God Would Not Let Her Fall: Breaking Through Barriers to Success

By Dr. Elizabeth Ojugo

Dr. Elizabeth Okoruwa Ojugos story is a remarkable story of faith, strength, and perseverance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514420751

Dr. Elizabeth Ojugo

Growing up in a remote area of Nigeria, she had a vision of her life that was at odds with local customs and tradition. She fought to go to school at an early age. She fought to continue her education beyond elementary. When other girls were given to marriage or kidnapped at age twelve, she defied her family’s plans for her and forced her will to be an educated woman. After finishing college, she taught home economics before moving to the United States. She has had a remarkable career as a business entrepreneur prior to finding her calling as a healer. Today she is a licensed physical therapist practicing in New Jersey. Her patients know her as Dr. O and Dr. Feel Good. Her healing hands and positive spirit help her clients get back their functional levels.

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Copyright © 2015 by Dr. Elizabeth Ojugo, PT,MPT,DPT.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 12/02/2015

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CONTENTS

Dedication

Preface

1   In the Beginning

2   Childhood

3   School or Marriage?

4   Off to School

5   College and an American Dream

6   Coming to America

7   A Growing Family

8   Healing Hands

9   Dr. Feel Good

10   A Growing Practice

11   Healing Myself

12   Onward

Afterword

Testimonials from some of Dr. O’s Family & Patients

Photos

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DEDICATION

Thank you, Almighty God, for helping me see the path you gave to me and for the wisdom and patience to stay on it. I thank you for the challenges you placed before me and the strength you gave me to overcome them. I thank you for the healing power you have blessed me with.

For my parents, grandparents, my aunts and uncles, especially Aunt Mama Ebudo Anne Osime and Uncle Daddy Selo-Ojeme and his wife; all my family and friends; to Father Chris Anyanwu; and to my greatest blessings from God, my beloved children, thank you for your love, care, guidance, and support on my journey. God bless you all.

For my mentors, professors, especially Dr. Roxie James, colleagues, patients and guardian angels, and my humble profession, thank you for helping me achieve my purpose.

PREFACE

I CHOSE THE picture of me on my book cover, taken in 2011, because it shows me as a hardworking woman, powerful, intelligent, and a survivor. It shows me as a woman who has gone through life’s many challenges. I have had many struggles in my life but have walked the path God has asked me to walk. I want people to see me in this l ight.

As I searched for a picture to use for the cover of my book, I came back to this photo because it is the one that many organizations have asked to use in their brochures to promote their events that I support. It is a serious picture but one that shows the power I feel, the survivor that is inside me that urges me to look forward to the next stage of my life.

For those of you facing challenges, please look at my eyes. These are survivor’s eyes. See them and tell yourself, If she can do it, I can too. When you feel like giving up on any situation or challenge, look at these eyes and remember, these are the eyes of a survivor. You can be one too.

For people who are concerned that I have not quoted the Bible, I want this book to be for everyone. I want it to be for Jews, Muslims, Buddhists, Christians, Hindus—people of all faiths. The lessons in this book help all people of all faiths to live with love in their hearts and to be a success in whatever they do.

Finally, a portion of the proceeds of this book will go to support my nonprofit organization, My Sister’s Keeper/No Girl Left Behind, which works to improve educational opportunities for girls in Nigeria, to help them build better lives for themselves. I thank you for supporting my and their efforts.

1

In the Beginning

Grace Obidu’s Story

I AM GRACE Obidu Okoruwa, the mother of Elizabeth Okoruwa Ojugo. I was not feeling well. I had been ill for weeks. My face and body were swollen and bloated. My husband, Prince Okoruwa Aroboinosen Okojie, suggested I should go see my parents, who were herbalists and spiritual healers in our village. After he examined me, my father said he thought the swelling was the result of not losing weight from my previous pregnancy, a lack of exercise, and overeating. He gave me some natural remedies to help reduce my swel ling.

