“The beauty of life does not depend on how
happy you are, but on how happy others can be because of you.”
Explaining
the implications to his parents was not easy. After disappearing for about six
months during which period they hopped from one hospital to another, eventually
convinced of the need for a solution, returned to me. The cancer had gone
beyond the confines of the eyeballs into the surrounding tissues. Both eyes had
to be removed followed by radiotherapy.
I didn’t
see the little boy until four years after treatment. His mother had brought him
to collect a medical report he needed to enter a school for the blind. Yele,
now about 9, was charming, intelligent and witty. With him there were no dull
moments. “Doctor, will you pay me a
visit in my new school?” he asked expectantly. “Yes,” I replied. He lunged
forward and gave me a big hug. “I will take you round my school and show you my
new friends,” he added.
About one
year later I was at Yele’s school to keep my promise. True to his words, he
took me round effortless, using his mobility tool - the white cane. He could
recognise all his friends by their voice and recall what brought them to the
blind school.
Our first
contact was a little girl. “This is Bidemi. She’s 10 and has been here about
three years now.” He told me how Bidemi became blind. She didn’t receive any
vaccinations as a baby; her poor illiterate parents’ choice of food which
precluded dark green leafy vegetables and proteins did not prepare her well to withstand
the deluge of infections. Thus measles found her an easy prey. Already at the
verge of malnutrition and Vitamin A deficiency, the attack was quite severe but
was lucky to survive with blindness owing to the scarring of her cornea. “Doctor, Yele says it’s possible for me to
regain my sight. Is that true?” asked Bidemi. I took a quick look at her eyes.
It seemed one eye could be salvaged by cornea grafting. “Yes,” I answered and
added, “but I need to examine you more thoroughly.” She started dancing.
“Abbey! Adebola,
Kemi where are you!” bellowed Yele. “Say hello to Dr. Ben and introduce yourselves
to him,” he commanded. 8year old Adebola
and 9year old Kemi said they both were born with congenital glaucoma.
Laughing, Kemi said, “The teachers tell me that my eyes are the largest and
prettiest in the school. Isn’t it a shame that I can’t appreciate it
myself? Can you make me see?” she asked smiling.
“Someday, I believe with all the new technologies coming up, you will see,” I
replied, determined to keep hope alive. Abiodun said he lost his eyes to
domestic violence. He was flogged by his father with a cane and lost both eyes.
Asked, what he did wrong, “I stole some money from the pocket of his pants. I
know better now.”
Dauda and
Yisa were about the oldest in the school. Dauda had a febrile illness with
convulsions when he was five. His mother had put red pepper and some herbs in
his eyes. When he came out of coma, he was found to have developed corneal
ulcers. These healed leaving severe corneal scarring. I had a look at Dauda’s
eyes. I was optimistic he had a fairly good chance of regaining some useful vision
after cornea transplant. Yisa’s account of his blindness was even more
pathetic. He had Apollo which was
treated with his dad’s urine. His eyes became worse. There was copious purulent
discharge and subsequent perforation leading to blindness. His father’s urine
must have contained the organism causing gonorrhea which infected his
eyes.
These kids
can’t see but have accepted their fate. They are happy and full of hope for the
future. Bidemi and Yele want to be Computer Scientists. Abiodun wants to be a
Physiotherapist like his hero, late Bitrus Gani. Kemi wants to be a Professor
of English and Dauda and Yisa want to be lawyers. With such self-conviction and
determination, this is the bright side of darkness. They are indeed a special
gift.