Birth in Question

June 20th, 2007

The walls are covered in a streaked brown stain spanning seventy years worth of women laboring. They coat the corridors of Gulu Hospital and are a permanent fixture in the story of birth at the maternity ward. I feel caught in a conflict that has no resolution, only temporary ebb and flows—some positive, some negative. The more I work here, the more complex the issues become. Am I just here as a witness? Am I here to bring back the narratives of these women? Am I here to “help”? Does my very presence only solidify the constructs of Western power in a developing nation? I try to keep it simple. I take it ALL in. My heart is bursting, aching, crying in love. I don’t want to be preachy, but only G-d can hold this love and pain. I feel alive here for that reason. I am always brought closer to this presence. It is extremely humbling. The role of the midwife is just that—a role. I watch, listen, act, and care. I’m laughed at by the women that line the corridor whenever I give labor support to a birthing mother. It’s a cultural difference. Women don’t really touch the birthing mom. But the mothers in labor are very responsive to a loving touch and comfort. Many of the women don’t speak English but they respond to a kind touch. Who doesn’t?

I literally am walking in two worlds. Yesterday at the hospital, we resuscitated a baby back to life. We watched it go from blue to gray to pinkish brown. We watched its breathing go from shallow to steady. After many attempts of trying to explain that this baby needed oxygen immediately, we trained the grandmother to give mouth to mouth. She didn’t understand what that was so after several more minutes, Rachel got a glove, ripped a hole in it, placed it over the babies mouth and gave him mouth to mouth. It was the only way to save this baby. We’ve noticed that the midwives don’t assess the newborn after they are born. Have they become so apathetic to witnessing death? Has it become such a normal part of their daily experience that it no longer warrants emergency intervention? I watch this and wonder…aware of my own biases, aware of my own arrogance. But when you know you can save a life how can you just walk away and let that baby die? It is extreme. The mothers scream out. They grab you and pull on you with the force that is the tsunami of birth. My shoulders ache at the end of the day and yet I rush back to check on these mamas eager to see them holding their new baby the following day. I love these women. There is so much that I don’t understand. So much that I’m trying to put together.

I hop on a bodha and head back to St. Monica’s. Yesterday was the Feast of the Sacred Heart. It was a day of celebration for the nuns here. I go from being immersed in birth and the relationship between life and day into overflowing exuberance! Within a short time I was sweating and dancing my heart out to Ugandan music with the girls (and Kevin). They can get down! We sipped on homemade pineapple wine and resumed our dance party with the nuns after supper. Happiness, togetherness, and a sense of family envelops the convent. We spent the night rejoicing in this celebration of the sacred heart (I love that). The night ended with the earth quaking which for me was the perfect response to the type of day that I had.

The last few days were spent traveling and speaking with TBAs (Traditional Birth Attendants) in IDP camps. We heard the stories of over seventy women. These women are the villager midwives who have come into this calling through their mothers and grandmothers. One woman said she started as a midwife at the age of twelve. There is a very interesting dialogue going on between TBAs and nurse midwives in Uganda. It is now illegal to give birth in the villages and all TBAs are being trained to refer their women to the hospital. But we’ve found that the relationship between TBAs and the hospital midwives is very good. They respect each other and recognize the differences of their roles in the community. Many of the midwives are grateful for the TBAs because the truth is that they relieve a lot of pressure and work for them. The midwives are all understaffed and overworked. The TBAs are being trained through large NGO health programs. They are being trained in the Western way. We’re watching how this force comes in and undermines the ancient wisdom already present in the Acholi people. They learn their information through song, dance, and skits. They are a lively bunch! We have even exchanged cultural dances. They taught us some traditional Acholi dances and we busted out havah nagilah. We even got one of the elders bouncing up in the chair!

There is a lot more to write about our time with them but I’m at the internet café with little time…

I love you all and look forward to seeing you in a few weeks.
Afoyo!

thank you for all your comments!

xo-aimee

photos:
TBAs in Koro
TBAs in Bobbi demonstrating how when the refer a mother to the hospital