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(From The Nation (Kenya) - AAGM)
Byline: Gerry Loughran
Twice a week, Thursdays and Saturdays, I take a bus over to my mother's house and look after her for the day. She is very old (99 years) and very fragile, but she potters around on a walking frame, reads two newspapers every day, holds strong political opinions (the Prime Minister heads her personal demonology) and is delighted to be visited by her many grandchildren and great-grandchildren, even if she is not too sure about their names.
I do this so that my sister, who lives with her, can take a break for shopping or to meet friends, and I mention it at all only because this question of looking after the helpless is taking on serious dimensions in Britain.
Helping Mum out of her chair, cooking tiny meals for her sparrow-like appetite and counting out her pills hardly comes into the category of penal servitude. For some carers, however, life is nothing short of a nightmare.
My friend Eddy, who sat beside me at school …