Grandma’ Korka

She is living her life on a thin mattress in a small room. Every day after breakfast the old people from the neighborhood come to greet her and during the day time she sleeps. During the night her legs hurt too much to give her any rest.

She's an eighty years sweet old woman.

She’s an eighty years sweet old woman.

“Her legs are broken. Unusable.” mama Fati said when she first introduced us.
Grandma’ Korka took my hand in both hers. She stretched her meager body to sitting up, she’s not larger than her skeleton. We were photographed together and her head seem half the size of mine.

With a wheelchair she could go outside. She could sit on the terrace and enjoy the evenings, morning sun and watch the children play. If she had lived in Sweden the home service would come to help her with her life. They would have showered her, helped her with the food and made sure that she came outside in the fresh air. Here home service doesn’t exist, and the state is not going to give her a wheelchair.

Instead it’s Fati who had to move from her own family in the neighboring village to her old mother to help her with her every day living. With life.

When i told her goodbye to go back to Nouakchott she prayed and squeezed my hands tight before she spat on them. A salvation. A blessing.

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