The School of Ștefănel

Every day, Aliona and Ștefănel wake up at 7:00 to make it to class by 8:30. The walk to school takes just a few minutes. Ștefănel rides his electric "motorbike”, as he likes to call it, while Aliona hurries to catch up. The boy wishes she would ride with him, so that she can also feel the cool September air in her hair. “I don't fit. I’m fine walking," she reassures him. A field of tiny freckles spreads across her face, the same freckles that Ștefănel inherited from her. 

The fragile child

After moving into his wheelchair, which he steers easily, Ștefănel enters the classroom while Aliona stays in the hallway. She clutches a bag of diapers and wet wipes to her chest and sits down on a worn leather bench. That's where she'll be waiting for Ștefănel at every break.

Aliona Russu is from Soroca. For the past three years, she has been the personal assistant to her son, Ștefănel. "I was his mom until he turned seven. I looked after him 24/7. Since he started school, my job has a new name—personal assistant”, she says with a smile. She looks like a wrestler dressed in mom clothes. She never gave up on her baby, who, from his first hours of life, was deemed "far too fragile" and given little chance of survival. 

14 Surgeries in 10 Years

Ștefănel was born with severe health problems. That was also when the fight for his life began, turning the hospital into "home." One month and three weeks after his birth, he had his first surgery. Then 13 others followed. "By the time he was five, he had already undergone ten surgeries”, his mother explains.

Hydrocephalus, spina bifida, hip dysplasia—these are just a few of the conditions Aliona Russu lists. These conditions prevent him from walking on his own, from knowing when he needs to use the toilet, and from experiencing intense emotions—whether too happy or too sad—since they could trigger an epileptic seizure. That's why the child always needs his mother by his side.

His "motorbike," an electric wheelchair bought with money raised by parents, students, and teachers at a charity fair where students sold their toys, makes it easier for him to get to school. It is parked under the stairs. 

Wheelchair at the Back of the Classroom

Ștefănel is in the fourth grade but follows a second-grade curriculum. Otherwise, it would be difficult for him to keep up with his peers. The left-hand side of the board displays equations for Ștefănel to solve, while the right-hand side shows equations for the others. With his wheelchair parked at the back of the classroom, it's hard to tell which student has special needs.

The teacher calls him to the blackboard, and a classmate helps bring his wheelchair closer. With one swift move, Ștefănel gets into it. He maneuvers between the tables and heads towards the blackboard. His face lighting up as he gives the correct answer without needing help from his classmates, who are always ready to whisper it to him. "At the beginning, it wasn’t like this... We worked hard for these results”, explains Cristina Nitrean, a primary school teacher at Petru Rareș High School in Soroca. 

Three years ago, Cristina was informed by the school administration that she would have a child with special needs in her class. "I started crying. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to cope. How could I give him the attention he needed when I had 24 other students?" she wondered. 

“He needed to be integrated into society”

At the first parent-teacher meeting, Aliona brought Ștefănel with her. "He seemed so small and gentle. I suddenly fell in love with him," admits the teacher. Ștefănel was a shy child, exhausted from his treatments and long hospital stays. The only people he tried to talk to in structured sentences were the nurses. "You could tell he needed to be integrated into society," says Cristina Nitrean.

She discussed the situation with the parents of the other students so they could talk to their children. "And that’s how it all started. The children accepted him easily. There were less pleasant moments, like when they laughed because he had to wear diapers. But with patience and explanations, we got through it. I told them: everyone has their own needs. Some can’t do without sweets, others are very attached to their parents. Ștefănel needs to wear diapers so he can live and participate in society, and we need to accept and support him”, recalls the teacher. 

Since then, the children have tried to help their classmate whenever they see he’s struggling with an obstacle or problem. To make things easier for Ștefănel’s mother, the class moved from the second floor to the first. "We liked it better on the second floor, but the parents explained that Ștefănel’s mother couldn’t carry him up all those stairs, so we accepted," the students explain, talking over each other, their voices echoing through the school hallway. 

When heroes feel they can no longer go on...

When Ștefănel misses school, his classmates and teacher call him on Viber during breaks. "It’s as if Ștefănel is abroad... beyond the borders of Soroca (she laughs). I love that we do this because I’m sure it benefits the whole class. These children will grow up to be people who accept others in need of help”, emphasizes Cristina Nitrean. After a short pause, the teacher starts laughing. "We also call him His Highness Stephen the Great. He’s a hero to the whole class," she says.

But even heroes sometimes feel like they can no longer go on. It’s becoming harder for Ștefănel to spend hours at his desk. His back throbs with a pain that rings in his ears. Doctors have advised his parents to stop sending him to school. "It’s too much for him!". But the boy wants to go to school. "I feel good here. I feel happy here. These are my friends, and I like learning with them”, he admits, laughing loudly as his friends gather around to lift his wheelchair, carrying him the ten steps to the cafeteria and then to the gym. 

“The School Helps Him Spread His Wings"

“Besides coping with pain, he is a realistic child. He knows that after this year, his school schedule will change. He’ll only attend a few days a week, and the rest of the time, he’ll study at home," says his mother.

While Ștefănel’s classmates attend their English lesson, he works with his support teacher, Maia Jardan. The specialist has been working with children with special needs at the high school since 2015. Currently, there are 32 such students at the school. "We focus on exercises that are more challenging for them, according to the teachers’ observations," explains Maia. On the table, she has prepared several sheets with texts for Ștefănel to read. 

He likes Romanian lessons less. His letters are grouped into syllables, and he tries not to lose them before forming a word. His teacher, glasses perched on the tip of her nose and hair slightly disheveled, smiles and promises him a reward at the end of the lesson. "We just have to try. Come on, you can do it!" she encourages him. The boy straightens his back and focuses intently on the sentences.

Aliona Russu continues to wait for him on the same bench in the school hallway. It gives him the independence he can manage. "I want him to learn to cope and become a strong person," she says. When he feels discouraged, thinking his illnesses will prevent him from being like other children, his mom shows him videos of adults in wheelchairs playing soccer, breakdancing, and proving that "it can be done!".

"School is where he spreads his wings and dares to dream. That’s why I want him to come as often as possible," admits Ștefănel’s mother. The bell rings, signaling the start of another lesson.

UNICEF, together with the Ministry of Education and Research and the Republican Centre for Psycho-Pedagogical Assistance, has launched a national campaign to change society’s attitude towards children with disabilities and special educational needs. The campaign promotes inclusive education under the slogan "Learning Together."