Innocent
I pop my head out of Kachere Clinic when I catch sight of Chimwemwe approaching. When her son Innocent sees me, his smile widens. It’s identical to his mother’s, who is pushing him in his new wheelchair. He just received it this week. As his mom unstraps him, he reaches his arms to me. I pick him up and immediately feel how important that chair is for Chimwemwe. He’s heavy, and since Innocent was born four years ago, she has been carrying him everywhere. He sits in my lap for a few minutes shelling peanuts he pulls from the breast pocket of his white collared shirt. Every time he successfully gets a nut from its shell, he’s proud of himself. It’s adorable and he’s a charming kid. I can’t help that he has become my favorite over the last five weeks.
Innocent was born with bilateral club foot, spina bifida and hydrocephalus. That’s a triad of unlucky I wouldn’t wish on anyone. He has no feeling in his lower extremities. He cannot walk. He had brain surgery as a young child. Fortunately, he didn’t need a VP shunt. None of this stops Innocent from smiling almost constantly. He is also sharp as a tack and has learned to get around incredibly well. So well, in fact, that because of how he learned to crawl, dragging his feet and legs, the day we first meet he has terrible pressure sores on the top and side of his left foot. Without sensation as a guide, even in the best of circumstances, it is difficult to prevent. In Innocent’s case: nearly impossible. The wounds look terrible, and Chimwemwe tells me they just will not heal.
He patiently sits on the mat in the clinic, where Matilda holds a weekly Disability Group sponsored by Ripple Africa, and lets me unwrap his foot. My first meeting with Innocent mercifully coincides with a donation of dressings from a school in the UK. By happenstance, we receive just what we need. Chimwemwe has done an incredible job the last five weeks, diligently following my instructions and doing her level best to keep her very active four-year-old’s foot out of the dirt. I’ve visited Innocent at home. I know this is a near-heroic feat.
The wound on the side of his foot is gone. The bigger one is half the size today it was five weeks ago. It’s healing. With luck, that healing will continue. Having his new wheelchair will help immensely. It’s thanks to Matilda’s hard work, Ripple Africa’s financial support, and Chimwemwe carrying her son many kilometers to disability group every week for the past two and a half years that the chair is now part of Innocent’s journey. I ask Chimwemwe how it feels to have it. It’s great, she says with a smile, but Innocent doesn’t like the bumpy roads. That makes me laugh. You and me both, kid. They’re rough around here.
It’s not a perfect solution. Malawi isn’t built for wheelchairs. There are safety hazards at every turn. Innocent is accustomed to the freedom his version of crawling affords him and he is adept at using walls, doors and his mom’s back to prop himself into a standing position. But he will learn and he’s already enthusiastic about the chair. He begs me more than once to push him around the courtyard outside the clinic. Eventually, he’ll gain the right coordination and strength to operate the chair himself. Keeping the pressure off his feet will continue to help his wound heal, and with Matilda’s help, Innocent might yet gain the strength to walk with the aid of crutches.
Next week, I’ll visit Innocent for the last time, and already I feel tears at the thought of bidding him farewell. I am grateful to be forming meaningful relationships that will make parting so difficult. I hope there will be sufficient supplies to see Innocent’s wounds reach the fully healed stage and I can’t wait to see how having a wheelchair will change things for him. Spending time with him reminds me to lean into all the small moments of awe that life has to offer. Reach for the stars, Innocent. May you continue to have reasons to many reasons smile.
