Special girl rejected by mum cries for help

Lilian Moraa and her frail grandmother. Moraa’s mother abandoned her just like many other parents do once they realise their children are disabled. [Photo: Naftal Makori/Standard]

By NAFTAL MAKORI

“Sometimes I try to shout for help but no one hears me. It is not easy to be in my situation.”
Those are the words that ring in our ears after our visit to Lilian Moraa’s Kitutu Chache constituency homestead.

The midday sunrays penetrate the mango tree and shine on  Moraa’s face as she rests on a couch, her best friend for years. In her mind, the girl whose limbs are crippled, several questions linger.

She wonders why she can’t walk and where her father and mother could be. Her desire is to walk and preach the gospel, which, she says, is her calling.

At her home in Rioma village, Moraa, 17, confidently talks about her belief that a miracle is about to happen in her life; that God will take away her many years of agony and make her a pastor.

Because of her feeble back, Moraa can’t sit up and she has to lie on one position, which has left her with sores.

Broken heart
The wounds hurt. But they are not as painful as the feeling of rejection by a mother who abandoned her because of disability.

She usually longs for the tender care of a mother. But the last time Moraa saw her mother was ten years ago. That is when the mother said she was going to Nairobi for treatment for her epileptic condition but never returned, explains Peter Nyamwange, Moraa’s grandfather.

Moraa believes her mother took off because having a child with disability disappointed her.

“My mother is the first born. I am told she gave birth to me in 1995 when she was in Standard Six. I was born crippled and she could not take it. She must have been frustrated and took off. She rarely comes home to see me,” says Moraa in fluent Kiswahili.

She thinks the frustration must have proved too much for her mother who often asked her “What do you want me to do?” when Moraa asked for assistance.

The last meeting between Moraa and her mother was not pleasant. Moraa had asked her mother, who had attended a funeral in the village, for help but the mother curtly said, “I have other children to take care of.”

The words broke Moraa’s heart. She became depressed and would find herself crying all the time. The depression has greatly affected her and now she is suffering from acute ulcers.

“I know I am not well. Every time I take food I vomit immediately. I have pains in my stomach and I don’t sleep at all. I feel really bad,” she says.

She adds: “I don’t know my dad. I am suffering but I thank my grandmother, who is now frail, for her support. I know that God is my father and one day I will be up on my feet.”

Her grandmother Yosabiah Boisabi, 67, recently broke her leg  and is in crutches.

Says Boisabi: “We are too poor to afford her treatment. My granddaughter is alive by the grace of God and He has really fought for her.”

Moraa, though she speaks fluent Kiswahili, has never attended school. Those close to her describe her as intelligent since she learnt to communicate in Kiswahili by interacting with other children.

“The Kiswahili I speak is God-given. I wish I had the opportunity to go to school,” says Moraa.

Sometime back, a man came her grandfather’s home and photographed her promising to assist but she has been waiting in vain for the help, for more than ten years.

“He took pictures and said he had an organisation that helps people like me. I don’t know why he never came back.”

Nyamwange describes the man as a ‘conman’ who had his own interests.

“He never came back and we lost hope in ever getting help,” Nyamwange tells The Standard.

Concepta Kwamboka, Moraa’s caretaker, says it’s difficult tending to all her needs.

“If you are not close by she can neither eat nor take a shower. Sometimes she wets her bed and cleaning her up requires a big heart. She is like my daughter and it is my responsibility to ensure her wellbeing,” says Kwamboka.

She adds: “She cannot maintain the required standards of hygiene especially when she has her menstrual flow since both hands and legs are crippled.”

Nature too has been harsh to Moraa. Sometimes she is rained on, says Kwamboka.

Moraa says she fears the rain. “When it rains, sometimes I try to shout for help but no one hears me. It is not easy to be in my situation,” she laments.

Long wait
Nyamwange, 70, pleads with the Government to consider his granddaughter for assistance.

“I have taken my granddaughter’s case to the local chief but nothing has ever happened. The chief asked us to wait. We have waited for too long,” he says.

“I know the Government has money that should help the disabled but we have never seen a penny. I appeal to anyone who can find it in his heart to help us.”

James Nyamweya, an accountant from the same village, says it is sad that some people steal from the disabled.

“If there is money in this government that should support such cases, why is it difficult for local administration to profile the cases and line them up for benefit? People should wear a human heart and use resources available for intended purposes,” he says.

Mr Nyamweya says there are many disabled persons in the country whose cases have not been brought to light and are equally suffering.

Recently, Kenya Television Network and The Standard serialised an exposé, The Merchants of Deceit, that detailed how some organisations use disabled people as rubber-stamps to solicit for funds from government and donors but swindle the money.

However, those implicated in the revelation are yet to be brought to account.

To help this family you can call Nyamweya Mageto on 0722 736 052 or 0733 370 251. You can also send an email on [email protected]