By Joyce Mamman Lawrence
I had small braids that needed to be loosened before they could take me for a head scan. My relatives, along with my friend-turned-brother Ahmed, a JCI member, gathered around and gently worked through my hair. I was deeply humbled by their kindness.especially that of Ahmed, feeling their love in every touch.
The head scan revealed no serious damage—just a broken jaw that would need surgery. My face was swollen, so they placed me on antibiotics to reduce the swelling before the surgery could be done.
I was moved from the emergency room to the female ward. As I was wheeled down the corridor, I was stunned to see over 20 people waiting for me outside the emergency room. They all followed me to the ward, surrounding me with their presence and support.
During those days of medication and waiting for surgery, I experienced some of the most humbling moments of my life. I was in a public ward where visitors were restricted, but that didn’t stop JCI members from across Nigeria from coming. Some would peep through the window just to check on me. Even the National President and three of his Exco members flew in to see how I was doing. They weren’t impressed with the standard of the ward and suggested I be moved somewhere more comfortable. But I had one of the best doctors in Kaduna State attending to me, so leaving wasn’t an option. There was pressure to move me to a private ward due to the overwhelming number of visitors, but that didn’t happen immediately, and I believe it was for a reason.
Almost everyone who visited brought food and other items, more than we could ever consume. My siblings and I couldn’t eat, but people didn’t stop bringing food. My sisters, Sophie Nwobu and Sarah Mamman Peace , noticed that many of the patients and their caregivers were in need, hungry, and without resources. They started sharing our food with them, and witnessing the gratitude on their faces was profoundly moving.
There was a little boy, just 2 or 3 years old, who had fallen into a fire and suffered severe burns. He had been there for months with no money for treatment or food, with only his grandmother to care for him.
I will never forget Francis Yebo Egamana He was working GTB then he visited me every day before and after work. One day, he noticed the little boy’s situation and decided to pay all his medical bills. As I write this, tears fill my eyes because God turned my own suffering into a blessing for others, especially for that child. Francis please take your flowers
I had more than enough of everything—sanitizers, gloves, disinfectants. They were all in excess, so much so that the doctors used them for other patients in the ward who didn’t have enough.
After about a week, we finally got a private ward. The people in the public ward were heartbroken to see us leave. Sarah assured them that as long as we were still in that hospital, she would continue bringing them food, and she kept her promise and she did till we left the hospital.
A few days later, it was time for surgery. The doctor asked if I was ready to go through with it that day or the next. I told him, “Let’s do it now.”
Here’s the thing: through this entire ordeal, I never once fretted. Everyone who saw me cried, but I never did. I didn’t plan it that way, but that’s just how it was. The doctor smiled and said, “We’ll do it tomorrow since you’re ready.”
The next day, I was wheeled into the theater. It took three doses of anesthesia before I finally passed out. While the doctor was finishing up the surgery, I woke up. I needed him to know I was awake, so I dropped one leg down from the bed. He was shocked. I’ve heard of people who never woke up from anesthesia; that was another miracle.
I can’t begin to list all the JCI members who came to see me—it’s impossible to remember them all. But JCI is family to me.
Remember the fast I started with? It went on for weeks because I couldn’t eat anything, and my mouth was wired shut for that long. I recall one of the nurses asking me, “Please, ma, who are you?”—amazed by the sheer number of people who came.
Who am I really?
I am the one that God showed mercy to.
I am the one who has found favor with God and man.
I am just a feeble mortal, yet God is mindful of me.
I am the unqualified who became a tool in His hands.
I am the mess that became a message.
I am clay in the potter’s hands.
I am because God said I am.