Save Us From Statistics
There are an estimated 2 billion cases of tuberculosis in the world today. That's close to one-third of the population of the entire globe.
There are 300-400 million cases of malaria every year and 1 million deaths, all from a disease totally preventable and curable.
99% of all maternal deaths occur in developing countries.
These are only three of the thousands of facts and stats that have been thrown at me during my three week course in tropical nursing here at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine. I duck from these flying stats like they are rotten fruit, trying to not get hit by the impact of what they mean, yet not being able to deny the reality of the stench.
To most, they are just stats. But when I hear that the global maternal mortality rate is 229 for every 100,000 (meaning that out of every population of 100,000, an average of 229 people will die in childbirth), I realize that the rate in Burkina is actually higher at 341. We have many orphans in our infants in distress program whose mothers died in childbirth. Our region actually has the lowest percentage of births attended by a skilled birth attendant (less than 10%), and just that fact alone contributes to the high maternal mortality ratio. Our region also has Burkina'a highest perinatal mortality rate of 55 out of 1,000. The global average is 12.
Malaria, diarrheal diseases, and respiratory infections are the top three killers of children under five in Burkina Faso, again, all of which are mostly preventable and very treatable.
And then the statistics have names. HIV and TB are not stats. They have names; I know some of them. I have seen maternal death, and it wasn't a stat, it was a mother with a name and a family. I know what severe cerebral malaria looks like. What preeclampsia untreated looks like. What malnutrition looks like. I see their faces and have heard their stories - stories of injustice and poverty just because of where they were born and the cards they were dealt.
We talk about limited resources, and I think about the night I spent at the maternity when we couldn't treat an infection because the pharmacy was literally out of antibiotics. I think about the mother who died from postpartum hemorrhage because the nearest blood bank was two hours away and she didn't make it.
We talk about lack of access to care, and I think about the villagers who live 40 kilometers away from the hospital and have nothing but a bike to transport them.
And then the World Health Organization has these lofty, unbelieveable, and hopelessly optimistic goals of ending tuberculosis entirely by 2035, ensuring all women access to 8 prenatal visits during pregnancy, and basically ridding the entire globe of all poverty, hunger, gender inequality, and disease in the next fifteen years.
This is how the world sees the world. You can look at the statistics and feel absolutely hopeless and defeated. Or you can get on board with the WHO and decide that we can fix all the world's problems at once. Or we can devote oursleves to humanitarian aid which tries to uphold human dignity while still being bound by the politics of money and power. What happens is we end up settling with "do the best you can with the mess this world is in."
I wonder if there is not another option.
Being a follower of Jesus changes your perspective on the world. I want to stand up in the middle of heated debate in class and say, "You know, we will never rid the world of disease. And we certainly won't control all these things in our own finite human state. But oh how different the hope that we as Christians have! A heavenly home awaits us in heaven - one without sickness and death and injustices and poverty. Let's help people get there!" The statistics show the broken state of the world, the spread of disease and poverty and inequality...but we know a Savior who IS the solution, who is going to come back to redeem the world and make right what hasn't been wronged and stained by sin.
With this shift in perspective and attitude, I see things differently. Perhaps I "see something more." When I look into the eyes of poverty, I see hope, not just hunger. When I look into the eyes of the sick person with malaria, I see faith when I offer her a prayer. When I talk with the family of the mother who died, they rejoice that she is wih Jesus and no longer suffering. When I live life and walk alongside the poor, I see just how extraordinary and sustaining their faith is. Belief in Jesus changes how we view the world and its brokenness and suffering.
Their stories aren't just about suffering, sickness, and injustice, but rather about a hope and faith that goes deeper and overcomes the obstacles of the physical world.
We do what we can to fight injustice and to heal disease and help the poor. That's biblical. But we also focus on Christ as the solution, not us. We see heaven as our reality, not this sinful, sick world. We focus on people not statistics. And we are never, ever left hopeless, but rather "filled with an inexpressible joy that is filled with glory" by "obtaining the outcome of our faith, the salvation of our souls." (1 Peter 1:8-9)
There are 300-400 million cases of malaria every year and 1 million deaths, all from a disease totally preventable and curable.