The remedies he gave did not help me. I was worried that I had a disease of some kind. My brother, Emeya, suggested I should go to the hospital when he saw my condition. He took me by bicycle to see a doctor at hospital in Irrua. I was fortunate to be seen by Dr. Christopher Gbelokoto Okojie, a leading Nigerian doctor, at Zuma Memorial Hospital. Dr. Okojie examined me and told me that I was not sick. What he said next stunned me. Doctor Okojie said I was pregnant—and I was way overdue. He estimated that I was as much as twelve months pregnant! I did not know I was pregnant again. It was a complete surprise. Dr. Okojie told me I had to stay at the hospital, where they would take care of me.

While at the hospital, I went into labor and delivered a very small baby girl. Dr. Okojie and I were afraid the baby would not survive. She had a very small cry that did not sound human, more like a baby goat, they said. Some who saw my baby said she wasn’t a human baby at all. They guessed that she was a goat, a rat, or even a creature from the river (ekpen).

I was very concerned about my tiny baby and was afraid she was too small to feed, that she could not open her mouth enough to take milk from my breast. I was afraid my baby would not survive. Still, the doctor and I saw the baby had a fight in her, a will to live. Though I was worried, I continued to nurse my baby as my doctor advised. I had not yet named my baby girl.

Some people around the hospital suggested that I should abandon the baby because she was so small and unlikely to survive. They recommended I take the baby to the special river (Obienmen) and leave her there, where she would be taken in and become one of the river creatures. Sick with worry, I went to the river one day and sat with my baby, waiting for the river to come take her. I sat and fed her, singing and praying. If the river wanted her, it would have to come take her from my arms. I could not leave her. After a while, I knew she was not meant to become one of the river creatures. She was meant to be with me. I got up and walked back to the hospital.

When babies were being examined at the hospital each day, I got up early and hid in the bushes so no one would see my baby. I just did not want to hear people making comments about her. When the doctors did have to see her, I got myself and my baby ready and was the first in line to see the doctor and nurses. I kept my baby girl closely wrapped and did not allow others to see her. I didn’t want to hear them making comments about us.

One morning, I woke up early and went to bathe while everyone was still sleeping. When I got back, my baby was missing. A woman came to me and told me she had done me a favor to avoid humiliation for me. She said she took my baby and put her in the garbage. I ran to the garbage and found my baby there, still breathing and OK.

I asked the doctor if I could pierce my baby’s ears, a common custom for newborn girls in some areas of Nigeria, but the doctor said no. He was afraid that she was too frail.

After four weeks at the hospital, it was clear my baby girl would survive, and the doctor released us to go home. After all that I had experienced at the hospital, I was just as worried about what people at home would say about my very small baby. I feared that because the baby was small, with large hands and feet, other people would think she was not normal or not healthy and encourage me to throw her away.

The doctor told us to go back to the hospital in five weeks for a checkup. I planned to keep the appointment. This was my baby girl. She wanted to live, so I was going to make sure she had the chance. At her checkup, the doctor saw the baby was growing. I was taking good care of my baby.

My father, a natural herbalist and spiritual healer, saw the baby and remarked on her large hands and feet. He stated that she was a special, God-given baby. He proclaimed that she would be a healer, like him, and that she would heal people whom he could not heal, and that she would go places with her big feet that he could not go.

I was still concerned about how people in the village would react to my small baby. I knew some would feel she was not normal, that something was not right about her. My husband even feared the pregnancy was caused by witchcraft or some unknown magic. During the day, I kept the baby inside and went about my normal routine. I left my baby in the care of my younger sister, Ehenele, who was also pregnant at that time.

A few weeks later, it was time for my baby’s third-month checkup. I had dressed her nicely for the appointment. When the doctor saw us, he was very excited. He told me that my baby girl was a special child, that she was a survivor. He saw I had taken good care of her and said she was becoming a beautiful baby. He said my beautiful baby needed to have a special name. Queen Elizabeth II had visited Nigeria a few years before, so with great excitement, he suggested I name my baby Queen Elizabeth; a special name for a very special baby.

