Sexual abuse, stigma, loneliness, deep poverty, illiteracy – these are the rule, not the exception for kids like Faith.

This is what Faith and her mom are up against.

I don’t want to candy coat this. As I watched this spitfire of a girl step her way bravely around her rocky yard, as I watched the wheels of her brain turn as her fingers took in my face, the mask, comparing it to her mom’s face, without the mask… as I listened to her coughs and growls and chortles of curiosity… I had a heavy heart.

I should have been watching her antics with utter delight. But instead, I was calculating the odds.

What are the odds that Faith will be supported at the packed, cash-strapped local school? What are the odds that Faith won’t be targeted by bullies and left behind by kids she wants as friends? What are the odds Faith won’t be raped and neglected and ostracized?

What are the odds that Faith’s lion spirit won’t be crushed?

And what are the harrowing choices her mom will have to make to keep her daughter fed? Faith’s mom is young and on her own.

She rents a small market stall where she sells some cakes, but it’s not enough for her and her child to have regular meals. Not enough for balanced nutritious food. Protein is a rare treat.

At what point will this loving mom run out of hope? At what point will her despair eat away at her determination and her fight for her daughter?

Sorry to batter you with so many unanswered questions. I know this is hard to read. But these are the realities for children living with blindness in communities in rural Malawi.

It’s why the paediatric eye unit is so vital. To give the amazing miracle of sight to as many kids as we can.

It’s also why we can’t throw up our hands and turn away when our best medical interventions don’t work as we intended.