Helping Hand for Cameroon's Lonely Elderly 

Reuters, Methodist Relief and Development Fund

September 30, 2008 

United Kingdom

Maya and Alhadji share a joke.

Sitting in a tiny, mud-brick hut in a remote part of Cameroon, I feel slightly disorientated. My eyes are still adjusting to the darkness and my legs are cramped. This is Maya Anyinji's home. Totally blind and almost deaf, she spends most of her time lying on her bed. But today, she is excited because she has a visitor. 

High rates of HIV/AIDS and rural-to-urban migration mean many elderly in Cameroon no longer have children to look after them in their old age. They often lead very isolated lives. Like 79-year-old Maya, many live in hard-to-reach places, but are too frail to travel. 

Maya's only remaining family is her daughter, a subsistence farmer who spends most of her time working. Maya is mostly left alone, but today she is receiving a visit from Alhadji Djibrilla - and I'm tagging along. 

Alhadji is part of a team of volunteers who trek out to homes each day to offer the simple gift of conversation to elderly men and women. They also help out with difficult tasks like collecting wood and re-thatching roofs. 

I watch Maya as she cherishes her time with Alhadji, whose twice-weekly visits keep her updated on what is happening in the community and in Cameroon. 

As they sit together Maya grasps Alhadji's hand - telling him without words how much his visit means to her. Before long, he is telling jokes that make Maya wobble with laughter. 

Alhadji works for a Cameroonian organisation called the Community Development Volunteers for Technical Assistance (CDVTA). This is not the first time that I have seen these volunteers in action - and each time I visit this project I leave with a greater appreciation of how the smallest gestures can make a world of difference. 

Some miles from Maya's home, other elderly people who are more mobile meet at a regular club organised by CDVTA. Here, they sit and share stories, whilst knitting and weaving. Some take gardening classes. Many will sell what they make or grow to generate an income to support themselves and often numerous grandchildren. 

But coming to the clubs gives them much more than ways to make money - it gives them a sense of community. 

Teressa Tung lost four children in a year - three daughters and a son. Her daughters all died from AIDS-related illnesses. They initially believed that witchcraft or malaria had caused their sickness and by the time they were diagnosed with HIV, it was too late. Teressa's son suffered a stroke shortly after his sisters' deaths but she was unable to pay for the medical care he needed. 

Like many other elderly people in Cameroon who have lost their children to HIV, Teressa is bringing up her grandchildren. 

I ask her what the club means to her. "When we sit together and talk we can forget our pains. But when we are alone we just think of our problems all the time, and they become too much," she says. 

I also meet Patricia Nasah. She suffers from pains in her chest and legs but works all day in the field tending her maize, potatoes and beans. She sells them to survive as none of her six children can support her. Half of Cameroon's population live on less than $2 a day, and many of the elderly live on less than $1 a day. 

"I used to sit alone at home," she tells me. "But when I heard that people of my age were meeting to sit together, share stories and company, I decided to go too, to improve my happiness." 

My happiness has definitely improved by being here. Amid the sad stories I have found some truly inspirational people.

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