He gave me lots of baby food and supplies. When other mothers at the hospital protested that they didn’t get their share of baby goods, the doctor responded, She is a special baby, a survivor! She is remarkable, and she will shine! I was very proud now and showed the baby off to others at the hospital.

At home, I told my husband my baby’s name, the name that Dr. Okojie had given to her, Queen Elizabeth. He liked our daughter’s English name and wanted her to also have an African name. He saw she was a beautiful baby, and he decided to take her to church to present her there. At church, he gave her the name Osebhagimende, which means God would not let her fall.

As much as he wanted and tried to have everyone call her Osebhagimende, Elizabeth was the name everyone remembered and what everyone called this special baby with her big hands and feet. For many in the village, Elizabeth was the only English word they knew. All my baby did was smile. Everyone reached out to hold her, and she loved to be held.

As a two-year-old girl, Elizabeth noticed the older children going off to school. Nigerian girls could go to elementary school up to the sixth grade. She wanted to go too. Her older sister, Justina, went to school each day, and Elizabeth stood by the roadside, crying. Of course, she was too young to go, but that didn’t matter to her. She was determined to go to school.

Elizabeth liked to be near adults, doing whatever they were doing. When her aunt had a baby boy, she wanted to sit with the adults as they discussed names. She suggested the name Godwin for her new cousin and got upset if anyone suggested any other names. She would not stop crying unless that was his name. No one knew where Elizabeth had heard the name Godwin or what it meant, but the name was chosen. They are best friends to this day.

By age four, the principal finally gave in and let Elizabeth attend school. By then, she didn’t want to be in the little kids’ kindergarten class; that wasn’t enough for her. She wanted to be in the school with the bigger children, to do what her sister was doing. She cried and protested and did not want to be in kindergarten. She tried to leave. The teacher would not call me to go get her. She ran out of the school, but they took her back. Eventually, Elizabeth and her sister worked it out that they would do the schoolwork her sister was doing when they were at home.

Elizabeth’s Story

My parents were very strict with us girls. We rarely went out and played like the boys did. There was always a fear that we would be taken or molested. It wasn’t just my parents who thought this; it was a common fear of all parents of girls in my community. Boys could go out to work with their fathers in the fields, play soccer, or do any of the things that boys like to do. Girls stayed home to help take care of the house, cook, and serve the meals to the men. After the men were done, girls ate in the kitchen with their mothers. By the time I was eight or nine, my sister and I did all the cooking for the family. It became our job to do this for our family; my mother supervised, largely delegating that work to us.

I was not the kind of person to be locked in the house all day. I wanted to get out, to do things, to explore, and to meet people. I helped my mother with housework and cooking, but I wanted to do more.

My father, Prince Okoruwa, was a self-taught electrician and mechanic. He could fix anything. He had a shop where he fixed whatever people brought in. When I was small, I would watch for him to come home. When I saw him, I would begin to dance and shout Aba is home! Aba is home! as he approached.

My mother, Grace, had a business selling bean cakes (akara). She would grind the beans each night and then fry the cakes the next morning then sell them to her customers that day. Early each morning, we would go to her roadside stand to sell the cakes and also take them around to customers who couldn’t go to her. I accompanied her until I was five years old, then I began to take the akara around to sell myself.

I was a very good salesperson. If someone told me no, they didn’t want any akara that day, I told them I wasn’t going to leave until they bought some. I waited and waited until they did. To pass the time while waiting, I sometimes helped clean their houses, swept floors, or washed dishes. Most customers eventually gave in, happy to get me out of their house. I always sang or danced for them. I liked to dance for my customers. If I danced well, I would get a tip. If there was no music, I asked them to clap