Killing an Elephant

Yesterday was International Women’s Day.  A day to celebrate women: their rights, their role in society, as well as their potential.  In America women have got it pretty good.  I’m not saying there aren’t places or situations where women are still dehumanized, taken advantage of, and belittled.  However, for the most part, we are at a point in our history where women have as much societal freedom and opportunity as men.

In a place where women are still second-class citizens, forced to be defined by gender roles, and given far less independence, opportunities and respect as men, this is an important day to recognize.  Zambia is moving forward as far as gender equality goes. They’re definitely progressing in the right direction.  This is something I have been encouraged and proud to see in my time here. The Zambian government has declared this day a national holiday, a statement which tells the people of this country that women indeed are to be celebrated. 

I had big plans for my day “off”.  Sleep in a little, go for a run, grade the giant pile of papers that has once again accumulated on my desk, and do some lesson planning.  Truly, this was going to be a holiday- to have an extra day to just focus on “catching up” was a huge relief. 

After my run, shower, and devos I closed myself in my office and began reading and marking papers.  I don’t usually keep my door closed, but the heat was already getting to be 100+F at 10:30 AM… it was only going to go up from there.  Keeping my door closed kept the heat out, and also helped to keep me hidden from possible interruptions.  Apparently I didn’t hide too well because I had a few knocks at my door in the next hour, people asking for help asking to borrow money etc… the usual.

I’m barely through grading the 4^th paper from my stack of about 50+papers when there is another knock at the door.  I open it to find Mr. Mwaanga- an always humble, polite first year student.

Me- Hi how are you?

Mr. Mwaanga- I’m fine how are you?

Me- I’m fine, only it is very hot today!

Mr. Mwaanga- Yes it is very hot!

Awkward pause…

Me- Is there something I can help you with?

Mr. Mwaanga- Please madam, there is an emergency at the compound. (He says this with a small smile on his face and with his characteristic calmness, politeness, and humility.)

Me- WHAT?! An emergency?! What happened!?  (said with my characteristic jump into action panic)

Mr. Mwaanga- It is Mrs Handemu…

Me- Mrs. Handemu… OH! Is she ready to have the baby!?

Mr. Mwaanga- Yes!

Me- OK! I’m coming I’m coming!!

I quickly abandon my papers, lock my office, run to my house and grab the car keys, lock my apartment, run to the vehicle and shout to Elsie “Mrs. Handemu is in labor!!”  

I drive quickly to the student compound, navigating through the overgrown grass to her house.  People are mingling around and I say, “Where is she?!”  “She is in her house”  “Ok, can she manage to walk here to the vehicle?”  “She will try.”

Mrs. Handemu emerges from her house with a few women surrounding her as she slowly walks to the vehicle.  She is a shy, quiet girl only about 19 years old.  Also, she is one of our first year students who has very limited English.  She’s always struck me as a friendly person, but it has been difficult for us to communicate.

Me- Hi Mrs. Handemu, how are you?

Mrs. Handemu- I am fine.  (She says with a pained expression on her face, hands grasping her very pregnant belly, back arched over)

The other ladies and I laugh… between the cultural expectation to give a proper greeting, and her limited English, even in the midst of child birth she responds with, “I am fine.”  J 

Mrs. Sitali- She is NOT fine!! 

Me- Ok, lets get going.

Mrs. Kabayame, Mrs. Maulu, and Mrs. Sitali all assist Mrs. Handemu into the vehicle.  Mrs. Kabayame is carrying a bag of belongings for the hospital stay.  We wave goodbye to the crowd that has gathered, and drive to the clinic which is about a mile down the road.

At the clinic the nurse takes Mrs. Handemu into the labor room where she takes her blood pressure and temperature, then excuses all but Mrs. Sitali from the room so she can further examine her.

Sitting outside in the heat, Mrs. Kabayame, Mrs Maulu and I sit and chat.  I ask Mrs. Kabayame if it is culturally appropriate for me to stay, or if I should just go.  She reassures me that it is ok for me to stay.  I begin asking questions about what happens when a baby is born- who is allowed in the room etc.  We all laugh at our vast cultural differences.  They find it unusual and uncomfortable that the father is allowed in the room in America, and we all roar with laughter when I tell them that sometimes the father will feint while his poor wife is in labor.  We compare cultural notes too on whether or not the woman is allowed to scream.  Past traditions tell Zambian women that if they scream during labor then their baby will die, however like most traditions here it is fading into the past and some women do scream.

Meanwhile, the nurse comes out to tell us it won’t be long. The water hasn’t broken, but she reassures us this can happen sometimes and the baby is on its way soon.  She asks me if I want to assist with the delivery and I tell her only if Mrs. Handemu will let me.  Both Mrs. Handemu and the nurse give me permission, and all of a sudden I am asking myself whether or not I can actually DO this!?!  What if I pass out!? What if I vomit!? I don’t want to embarrass Mrs. Handemu or cause any problems!!  My hands are shaking and I can feel adrenaline and excitement pulsing through my body. 

All I had eaten at that point of the day was a bowl of cereal.  It was already 1:00 and I knew that I was much hungrier than I felt, especially since I had a long run that morning.  The heat and probable dehydration weren’t helping the weakness my body felt.  So I made the decision to rush home and give my body some food and water, figuring this will help me to have strength to make it through what was about to happen!  The nurses tell me to hurry because the baby would be there soon, I reassure them I’ll be fast.  I peek in to Mrs. Handemu and tell her I’ll be back soon, she is already writhing on the thin 2 inch foam “mattress”, hands grasping the bars of the metal frame of the headboard. 

