“Why me, always me?” Brother Billdan lamented, his voice heavy with despair.
On our usual journey, I came across this hardworking brother, Billdan, making some kokoto next to his home. Billdan, a single father of four children, shared a story that left us all in stunned silence.
“Brother, I used to live a happy life, filled with laughter and love, until I had an accident on a motorbike that almost took my life. It was a hit-and-run scenario that shattered everything. I poured every last coin into medical treatment, draining my savings and forcing me to sell everything I owned just to survive.
A few months into my hospital stay, I received devastating news: my wife was having affairs with some of my friends from the bodaboda stage. The betrayal cut deeper than my injuries, leaving me broken not just physically, but mentally and emotionally. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of despair, wondering how I could face the world again.
After being fitted with metal supports, I left the hospital because the bills were piling up, and I couldn’t bear the thought of my children going hungry. When I finally returned home, I was greeted by an empty house; my wife had already left and remarried. The reality of being alone, with four children depending on me, was a weight I never expected to carry.
I couldn’t just sit at home, wallowing in grief. I learned to break stones with the help of my children, who walked long distances to fetch stones for me. Each swing of the hammer felt like a reminder of my lost dreams. I had a wheelchair, but it was ancient and barely functional. My children had to lift me to bring me here, often making them late for school.
Whenever it rains, I get soaked and left vulnerable, feeling the cold seep into my bones because I can’t move. The thought of my children witnessing my struggle breaks my heart. A new wheelchair would not just provide mobility; it would give me a glimmer of hope, a chance to regain some dignity in a life that feels like it’s slipping away,” he lamented, tears in his eyes.