You educate a girl, you educate a nation.
I submit this while humbly acknowledging that as a man, I can never speak authoritatively on the experience of a woman, whether in Medicine, in education or otherwise. I only hope to express appreciation for an experience we must all work together to continue to betterfy, and to shed light on the continued need to prioritize the education of girls worldwide.
If you educate a man, you educate one individual but if you educate a woman, you educate a community— African proverb
“Can you clean the water that spilled by my bed? I am afraid I will slip and fall” the patient said to Dr Fultang. She took a piece of napkin paper and stooped down to clean the wet area on the floor. Because why not?
My wife is a combined emergency medicine and internal medicine trained physician. And a mother, a daughter. She is a sister, a friend. A student and a teacher. She is an entrepreneur and a philanthropist. She aspires to do medical mission trips around the world delivering medical care to the most financially destitute. Her academic pedigree stands on its own weight.
And yet even mutual acquaintances do not refer to her as “Doc,” as they do me. The obvious reason being her gender. And this is not done maliciously. She is sometimes referred to as “Madame Doc,” a need felt to feminize the appellation, as though it is an inherently masculine word — Doctor.
The word doctor is derived from the Latin “docere” which means “to teach.” While teaching is one of the many hats a doctor wears, in the public eye and in practice, it is most synonymous with “to heal.” It can be argued that the woman is a natural healer, she is certainly the bearer of life, a natural nurturer. It seems to me then that the word “Doctor” should be inherently female, like “Earth.”
My wife once relayed to me this story, in amusement — which underscores the frequency with which it occurs such that she now considers it par for the course. She walked into a patient’s room, a nice elderly gentleman.
“Good morning sir, I am Dr Fultang. I will be your doctor today.”
She proceeded to obtain a history and examine him, explaining to him what the plan of care will be. During this time, he looked on in perplexity. At the conclusion of this encounter, she inquired,
“Do you have any questions about anything, sir?”
“…yes…uhhh..when will the doctor be coming to see me?”
And she was wearing a white coat. I have never been mistaken for anyone other than a doctor when wearing my white coat, even if I did not introduce myself initially as so.
Being referred to as Doctor is not just a matter of semantics, it is a title earned by toiling in the trenches of the never ending medical education pilgrimage; a journey that is not any kinder to women than it is to men. And for the longest time in Medicine, it was sacrilegious to refer to a woman as Doctor.
There are times in history when seminal events occur destined to shape the course of the future, often without the fanfare they deserve. 1849 was such a time, the year the first woman graduated from a medical school in the United States. Dr Elizabeth Blackwell.
Legend has it that she was admitted to Geneva Medical College in NY, after being rejected from all other schools to which she applied, only after all the students at the all male school voted “yes” to her admission. They did this as a joke when the question was posed to them by the leadership, as they never believed it would be possible. A single vote of “no” from any of the 150 male students would have nullified the admission.
The aforementioned is a microcosm of the adversity she would face throughout her career. She struggled to find work after graduation and had to continually battle gender stereotypes even after being bestowed a degree that left no doubts as to her qualifications, the same M.D. given to her male peers. She carried with her the weight of expectations for what the female physician could be, her career was surely under the microscope of those who did not believe a woman could excel in Medicine.
And she prevailed. She founded the New York Infirmary for Women and Children and she helped establish a medical school for women in London. She cared for the sick, she was an avid writer, she advocated tirelessly for social reform. She blazed a trail, paving the way for the future of women in Medicine. Dr Blackwell walked so Dr Fultang and countless other women could run.
And now in a remarkable turn of events, the majority of US medical students are women. Dr Blackwell would be proud. And yet in spites of all the strides that have been made, more is needed. Not just for the education of women in Medicine, for the education of girls globally. For there are fewer things as important that would shape the future.
Instruction in youth is like engraving in stone — African proverb
She looked around the room, dread in her eyes. She had fallen asleep in the hotel room. She was alone, she missed her mother.
“Growing up, things were difficult. My mother was the 1st of three wives to my father and she worked tirelessly on the farms to ensure there was food on the table every night,” my mother tells me.
One day, while in secondary school, at the age of 12, three men came to her school. They said they had been sent by her father and were able to sign her out of the school. She was taken to a hotel and left in a room where she was told her mother would be joining her. She ate and fell asleep.
After my mother woke up, the 3 men came in, with another elderly man. He looked to be in his 40s, with the graying of his hair betraying his advanced age. He was reportedly a lawyer from a neighboring town.
“She looks beautiful, she looks ripe,” my mother recalls his exact words. She started to cry.
She left that room with these 4 grown men, strangers to her, who proceeded to drive her to the village, to her home where her father was waiting. Present was her uncle, the man who had arranged for her to be picked up and given away in marriage, an uncle who did not believe in the education of girls, an uncle whose power superseded her father’s in matters related to marriage, per the tradition.
While the men were negotiating the details of this potential union, all unbeknownst to her mother, she returned from the farm where she had been all day. Upon seeing her daughter who was supposed to be in school now at home in the presence of these men, she let out a scream.
“What is my daughter doing here, when she should be in school?”
“We have decided Theresia will no longer be going to school and we have found this man, a lawyer, to marry her.”
My mother tells me it was at that moment that her own mother lost it.
“Take my daughter back to school now! You will not marry my 12 year old to any man! It is only over my dead body that my child will not continue her studies!”
