Instead of cleaning her up, as should be done for every woman after the baby is delivered, the midwife abandoned her on grounds that she was a blind woman and did not deserve to cry. “I was discharged uncleaned, and a few days later, the pain I felt was unbearable. I was rushed back to the same hospital where my family was told they could not clean me because I am blind and was crying. So, out of pity, they did not clean me
Princely Kesah, Cameroon
Women with disabilities in Cameroon yet to have children highly relish the chance to become mothers, at least to have a child of their own who can help them. For those who have managed to beat challenges and go through the process, however, excitement is minimal. Despite government efforts to implement the Universal Healthcare Coverage program, medical personnel care little about the plight of pregnant women with disabilities. Stigma, pain, and frustration are now common denominators among this minority group already facing physical and attitudinal barriers. Ahead of a crucial presidential election in Cameroon, these women have been voicing harrowing experiences faced during pregnancy.
Despite no signs of a promising future for these women with disabilities from contenders of the polls, the pain is too much, and they are now left with just one option: speaking out about the difficulties of having babies in Cameroon. Of 11 candidates challenging 92-year-old President Paul Biya, whose rule at the helm of the state has spanned over four decades, not one has mentioned anything regarding the inclusion of millions of persons with disabilities in the country. Disabled women, who face unique challenges, fear things might get even worse.
Stigma and Cruelty in the Delivery Room
Speaking to DNA recently, Blessing—not her real identity for security purposes—a visually impaired mother of two children, described her experience with nurses and doctors as hell on earth. “Who first of all asked you to take in when you are blind?” hospital staff asked while flogging her to push fast or leave the health facility.
Six years may have passed since Blessing had the experience while having her first baby at a private hospital in Bafoussam, capital of the West Region, but these are not memories she will forget any time soon. This is due to the stigma, pain, and depression she has had to bear up to the time of writing this article. During antenatal sessions, Blessing was ignored and hardly attended to regularly despite respecting all deadlines. Instead, each time she complained of neglect, the response was always the same from different medics: “Who asked you to open your legs to a man when you cannot see?” she recounts, her eyes filling with tears.
Each time Blessing, who is completely blind, went to the clinic, she would leave crying. She recounts to DNA how, on many occasions, nurses would torture her emotionally and physically. Instead of, for example, assisting her to a secure place and guiding her to provide urine for tests, the nurses on duty would order her to go and take a cup and provide her urine very fast, even when they clearly knew Blessing could not see where the cups were kept. “What pained me the most is that my fellow pregnant women did not assist me in getting help when the nurses and doctors were treating me so badly. They watched quietly as I cried and finally left unattended,” she says, tears running down her spine.
And Blessing is not alone. Another blind lady, still in Bafoussam, shared her own painful experience while in hospital to deliver her baby. She wonders whether medics consciously or inadvertently treated her as they did, but hearing similar experiences from her peers in other health facilities helped clarify her doubts. “The stigma is unbearable,” she begins, before breathing in heavily to start explaining her ordeal.
We named her Melanie, but this is not her real name because she opted for anonymity. Melanie surmounted a pile of challenges to go through what she labels “a difficult” antenatal process, but during delivery, she received the worst treatment of her life. A story no one would be proud to share. However, she knows speaking up is not only a moment to relieve the pain; it might also help improve the quality of healthcare available to vulnerable disabled pregnant women—if at all anyone cares.
In the course of having her baby, the pain was hard to bear, but she finally heard cries of joy from the newborn. Little did she know her trouble was only about to start. Instead of cleaning her up, as should be done for every woman after the baby is delivered, the midwife abandoned her on grounds that she was a blind woman and did not deserve to cry. “I was discharged uncleaned, and a few days later, the pain I felt was unbearable. I was rushed back to the same hospital where my family was told they could not clean me because I am blind and was crying. So, out of pity, they did not clean me,” Melanie recounts, adding that the outcome was undergoing surgery. This was at another private health facility in Bafoussam. DNA has struggled to reach out to both hospitals for comments but without success.
