Another inspiring story
Every year on June 2nd, I commemorate the day of the accident that took away my ability to walk. Now I’ve turned 31. What have I learned? Three key lessons:
First:
Once you become disabled, the burden becomes yours—and perhaps your relatives’, if they’re willing to lend a hand. If they betray or abandon you, that’s it—you might die prematurely, and they’ll say, “It’s better he rests in peace.”
But not every disability turns you into a dependent person or a beggar. Let me speak for myself—I use a wheelchair every single day. Yes, you need help often, because our environment is not friendly, and our policies are far from inclusive. In short, you must fight for yourself.
Kudos to all people with disabilities who fight fiercely to survive.
Second:
Another major challenge is society’s attitude. Once you’re disabled, some people—especially the ignorant in Tanzania —see you as a source of blessings. Someone gives you 50 or 100 shillings and walks away thinking, “God has blessed me.”
People like this are in dire need of education. Giving someone with a disability a mere 50 shillings and calling it a blessing is not charity—it’s your curse.
Teach me how to fish; don’t keep giving me a small fish every time.
Give me an education (sponsor my studies), provide me with startup capital, etc. It’s deeply shameful to hand someone 50 shillings in the name of a blessing. Such acts degrade us.
Third:
The Tanzanian government has established good policies, laws, and guidelines concerning disability. But it is strange that only top leaders—like the President, Vice President, or Prime Minister—seem to be moved by our plight.
When will these respected individuals reach every person with a disability—poor souls that we are?
We had hoped that people’s representatives—MPs, councilors, District Commissioners (DCs), Regional Commissioners (RCs), directors, and other leaders—would have a broader vision to recognize and listen to these vulnerable individuals, to understand their needs.
But among the accused (these leaders), very few are truly committed to helping people with disabilities. Many see us as a curse, bad luck, or as if we offended God and that’s why we became disabled.
Finally, there are the so-called “bosses” in various public and private offices in Tanzania. It’s very hard for a person with a disability to reach them—especially when seeking employment. Even when you are educated and professionally qualified, many still won’t hire you despite the laws, policies, and guidelines. We sincerely ask them to change. We are all human beings in need. No one begged to be disabled or to give birth to a child with a disability.
If you only knew a little of the pain, hardship, and challenges we face as people with disabilities, surely you would feel compassion for us.
You don’t know what it’s like until you’ve lived it yourself.
As I celebrate my 31st year in a wheelchair, I deeply thank my wife Elizabeth Mahenge for encouraging me through this journey; my children Maria and Mark for their immense love for me.
I also extend heartfelt thanks to my sisters Felista Dandi, Consotala, Grace, Mage, and Monika, and to my brothers Linus, Paul, Daudi, and Deo for their great support that has brought me this far.
Of course, I’m very grateful to my colleagues at Tanzania Broadcasting Cooperation, who have also been a great pillar in my work, and to all my classmates from O Level, A Level, all the way through college — please receive my appreciation.
My message is this:
To all persons with disabilities—do not give up!
Keep fighting with faith in God so that your worth and dignity may be uplifted.
TOGETHER WE CAN.
