Abuse has a profane, damaging and lasting legacy.
In a recent visit to Africa as part of the monitoring and evaluation carried out by Project Childcare Foundation, a charity my fiancé Gary and I operate, we saw many who have become permanently scarred by the pain and burden of constant and pervasive abuse. The abuse is not confined to the physical or sexual, but also emanates from the profound negligence and indifference of people towards each other and even themselves.
Our charity focuses on children and we met children both orphaned and abandoned at the Kondwa Centre, a school and care facility that feeds, clothes, educates and help place vulnerable and orphaned children with able guardians in their community. Amongst the extraordinarily beautiful children who danced and sang a song of welcome for us, we could see behind their smiling faces both the pain and hope they carry in their hearts having endured the unthinkable in their short often tragic lives.
Most have already lost their parents to AIDS. Some have dying parents unfit to care for them, some have parents who have just disappeared afflicted by drug and alcohol addiction or swallowed into the vacuous hole of gambling and prostitution. Some children remain in their household, abused, neglected and alone to fend off their abusers.
What happens to children who lose their parents far too soon and live in abject poverty is heartbreaking enough…but when compounded with the appalling cruelty of abuse and neglect, the spirit is confronted with the dark malevolence of inhumanity. You are sickened and rendered helpless, if not fearful of what is to come.
Everywhere we walked in the slums of Ngombe, Zambia, we saw small plastic packets littering the red soil of the African ground. These tiny packages once contained alcohol which local men and boys as young as 10 drink to forget the emptiness of their lives spent indolently waiting for… nothing. With over 80% unemployment and alcohol more available than clean water, the options are limited. It’s the same misery as it is certain pockets of the Western world. There is little work to be found, and without education and real opportunity, the lure of easy money through criminal and illegal activity is too seductive.
However, the suffering in the African side is far more agonizing and acute. At least in the Western world, there is a working economic and political infrastructure, a semblance of governance and democracy. There are safety nets for the underprivileged, organizations to help the sick, the poor and the elderly, and the recognition and protection of human rights and civil freedoms. In parts of Africa, these simple fundamentals of a civilized society, are still mere statements of principles. Today, nation after African nation struggles to attain even a small degree of political and economic stability, to heal and feed its population, to build roads and homes. Never mind the education of children, the prevention of abuse, the provision of stimulus packages or bailouts for banks.
The child Gary and I remember the most from our last visit in Zambia is an abused child named Ida. Merely 3 years old, but she had the face of an old woman. She never smiled or spoke and only sported a blank but insolent expression. But her eyes always betrayed the pain inside. Physically abused, neglected and starved by her family, she survives on sheer will. Her sturdiness is surprising. Still a toddler but with the toughness of a marine, she was often avoided by the other children in the orphan centre. Gary and I promised ourselves that we would make her smile at least once before we left Zambia. Despite our best efforts, she smiled only once; on an outing to a children’s park, when I made her a small crown made of grass and flowers. I was fortunate enough to capture it on film and I look at her picture often…if not to assure myself that this child must still be capable of happiness.
I often wonder whether Ida is smiling more these days. Angela Gondwe Malik, the remarkable project director of the Kondwa Centre where Ida attends, is keeping a close eye on Ida. She wants to transfer her to her other project, a community home called Seko House. Angela built this special home for abused and vulnerable girls from the age 10-17. The girls that reside in Seko House no longer live with guardians or have lost their parents one way or another. Some are abused or vulnerable to abuse and exploitation, and require intense psycho-social support and/or medical treatment to recover and heal. I was especially enamored by Seko House and the girls that lived there. It was astonishing to see that these laughing, joyful young women were once like Ida. If not for Angela and Seko House, they can only look forward to a life of suffering from severe physical and sexual abuse, full-blown AIDS, prostitution, slavery and addiction.
I pray everyday for Angela Gondwe Malik’s good health and that there will be more people like her. Angela’s crusade against child abuse and campaign for education and community self-sufficiency is a model to emulate. As a woman, she is deeply aware of the role of women in the success of her vision and her community’s ability to overcome the despair and destitution brought on by abuse, apathy and hopelessness. Women are often the centre of all that is good and bad in a society’s evolution. They are often labeled the scapegoats, sinners and seductresses but more often end up as victims and exploited beasts of burden. But they are also the saviors and saints that heal, help and protect those around them. They support their men quietly and humbly but bear the lion’s share of the hardships from daily life. And while men go away to wage war with other men to preserve territory and tribal honour, the women are left alone to raise and protect the children, and to fight the often losing battle against disease, poverty, abuse and oppression.
Both the origin and legacy of abuse is borne from the misery of mankind. And that misery perpetuates itself in all manner of suffering through the impoverished spirits of those who can no longer see beyond their own selfish needs, who hunger for power and riches that will never satisfy, who believe in ideals rooted in hate and greed, and who themselves have suffered from the bitter hand of abuse. The consequence is often endured silently beyond the glare of news cameras or hi-tech social media, or the latest celebrity fundraiser. The shame is too much, the pain too difficult to express, and the anger is suppressed to powerless inertia. When someone hurts another whether it is in the mud hut of some African slum, or in the bedroom room of a suburban home, or in the bomb-riddled roads of a conflict-ridden city, the legacy is the same.
