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The Mother-Medic Of Moussourtouk: One Woman’s 148-Child Journey To End Polio

Par Kimeng Hilton
24 Apr 2026 22:22
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Hadjara Waziri, 33, is the only Polyvalent Community Health Worker in her village in Mayo Kano Division of the Far North Region. With a baby on her back, Hadjara goes about her work - unperturbed.

The heat in the Far North Region is more than a climate; it is a physical weight. Yet, under the relentless sun of the Mayo Kani Division, 33-year-old Hadjara Waziri moves with a rhythmic, determined pace. On her back, her six-month-old daughter, Haoua Idrissa, sleeps soundly, undisturbed by the vital mission her mother is carrying out.

Done For The Day!
Hadjara is a Community Health Worker (ASC). By midday on the second day of the national polio campaign (April 23, 2026), she and her partner had already exhausted three vials of vaccine, protecting 148 children. Her story is the heartbeat of a larger, sophisticated machine that combines the ancient authority of tribal kings with the modern science of immunology to create a "zero-refusal" zone in Moussourtouk village in Mayo Kani Division of Cameroon’s Far North Region.

Hadjara Waziri’s Dual Calling
Hadjara’s journey into healthcare began in 2021 when her community of Moussourtouk looked at her and saw a leader. "I was chosen by the community," she says simply. Since then, her life has been a whirlwind of "TDR" (Rapid Diagnostic Tests) for malaria, referring pregnant women to prenatal consultations (CPN), and home visits.
Her participation in the polio campaign is an act of pure volunteerism. The "motivation" fee provided by the district is negligible, but for Hadjara, the stakes are existential. "It is for the good of my community," she explains. "It is for health."

Living Testament
The physical toll is immense. Carrying a six-month-old while navigating the sprawling compounds of the Moutourwa District is, in her own words, "tough." Yet, she views her own child as a living testament to the message she preaches. When she approaches a hesitant mother, she doesn't just offer a vaccine; she offers the example of her own daughter, already vaccinated and protected.

The Lawan’s Decree
While Hadjara provides the labor, the Lawan (Traditional Chief) provides the legitimacy. In the village of Mouda, the vaccination effort is overseen by a hierarchy of seven Lawans. Vankai Meleguedjeo, the Vaccination Supervisor, knows that without these men, the mission would fail.
"A village head is always respected," Meleguedjeo notes. "People listen to them when they speak."
Before the first cooler was opened, an advocacy meeting was held involving the seven village heads and local political leaders. This was not a mere formality; it was the construction of a social shield. The Lawans don’t just endorse the campaign; they participate in it - sometimes providing food and water to the teams, other times acting as the final word in cases of family "pouting" or hesitation.

Traditional Chiefs
His Majesty Waziri Djouma Kaï, the Lawan of Moussourtouk, speaks of the vaccine with the fervor of a convert. "Without health, man can never live," he declares. "If someone ignores these medicines... they have ignored their own life." The Lawan views the current campaign as a debt repaid to history, noting that his own generation only survived because they were given "medicines and tablets" when they were young.

Ending Refusal
In many parts of the world, vaccine hesitancy is a growing crisis. In Moutourwa, it is a managed rarity. Meleguedjeo outlines a rigorous five-tier "Diplomacy of the Dropper" to handle any parent who resists: Local relays like Hadjara make the first approach. A more experienced official steps in to answer technical questions. A senior health officer provides medical reassurance. The moral and traditional weight of the chief is applied. And, the State intervenes only as a final, rare necessity.
Because the health workers like Hadjara are "polyvalent" - meaning they already treat the community’s malaria and assist with pregnancies - they have built a "trust bank" that they draw upon during polio rounds. "We know them very well," Meleguedjeo says of the local relays. "They do other activities outside of that, so there is no reason for the community to refuse."

High Impact, Low Reward
The success of the campaign rests on a fragile economic reality. The "motivation" for these front-line workers is low, according to some of them. Door-to-door teams receive roughly 14,000 CFA Francs (about $23 USD) for the duration of the campaign. Special teams and fixed posts receive slightly more, around 17,000 CFA. "It represents nothing," Meleguedjeo admits candidly. "They are volunteers."
This selflessness is what has kept the programme running since its inception in the area in 1986. For 40 years, the population of Moutourwa has adhered to these campaigns. While some parents might "pout" initially, the combined pressure of the Lawan’s endorsement and the health worker’s persistence inevitably brings them "back to reason."

A Future Without Paralysis
As Hadjara Waziri finishes her rounds for the day, her 148th child of the morning has been marked with the purple ink of protection. She will return home, care for her own baby, and prepare to do it all again tomorrow.
The Moutourwa Health District stands as a beacon of what is possible when modern health initiatives respect and integrate traditional structures. It is a place where a King’s word and a mother’s tired feet work in perfect unison.
In the words of Lawan Waziri Djouma Kaï: "Vaccination is the best choice." In Moutourwa, thanks to the grit of women like Hadjara and the leadership of the Lawanat, it is a choice that every child is being given the chance to make.