In many countries of the world, when we get sick we take medical care for granted. In others, however, few can afford to be treated by a doctor, and help is often many hours away. Reporter Bernd Hauser traveled through Ethiopia and met people who were given the extraordinary chance of a new life when they received medical treatment in clinics run by the charitable foundation “Menschen für Menschen” (People for People) or MfM. He recorded their stories.
“I want to go to college and become a doctor—that’s my dream.”
| | Muhmad Abdi, 16 years old
I come from Babile in the east of Ethiopia.When I was little I got polio. My knee joints went stiff. My school was a half hour walk away from home. “You can’t go,” my mother said. For many years I obeyed her. I spent every day in our hut, feeling unhappy and angry. Then one morning I just set off. On my hands. I propped myself up with my arms and dragged my useless legs behind me. It took me two hours to drag myself to school. I went every day after that. I was keen to be learning at last. As a 12-year-old among all the first graders, the teacher had stuck me at the back of the class. But I put my hand up to answer questions all the time; I wanted to make something of myself. Eventually MfM sent me to Addis Ababa. I had an operation there. I was in hospital for six months and gradually learned to walk with crutches. Now I live in the students’ dorm run by MfM and I go to a high school. I want to go to college. I want to become a doctor—that’s my dream. |
“We have to walk a day and a half to get home. But that’s alright.”
| | Beletu Aialeke, 8 years old
I was out early one morning gathering firewood. Suddenly a wild dog came out of nowhere. I got scared and ran away, and I fell down a steep slope. I didn’t fall very far, but there were sharp rocks on the ground down there. I was bleeding a lot and I had a deep cut from my mouth to my chin.My friend ran home and got my father. Later he told me he thought I was going to die.My father borrowed a car and took me to the MfM hospital in Alem Katema. The car owner wanted 300 birr for lending him the car.My father has to work two months to earn that much money. I cried all the way to the hospital. When I got here I was given injections to stop the pain. A doctor sewed me up and then I had to stay here for nine days. My father was with me all the time. He will sell one of our two oxen to pay the car owner.When he needs to plow the field now, he’ll have to borrow an ox from our neighbors and pay for it. But he’s not mad at me. He said he’s so happy that I’m better. I’m getting out of hospital today. But this time we won’t be going by car.We’ll have to walk a day and a half. But that’s alright. I’m looking forward to getting home. |
“I’m just thankful that I can live a halfway normal life.”
| | Muhammed Dedschen, 34 years old
I used to be a farmer. Seven years ago I was trying to chase a warthog out of my cornfield, but the warthog attacked me and bit my leg. The wound didn’t look bad at first, but then it got infected. Eventually I set off for Addis Ababa, that’s four hours away on the bus. I’d get help there, I thought. But I was wrong. I didn’t have enough money and the doctors turned me away. I went back home. That’s how I lost my lower leg. I wasn’t able to work in the fields any more.My wife left me because of that, and she took the children with her: Hassan was just a newborn at the time, and my two girls were two and six years old. I lay in my empty hut for two years, where my relatives tried to look after me but were never really able to help me: the wound just wouldn’t heal. Three years ago I heard of the health clinic run by MfM. I went there and a nurse looked at my leg for the first time ever. The wound healed a few weeks later. Then the doctors sent me to Addis Ababa.While I was there I got a prosthetic leg fitted and learned to walk with it. I got married again. Mulu, my new wife, works as a day laborer. She is a good woman. When she manages to find work somewhere, she brings home seven birr (70 euro cents) at the end of the day. The only thing I can do is work for people I know in their stores, and they pay me two birr (20 euro cents) a day. The money we have isn’t nearly enough, but I’m just thankful that I can live a halfway normal life. |
“I recognized my youngest son straight away. I cried with joy.”
| | Abater Derse, 59 years old
I had ten children.My grown-up sons left home to look for work in some of the big cities. They all died, I don’t know what killed them. Seven times I was told one of my sons had died! The tears I shed were like poison to my eyes. Four years ago I saw my little one learn to walk, my youngest son with my second wife. Then I couldn’t see anything any more, for four long years. I couldn’t work, I lay in my hut sleeping or praying to God to give me back my eyesight. Then someone told me about a new health clinic in Rema, a city not far away. My wife took me there. The doctor said I had cataracts and gave me a date to come back and have an operation.When he took the bandages off my eyes two days after the operation, the first thing I saw was his wristwatch. “You’re wearing a watch!” I said, and the doctor laughed. Everything was blurry, but then a woman in the hospital gave me a pair of glasses. I could see properly with them. When I came home, the children ran up to me. My youngest was there, too: he was six years old and a big boy now, not the little two-year-old any more. But I recognized him straight away. I cried with joy. |
(Recorded by Bernd Hauser, Photos : Rainer Kwiotek)
Key Figures
Where medical treatment is a stroke of luck
