Double trauma - MozambiqueWhen her grandmother tells six-year-old Sara to greet the visitors, she approaches each person individually and shakes their hands, asking sweetly, in Portuguese, “Qual é o teu nome?” (What is your name?). Sara has big eyes and when she smiles, she shows off charming dimples. Celeste, Sara’s cousin, and a social worker with the Provincial Directorate for Women and the Coordination of Social Action, Mozambique, sends Sara off to fetch her best friend from one of the nearby shanty homes. She then takes this opportunity to tell Sara’s story. Celeste explains that two weeks ago her grandmother woke Sara, only to find her crying and bleeding. Sara’s grandmother adds, “She was in such a bad state she could not walk. I had to carry her to the hospital. But I didn’t find any doctors because it was a weekend.” Only three days later did a doctor finally examine Sara. But she had already told her grandmother exactly what their 14-year-old neighbour had done to her. “She is a bright girl and she vividly narrated how she had been raped,” says Celeste. Despite the fact that the mother of the youth threatens Sara’s family and wants the case withdrawn, the grandmother is determined to go through with it. Little research has been done in the area of child abuse in Mozambique, but existing data paints a grim picture of the reality many children are facing. The "Government Report on the Implementation of the Convention on the Rights of the Child" cites a survey among child sex workers in the capital, Maputo, in which 22 percent said their first sexual encounter had been violent and against their will. A close relative or a neighbour had abused them. Before, cases of rape were traditionally dealt with in the community, but now after extensive awareness campaigns about child abuse, supported by UNICEF, more people are taking such cases to the police. An increasing number of people are coming forward to seek legal and medical assistance. This has prompted the need to develop more guidelines and material support for the public, the police, courts and other relevant institutions in the provinces and in the districts. Under the legal reform currently underway, clear guidelines are being developed for those working to assist abused children and women at centres for victim assistance (centros de atendimento). UNICEF has assisted in the setting up 19 such counselling centres in five provinces, including Sofala, and police have been trained on how to deal with such cases more sensitively. But Sara’s case will not be easy, especially since the medical examination was carried out late and the perpetrator is a minor. The rape was yet another trauma in young Sara’s life, coming soon after losing her mother to HIV/AIDS last year. “Sara is frightened to venture far these days,” Celeste says. She is yet to receive counselling and her caretaker, the grandmother, is already overwhelmed. Besides Sara, her grandmother looks after an adult son who is deaf and severely epileptic, and four other orphaned grandchildren. This grandmother’s five daughters have died, most probably from HIV/AIDS. The orphans live in two adjacent, dilapidated homes set in the midst of Munhava, an overcrowded, informal settlement in Beira, the provincial capital of the central province of Sofala, where poor or nonexistent drainage is one of the many problems inhabitants have to contend with. Sofala province has the highest HIV prevalence rate in the country, with 26.5 per cent of the population aged 15 to 49 living with HIV/AIDS, according to data from 2002, compared to the national average which was estimated at 14.9 per cent in 2004. When Sara’s mother got sick with HIV/AIDS-related illnesses, her father abandoned them. “The mother had a drinking problem, but she loved Sara, as her only daughter and was set to bring her up as best as she could on her own,” says Celeste. “During the last six months of her life, the mother was too sick and too ashamed to leave the house. Sara performed all the household tasks. She would cook, clean and fetch water”. “She became quiet and would disappear for hours.” Just as the conversation is coming to a close, Sara returns with a boy her age. “This is my best friend,” she says. They sit on the ground and start playing a game that involves tossing and picking up stones. Sara seems to be losing and with a serious look, she concentrates hard, trying to copy the boy’s nifty finger movements. As she fondly watches Sara, 24-year-old Celeste talks of the other challenge facing Sara: to get enrolled in school next year. Sara continues to play with her friend, for a moment forgetting her life experiences of violence and deprivation that have come just too early in her life.
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