The girl in this picture was found the night of May 3, 2001, in Kanti children’s hospital in Kathmandu, Nepal. She had been noticed earlier in the day—a half-naked little girl dragging pee-soaked pajama bottoms, shuffling down the hallway in an epileptic haze. It was easier to ignore her then: she wasn’t crying for her mother, or frantically tugging at sleeves. To the hospital staff that passed her by, the short-cropped hair served as both an explanation and excuse for her abandonment. This was the idiot’s branding; the marking of a “pagal,” mentally handicapped, someone else’s burden.
It wasn’t until later that night that it became clear this was not a girl lost on her way back to a hospital bed. The careless shrug of the registration clerk who had no record of her admission made the worst scenario an unavoidable conclusion: she had been dumped here.
The scar tissue of old burns on her neck and stomach told the story of a life spent neglected and abused, and the word “paisa” (money) that she repeated between mechanical whimpers betrayed the training she must have received as a street beggar. Drying blood trailed down the top of her head from the opening of an old wound, and her feet were pocked and swelled by infected cuts.
It would be almost comforting to know that she was too far gone to be able to understand or remember the childhood she had been deprived of. But if you sat down with her to talk, it became painfully clear that behind the glaze of her stare there were remnants of a kid who was not yet willing to forget herself. And in the few moments you had before she keeled over moaning and convulsing onto the concrete, she would tell you that her name was Rupa, that she knew how to count to ten, and that she wanted to know where her mother was.
In the month that followed Rupa’s eventual hospitalization for epilepsy and various infections, attempts were made to place her in a children’s shelter. However, of the many children’s organizations operating in the area, none were willing to accept her. Her physical and mental disabilities would have placed far too heavy a burden on the staff responsible for her care, it seemed. In desperation, homes in India were contacted, but the same response was given. Uniform dismissal by NGOs whose mandate was to provide for the disabled left me with the impression that these organizations were not living up to their promises. Only later did I realize Rupa’s condition is in an entirely different class than that on which the existing NGOs focus. Care is available on an outpatient basis, or for those whose condition does not require full-time assistance, or for patients whose rehabilitation is possible, but those in Rupa’s condition are inadmissible.
People whose severe physical and mental disabilities require full-time care fall into a category that does not match the primary focus of any existing service in Nepal. Unfortunately, Rupa’s is not an isolated case.
To this day, Rupa’s long-term care remains uncertain. Attempts to locate family members have failed. Her epilepsy medication is failing to control her constant seizures, and she continues to suffer from infections that have not responded to antibiotics. Right now, she is staying in the home of an American woman living in Nepal. She has pledged to care for Rupa until a permanent shelter can be established that specializes in the chronic care of the severely physically and mentally disabled. To this end, the University of Toronto International Health Programme (UTIHP), a student organization on campus made up of U of T undergrads and medical students, has started to raise money and enlist support in the Nepalese medical community. Progress is slowly being made, but the limit to any real development is money. That is where you, the student body, can help. The upcoming SAC elections includes several student levy questions. I urge you to make your way to ROSI or a ballot box during the SAC election period (March 25–27) and vote Yes on the UTIHP referendum question. The Nepal project, like UTIHP’s other overseas work, provides a fantastic opportunity for U of T undergrads to get involved in international health issues. UTIHP is asking for your help through a 50 cent student levy to be paid during the fall and winter session as part of your normal student fees. This levy is completely refundable, so if for some reason an extra 50 cents per session makes your tuition prohibitively high, you can opt out of it at the beginning of next year. For kids like Rupa, your contribution is crucial.
For more information about UTIHP and its projects, visit our website at:
http://icarus.med.utoronto.ca/IHP/
