Struggling forward

Walking Cairo is difficult enough for people with two legs but, as Hadeel Al-Shalchi finds out, those with special needs have learned to overcome the obstacles

---

Click to view caption

From top: a physician training a kid with special needs to properly use his limbs; at the rehabilitation centre; Abdel-Nadeem

When Mohamed Abdel-Naeem was 17, he fell off a train and sliced off his legs. Ever since he's had to wear prosthetics -- below the knee on his right leg, above the knee on his left. It was devastating: "my family was convinced I couldn't make anything out of my life without the benefit of my legs. Everyone believed my future was over -- how could I work if I couldn't even walk?" Abdel-Naeem had worked as a painter, a job he could no longer do for being unable to climb the ladder. Hired as an upholsterer, he was determined to be accustomed to the prosthetics, proving himself as able as any normal young man.

"Being an upholsterer helped me get on my feet -- literally. I learned my trade, worked for a long time, married with the money I made and now I have four children. The loss of my legs never stopped me from providing for my family." Yet Abdel-Nadeem moves only by motorcycle -- a battered red-and-black affair with a raised plastic visor that helps him cross roads and transport himself and his family. To control the brakes -- since he has no feeling in his prosthetics -- he fashioned a hand brake out of wire and metal. He also used this technique on the motorcycle he drives to deliver newspapers. In fact it enabled him to work much faster than his peers. Most were rather happy for him, however. "Egyptians tend to look at a person with a disability sadly. That's kind of them -- they don't want you to be disabled. But it hurts your pride when people feel sorry for you. I want to be independent, I say no when people pull over and offer me a ride." Yet, notwithstanding the lack of public provisions for disabilities, overall Abdel-Naeem's attitude to Egyptian society is forgiving: "I never lived anywhere where they have everything ready for people like me, but I've adapted to the difficulties and I'm used to life here. You just have to have the willpower and trust in God."

That won't make the state of public transportation in Egypt any better, though: with dilapidated, overcrowded buses that do not always stop for people to get on and off, carrying a bag of groceries on the bus is a feat. And for Mona Mounir, who has had to use crutches all her life due to a reaction to an injection for fever while she was a baby, provisions for disabilities would not be unwelcome. Standing at no more than five feet, she relaxes her walking sticks as she leans on a dusty car to wait for her husband to pick her up. With worn armrests and tarnished metal, the crutches have clearly been used. "I wish people would stop looking at those like me with such sorrow and pessimism," she comments. "I'm able cross the street on my own just like everyone else." Still, getting on the minibus she takes to work every morning -- a feat many an able- bodied Egyptian has never dared try -- tends to be a group effort, with someone grabbing hold of her crutches while she clambers in: "what else can I do -- I'm not used to being dependent and I don't want to be. I have to go to work, to stay active because it's not in my nature to be passive. But I do wish the government could give us better transportation."

One government-like body that's trying to make a difference is the Special Needs Care Centre at Ain Shams University, which offers rehabilitation programmes for special-needs children from low-income families. Parents receive consultations at the low cost of LE5, and the centre makes a point of having a doctor see the children during the first few sessions, then a resident might carry out the programme set by the doctor. It's the first comprehensive centre of its kind in Egypt, and the university is negotiating expansions around Cairo. The place crawls with special-needs children and their mothers: some play in the courtyard while they wait for appointments, others exercise in small rooms branching out of the main corridor. The looks very new, more equipment and organisation are still needed. But progress is underway. "This is an important centre because it offers a unique service in Egypt," says Ghada Dorry, its director. "Usually children with disabilities have more than one need. I've seen the parents go from one centre to another trying to help their child. Here they get it all at once."

Dorry says she hears very complex stories from mothers who have to care for children with special needs, especially those with physical disabilities: "It's very difficult, the mother has to haul the child around, and even with a wheelchair it's still difficult. Able-bodied people have enough difficulties on the streets. There's a great gap between what's available in the way of government services and what's actually needed." For now, she says, the goal of the centre is to provide immediate care directly for those who require it; a longer-term plan is to raise awareness in larger communities: "the next step will be going out to the community to raise the awareness of children with special needs. Their peers need to deal with them as friends, to help them integrate." Until that happens, social survival will remain, as Abdel-Naeem puts it, a question of sheer willpower.