Luanda, Angola
December 4-14, 2001

Angola is three times the size of
California, with about 11 million people. It was a Portuguese province for hundreds of years, and at one time a lucrative slave port. This history still resonates in the society today. In 1975 Portugal granted independence. The new Angolan government embraced Communism. Rebel forces, neighboring countries, and multinational corporations disagreed with the Communist direction. The Soviet Union sent military aid and thousands of Cuban army mercenaries. Thus began a war that has taken such a toll on the land and its people. Angola has the highest per capita amputee rate in the world, this due to the proliferation of landmines. Today, Soviet and Cuban support are no longer present, but civil war continues in territories outside Luanda, the capital.

For a country rich in natural resources, the rewards of wealth certainly do not find their way back to the people. Education, medicine, and any other social programs seem absent - and in their place poverty, hunger and hopelessness thrive. Millions have moved to Luanda to avoid the trauma of warfare. They lost what they couldn't carry, but they gained refuge in the city.
We visited Sapu, an area on the outskirts of Luanda. This is a parcel of land that the government gave to handicapped civilians. We could tell we were with the poorest of the poor. Instead of shelters made of the cinder blocks with corrugated steel roofs, these people lived in dark brown tents, probably hand-me-downs from the war. We brought four wheelchairs with us. As soon as we stopped the truck we saw two low objects approaching us, followed by a trail of dust. They moved fast - fast and low to the ground. We could make out two heads, two men in their 20's, but moving fast and by a process I have not seen before. They clutched a brick in each hand. Their arms were strong. They thrust forward each brick, and then pull themselves up over the bricks, swinging and dragging their lifeless shrunken legs. Their knees are swollen, scarred, and bleeding, as they use them as sleds and landing pads. It was a hard scene for us to behold. I wanted to cry out in pain, as I could feel what must be just a small tip of the agony these two poor men must feel. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't bear to cry in front of them. They were the ones that should have been crying. They weren't. What I felt from them was pride and determination. They developed a unique form of mobility. It was more primate, more animal like, but unique. They were not giving up on life. Instead they resolved to make the best of their bad luck.

These two men are polio victims. At the right time, a $0.25 vaccination would have silenced the virus that took away the muscular control of their legs. They have feeling in their legs, but are not capable of significant voluntary movement. Without exercise muscles wither, leaving shriveled remnants of legs. The bricks were used to protect their hands from the brutal carpet of gravel, sand, and broken glass.

I got out of the truck and unloaded one of the wheelchairs. I set it on the ground, and proceeded to tighten up some loose nuts and bolts. One of the men was now at my feet, looking up at me and at the wheelchair. He reached out and wrapped both hands around the wheelchair. His friend came up a few seconds later. Then I wondered what this young man was thinking. Was he gripping that wheelchair to tell me that it was his? Was he doing this to show his friend that this was his? In my tightening process I had to reposition the wheelchair.

When I reached down to do this; he let go, showing no resistance by his grip, but great sadness in his eyes. When I turned the wheelchair, he grabbed hold of the other leg, and held it with the same conviction. Then I felt I knew what he was thinking. He was throwing every last bit of faith and determination he had to getting that chair. I believe he felt that if he let go he may never get this chance again. He did not know we were coming, he did not know where we came from or what we were going to do. But, he did see that wheelchair, and all the pain and suffering he had endured to crawl from that alleyway and through his life told him not to let go. And I have to feel he was praying, praying that this is not some dream, or another of life's tragic tricks.

I finished my tightening, and I put the tools in my pocket. He looked up at me. He had such hope in his eyes, such determination. I wanted to get my camera, but I could bear to hold him in that state any longer. I patted the seat and motioned for him to climb on board. His strong arms were like booster rockets. In a flash he was comfortably positioned in the chair and looking at me for a cue of what he should do next. He told me his name was Sansao Santa Maria. I leaned Sansao and the chair back on the rear wheels and took him for a test/joy ride around the truck. He squealed in delight. It was then that Jose told him that this was now his wheelchair, brought to him in the name of Jesus Christ. His smile was huge. He zoomed off on his own. It didn't take any therapy classes for Sansao to master this new form of mobility. The two bricks he had previously used for mobility now lay discarded, in the dirt at my feet.

So consumed with the first man, I didn't realize we were now surrounded by twelve more cripples. We had three wheelchairs to give away, and new faces were turning out by the minute. We all had the same feeling of despair as we realized we hadn't enough, and most of these poor souls would have to leave without this simple gift. We noticed that those crippled humans who were still dragging their poor bodies to us were slower than the first. They lacked the strength or coordination. The last to arrive were the most in need. So sad! All we could do was to try to convey to them that God loved them just as much, and that more wheelchairs were on the way. Seeing them turn and start to crawl back to their shelters was a tragic sight.

This moment was a turning point for me and my USA friends travelling with me. We were consumed in a tidal wave of emotions. On one hand we were elated by our experiences, the high of being able to give something that provides immediate gratification, immediate aid to someone in need. But on the other hand we experienced soul wrenching sadness at the overwhelming need of these people and the thought that this was just one small area. Our Angolan missionary helpers were used to not having enough, and having to turn people away. They did their best to comfort us. Jose told us to focus on the little steps, the little steps are all we can take, and enough of them make one big step.

We made a little step in Luanda. A few fellow humans have better mobility and with better mobility the opportunity for a better life. We witnessed the spirit of Jesus and how His spirit changes lives. We pray that our simple gift opened doors of faith and hope in these few crippled humans and their families.

God, help us make more little steps.

Don Schoendorfer 1/16/2002
President
Free Wheelchair Mission