February 11th is a very special day for me. Twelve years ago on February 11th, I gave birth to my son, Charlie, and became a mom. My world was forever changed. This year I was in a tiny African village on February 11th, trying to find a way to honor the rite of passage I hold most dear in my life. When I was given the opportunity to work in a local birth Clinic, I decided this was the perfect way to celebrate Charlie's birth, as well as my own birth into motherhood.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I experienced. We entered the birthing room, a small cement square with two birthing beds separated by a fabric curtain. My senses were immediately assaulted by the smells of shit, sweat, blood, and tears. It smelled strongly of both life and death. A young 17 year old girl named Miriam lay on one of the beds. It was covered in a plastic garbage bag that the birthing women are required to bring themselves. There are no clean sheets, pillows, ice chips, or even bottled water. If you need it, you bring it---otherwise you go without. They go without a lot. I noticed that the metal stirrups were covered in rust and the floor was splattered with blood. Miriam was in labor, she was alone, and she was terrified. She spoke English and asked us to pray for her. She was certain God was not with her, that she had done something wrong, that she was going to die. I held her hand and assured her that God was there, that she was strong, and that she and her baby were going to be fine. A little voice whispered in my ear that this was Africa where things often go wrong.
I spent the next 4 hours determined to prove that voice wrong. The doctor told Miriam she would have to have a cesarean if she couldn't get the baby down further. In Kasana, a cesarean is often a death sentence. We convinced Miriam to climb off the birthing bed and start walking, squatting, swaying, breathing, singing---performing that primitive birth dance. Four hours later, I held her hand as she delivered a healthy baby girl and cried happy tears as another mother was born.
Later, she looked at me and said, "sister this is our baby." She even asked me to name her. I told her I had already named my babies and it was her turn. She giggled like the 17 year child that she is and said , " I want to name her baby Miriam after me." Then she asked for a coke. Seane raced to a roadside stand and brought back two cokes. Miriam beamed.
I have no idea what happens next in the story of Miriam and Baby Miriam. I wish I could write them a happy ending, but this is Africa where things often go wrong. Then again, we could prove that voice wrong if we all really tried.
Amanda - what an incredible way to spend Charlie's bday. This is an amazing story. I just love "sister this is our baby". I am so glad you are there to help, listen and bring joy! xoxoxo
ReplyDeleteHi Amanda. This is incredible. I agree with Charlotte, what a perfect way to celebrate Charlie and your motherhood. Thank you again for sharing your experiences with us. You're such an inspiration - for the people you are meeting and for all of us back home. Love you. Take care.
ReplyDeleteAmanda - Wow! How do you now reconcile your two worlds? By Charlie - what an amazing journey. You make that bar of living consciously and generously awfully high, girlfriend. so much love to you. xoxo
ReplyDeleteMy first impulse reading all this is guilt of course. The selfishness and greed in me first must think of itself since that is the habit with me. After that I turn to the thought to acknowledge you for yer participation in the lives of these people. I look for verbage to convey sympathy and encouragement to you, as if you really need that from a comment on a blog. I must admit way down the list is my ability to begin the acceptance of who these people are and their feelings, struggles and choices for basic survival in their daily lives. The truth of it is that I live here in America. I have all I need or want. I play rockstar sometimes and not much gets in the way of me attaining whatever I might strike my fancy. One person can make a difference is the lesson I need to learn. It takes risk and courage to attempt to help others. Why I am not naturally tuned to this is troubling. But it is never too late to become a better person. The ripples of our actions travel all around the pond. The worst thing is to make no ripples at all. That is stagnation based on fear and self-loathing. God grant us all strength to give of ourselves honestly and effectively. The compassion of intelligence meets the intelligence of compassion.
ReplyDeleteShinyribs