Here was this petite woman, a woman who had never had any formal education, berating these grown men in a paternalistic society where domestic abuse ran amok; risking her life to defend the sanctity of her daughter’s future with such passion that the men were taken aback. My mother’s father immediately called an end to the meeting and took her back to school. My grandmother was a force to be reckoned with when it came to protecting her daughters — and their education.
This is one of the fondest memories my mother has of her mother, a story she has relayed to me many times as an example of the power of a mother’s love and her prioritization of education. To this day, she tears up when talking about my grandmother.
When my mother came of age, she ensured her mother never lacked for anything; she installed a flush toilet and brought clean water to my grandmother’s house and by extension all the houses in the compound. She and her sister Christiana Dingana and the rest of her siblings renovated the house and ensured that their mothers enjoyed basic utilities and comforts they never previously had.
My mother was the only girl in her primary school who went on to secondary school. Her mother knew educating her daughters was essential for their future and she worked tirelessly to ensure their success. My mother graduated 1st in her class and today in addition to being a nurse, she is the president of Fed Fed Texas, a subsidiary of Nkumu Fed Fed, an organization dedicated to supporting the education of girls in her home country of Cameroon. The importance of education was inculcated into her by her mother, and she in turn, in spite of the adversity she faced in her own life, ensured all her children took advantage of all opportunities they were given. And she would like all girls to be afforded the same opportunity she was given.
My mother’s story is not unique, countless other girls share part of this experience. The experience of being deprived of the education they deserve due to a multitude of factors, ranging from impoverishment to cultural expectations. Even for those who find themselves on the educational pathway, early marriage and pregnancy are key drivers of early dropouts among secondary school girls. This report from UNESCO in 2015 indicated that half of adult women in South and West Asia and sub-Saharan Africa cannot read or write. No country in sub-Saharan Africa has achieved gender parity in education.
“I remember my close friend Alicia. She suddenly stopped coming to school one day. We subsequently learned she had been sent to marry an older man. Unfortunately she was later diagnosed with HIV and died, she left behind 4 children. I don’t know what became of the children.” My mother relayed this story to me with a sadness in her eyes which fuels her commitment to bettering the lives of impoverished girls in Africa.
Alicia’s story is representative of the consequences of the lack of — and undereducation of girls. They are made vulnerable to subjugation by men in paternalistic societies, increasingly are victims of gender based violence and are forced by circumstances to make hard choices that put them at risk of contracting diseases like HIV. Their children suffer when they suffer. The world suffers.
If you think education is expensive, try ignorance — African Proverb
The benefits of the education of girls should be obvious, unfortunately this is not always the case especially in more rural societies. An educated woman can control her reproductive life, she contributes to her household financially, she provides for her children, she is not subject to the whims of a partner who is not deserving of her affection. An educated woman contributes to society in all fields in which she is given an opportunity to excel, she is often the tip of the spear of efforts to address issues related to women like perinatal mortality, an ongoing scourge that cripples society. An educated woman relays the importance of education to children, who will lead the future. An educated girl grows up to become a mathematician, a scientist, an astronaut, an artist — anything passion and opportunity will allow. An educated girl grows up to lead a corporation, to lead a nation. She grows up to become a doctor, addressing a critical shortage of individuals qualified in the arts of healing.
Education of girls, of all children, is a fundamental human right, as inalienable as the right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness — all of which are compromised by a lack of education. Ambitious goals on a global scale like addressing poverty, child hunger and the education of all girls can seem daunting but the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step. When distilled down to its core, a path forward starts to emerge.
It starts with governments in my opinion. As noted by the Founding Fathers of the United States, governments are instituted to secure our fundamental human rights, and this is the case for the education of girls. It requires investment from the leadership structures of the societies that govern. It has taken government effort in many countries where success has been achieved in addressing disparities in access to education — making primary schools free as an example, given poverty is the biggest barrier girls face to education access. Legislation enacted and enforced by governments is important to curb dangerous cultural practices like early marriage and female genital mutilation, all of which reflect miseducation and stunt a girl’s capacity for autonomy.
It takes international organizations like CAMFED and UNESCO to highlight the severity of the problem for the global community, inform governments, gather resources and help turn the tide of harmful stereotypes that handicap girls. It takes grassroots organizations like Nkumu Fed Fed, a group of dynamic women dedicated to empowering impoverished girls.
And it takes men. Historically, disenfranchised groups have often been able to overcome through the advocacy and leadership of visionary individuals within those groups — as well as the support of men, the demographic that has traditionally held the power to effect change. And dare I say a demographic that has been responsible for many of the barriers girls face to education. My mother’s uncle simply did not believe girls should be educated, a sentiment I am sure was shared by many of his peers. When Elizabeth Blackwell applied to medical schools, she was categorically rejected from all but one, where a group of men in the leadership had the courage to buck the trend and give her an opportunity, which is all she ever asked for. It takes educating our boys who will someday be fathers and leaders about the importance of educating our girls. It means speaking truth to the powers that be in sub-Saharan Africa, overwhelmingly men, about the limitations of a society with uneducated women.
“I don’t know where I would have been today if my mother did not fight for my right to be educated,” my mother often tells me. By extension, I don’t know where I would have been. I am glad my grandmother believed. We should all believe. I believe, as do many others who are leading and participating in efforts worldwide to address this issue. Progress is being made. The future is bright, as long as our girls have the same access to education as our boys, as long as all children have access to education. For that is all the girls have ever asked for — opportunity.
