For some people, it’s hard to keep work and home separate. For Zach, it’s impossible.
On any given day, there is at least one Friends of Paraplegia client living with Zach, his pregnant wife Maryann, and eight year-old son Michael. Currently, not only is a client staying with them, but also a relative who recently had a baby with nowhere to live after her husband left with someone else. He admits sometimes it’s hard to live with so many people in his modest house, but wonders aloud, “Where else would they go?”
His house is also his office, including the small garage. It’s filled with corn that’s grown on a nearby plot and harvested by hired help. There is a mini-silo in his front yard, next to the wheelchair accessible toilet, where the corn is stored and distributed throughout the year to needy clients. “If I go to visit a client, I’ll bring a bag of maize. That way, I know they have something to eat.” Reaching out in informal ways to other spinal cord injured persons has always been a part of who Zach is, long before the creation of his own grassroots organization in 2005. “I’ll talk to anyone in a wheelchair.”
Such is the general attitude of Friends of Paraplegia’s founder. Counter to the culture at large, he is a self-starter, a motivator, and an advocate for the disabled in the Kilimanjaro region. Zach credits his older brother, the one who encouraged him during his darkest days, as being his role model for helping others. “If I could only be like my brother in some small way, I would be happy,” he says.
He is intimately aware of the barriers spinal cord injured persons face in Tanzania. The obstacles are not unlike those in other areas of the world, even the United States. The flagrant difference is the complete lack of infrastructure that physically supports people in wheelchairs. In Tanzania, none exists. Zach explains, “Physical accessibility does not consider us at all. Public places are zero point something percent accessible. There is one ATM machine in Moshi that is wheelchair accessible. I have to literally be carried inside the Kilimanjaro Welfare Office, where the Ministry of Disabilities is located. In general, if I’m lucky, I can enter a front door in my wheelchair, but probably not the toilet. So I have to consider how much to drink before I leave the house in case I need to use a bathroom.”
“People think you’re inferior because you sit in a wheelchair,” Zach says. “They assume you’re stupid, that you don’t know anything.” The stigma he says, is everywhere in society. “For example, if I’m at the bank with Maryann, they’ll address her even though the account is in my name. When I was very thin in my wheelchair, people would hand me coins and made me believe in my need for charity. We need respect. That’s why I try so hard to help people become independent. I try in peer trainings to show why it’s beneficial to have the disabled in your midst. I tell peers, if you don’t want the coin, throw it away.”
He goes on, “Relationships are difficult. People are embarrassed to identify with you. Someone may love you but they’re afraid of what people will say. You’re still the same despite the wheelchair; the desires are the same regardless.” Within the family, Zach says there’s inequality as well. “They see you as different than before the accident, they don’t see you as equal. For example, in the case of inheritance, I would be treated differently than my twin.”
Social stigma exists too. “If I wanted to be a political leader in the community, no one would vote for me because I can’t move. The same goes in the business world. I am not in an advantageous position because of the wheelchair. It says I’m dependent on others for help.”
Combining his knowledge of the obstacles disabled persons face, with the discontent he felt towards existing organizations that were not, in his opinion, serving in the client’s best interest, he started his own NGO. F of P’s mission statement reads, “To work with spinal cord injured and help them achieve a meaningful life by raising their self esteem and personality.” For Zach, this translates to providing financial assistance to meet the most basic needs of clients: food, wheelchairs, accessible toilets, beds, accessible homes, income generation for financial self-sufficiency, school fees for dependents, grants for education, medical costs. “I don’t give handouts,” he says. “Handouts make people more disabled. The idea is to help clients ‘walk’, not keep them down. I provide a boat and a net.”
In 2007, the first official toilet was built for an F of P client; a Dutch student of Zach’s provided the funds. Little by little, money continued to trickle in through the student’s network, which included a group of school children in the Netherlands who donated proceeds they earned through a craft sale. Since then, the student continues to serve with Zach as the NGO’s primary volunteer and fundraiser. At this time, there are no consistent donors. When money arrives, it comes from unexpected sources.
Zach, through Friends of Paraplegia, has been able to serve many clients on many levels. Sometimes his involvement is short-term, other times he maintains ongoing contact. Regardless, those in need never go away. “The attitudinal barriers here are great. Sometimes, it hurts me knowing about the possibilities that exist for the disabled in other places. In America, you fit into their plan for you, you have resources and tools. I’m not respected here, but in America, if you disrespect me you’ll hear from my lawyer,” he says only half joking.
Those lucky enough to fall into the NGO’s net, are not ignored despite the unpredictable availability of funds. It may be they have to wait for their toilet, or bed. In the meantime, Zach maintains contact and above all, reminds them they are valued.
Part Three-Meet the Clients
Sixty donors representing Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Center (KCMC), International School Moshi (ISM), and the local community at large, contributed to the effort of saving lives by donating blood at the first annual Moshi Blood Drive. Stanford medical student and Fogarty scholar, Malavika (click 
Funny story. Sort of.
Even though he is not feeling well, Zach wants to go. “Let’s go. We said we were going to go, we have to go.” His visibly pregnant wife Maryann helps him out of the wheelchair into the high passenger seat of my Land Rover. He leaves his chair at home. “I haven’t been in a big car like this for a long time,” he says with a grin.
