My Story
My name is Marcelle Nguimfack and I was diagnosed with epilepsy at the age of seven in Cameroon, where
I was born and raised.
For many years, epilepsy shaped every part of my life. I spent countless days moving from hospital to
hospital, taking heavy medication and struggling to live like other children. Every school year was interrupted
by illness. Sometimes I missed up to three months of school because of seizures, treatments, and hospital
stays.
It was not only difficult for me — it was painful for my family as well.
In my community, epilepsy carried a deep stigma. Many people believed that a child with epilepsy would
never live a normal life. I constantly heard things like:
“You may never finish school.”
“You may never get married.”
“You may never have children.”
Hearing those words repeatedly as a child affected me deeply. I grew up questioning my future, my worth,
and whether I would ever truly have a normal life.
Because of the shame and misunderstanding surrounding epilepsy, my family tried to hide my condition
from others. In many places, epilepsy was seen as something spiritual, contagious, or shameful. We lived in
silence, trying to protect ourselves from judgment.
But despite everything, I kept fighting.
Years later, after moving to the United States, I received life-changing news: I was finally declared epilepsy-
free.
I thanked God for my healing, but I did not yet understand why I had gone through everything I experienced
— until one day in 2016.
While visiting Cameroon, I was sitting near a pharmacy when I saw a man climbing the stairs toward the
entrance. Suddenly, he collapsed and began having a severe seizure right in front of everyone.
In that moment, I was transported back into my own past.
I remembered the fear.
The helplessness.
The pain.
The confusion.
I remembered what it felt like to lose control of my body and wake up surrounded by people staring at me. I
remembered the days when I suffered multiple seizures in a single day.
When the man regained consciousness, he explained that he had been going from pharmacy to pharmacy
begging for medication because he could not afford treatment. He told us that his wife and children had left
because they could no longer handle the situation. He was desperate, exhausted, and alone.
What hurt even more was hearing the crowd around him.
People were saying:
“Don’t touch him.”
“You will catch it.”
“It’s a bad disease.”
I stood there crying, overwhelmed by memories and emotions I had hidden for years. Even then, I still could
not bring myself to publicly say:
“I used to have epilepsy too.”
That moment changed my life forever.
I truly believe God allowed that man to fall in front of me for a reason. It felt like a calling — a question
placed directly on my heart:
“You were healed. You now live in the United States. What are you going to do for the people still suffering in
silence?”
From that day forward, I knew I could not remain silent anymore.
I decided to create this nonprofit organization to bring awareness, support, education, and hope to people
living with epilepsy in Cameroon and beyond. My mission is to fight the stigma, help families access support
and medication, and remind people living with epilepsy that they are not cursed, forgotten, or alone.
Today, this organization exists because of pain that became purpose.
And if this story speaks to your heart, I invite you to join us on this journey. Whether through prayer,
support, partnership, volunteering, or donations, your involvement can help change lives and bring hope to
families affected by epilepsy.
Together, we can replace fear with understanding, silence with awareness, and stigma with compassion.