Once upon a time, in the lively community of Bongo Soe, Mr. Adombire Ayuumbeo was the embodiment of diligence and pride. The sun’s first rays often found him by the dam near his house, tending to rows of tomatoes and vegetables. His farm was a patchwork of green, a source of sustenance for his family and a modest income from the surplus sold in the market. But farming was only a part of his industrious life; Mr. Ayuumbeo also spent hours cutting firewood and harvesting roofing grass, always ensuring his household’s needs were met. His hands, once strong and skilled, provided security, comfort, and hope to those who depended on him. This story, however, took a drastic turn. Leprosy crept silently into Mr. Ayuumbeo’s life, robbing him of the very tools of his trade, his fingers. The disease did not merely bring pain and disfigurement; it stripped him of his ability to work, leaving him “idle and helpless.” Once a man who never sat still, he now found himself confined to his home, watching the world move on without him. “When I remember the way I used to work and support my family, tears start pouring from my eyes,” Mr. Ayuumbeo confided in the documentary “Pains of the Forgotten: Leprosy, Stigma, and Resilience,” produced by Ngamegbulam Chidozie Stephen of ApexNewsGH. “Now I can’t farm, I can’t cut firewood, I can’t do anything. Sometimes I think I should die than to live.” For Mr. Ayuumbeo, the greatest agony is not only physical, but also the heavy shroud of stigma that leprosy brings. Once greeted with respect, he now feels abandoned and judged by the very people he once called neighbors and friends. “You don’t have anything, and your body too makes it hard to mingle with people. People stigmatize you. I don’t know why God gave me a disease that people don’t respect.” The sense of isolation is profound. The silence from others echoes louder than his disability, and the weight of judgment is heavier than any load he once carried from the fields. Despite these trials, Mr. Ayuumbeo tries to hold onto gratitude. “I thank God that the sores have healed and I can walk without difficulty. But I cannot do what I used to do.” His gratitude is laced with sorrow—a longing for lost strength, lost routine, and lost purpose. Each day, he wakes to face both the physical limitations of his body and the invisible barriers erected by society’s misunderstanding. His thoughts often return to his family. With a wife and children looking to him for support, the burden of helplessness is magnified. He worries about their future, how to keep them fed, clothed, and safe. “When I was active, I used to pay taxes. Now I cannot work, but I still belong to the government. I vote. I have my voter ID. The government of Ghana owes me and my family. If there’s any way they can help us sustain our lives, they should do it.” His appeal is not just for himself, but for every leprosy survivor who has been left behind, still a citizen, still deserving of dignity and support. Mr. Adombire’s story is woven into the larger tapestry of Bongo’s leprosy survivors—a tapestry colored by pain, but also by resilience and hope. Organizations like the Development Research and Advocacy Center (DRAC) are working to ensure that people like Mr. Ayuumbeo are not forgotten. DRAC’s efforts go beyond charity; they are about rebuilding lives. With the drilling of ten boreholes, clean water is now within reach for many who once struggled. Water health committees educate communities about hygiene, crucial in the fight against neglected tropical diseases. But perhaps most remarkable is DRAC’s commitment to economic empowerment. Training sessions in basket weaving and soap-making provide patients and caregivers with skills, materials, and, most importantly, a renewed sense of purpose. “Buyers come to the community to purchase baskets, and we provide materials and training,” says Jonathan Adabre, DRAC’s Executive Director. These initiatives are more than income; they are threads of dignity, restoring connections to the community and to self-worth. Across Bongo, the story of leprosy is changing. It is no longer solely a tale of suffering, but one of resilience written in the determined footsteps of a nurse on his rounds, in the laughter of women weaving baskets, and in the hope that arrives with every borehole drilled. Yet, Mr. Ayuumbeo’s plea still rings out, a call for compassion, inclusion, and meaningful action. His journey, and that of so many others, is a reminder that the scars of leprosy go beyond the physical. It is up to all, the community, government, and organizations, to ensure these lives are lifted from the silence of stigma into the light of dignity and support. Only then will the story of Bongo’s leprosy survivors be one not just of what was lost, but of what can still be regained. WATCH THE DOCUMENTARY VIDEO Source: Apexnewsgh.com/Ngamegbulam Chidozie Stephen

