The other day walking through the market I saw what I can only describe as half of a man. I didn't really dare do a double take for fear of being rude, but from one glance I was able to notice that this man had no legs and that the upper half of his body was the size one would expect from a toddler. On this oddly small body, there was the face of a man clearly more aged than myself. He was sitting on the sidewalk on a blanket, without a wheelchair or any other type of aid. It was heartbreaking to see this person on the ground, sitting so low that it would have been easy to miss him entirely. It was equally striking to me that he had been able to survive at all. His disability was extreme and he obviously lacked the means to get the attention he deserved. I had to figure that only some combination of insane mental determination, social support and luck had allowed him to successfully make it through so many years of life. While there was something a little bit intriguing about seeing this man at the market, it also really disturbed me. He didn't even have a wheelchair.
When I decided to come to Senegal I figured that I would see things that would make me uncomfortable. I knew that the abject poverty faced by so many would probably inspire some sort of white/American/privileged guilt. What I didn't really expect was the disproportionate (and visible) proportion of urban homeless/poor that would have handicaps. Walking down the street to school I encounter a number of the same beggars everyday. I would estimate that there are between five and seven familiar faces greeting me each day on my walk. Of this group, three are in wheelchairs and another man could probably use one, but sits on a blanket on the ground instead. Many of the people I see with handicaps seem to have suffered from polio as children, their feet and legs characteristically twisted, while others have lost limbs altogether. Many people are in wheelchairs or use canes and crutches to walk, which is rather depressing to see, but the other day I was realizing that even sadder is the fact that those are the lucky people. I have been noticing with increasing frequency (probably because my attention has been drawn to it) the high number of people who clearly need a wheelchair or cane, but don't have them.
Last weekend in Saint Louis we were sitting outside a bar when a man crawled up to the table. He had crossed the street on his hands and knees, almost getting hit by a number of cars in the process. It's an awkward feeling to look at a man who clearly has very little in life, take a sip of an overpriced drink, and try to ignore his calls for help. There are so many people here who ask for help on the streets; it is difficult to say no, but also impossible to say yes to everyone. I realize that I am rich in comparison to so many people, but my bank account certainly can't handle unbridled charity. There are days when I offer a couple coins to beggars, or maybe some extra bread to the talibes, but I honestly don't do it very often. It is a little overwhelming to look at the scale of the problem and attempt to do anything about it because even if I give someone 50 CFA or some baguette today, they will be back on the street tomorrow. I know that just because the problem won't be solved doesn't mean I shouldn't help, but it is distressing to walk around and see so many people who are subsisting on the goodwill of others, clearly lacking any government support or consistent means. I feel like giving a few piddly CFA isn't going to do a thing. And realistically it won't. It might make their life a little easier for today, but in the long run the problem is going to continue to replicate itself.
I was warned that there would be challenges in processing the things that I saw here. It's strange because for the first month or so of being here I was able to write off a lot of what I see on the streets everyday because I had mentally prepared myself for the fact that extreme poverty would exist here. Because I knew that I would see it, I was able to brace myself and detach my emotions from the issue. But in the past week or so, especially with my observations about how disproportionately people with handicaps are affected, this barrier has been shattered. Seeing the same sad scenes everyday wears on one's ability to accept reality without getting emotionally involved.
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