Co-authored by Nick Schonfeld
In June of this year, I was asked by UK charity Sightsavers to join them in Tanzania and document their efforts to prevent and treat blindness, specifically cataract and trachoma. I knew little about cataract, other than that it was an eye condition which affected the elderly, and I had no idea that in a lot of developing countries cataract is a huge problem for children.
Those suffering from cataract are either born with the condition, or develop it as a result of a trauma to the eye. It’s imperative that treatment begins as early as possible; if it’s left too late the eye fails to develop properly, leaving the child with long term vision problems. By Western standards the treatment for cataract is simple and inexpensive. But in a country where more than 60% of the population live on $1.25 or less a day, just the fare to the clinic or eye care center is already prohibitively expensive.
I spent most of my trip with four children affected by cataract, and followed them as they travelled from their rural homes to the Tanzanian capital Dar Es Salaam for treatment. For them it was the first time in a big city, the first time in a hospital, the first time away from their families.
My experience in Tanzania would not fit in a single post: cataract affects people in so many different ways, and not only the patients suffer; so do their mothers and their families. So, I want to tell the story of each of the four children separately.
Haji is six years old. Together with his brothers, he is cared for by his grandmother, Elizabeth. In October last year, Haji’s right eye was injured while playing with friends, the injury subsequently developing into a traumatic cataract, which began to impair his vision. According to Elizabeth the cataract has affected Haji in subtle ways. It has made him more timid, more reserved and afraid. He no longer played football with the same vigour, and he began to have problems at school, unable to properly see the blackboard.
After a number of trips to the local dispensary for eye drops and a health care record book, which cost more than Elizabeth could realistically afford, Haji, together with several other children, was sent to Muhimbili Hospital in the capital Dar Es Salaam.
When it was time for Haji to go surgery, he got up and changed without complaint, walking calmly into the operating theatre. When Elizabeth, who was far more nervous than her grandson, offered to help him escape and go back home he told her that they had to stay.
After his operation, Haji was transformed: running around, drawing pictures, and practicing his writing. Back home, Haji told us that, after visiting the hospital in Dar Es Salaam, he wants to become a doctor,…or a photographer.
It’s incredible to see the impact a simple surgical procedure can have on the life of a child. One moment they cannot see, and the next they are alive again. They can run, play, fight, laugh. They are unencumbered. They are free.
My time in Tanzania showed me that there is so much more to the work of aid agencies than I could have ever imagined. That getting health care to those who need it is as much about the ‘little’ things as it is about grand projects: a bus fare, a bottle of eye drops to be used after surgery, or even just simple advice about regularly washing your eyes. Seemingly inconsequential gestures that have enormous consequences for brave little boys like Haji, and that make all the difference between him being able to embrace his future with one eye open, or with both.