Landmine victims given hope

Mar 24, 2004

Even with broken legs and a broken heart, Night Akumu,18, can still afford a smile. Like a baby who cannot walk, she hangs atop wheelchair in front of the kitchen at Gulu’s Orthopaedic Centre, busy chopping cabbages in a plastic dish, for dinner.

By Denis Ocwich

Even with broken legs and a broken heart, Night Akumu,18, can still afford a smile. Like a baby who cannot walk, she hangs atop wheelchair in front of the kitchen at Gulu’s Orthopaedic Centre, busy chopping cabbages in a plastic dish, for dinner.

Just as the orange sun is fading to usher in dusk, I realise Akumu’s hopes - the hopes of ever living a productive life- have also faded.

“What can I do with all my legs gone?” she asks, in a subdued tone and ironic smile that humbles me.

For five seconds, a deepening silence rules the situation, before the young girl, dressed in an old white T-shirt and a blue skirt, exclaims: “Why me!”

Like over 1000 other civilians in war-shattered northern Uganda, 18-year-old Akumu is a victim of a landmine blast, a destructive weapon used by Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army (LRA) rebels.

Her black day was in August last year. As she walked unsuspectingly to fetch water at a nearby borehole in her village at Laliya near Gulu town, she stepped on an anti-personnel landmine, and “boom” it went, smashing both her legs.

While her colleague, Peace Aparo died instantly, Akumu was admitted to Gulu Hospital where her legs were later amputated.
During the interview (last year), she was waiting to have prostheses (artificial limbs) fixed on her at the Regional Orthopedic Centre at Gulu Referral Hospital.

The services which started in 1998, are offered by the International service Volunteers Association (AVSI), an Italian NGO funded by the European Commission Humanitarian Office (ECHO).

The Orthopedic workshop was built by AVSI in a programme co-ordinated by the ministry of health’s rehabilitation desk and the district director of health services (DDHS).

The activities involve tracing and helping landmine victims, most of who have lost their limbs, from several villages in the north.

Those worst off are taken to the orthopedic centre where they spend about three weeks. The less severe cases are treated from the villages.

Besides free artificial limbs, the victims are counselled, given psychotherapy and medical treatment.

So far, 1,000 have been helped. Some are given wheelchairs, while others get plastic limbs and crutches.

Since 1998 AVSI has identified close to 2,000 disabled persons, out of which 54% are said to have acquired disability due to the Kony war.

“Of this, 75% are in Acholi,” says Naggi. The majority of victims are aged between 18 and 40 years.
By last year, at least 330 people were recorded to have had their limbs amputated as a result of landmine blasts.

“We don’t have any statistics on the people who died. The number of people hit by landmines is higher than what we know”. Last year, there were fresh cases of landmine blasts. Naggi says in April 2003, 12 people were injured by the bombs.

“Probably they were mines planted in 1994”. In most cases , the mines are buried in the ground along footpaths to the gardens, boreholes, rubbish pits and in the proximity of homes.

“As we destroy the mines, the Lord’s Resistance Army rebel group in northern Uganda is still planting them,” the Vice President, Prof. Gilbert Bukenya said last year while presiding over the function to destroy the landmines at Kigo, near Lake Victoria in Kampala.

The Ottawa Mine Treaty, which was ratified by Uganda in 1997, bans the production and use of landmines. Last month, Uganda destroyed stockpiles of the mines, which were assembled from the army’s factory in Nakasongola.

Almost a decade after Kony rebels started planting anti-personnel and anti-tank mines, the bombs are yet prevalent in rebel-infested areas of northern Uganda.

“The bombs have Arabic inscriptions, which means they are got from Sudan”.

Landmine causalities in the region peaked between 1996-1997.” The LRA started using landmines in Acholi in 1992.

The ‘planted’ landmines can last more than 20 years in the ground”.

Last July, a taxi was hit by a land mine along Lira- Soroti road. A bus plying the Kitgum - Gulu road also rolled over a mine.

Besides, there are unexploded bombs within the villages, which could add the number of disabled people in northern Uganda.

If possible the government should start some programme for us to earn income, or build for us houses because we can no longer do anything,” pleads Daniel Ongwec, a father of two from Pader, still lying on the hospital bed.

Like Ongwec, other victims have children to look after.” How will our children grow up? Can’t the government pay school fees for our children?” ponders David Oola, a father of eight whose legs was chopped off from the knee.

As I talk with other patients outside the ward, two children draw my attention. One of them, a six-month-old girl called Caroline Aloyo is tugging at her mother’s dress. The mom has only one leg, the other having been chewed by a landmine.

The little girl was named Aloyo (an Acholi name meaning ‘ I have overcome it’) because the mother, Lucy Atuko was two months pregnant when the landmine hit her on her way to the garden last June. Now she is helpless, worn-out and desperate nothing more than a bleak future.

I don’t know what to do, and yet I have children to look after.

I cannot afford school fees and other necessities. The government should think of us,” she pleads, as she waits for her ‘new’ leg to be fixed.

The artificial limbs are made locally using materials from South Africa and Geneva. The cost of fixing an artificial leg is about 400 Euro (sh1m). But, thanks to AVSI the bill has been catered for
“A prosthesis can really change the life of a person, “ says Naggi, a psychotherapist. “ If they are helped, these people can cope with the disability and regain their dignity.”

No doubt, AVSI is giving the landmine victims the chance to toddle. But they still have more cries than are being heard by the world.

Just as I was folding my notebook to move away, Jenty Anek, a sickly old woman seated on the veranda and leaning backwards against a pillar of the male ward raised her voice and asked, “What about me?”

I was touched and felt guilty for not talking to her. I had wrongly assumed that the eight sampled interviews could be representative, and probably reflect the needs of the other victims.

It was a mistake; the old woman had her side of the story.

“Look! I don’t walk any more. With all the orphans I have, what does the government think about us?”

pleads Anek, pointing at her amputated leg.

All but a few of the bleeding hearts!

Behind them are thousands other victims in northern Uganda whose lives have been effectively knocked off the road by those who wield the gun of terror.

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