Burned Nigerian girl keeps faith in miracles

The last thing Chinonye Omeje remembers of that day was checking on a pot of stew from its precarious perch over a cooking fire. She lifted the top of the pot and, at that moment, suffered an epileptic seizure.

The girl, then 14, fell face first into the fire, and the tumbling pot dumped its scalding contents onto her head. Chi Chi, as she is called, was burned beyond recognition. Her pretty, smiling face vanished. Her eyes, nose, lips, and right ear melted away. Her hair went up in flames, and her scalp was scalded. Much of her right hand was disfigured, along with her neck and chest.

Her family thought she was dead. But on the way to the hospital, she began to move. Thus began an incredible journey back from the brink of death, from a small village in Africa to a large village of Americans who have helped pave the rocky road. From California to Florida, Maryland to Massachusetts, strangers have pitched in to deliver Chi Chi and her mother, Helen, from the nightmare three years ago. This is a story of a girl determined to overcome enormous obstacles and pain, her devoted mother who left seven other children behind, and a network of people who have lent a helping hand.

Two years ago, Chi Chi and Helen Omeje came to Boston, where the girl, now 17, is being treated at the Shriners Children's Hospital. They had been discovered in a Nigerian hospital ward by a Nigerian-born American who was home for her sister's wedding. Jacinta Aniagolu-Johnson had gone to the hospital with a pastor's wife to visit and pray with patients.

"We went bed by bed and Chi Chi's bed was at the very end by the wall," says Aniagolu-Johnson, who earned her master's degree and PhD in the United States and is married to an American. "Her face was all bandaged up, and she looked very fragile, very frail."

The two women prayed with the girl, who had been hospitalized for a year. Aniagolu-Johnson left with a heavy heart. When she arrived home in Laurel, Md., she went online and Googled "children and hospital." Little did she know that she was about to become the general contractor on an international project.

One call led to many others. Chi Chi's case was rejected by a Shriners hospital in Texas. The Boston hospital rejected her, too: its mission is acute care, and her condition was chronic. Aniagolu-Johnson appealed to the board of directors, enclosing Chi Chi's photo, and the decision was overturned.

But there were requirements: She had to have a place to stay, along with a way to cover living expenses and transportation. Aniagolu-Johnson, who is a consultant to a pharmaceutical company, went to work. One of her sisters, who had also studied in the United States before returning to Nigeria, contacted a classmate who lived in Milton. She and her husband agreed to shelter Chi Chi and Helen for several months.

Another sister, who works for the European Union in Nigeria, put the call out and raised $16,000 in two months. Aniagolu-Johnson asked Virgin Atlantic for two round-trip tickets from Lagos to Boston. She obtained emergency medical visas and got Nigerian banks to pay off the girl's African hospital bill. "Everything was falling into place," she says.

Arrival in Boston

In September 2005, a year after Chi Chi's accident, she and her mother arrived in Boston. After several months of living with the host family, a couple of months with a Boston nonprofit called Hospitality Homes, and a couple of weeks with another family in Auburndale, the two are living in a duplex apartment in Milton. The national Children's Burn Foundation has agreed to pay two years of rent, water, and utilities. Everything in the modest apartment has been donated, including their clothes.

Chi Chi was blinded in the accident, and her biggest wish is to see again. "God will do this miracle for me," she says, sitting in the living room. "I do not want to complain." She goes on to quote the biblical book of St. John, chapter 9, in which Jesus cures a blind man. Despite her unspeakable injuries, she says: "I feel good. They are very nice to me, the doctors and nurses. I'll never forget, as long as I live, Jacinta, who helped bring me to America."

Still, she misses her home, her school, her family. "Before, I did well in school. I run. I jump," she says.

Adds her mother: "If I think backwards, I be crying. But then I thank God. There have been miracles."

So far Chi Chi has undergone seven surgeries. Doctors at the Shriners Hospital, which is treating her free of charge, will perform more skin grafts. After that, they hope to do reconstructive surgery.

"There are several more years of procedures that can be done," says Dr. Robert Sheridan, who has been treating Chi Chi. "The aesthetic improvements are her call. We can't restore her normal appearance, but we can make her look better." Skin from her thigh has been grafted to her neck, chest, and face, and she needs more grafts before facial reconstruction can begin.

Sheridan's goal for Chi Chi? "I just want her to be independent and comfortable, to interact with people and not be reclusive and alone," he says. Though some doctors, including Sheridan, are pessimistic about restoring her vision, the Bascom Palmer Eye Institute in Miami believes it can help, and has offered free care, again due to the efforts of Aniagolu-Johnson and to the Children's Burn Foundation, which is covering the travel costs to Miami.

