Today was a Good Day. It was was one when I had the privilege to be out in amongst people in a grassroots project. A time when I could just chat with children and families about the daily humdrum of their lives. Something that can be heart-breakingly rare in the secured environment of Kabul and an often office bound existence. The project I visited is an orthopedic centre and the visit was specifically focused on finding out what they did for children with disabilities. Although most disabilities in Afghanistan are not caused by landmines, many are, and so the broader area has become part of our project’s interest.
This centre is an incredible place in many ways. It is run by a woman, who has a woman also as her deputy. As the director is currently running for parliament, we were met by her deputy – a warm, articulate and compassionate individual. All the staff I met there, mostly physiotherapists and a teacher, struck me with their gentleness – with the children themselves but also with the families who had brought children in and were worried about their futures.
It turned out we had timed the visit well as the centre had recently started a small pilot project supporting children with disabilities to go to school. There were ten children with many different kinds of disabilities who were in the centre for a monthly meet up and ‘exam’ to review what they’ve been learning.
At one point my colleague got a bit confused chatting to a young boy who was so upbeat about life and his plans to become an engineer, she thought he actually didn’t have a disability at all until he cheerily lifted up his trouser leg to show her his prosthetic, but still proudly proclaiming “I am just like other kids.”
In the pediatric unit, there was a young boy with cerebral palsy being fitted with his first supportive legs that would give him the chance of being able to walk. It was obviously a painful experience for him as the supports were stretching his legs in a way he wasn’t used to and he would shout out continually. But what really made an impact on me was his parents. I am so bombarded with reading and even writing about the negative aspects of this culture. Parents who don’t value their children if they don’t have disabilities. Parents who don’t think it is worth sending them to school. These parents were clearly not rich or educated, they were not playing to a crowd and were mostly apparently oblivious to our presence. The wife had her burka flicked back over her head obviously feeling comfortable in the clinic to remove her ‘street wear’ and the man wore simple clothes. They told me they had nine children in total. And yet both of them were there with this one son of theirs holding his hand and calming him whenever he hurt. I felt humbled by the loving care that they demonstrated. Today, for a few minutes, it was on show. But I couldn’t help thinking about how this must be a minute to minute, hour to hour, day to day thing for them in the midst of eight other children to be looked after and cared for. I felt humbled and so grateful that there was this place that was providing care for the child, giving him more hope for his future life, however long or short that may be. But mostly I just loved this family for their love. For their demonstration that the cruelty of some Taliban acts that fill the papers and TV stations is not a reflection of how real people and families live their lives and relate to each other. That sometimes its in the midst of the most heartbreaking suffering that you can see the most remarkable depths of love demonstrated by otherwise unremarkable people.
