Part 6 - Kailahun, Sierra Leone The second time we meet the girls’ group, they’re buzzing.  They’re angry with a teacher who found them dancing in a classroom, and said “You’ll all be pregnant before you get to secondary school.”  They told the teacher he was wrong to think they’ll get pregnant just because they have high spirits.  “It’s the quiet girls you should watch,” they told him.  They cite as evidence the unfortunate case of a quiet, introverted classmate impregnated by a man who denies all responsibility.  She’s been taken away to another village to have the baby.

This problem of teenage pregnancy, which effectively ends a girl’s education and her marriage prospects all at once, is the single biggest problem in every community we visit, or so the Women’s Action Groups tell us.  The girl is stigmatized.  Her family is shamed.  Her parents are deprived of the expected return on their investment in the girl’s education—that she will be in a good position to care for them in their old age.
 
Everyone loses, except the man who impregnated the girl.  Abortion is illegal.  It’s also forbidden by Islam and most, if not all, Christian denominations.  Illegal, or “criminal” abortions are performed, but they cost more than any poor village girl could afford.  A pregnant teenager must feel the doors slamming on every option.
 
Now Auntie Chris asks provocatively, “What’s wrong with getting pregnant?”  The girls give her an “Are you crazy?” look and bombard her with answers.  “You cannot continue your education.”   “Even if you could, your attention would be divided between your baby and your school work.  You couldn’t do well.”  “Your body is not developed.  You may have to have surgery.”  “You could even die.”  These medical warnings are no exaggeration for girls who have been subjected to excision (FMG, or female genital mutilation) as these girls almost certainly have been.  Excision greatly increases the incidence of fistula and similar internal injuries during pregnancy and childbirth.

Many girls took photos like this one, showing the fondness they feel for one another,
and the fun of their innocent camaraderie.  Among adult women in the same community, fondness
and fun seem to have been stamped out. Photo: Mary Lansana, age 14

“Your parents will put you out of the home,” says Mattu. “You will face stigmatization,” says Comfort.  “You will have no support for yourself or your child.”

I wait for the next nail in the coffin—that though you have been taught to depend on a husband for support, no man will marry you—but  I don’t hear it.  That may be just too hard to think about.

“And if you do NOT get pregnant as a teenager, what will you do?”  That’s my question, and the girls fire answers at me even before they get a translation.  (In school they’re learning English, the country’s official language.) “We will enjoy our education,” says Lilian.  “We will enjoy encouragement from our parents,” says Lucinda.  “Our parents may even allow us to travel outside of Pendembu,” says adventurous Katumu.  “If we are educated before we have children, we will be able to support them and help our parents too,” says Bintu.  “We will insure that our children also have a good education,” says Lucy.  “We will not hurry to marry,” says 10-year old Jenifer, “and we will plan our families.”

I’m floored.  Who knew that these girls had so much information and such strong opinions?  Did I know about family planning at age 10?  Is this what a Gender Club can do?  Mr. Shariff, their faculty advisor, sits quietly in the back of the room, smiling.

For all their playfulness, girls have serious dreams—to be nurses, lawyers, teachers,
religious sisters, computer specialists, government ministers. The future of the country depends
upon the realization of their dreams.  Their dreams depend upon education. P
hoto: Lucinda Jamiru, age 14

“Can you imagine your future life?” I ask.  “Say, in ten years time.  What would you like to be doing?”    They’re shy about answering this question, maybe reluctant to expose a dream to daylight.  But Lucy, who has been eyeing my computer, says she wants to be a computer specialist.   Musu says she wants to be a nurse to help the people of Pendembu.  Comfort says, “I do too.”  Mary, Lilian, and Katumu want to be nurses as well.  (Becoming a doctor seems beyond imagining.)  Isata wants to be a teacher.  (There are no female teachers in the school.)  Musu’s sister Mattu wants to be a lawyer because Pendembu needs one. (There is only one lawyer, a man, in the whole district.)  Jennifer wants to be a government minister.  Both Lucinda and Ruth say they want to be Catholic sisters.  (Ruth’s brother is already a priest.)   I ask Ruth if she wants to be a teaching sister.  “No,” she says firmly.  “I will be a praying sister.  Pendembu needs prayers.”  Yes, indeed.

Then it’s time to take a look at the girls’ first photos.  I’ve shown you a few already.  There will be more to come.

Moms and babies in the in the waiting room of Kyriandongo Hospital, Masindi District, Uganda.  They are waiting to receive vaccinations for children less than 1 year of age.  This district hospital serves both the local community and Sudanese refugees in a local settlement. IRC supports maternity care in this hospital. Photo: Susan Purdin/The IRC 

In Lofa County, Liberia, the IRC constructed temporary facilities to make basic obstetric services available to women in communities returning from displacement while war-ravaged clinics were being rehabilitated. Photo: Susan Purdin/The IRC 

Moms and babies in the basic health unit of Thal Refugee Camp, Hangu District, Pakistan. The refugees are from Afghanistan. IRC’s health program has reduced maternal death by half in the past 15 years. Photo: Susan Purdin/The IRC 

“As a journalist, I now know the humanitarian disaster in Congo is among the past decade’s most underreported major stories. … For all the stories I can tell here in the United States about the Health Care World of Plenty, I now understand how many more compelling ones exist in the Health Care World of Want.”

Story

IRC epidemiologist Colleen Hardy (left) was part of an IRC survey team that traveled across Congo’s remotest jungles to visit 14,000 homes and gather data.

National Geographic chose Colleen as one of 15 “Adventurers of the Year” for 2007, calling her a “Mortal Hero” for her work in Congo:

“At first glance, it’s hard to picture Colleen Hardy in a disaster zone. From her wide smile and kind eyes, you’d never guess that the 40-year-old field epidemiologist spent seven weeks last spring tearing down dirt tracks in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, dodging Mai Mai rebels and crooked cops, and visiting as many forgotten villages as she could. Her grim goal: to ascertain the death rate in one of the world’s most dangerous countries…”

Read the full story at National Geographic.

Dr. Rick Brennan, who conducted the study and manages the IRC’s health programs in more than 20 countries, hopes the research will raise awareness of this “forgotten” crisis and help people understand the dire circumstances of life in Congo. “We want people to give a damn,” he says. Watch this video to find out how you can get involved.

To learn about how the IRC helps in Congo, visit theIRC.org/congocrisis.