emelda. We had an immediate bond and I couldn’t go anywhere without her coming to hug me or touch my face. Emelda was born without any sort of disability, but just like the majority of clients we’ve seen, developed severe malaria which left her pretty impaired and without much of her speech. She toe-walks and although is quite unsteady on her feet, is able to walk about 20 steps without falling. She can repeat sounds that are made, but certain letters and combinations of letters are difficult for her to fully grasp.

With many of the clients we have seen, no matter how young they are, there seems to be a bond which is lacking between the parent and child. I’m not sure if it is cultural or if we have just stumbled upon a lot of these cases, but it is rare to find a relationship where the bond is clearly evident. Of all the relationships I have seen so far, the one between Emelda and her dad is the most loving.  They look at each other with such kindness and understanding that it is difficult to describe in words. Emelda’s dad works so hard with her and it’s clear that he just wants the best possible life for her. 

We started by working on her gait, and when we asked Emelda to walk for us, we noticed that her shoes were coming off her feet. With limited resources, we thought that we could use the velcro (which we brought for splinting) to make straps for her shoes. The next day, when we arrived in the morning, Emelda’s dad had taken her to the tailor and got the straps sewed on to her shoes. It may seem like nothing, but that small gesture was the most proactive thing we have seen a parent do for their child since we have come. As the week went on, we continued to work with Emelda on her speech and walking. Emelda can do some things by herself (like feeding), but still needs some help when toileting and showering. When I would be working with other clients, I could see that Emelda’s dad would pull her aside and work with her on any exercises that we gave them. He told me that he believed in his daughter and believed that one day she would be able to be independent. I loved hearing it and told him that he was right.

At the beginning of the week, I told myself that by the end of training week, I would get Emelda to recognize me and say my name. As the days passed and I practiced her speech, she tried hard to make the “SH” noise, but couldn’t do it. She would always say my name as “Dhaala” and after she did, smiled and touched my face. I realized then that it was no longer important for her to get my name, she said it to the best of her ability, and the more she said it, the more beautiful it sounded to me. 

On Wednesday, Emelda’s dad approached me and asked to talk to me in private. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me that his dream would be for Emelda to go to school. When I asked him why she hadn’t been in school until now, he told her that he couldn’t afford to send her to a “special school” (what they use to describe schools who accept children with disabilities to attend). He asked if I could sponsor him, and his pleading eyes told me that there was no way I could say no. I told him that we would figure something out and would speak to Mr. Okidi about school for Emelda. Once I spoke to Nikita and Christine, we all decided that we would sponsor her tuition for a year. We approached Mr. Okidi who told us that because of his close ties with a specific school, Emelda would have no problem getting in. He told us that tuition is about $150 CAD/year and that there would be extra costs for uniforms, books, medicine, etc. The school that we are looking to send Emelda to is called “Ogande School”, a boarding school specifically for children with disabilities. We visited this school on a previous outreach and were so impressed by the teachers who were each specially trained and who treated each child with respect and dignity. We told Emelda’s dad that we would cover the tuition if he would pay for the extra fees, his eyes welled up with tears and he thanked us for at least ten minutes. When I looked at Emelda and told her that she would be going to school, she looked directly in my eyes and gave the biggest smile I had seen yet. A week ago, this opportunity never existed, and now, her life would be changed forever.

I thought about $150. Car insurance for a month. A few good dinners. Going to the Roger’s cup. A front row seat a concert. Sending a child to school. Somehow, the latter has a little bit of a nice ring to it. It’s amazing how we can spend so easily on things that in a matter of a few days or even a few hours are forgotten, but have to think about spending on things that truly make a difference. Thank you once again to all of you for your donations. I can assure you that the money you have donated has gone and is still going a long way.

For some of you, I just rambled on for two pages about one girl. No doubt there have been many children who have touched my heart. But it’s different when it comes to Emelda and her father. They touched my heart as well. But somehow, they also reached inside of me and claimed a piece of it as their own.

Thanks for listening. As soon as I get home, I’ll apply for a job at Hallmark in their “sappy cards” department.

Love & Big Smiles,
Shahla