Sitting in the bus with other women from our church on our way to the retreat, I try not to think; I try not think of that woman. I try not to think of the plight of that woman: Yes THAT WOMAN. I don't want to think about her. I want to enjoy the bus ride and listen to music on my ipod.
But her story keeps coming to my mind. It's no use! My thoughts are filled with the pictures of her frail body lying in that hospital bed after a fistula surgery that failed. My thoughts flashback to what the surgeon said: that her tissues could not hold because she has an underlying disease which has rendered her inoperable, most likely tuberculosis.
In my mind I see her lying in that bed knowing quite well that hers will not be a success story. I pray for one of the other patients next to her. I remember her asking me to pray for her too. I had skipped her because we could not communicate; she is from DRC and only speaks a little Swahili. I remember going back to pray for her very humbled and almost apologetic.
That woman; Her story is more than a case of a failed fistula surgery and a suspected case of tuberculosis. I wish that was all I could think and say about that woman. You see, she has a nephew (also from the DRC) whom I had to call to get that woman's story. Her story, to me, starts 6 months ago. I am sitting in the bus with earphones in my ears and now I have stopped trying not to think. I am thinking of how that woman was kidnapped 6 months ago by the rebels in DRC. As if it was not traumatic enough for a 60 plus year old woman to be kidnapped, the rebels raped her.
I am thinking of how she managed to escape from the hands of the rebels and I can't picture it in mind. I usually have a very good imagination but this one escapes me. You see, this part I wasn't told in pictures and I like pictures. Don't blame me. But the story is not about me; it's about that woman.
I am thinking; I am thinking; I am thinking of that woman who by the grace of God escaped from those monsters but now has a fistula from the rape and a tattered dignity. I am thinking of how that woman got to Kenya by taking different buses with little pocket change and a little or no mastery of the different languages spoken in the various countries she had to pass through.
Yes, now you know what I am thinking and why I was trying not to think of that woman. You see, tears are rolling down my big cheeks as I think of that woman. But there is more I have not told you. That woman reached Kenya by hook and by crook. But now she is lying in bed and her surgery has failed.
I am thinking of how her nephew called me and told me their story, how they don't have much. I remember how they could not afford Ksh1,000 for that woman to do the blood work and how they called me to see if my organisation could help. I am thinking of when that woman's nephew was telling me he cannot do much himself in terms of work because he is lame on both feet though he was not born that way.
I am also thinking of how the nephew told me that they were told to do some tests including an ex-ray and they have no money for the same. I remember what I told him: that my organisation can only pay for tests related to fistula. I also remember telling him that I will pray for the great provider to move heaven on behalf of that woman.
I am thinking of how after I put the phone down, how I held hands with a friend who was with me in the office and cried earnestly to the Lord of the Angel Armies to come through for that woman. If you don't know that already, that woman is the apple of God's eye; just like you and me. So am expecting God to do a miracle for THAT WOMAN.
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