This post is reblogged from Will and Briana Morrison's blog, "Morrisons on Mercy Ships". My one regret with Mercy Ships is I have yet to attend a dress ceremony. Read this bog and understand why . . .
The freedom to dream about a better tomorrow is a luxury many
don’t realize they possess until it is taken away. This post is a
collection of stories about a group of women that come to the ship for
surgery and leave with a new freedom to dream. They are women who have
suffered from an obstetric fistula, a condition caused by prolonged
obstructed labor that makes the woman incontinent of urine or feces or
both. In addition to usually losing the baby she was carrying, a woman
with fistula is often rejected by her husband and pushed out of the
daily life of her community due to the foul smell beyond their control
as they are not able to control their bodies when nature calls.
Ashitou
“Head and knees, shoulvas, toos, shoulvas, toos!” (Sung to: Head & Shoulders, knees & toes)
When I first met Ashitou, she was singing her own version of the
popular children’s song, pointing to her shoulders as she proudly sang
“knees” and to her knees as she sang “shoulvas!” But unlike the song she
was singing, Ashitou is not a child. Although she has not yet reached
her 20th birthday, she’s already experience the pain of obstructed
labor, already had a fistula that made her unable to hold her own urine
or bear children, and already being ostracized by her own community in
the Norther part of Cameroon.
Thankfully, she’s also already experienced Mercy Ships and a
life-altering surgery. She’s also experienced the love of Christ through
the crew she met.
Yesterday, I saw Ashitou coming for an outpatient check-up. She
smiled and waived as I joined her under the waiting tent. Although
neither of us can speak the other’s language (she speaks the northern
tribal language, Fulfulde), there was no mistaking the joy in her eyes.
Ernestine
At least once a week, I go down to the hospital wards to visit with
the patients. Although my French is improving, it’s challenging to have
deep conversations with many of the patients who only speak French or
another local language. So, I was happy to meet Ernestine, who comes
from one of the primarily English speaking portions of Cameroon.
Ernestine is one of the lucky ones. Her handsome young son survived
the obstructed labor and her husband stayed by her side, despite the
challenges and unlikelihood that she would ever bear another child.
Over the few weeks that Ernestine stayed in the hospital on the ship
(her husband often sleeping underneath her hospital bed), I got to know
her and her family. After her surgery, we talked about her new life, now
that she can re-enter her community. We danced and sang “God is so
good!” together. Shame was replaced with hope.
I was honored when Ernestine invited me to her “Dress Ceremony,” a
ceremony Mercy Ships host for the women to celebrate their healing. As
part of the celebration, each woman is given a bright new dress, a
symbol of their new life. They get dressed up to go out, something some
of them haven’t done in decades. Ernestine stood to give her testimony,
clearly overcome with the emotions of the moment but also radiant in her
new dress. Clementine, one of our hospital chaplain’s also had
Ernestine’s husband stand, to honor him for being a good husband.
Afterward, we danced and celebrated together. Shame was replaced with
hope and joy.
Marie
When I first saw Marie, I knew she was going be a character. With a
hair weave of bright red and nails to match, she joked with me through
her limited English and my limited French.
In my attempt to make conversation, I asked her what she did for work
back at home. Her look suddenly turned sad. “I can’t work,” she told
me. As she explained further, her incontinence made it impossible to get
work. She had been confined to her home for many years. Trying to
recover from my blunder, I asked her what she hoped to do when she got
back home. Her smile returned immediately and she glowed as she started
to think about her new life. “Maybe, I’ll be a beautician!” she told me
through one of the ward translators.
———–
These are just a few of the women whose lives will be changed through
an obstetric fistula surgery during our time in Cameroon. As you may
have noted, this blog post doesn’t include pictures of the women it
highlights. Often these women are living in the shadows–embarrassed and
hiding. They’re ashamed and don’t want photos for the same reason.
Mercy Ships sometimes have difficulties encouraging these women to
come out from the shadows. Such has been the case in Cameroon. Although
it is known that there are a large number of women who need this surgery
in Cameroon, we have had to postpone obstetric fistula surgeons coming
to the ship because not enough women have come forward for surgery.
Please pray that these women would have the courage to step out of
the shadows, to come to the ship for surgery and to dare to dream again.
