Go down two flights of stairs on the Africa Mercy, and you’ll find you’ve stepped
out of a ship and into a busy buzzing hospital. On the wards you’ll find kids
playing, doctors praying, patients visiting, and plenty of African music.
Listen . . . you’ll hear conversations in English echoed by translators in
French or one of Guinea’s three local languages – the chatter forms a
background like white noise.
One
would expect that a 13-year-old girl would be among the chattiest – but not
Memouna.
Memouna’s
pronounced facial tumor began above her left eyebrow, spilling down her face to
the corner of her mouth and displacing her left eye. This tumor, a neurofibroma
she has had since birth, left her looking like one side of her face was sliding
off – like Dali’s famous melting clock in a desert. From behind the curtain of
her deformity, Memouna saw the world with her good right eye. And . . . to her
despair . . . the world saw Memouna.
For
13 years she was taunted for her appearance. Moreover, superstitions run deep
in West African culture, and physical deformities are believed to be the
sinister mark of someone cursed. Memouna was not only teased by peers – she was
completely dismissed. The drooping facial tumor became the source of a broken
spirit.
“She
was not happy because in Africa people stay away from her. She would cry
because she did not understand why no one liked her,” said Memouna’s
17-year-old sister, Aminata, the oldest of her nine siblings.
“I
had so many sleepless nights worrying how to help my child,” said Memouna’s
father, who was trying to sell his car to afford her surgery when he learned
the Africa
Mercy was coming to Conakry. “I was told that no one would be
able to do the surgery except Mercy Ships. I had no money to pay with . . . and
then God paid!”
On
Wednesday, 26 September 2012, Mercy Ships surgeons removed Memouna’s tumor.
After her operation, even under layers of bandages, the transformation was
profound. Memouna’s profile no longer appeared rough and misshapen. Her face
had been physically lifted from the weight of the tumor. Nurses hoped her
spirits would follow, but removing years of social isolation is a much more
complicated procedure.
In
the days after her operation, quiet Memouna said nothing, while her father and
sister took turns staying at the hospital and speaking on her behalf. “I’m
sorry, maybe she will talk more another day,” her sister would say to
visitors.
Mercy
Ships ward nurse Lynne White said, “It was a long time before I realized she
spoke. She was so silent that I didn’t think she could. But I can understand
it. She went from spending her life keeping to herself with no friends, and
then she came here and was overwhelmed by the attention.”
One
night a week after the surgery, Lynne came into the ward to find Memouna
listening to headphones, nodding her head to music and mouthing the words. “I
couldn’t believe it, so I did whatever I could to try to get a laugh out of her
– I started dancing!” Lynne said. “Memouna just laughed and laughed. It was wonderful!”
Two
weeks later Memouna arrived on the dock with her father for a check-up. She
kept to herself, waiting on the benches. “Is that my Memouna?” Lynne exclaimed.
Hearing her name, Memouna glanced around to find Lynne, not walking, but
dancing over to her. “It’s you, you’re here!” Lynne cheered, waving her arms in
the air.
Memouna
clapped her hands and covered her mouth, trying and failing to hold back her
giggles.
Even
though Memouna does not give up her laughter easily, she lets those who show
her love see the real Memouna.
In those moments, there is a cute teenager in a pink sweatshirt and orange nail
polish . . . where a timid, downcast child used to be.
The
removal of Memouna’s tumor marks the beginning of physical . . . and spiritual
. . . healing.
Written by Catherine Murphy
Edited by Nancy Predaina
Photos by Debra Bell