For ten long years, Matilda Nyaaba endured a mysterious torment. In her quiet village of Bongo Balungu, life was punctuated by fainting spells, nosebleeds, and unexplainable pain. Apexnewsgh reports Each episode left her weaker, and each visit to yet another health facility only compounded her confusion. What was this invisible enemy that drained her strength and hope, year after year? No one seemed to have an answer. Matilda’s ordeal was brought to light in the documentary “Pains of the Forgotten: Leprosy, Stigma, and Resilience,” produced by Ngamegbulam Chidozie Stephen of ApexNewsGH. Her story, like those of many leprosy sufferers, was one of searching in the dark. Even as her family stood by her, her neighbors whispered, eyed her with suspicion, and kept their distance. Some said she was cursed; others assumed she had HIV. To protect herself from the sting of their words, Matilda began to retreat indoors, leaving her home only for the most essential of chores. The isolation bit deeper than the disease itself, eroding her spirit and sense of belonging. It was only after a particularly harrowing episode, a collapse so severe she was rushed to the hospital, that a turning point arrived. There, a disease control officer finally recognized the signs of leprosy and placed Matilda on a monthly treatment regimen. For the first time, hope flickered in her life. The medicine brought relief, but not certainty. Supplies at the hospital ran out from time to time, and Matilda would wait anxiously for a call or a visit, never knowing when the next dose would arrive. Still, she persevered. Her wish was simple: that no one else should have to wander in confusion or suffer in silence as she had. Matilda’s journey reveals a truth often overlooked: the wounds of leprosy are as much emotional and social as they are physical. The pain of exclusion, the silence of misunderstood suffering, and the longing for dignity weigh heavily on those afflicted. Her resilience is a quiet call for compassion, understanding, and real action, so that no one else in her community will have to endure the same lonely road. Aniah’s Journey Through Leprosy’s Trials In the village of Bongo Soe, another story of quiet resilience unfolds. Aniah Lamisi was once a farmer whose days were filled with the rhythm of the land. She took pride in the sweep of her hoe, the bounty of her harvest, and the strength of her hands. Farming gave her purpose, connection, and identity. But leprosy crept into her life without warning, first as a tingling in her fingers, then as a relentless force that twisted and weakened her hands. Tasks that once came easily, cooking, fetching water, and gathering firewood, became daily struggles. The simple act of lifting a water container to her head was now a painful ordeal. Cooking over a fire brought blisters instead of warmth. With her hands disfigured, her independence slipped away, and Aniah found herself an observer in her own life, unable to work or contribute as she once did. The loss went deeper than the physical. Though her neighbors did not reject her outright, the shame of asking for help, of reaching out with altered hands for food, wounded her pride. She withdrew from communal life, carrying her pain in silence. Like Matilda, Aniah’s only hope was regular medication—but the health center’s supplies were unreliable. Some months, she received her treatment; other times, she waited in vain, watching her health and hope falter. Each missed dose was a reminder of how fragile her world had become. Yet Aniah’s spirit refused to break. In rare quiet moments, she counted her blessings: a body that still allowed her to dress herself, fleeting moments of calm, and the knowledge that others faced even greater struggles. She dreamed of something more, a chance to learn a trade, to regain purpose, to earn her own living. Vocational training, she thought, could be a bridge back to dignity and self-respect. While Matilda and Aniah’s stories are deeply personal, they are not unique. Across Bongo and its surrounding communities, many battle the same invisible foe, facing not just disease but the crushing weight of stigma, poverty, and uncertainty. But hope comes not only from within. Organizations like the Development Research and Advocacy Center (DRAC) are changing the landscape for leprosy patients. With ten boreholes drilled in affected areas, access to clean water is no longer a dream. Water health committees teach hygiene, helping prevent further spread of neglected tropical diseases. Most transformative are DRAC’s economic empowerment programs, training in basket weaving and soap-making, providing materials, and connecting patients with buyers. For women like Aniah and Matilda, these opportunities are more than a source of income; they are a path back to belonging and pride. The story of Bongo’s leprosy survivors is one of resilience, not just suffering. It is written in Matilda’s quiet hope, in Aniah’s determination, in every basket woven and every borehole drilled. It is a story that demands not pity, but recognition and commitment. For these women and countless others, the journey continues toward healing, dignity, and a future where no one must walk alone in the shadows. WATCH THE DOCUMENTARY VIDEO; Source: Apexnewsgh.com/Ngamegbulam Chidozie Stephen