"So, you have one of these children?". In Nigeria, children with disabilities are considered an anathema,
like a bad and unwelcome secret. So when a visiting friend asked Rose
Mordi this question, she was not surprised. In fact, by this time she
had become accustomed to the inappropriate stares and questions that
came when people noticed her daughter, Awele.
Awele was born in 1987 with Down Syndrome. She is the youngest of Rose’s four children.
In Nigerian culture, some believe that children with Down Syndrome
are a curse, or the result of some kind of punishment from the
supernatural. For that reason, some people hide their children with
disabilities. This was one thing Rose Mordi was determined her beautiful
baby daughter would not be—a secret.
"From the word ‘go,’ Awele was accepted, loved, and well-integrated
into the family," says Rose. "I would never go anywhere without her,
except to work."
After getting over the initial shock of discovering her new baby had
Down Syndrome, Rose went on to learn everything she could about the
disorder. The plan was to give her child all the love her heart could
muster.
"At that precise moment, I made up my mind that my daughter was going
to be given the best start in life, whatever it would take. I decided
Awele was going to be brought up just like her other siblings, so as to
have a well-adjusted life. I made sure I read all the books,
publications, and everything to do with bringing up a baby with
disability."
For her, learning everything involved attending the International
Down Syndrome convention every year. After the convention in 1998, Rose
decided to set up her home as a sanctuary for other families with
children with Down Syndrome in Nigeria—the first of its kind in West
Africa.
But this decision did not come easily, as she was running her
business full time. She was also nursing her husband, who had fallen
into a diabetic coma after Awele was born and needed full-time home care.
Why did she add one more thing to her already-full plate? "It was
when I saw the ignorance that was very prevalent in the country," she
says. "There was a lot of stigmatisation—with people telling you things
like, ‘We’re going to take you to see one church man who will carry out
deliverance. Wicked people usually send these children. This isn’t the
child God sent to you.’ So, I told my husband, ‘I have this strong urge
to start a support group.’"
She ran the organisation of out of her living room for two years,
providing counseling services to families and resources materials. She
provided help to families who were struggling with everything that came
with raising a child with Down Syndrome. She found it was easier for
people to accept help from her because she was walking in those shoes
with them. She emphasised to parents that children with Down Syndrome
thrive on love, and families have to be hands-on.
Rose Mordi has made it her life’s mission to ensure that nobody will
ever ask the parent of a child living with Down Syndrome: "So, you have
one of these children?"
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