Healthcare That Excludes
Lilian Dibo, a wheelchair user and mother of one based in Kumba, a city in Cameroon’s Anglophone Southwest Region, says the attitude of health personnel towards women with disabilities is appalling, intimating that a lot is required to improve healthcare for pregnant disabled women in Cameroon. Dibo weeps over the fact that there are no scales to get the weight of pregnant women in wheelchairs like herself, a situation she describes as degrading. “Some concerned health personnel carried me to get my weight and later deducted theirs to determine mine,” she recounts, her voice thick with regret.
While questioning the quality of training available for healthcare workers in Cameroon, Dibo, Founder and CEO of the Lilian Dibo Foundation, a not-for-profit organization championing the rights of women and girls with disabilities, suggests it’s time to practice inclusion instead of only talking about it while thousands of her peers suffer to access basic healthcare services. “We need active and visible inclusion and not verbal inclusion.”
Francis Tanifum, a renowned psychologist and guidance counsellor based in Bamenda, capital of the Anglophone Northwest Region, has been reflecting on the scars of such harrowing experiences on victims. Speaking to DNA recently, Tanifum first expressed regret that instead of rendering the best services possible to disabled pregnant women—who he says already face physical and attitudinal barriers—healthcare workers instead exacerbate their situation.
Tanifum says due to the bitter memories which the victims live with, Postpartum Depression, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, anxiety, and loss of self-esteem become all too common. “Pregnant women with disabilities who experience such treatment start seeing their children as the cause of their pain and can even take away the life of their babies, while some victims can even commit suicide,” he explains carefully in a serious tone. Instead of seeing their babies as a gift and blessing, Tanifum regrets that some mothers act to the contrary, a situation he says leaves lamentable scars on victims’ minds.
“A lady who has been through this may not ever want to hear the mention of hospital—whether for her own check-up or that of the child—because it reminds her that hospitals, which should be a lifeline, have become death traps,” he stresses. The lack of trust in the medic who treated her cruelly would not disappear anytime soon if care is not taken. Such heightened anxiety, the psychologist maintains, would only take the intervention of a third party to rebuild the mind of the victim. The loss of self-esteem, the specialist adds, is crushing and this equally comes with huge consequences. “Every woman deserves to have self-worth and to feel human. When such cruel treatment is meted out on disabled women, they might lose their self-pride, feeling withdrawn and less expressive.”
Glimmers of Hope
Despite the downside of the healthcare system in Cameroon, some sporadic good practices exist which could be supported and scaled to reverse the situation of pregnant women with disabilities. One of those who has had some good experiences which could resuscitate hope is Constance Fonju, mother of one and a lady with a physical disability in Bamenda.
Constance Fonju, in her living room
During her antenatal clinic and delivery, she recounts how inclusive and receptive the medical team at the Cameroon Baptist Convention Hospital, Mbingo Annex, was to her. “They don’t just have good knowledge of inclusion but they implement their policies,” she says, her face enveloped with a huge smile of hope. Among good practices highlighted, she said nurses provided space for her to give urine in a safe and inclusive environment, clinic beds were scrolled to suit her height, and she did not need to follow a long line to be attended to like her peers without disabilities. “I was very happy with their services and went into the delivery room filled with confidence,” she adds.
Diana Wirdnzerem, a lady with visual impairment and mother of one, equally makes a positive assessment of the Buea District Hospital (PMI). “The nurses were very disability-friendly and welcoming, provided ready assistance to meet doctors, and built my self-confidence ahead of delivery, making me very happy,” she discloses, her face beaming with a mighty smile.
The highlighted good practices might be limited and inadequate. However, DNA believes if improved and scaled, pregnant women with disabilities might be able to see motherhood as an enviable experience instead of a taboo. For now, Blessing, Melanie, and Lilian still long for that day when the healthcare system in Cameroon will restore their hope and make them proud mothers.