99% of all maternal deaths occur in developing countries.
These are only three of the thousands of facts and stats that have been thrown at me during my three week course in tropical nursing here at the Liverpool School of Tropical Medicine. I duck from these flying stats like they are rotten fruit, trying to not get hit by the impact of what they mean, yet not being able to deny the reality of the stench.
To most, they are just stats. But when I hear that the global maternal mortality rate is 229 for every 100,000 (meaning that out of every population of 100,000, an average of 229 people will die in childbirth), I realize that the rate in Burkina is actually higher at 341. We have many orphans in our infants in distress program whose mothers died in childbirth. Our region actually has the lowest percentage of births attended by a skilled birth attendant (less than 10%), and just that fact alone contributes to the high maternal mortality ratio. Our region also has Burkina'a highest perinatal mortality rate of 55 out of 1,000. The global average is 12.
Malaria, diarrheal diseases, and respiratory infections are the top three killers of children under five in Burkina Faso, again, all of which are mostly preventable and very treatable.
And then the statistics have names. HIV and TB are not stats. They have names; I know some of them. I have seen maternal death, and it wasn't a stat, it was a mother with a name and a family. I know what severe cerebral malaria looks like. What preeclampsia untreated looks like. What malnutrition looks like. I see their faces and have heard their stories - stories of injustice and poverty just because of where they were born and the cards they were dealt.
We talk about limited resources, and I think about the night I spent at the maternity when we couldn't treat an infection because the pharmacy was literally out of antibiotics. I think about the mother who died from postpartum hemorrhage because the nearest blood bank was two hours away and she didn't make it.
We talk about lack of access to care, and I think about the villagers who live 40 kilometers away from the hospital and have nothing but a bike to transport them.
And then the World Health Organization has these lofty, unbelieveable, and hopelessly optimistic goals of ending tuberculosis entirely by 2035, ensuring all women access to 8 prenatal visits during pregnancy, and basically ridding the entire globe of all poverty, hunger, gender inequality, and disease in the next fifteen years.
This is how the world sees the world. You can look at the statistics and feel absolutely hopeless and defeated. Or you can get on board with the WHO and decide that we can fix all the world's problems at once. Or we can devote oursleves to humanitarian aid which tries to uphold human dignity while still being bound by the politics of money and power. What happens is we end up settling with "do the best you can with the mess this world is in."
I wonder if there is not another option.
Being a follower of Jesus changes your perspective on the world. I want to stand up in the middle of heated debate in class and say, "You know, we will never rid the world of disease. And we certainly won't control all these things in our own finite human state. But oh how different the hope that we as Christians have! A heavenly home awaits us in heaven - one without sickness and death and injustices and poverty. Let's help people get there!" The statistics show the broken state of the world, the spread of disease and poverty and inequality...but we know a Savior who IS the solution, who is going to come back to redeem the world and make right what hasn't been wronged and stained by sin.
With this shift in perspective and attitude, I see things differently. Perhaps I "see something more." When I look into the eyes of poverty, I see hope, not just hunger. When I look into the eyes of the sick person with malaria, I see faith when I offer her a prayer. When I talk with the family of the mother who died, they rejoice that she is wih Jesus and no longer suffering. When I live life and walk alongside the poor, I see just how extraordinary and sustaining their faith is. Belief in Jesus changes how we view the world and its brokenness and suffering.
Their stories aren't just about suffering, sickness, and injustice, but rather about a hope and faith that goes deeper and overcomes the obstacles of the physical world.
We do what we can to fight injustice and to heal disease and help the poor. That's biblical. But we also focus on Christ as the solution, not us. We see heaven as our reality, not this sinful, sick world. We focus on people not statistics. And we are never, ever left hopeless, but rather "filled with an inexpressible joy that is filled with glory" by "obtaining the outcome of our faith, the salvation of our souls." (1 Peter 1:8-9)
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