"Chi Chi is an extraordinary case because of the severity of her burns," says Barbara Friedman, executive director of the foundation, a nonprofit that provides support services for young burn survivors. "Her entire story is amazing."

'Angels' watching over

Because she lives in Maryland, Aniagolu-Johnson knew she would need to find someone in Boston to help the Omejes. She called the Mayor's Health Line. Emily Miranda, a public health advocate, answered, and has become the Omejes' Boston "angel."

On her own time, Miranda taught them English (their native language is Igbo) until she arranged tutoring with the Milton public schools. She visits regularly, gives whatever spending money she can, keeps track of appointments and prescriptions and helps with visa extensions. She is also in charge of their bank account, made of up dwindling donations that must cover some medications, food, and other living expenses. She took the bus with them wherever they needed to go, until they learned the routes. She has arranged for The Ride, a van for the disabled run by the MBTA, to take them to medical appointments.

It was Miranda who introduced the two to a microwave oven, the T, vanilla ice cream - Chi Chi's favorite - and steered them through their first snowfall. "We call her the laughing Chi Chi," says Miranda, 30. "I just love her. She never complains about her suffering."

Sheridan agrees: "She has put up with all these operations and the rehabilitation that goes along with it, and she's been a champ about it."

Dr. Nupur Gupta is Chi Chi's primary care physician at Massachusetts General Hospital. She makes sure she's up to date on immunizations, and has referred her to a neurologist for her epilepsy and a nutritionist for her diet. Because Chi Chi is now sedentary - and likes American food - she has gained weight. Gupta has instructed her and her mother to walk an hour or so every day.

As for Chi Chi's attitude, Gupta replies: "One word - fabulous." Still, she worries about her young patient. She hopes the girl regains her eyesight, even though it would mean seeing her own disfigurement. "She's such a resilient girl, and she's smart."

Chi Chi came to the United States not knowing a word of English, and she now speaks fairly well and is learning Braille. On a recent day, she sits in her living room with a tutor provided by the Milton school system. "It's difficult for her to write, and some words she can't pronounce," says Elizabeth Brown-Johnson. "But she is smart, has a very pleasant attitude, and is making a lot of progress."

They're going over basic math. Chi Chi, wearing a blue denim skirt and a T-shirt, fingers a red necklace strung with small religious crosses. She chews gum to control the saliva that constantly drips from her injured lips. She had wanted to attend school to "feel normal and be around peers," says Miranda. But because she cannot get around by herself, and has so many medical appointments, a home tutor made more sense.

Helen Omeje has learned the language, too. In her village, she made cooking oil from palm trees and sold it for a living. Her husband, a primary teacher, earns less than $500 a year. The couple has seven other children, ranging in age from 14 to 33. Chi Chi and her mother miss the family that they haven't seen in two years. A granddaughter named Precious was born in August, a subject that brings tears to Helen Omeje's eyes.

Hope for the future

Mother and daughter, devout Christians, listen to televangelists and attend Bethel Pentecostal Church in Dorchester every Sunday. The pastor, Rev. Marcus G. Bennett, says the congregation has warmly welcomed them, and provides a small monthly stipend, while his brother drives them to and from church. "We're not a wealthy church, but we do it out of love. I've never seen that young lady down. She's always happy. We are praying God will find a way to work with her." The Omejes love to sing hymns, often in their native tongue, he says.

Chi Chi's medical treatment is likely to last at least two more years. But Aniagolu-Johnson hopes the girl can finish high school and college, and settle here. "Quite frankly, it would be an injustice to send her back. The Nigerian system is not equipped to deal with handicaps. Handicapped people are shunned over there; most of them end up being beggars because no one will hire them." She's applying for a permanent visa on humanitarian grounds, to save Helen the $200, and the paperwork, that it costs to renew the medical visa every six months. Such a visa would at least allow Chi Chi to complete her medical care here, no matter how long it may take.

On a recent day, Helen pulls out ingredients she bought at a tropical market to make some of their favorite native dishes: farina, rice, and okra. Because Chi Chi has trouble chewing and swallowing, her mother helps feed her. Meanwhile, Chi Chi feels her way along the walls to show a visitor the spartan bedroom she is obviously proud of.

"I feel good," she says. "Everyone has been so nice to me. I just want to see again. I want to regain my face. [The minister] said when you have faith in something and hope in something, it will come true. I'm just looking for a miracle to help me."

The Chinonye Victory Fund is at Citizens Bank in Mattapan. For more information, contact Miranda at 617-839-1362.

English can be reached at english@globe.com.