Magogo, Uganda, Sep 2 (AP) A boy clambers up a jackfruit tree, eagerly reaching for the ripe, yellow fruit that awaits him. Nearby, a child enthusiastically keeps pace with a rolling bicycle tire, a crowd of kids in hot pursuit. Sunshine laces through the villages and cities of this nation, highlighting the young secure on their mothers' backs, singing on school grounds, and racing across soccer fields.
In stark contrast, the elderly dwell in the shadows, in deteriorating houses and dim mud huts, gradually forming a new, overlooked community. Across Africa, a chasm divides the young from the old, as resources predominantly flow to children, while the older generation often remains neglected. Yet, the destinies of the youthful and the elderly are deeply interconnected.
“Both of them are suffering,” explains Dr. Emmanuel Mugerwa, who once aspired to be a pediatrician but chose geriatrics at the Reach One Touch One clinic. “Both of them lack many necessary things.” Africa hosts the world's youngest demographic, with nations like Uganda where an overwhelming half of the population is under 18. Although the elderly form a small fraction of the continent's populace, their numbers are swiftly growing.
These two distant age groups, however, share significant commonalities.
Ugandan government statistics reveal that children and those aged 75 and above experience the highest poverty rates, often cohabitating together. Approximately one in six households with older individuals falls under the “skipped generation” category, where grandparents live with their grandchildren without the middle generation.
At ROTOM's campus, a school is directly opposite a seniors' home, where a single caregiver tends to a dozen elderly residents. Children in uniform chant the “Our Father” in an open-air hall, just a wall away from an older woman who arrived bruised, the staff saying the injuries resulted from a daughter beating her with a stick.
It's the final school day before a holiday, and two girls in light red jumpers and periwinkle collars leave campus as barefoot children begin a soccer match on a moist field.
The girls exit the gate, passing a boy with tears staining his cheeks and proceed along a dirt path skirted by corn stalks and banana trees. Goats graze on the edges, ducks and roosters wander, while a stack of mud bricks dries under the sun.
The girls navigate past chickens scavenging trash, shopkeepers tidying their storefronts, men engaged in a dice game, and a pile of smoldering garbage sending acrid smoke skyward before reaching home. Out of respect, they kneel before their caretaker, 94-year-old Rose Liru.
Brenda Mungulu, 11, and Parvin Nakawesi, 9, Liru's grandniece and great-granddaughter, respectively, have been left by parents unable to care for them. They swiftly change out of school uniforms and start on household tasks.
Liru admits she lacks the energy to fully care for the girls but recognizes the dual nature of their presence: they are both a responsibility and a blessing. Despite the burden of responsibility, she acknowledges their help around the home.
She contemplates her remaining years and worries about the girls' future post her time. Right now, she is their world, and she strives to give her best.
“I protect them. I defend them,” she says, emphasizing the role elders play, filling in for absent parents. “Old people, we are the ones who hold families together. We are the ones who pray for you. We are the ones who do good. We are the ones who are next to God.” In homes where multiple generations coexist, elders often found it difficult to support themselves even before having to provide for another mouth and education fees.
Most older Ugandans are illiterate, and among those 85 and older, illiteracy is alarmingly high, with more than 80% unable to read or write. Although education isn't free, it's a point of pride for elders to ensure their young receive it.
Felista Kemitaare, living off a steep rocky path amidst lush hills, is one such elder. At 78, she has taken on the care of her 11-year-old granddaughter. Food is scarce, and the little she grows, she partly sells to cover tuition.
Today, ROTOM field nurse Winnie Katwesigye visits Kemitaare, sitting below a poster of the late Pope Francis, the doorway light highlighting her face. Her beans show stunted growth, and her pains are worsening.
“I have no choice,” she states, “but to be a strong woman.” With determination, she grasps a walking stick and heads barefoot up a steep hill to her garden. Desperation pushes her to harvest prematurely, digging out stunted potatoes, smaller than she hoped. She places them in a green plastic dish and slowly descends the hill with careful steps.
Norah Makubuya, a ROTOM project leader, endeavors to educate local adult children about the challenges facing elders who become caregivers once again.
“Their burden,” speaks of the adult children, “becomes their parents' burden.” (AP) GRS GRS
(Only the headline of this report may have been reworked by Editorji; the rest of the content is auto-generated from a syndicated feed.)
