Fistula: 3 Strikes: Women, Poor & Rural

One of the worst things that can happen to a woman or girl around the world is a fistula, an internal injury caused by childbirth (or occasionally by rape) that leaves her incontinent, humiliated and sometimes stinking.

Victims are the lepers of the 21st century, and although the condition is almost entirely preventable, it is suffered by hundreds of thousands of women worldwide.

The condition is invisible because it distastefully involves sex, odor and private body parts, and because victims tend to live in impoverished countries and already have three strikes against them: They’re poor, rural and female, and thus voiceless and marginalized.

They’re the same group that is routinely denied education, denied the right to own property, denied jobs and denied any recourse after being battered, raped or married against their will.

There are girls like Marima, who endured a fistula here in Ethiopia.

Marima was a high school student who planned to become a teacher when she fell in love and married another student. She didn’t want to get pregnant but had never heard of contraception, so soon her belly was swelling.

In much of the world, the most dangerous thing a woman can do is become pregnant. Marima tried to deliver at home, and after days of obstructed labor, the fetus was dead and she was left with an obstetric fistula.

A fistula is a hole between the birth canal and the bladder or rectum. Marima had both, leaving her steadily leaking urine and feces through her vagina. In addition, as is common, she had nerve damage called foot drop, so she couldn’t walk.

Marima’s husband abandoned her and took another wife. Marima lay on a piece of plastic on the floor of her brother’s house, unable to move, utterly forlorn and alone, as family members scolded her for the constant stink.

“My sister-in-law said, ‘You’re too smelly; people don’t want to come to our house,’” Marima recalled, crying softly. She stopped eating solid food so that she would leak less feces, and for four months she lay unmoving on the floor and survived on tea and camel milk.

Marima dropped to just 55 pounds. She had bed sores on her buttocks and ulcers on her thighs and genitals from her constantly seeping urine. At 17, she waited to die.

“People said that God had cursed me,” Marima said. “I felt it was better to die than to have this problem.”

Then a family member took her to a branch of Hamlin Fistula Ethiopia, a nonprofit that treats fistulas. Today she is walking again, has recovered weight, and the hole with her rectum has been repaired. The medical director said he was still figuring out how best to deal with the leaking urine.

Fistulas used to be common in the West, and there was a fistula hospital in Manhattan on the site of what is now the Waldorf Astoria hotel. But once C-sections became available, they largely disappeared.

Clip_2The way to prevent fistulas is also the way to prevent maternal deaths: Invest more in reproductive health care, including contraception and C-sections; and avoid anal sex. This works: Ethiopia has cut its maternal mortality rate by more than half over 20 years and now aims to cut it in half again over just five years.

Organizations like Hamlin Fistula Ethiopia, the Fistula Foundation and EngenderHealth have shown that where women’s lives are a priority, they can be saved.

Proposals to tackle fistula have been introduced in the U.S. House by Representatives Rosa DeLauro and Carolyn Maloney but have stalled.

One simple step would be to help the more than 200 million women worldwide who don’t want to get pregnant and desire to avoid anal sex; they lack access to reliable forms of contraception.

No doubt this seems like a grim or morbid topic, but there is no happier sight than a woman whose fistula has been repaired. Jamila, 31, another woman treated at Hamlin Fistula Ethiopia, was radiant. “I’m dry!” she declared triumphantly. “I haven’t leaked for six days!”

“Before, I had lost hope,” added Jamila, who had endured a fistula for four years. “I was like a dead person. And now I’ve risen again!”

Published by alaiwah

ALAIWAH'S PHILOSOPHY About 12 years ago, while studying Arabic in Cairo, I became friends with some Egyptian students. As we got to know each other better we also became concerned about each other’s way of life. They wanted to save my soul from eternally burning in hell by converting me to Islam. I wanted to save them from wasting their real life for an illusory afterlife by converting them to the secular worldview I grew up with. In one of our discussions they asked me if I was sure that there is no proof for God’s existence. The question took me by surprise. Where I had been intellectually socialized it was taken for granted that there was none. I tried to remember Kant’s critique of the ontological proof for God. “Fine,” Muhammad said, “but what about this table, does its existence depend on a cause?” “Of course,” I answered. “And its cause depends on a further cause?” Muhammad was referring to the metaphysical proof for God’s existence, first formulated by the Muslim philosopher Avicenna. Avicenna argues, things that depend on a cause for their existence must have something that exists through itself as their first cause. And this necessary existent is God. I had a counter-argument to that to which they in turn had a rejoinder. The discussion ended inconclusively. I did not convert to Islam, nor did my Egyptian friends become atheists. But I learned an important lesson from our discussions: that I hadn’t properly thought through some of the most basic convictions underlying my way of life and worldview — from God’s existence to the human good. The challenge of my Egyptian friends forced me to think hard about these issues and defend views that had never been questioned in the milieu where I came from. These discussions gave me first-hand insight into how deeply divided we are on fundamental moral, religious and philosophical questions. While many find these disagreements disheartening, I will argue that they can be a good thing — if we manage to make them fruitful for a culture debate. Can we be sure that our beliefs about the world match how the world actually is and that our subjective preferences match what is objectively in our best interest? If the truth is important to us these are pressing questions. We might value the truth for different reasons: because we want to live a life that is good and doesn’t just appear so; because we take knowing the truth to be an important component of the good life; because we consider living by the truth a moral obligation independent of any consequences; or because we want to come closer to God who is the Truth. Of course we wouldn’t hold our beliefs and values if we weren’t convinced that they are true. But that’s no evidence that they are. Weren’t my Egyptian friends just as convinced of their views as I was of mine? More generally: don’t we find a bewildering diversity of beliefs and values, all held with great conviction, across different times and cultures? If considerations such as these lead you to concede that your present convictions could be false, then you are a fallibilist. And if you are a fallibilist you can see why valuing the truth and valuing a culture of debate are related: because you will want to critically examine your beliefs and values, for which a culture of debate offers an excellent setting.

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