BY ELTON LONARATHA JNR

IN the remote Hagalu community of Big Ngella, Central Islands Province, looking after people with special needs isn’t just a family duty, it’s a shared responsibility woven into the fabric of everyday life.

Nestled among swaying mangroves trees in the coastal mainland with the rhythmic crash of ocean waves, this village of about 600 people grapples with a reality that mirrors the nation’s broader challenges.

With roughly 15 people in Hagalu living with disabilities, the community has mourned the loss of 10, leaving just five who depend on the tireless support of relatives and neighbours.

Their stories highlighted the invisible burdens of isolation, poverty, and inadequate resources in a country where disability touches nearly one in seven lives.

Esmie Fane, 26, is at the heart of this narrative. Born with a disability, she is the second of four children in a family where steady employment remains elusive.

Her father, John Sade, a vocal and active community member, speaks with quiet pride and exhaustion about his daughter’s place in their world.

“Fane is the second born in the family, and she was born disabled,” he explains.

Now a grandfather after his eldest son married and started a family, Sade and his wife Roselyn Loku, have dedicated their lives to ensuring Fane’s comfort.

“Whatever we get in a day must prioritize her in terms of food, clothes, and other welfare matters,” Sade says.

To make her life more manageable, the family relocated her to a modest home by the seashore this year, away from their mainland residence.

“We built her home to stay beside the seashore to ensure other basic human needs like sanitation and access to the sea for relaxation can be addressed.

The couple’s days are filled with casual labor like constructing stone foundations for houses built on stilts over the water, a common job in coastal communities.

“We live by doing this casual job for money to survive and make ends meet,” Sade shares.

When opportunities arise in nearby Tulagi, they travel there for similar work, earning just enough to cover essentials. Yet, Fane’s needs often stretch their resources thin.

Sade recounts spending nights at her side, assisting with baths, entertainment, and comfort.

“Sometimes we spend the night with her just to offer the best treatment she always wanted,” he says.

But the emotional toll is palpable. Sade admits to moments of stress when life overwhelms her wife.

“When life gets tough, her stressful mother used to go hard on her sometimes, which also makes me sad,” Sade confides.

Financial struggles compound the challenges; they frequently take Fane to Tulagi Hospital by boat or canoe, carrying her medical cards.

“We took her to Tulaghi Hospital whenever she needs medical attention since she was a child,” Sade adds.

Despite past visits from outsiders, perhaps aid workers or officials, no tangible support has followed.

“Till now, we haven’t heard anything from those people visiting us,” he laments.

Loku, Fane’s primary caregiver, echoes the depth of their journey.

“It’s a tough journey for me with my only daughter,” she says.

“Her welfare is one of the greatest challenges I have ever faced in my life. Fane is not able to walk, which adds an extra layer to the challenges we face daily.”

She continues to dreams of a better future.

“I’m praying for one day she has a proper home and better welfare support.”

In a family of three boys, Fane’s disability has reshaped their dynamics, forcing sacrifices that highlight the broader inequities in rural Solomon Islands, where access to education, healthcare, and employment is limited.

Reginald Peripeki, 64, offers another poignant chapter in Hagalu’s story.

Stricken with an overdose illness as a child, likely due to inadequate medical care at the Taroniara clinic, the province’s only facility at the time, he has lived with deafness and muteness ever since.

His brother, Mathew Duvele, and Duvele’s wife have shouldered the responsibility since their parents’ deaths.

Their mother passed on in 1983 and father in 2000.

“He was born as a normal person when he was a child, but not for long enough,” Duvele recalls.

“He got sick, and my parents took him over to Taroniara clinic. However, medical workers there were not qualified enough to handle his situation, resulting in an overdose illness which leads to his current deaf state today.”

As the fourth of eight siblings, Peripeki once contributed to the family through fishing and gardening, despite his condition.

“When he was still moving around and active, he used to go fishing, gardening, and do things to make ends meet, although he’s deaf,” Duvele explains.

But now, with Peripeki inactive and battling asthma that developed last year, the burden has intensified.

“Now that he’s totally inactive, the struggle to provide all essential needs for him has become the toughest,” Duvele says.

The couple has grown self-reliant, rejecting outside assistance.

“We have come to the stage where we don’t want any assistance outside since we get used to fighting the challenge to look after him,” he notes.

This independence stems from necessity, as outside support remains sporadic in such remote areas.

Charles Tadaiga, 49, adds another layer of tragedy. Not born blind, he lost his sight in childhood due to a heartbreaking accident, where his mother accidentally infected him with limestone powder while carrying him and chewing betel nut.

The response was delayed by the distance to Taroniara clinic, with no medical services in Tulagi at the time and transportation limited to paddling canoes.

“The challenge to quickly respond to what happened to him was the distance to Taroniara clinic,” recalls his uncle, Thomas Gue, who, along with other relatives, provides support.

“We never receive support from outside, but we do what we can to support him,” Gue says.

“We just do anything to make him feel comfortable and stay alive and healthy. Welfare support is one of the big challenges in his life.”

His story underscores the risks of rural life, where everyday activities can turn perilous without proper healthcare infrastructure.

District Vice Chairman Ben Lilia provides a community-wide perspective.

“A proper home for people with special needs is highly recommended in the community,” he asserts.

“We have five people with special needs looked after by members of the community. If only they had a proper home to address some of the challenges, the people in the community are willing enough to monitor their lives.” Lilia said.

“We use to organize initiatives to support people with special needs in the community, through foods, clothes, and little financial support.”

Disability in the Solomon Islands is a pervasive issue, not confined to Hagalu.

The 2009 Census reported that approximately 14% of the total population lived with a disability.

The 2015 Demographic and Health Survey estimated around 16% of women and 15% of men had a disability, revealing gender disparities. The 2019 Census found about 11% of the population aged 5 years and over reported at least one functional form of disability, such as mobility, vision, or hearing impairments. A preliminary national disability survey indicated a prevalence of around 7.2%, though this figure might be lower due to underreporting and survey limitations. Prevalence is higher in rural areas (17%) compared to urban areas (15%), and it increases with age, reflecting the cumulative effects of limited healthcare and environmental hazards.

With about 80% of the Solomon Islands’ population residing in rural zones, disability is a national characteristic rather than an isolated phenomenon. Factors like poor road infrastructure, limited medical facilities, and economic dependence on subsistence activities exacerbate the challenges. In provinces like Central Islands, where Hagalu is located, access to specialized care is often a distant dream, forcing families to rely on traditional remedies or long, arduous journeys.

Government efforts, including disability policies and aid from organizations like the World Health Organization, aim to improve inclusion, but implementation lags in remote areas.

Stigma and lack of awareness further compound the issue, leaving many like Fane, Peripeki, and Tadaiga in a cycle of dependency.

In Hagalu, the care for the vulnerable is a testament to human endurance and community spirit. Families like the Sades, Duveles, and Gues demonstrate profound love and sacrifice, yet their stories reveal systemic gaps.

*Reporting for this story was supported by Pacific Media Assistance Scheme (PACMAS)

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