One peanut butter sandwich, one cup of yogurt, one potty break, and 18 minutes later I’m back at the clinic.  The nurses tell me to run, so I rush into the small labor room where Mrs. Handemu is already pushing.  She is completely naked, and I felt ashamed for her thinking that they could have let her keep her shirt on.  However, I quickly learned that this was indeed a wise decision.  She is lying completely horizontally on the small hospital table with a plastic sheet underneath her.  When all was said and done she would be lying in a puddle of… well… birthing stuff. 

I ask the nurse how I can help and she instructs me to put on some gloves.  My next instruction was to be wiping sweat from Mrs. Handemu’s face.  I do this and encourage her as she bravely and strongly continues to pant, push, and groan.  Mrs. Sitali is also in the room, bringing drinking water and handing the nurse cotton swabs.  It is just the four of us.  There are no monitors, no pain medicines, and certainly nothing comfortable. It wasn’t until about 10 minutes after I returned that Mrs. Handemu was given a pillow for her head.  The other thing that is noticeably absent is a Doctor.  No Doctors for about 40 miles in fact. 

The amniotic membrane was protruding, but the nurse tells me they are discouraged from breaking it themselves.  So we all wait. Mrs. Handemu pushes.  She has her legs bent up, hands on her thighs… no hand holding… no ice chips… no husband… truly she was doing it all on her own.  It made me feel better to be able to wipe her face, squeeze her arm, and give her encouraging words and looks. Finally the sac breaks, and we all breathe a sigh of relief. 

 Within about thirty seconds the baby’s head is there!! Some excited communication to Mrs. Handemu tells her the news, however the nurse and the rest of us quickly realize something isn’t right.  Mrs. Handemu is told to stop pushing.  I think my heart stopped beating and I stopped breathing too.  The baby was obviously very blue.  Of course I wouldn’t have known the difference between how blue he should or shouldn’t have been, but I instinctively knew this was TOO blue.  With a little poking and looking we realize the chord is around the baby’s neck.

My mind starts racing with prayers, trying to ignore the reality that IF this baby is in trouble there is absolutely nothing we can do.  I watch, holding Mrs. Handemu’s arm, as the nurse very skillfully clamps the chord, cuts it, and removes it from the baby’s throat.  She did an excellent job, obviously working from experience.  Within moments the baby’s head starts moving, the color blue is replaced with the color pink, and MY heart starts beating again. 

One final push from Mrs. Handemu, one skilled pull from the nurse, and our party of 4 has suddenly become a party of 5.  There is a little teeny tiny scrawny slimy PERSON in the room! 

The nurse holds the baby up to Mrs. Handemu who is finally able to relax a little bit,

Nurse: Munsankwa or Musimbi?

Mrs Handemu:  Munsankwa.

IT’S A BOY!!! 

The little baby is left lying on the table, beginning to attempt to cry, while the nurse gathers the tools for suction.  She asks me if I want to do it, and I decline… not wanting to make a mistake!  A few sucks here and a few squirts there and WOWEEE this baby’s lungs and vocal chords work perfectly!!  We all chuckle at the loud noises coming from this tiny creature and the nurse lays him on the scale.

Nurse:  3.5 Kgs!!! Kapati maningi!  (VERY big!)

There are blankets and chitenges already laid out and the nurse carefully wraps the naked baby up.  He seems comforted for a moment to be snug in the blankets, but then continues to prove to us that his lungs work.   The weighing was the only measurements taken for the baby.  No blood pressure, no temperature, no heart beat… the only signs to tell us that we had a healthy baby was… well… there he was!  A crying, living, breathing tiny baby boy.

Me: Mrs. Handemu, he looks just like Mikey!  They are obviously brothers.

Mrs. Handemu weakly gives the first smile she has given all day J

The baby is left unattended while the rest of us help Mrs. Handemu with a few final pushes for the placenta.  A short examination and the nurse says there aren’t any serious lacerations, and Mrs. Handemu has very successfully given birth to her second baby boy!  Praise the Lord for a safe delivery!

We clean up the table, wipe down Mrs. Handemu, and she begins to put on some clothes.  The nurse asks if she has a pad.  No, she doesn’t.  So Mrs. Handemu is instructed to put some chitenge cloth in her underpants to soak up any extra blood etc.  Mrs. Handemu is standing up on her feet, and communicates that she is hungry!  She walks, unassisted, to the female ward, while I gather Mrs Kabayame to go to my house to do some cooking.  It is the family and friends’ responsibility to provide food for hospital patients.

As quickly as possible we cook up a pot of nsima, rice, hard boiled eggs, and tomato/onion “soup”.  It should be enough food for all of us ladies who had been waiting on Mrs. Handemu. While we’re cooking Mrs Kabayame tells me that Mrs. Handemu had been carrying water, washing pots, and all kinds of other chores this morning.  She had begun labor contractions sometime the night before, yet she still went about her responsibilities in the morning.  When I came to the compound to pick her up she was probably already nearly fully dilated.  It was only about 1 hour and 20 minutes between when we arrived at the clinic and when the baby was born. 

About an hour later we return to the clinic. As we drive past Rev. Habbaba’s house we shout out the window, “It’s a boy!!!”  They clap and jump and dance at the exciting news. 

Arriving at the clinic, food in hand, we find a much more relaxed Mrs. Handemu with her precious teeny tiny baby who has already discovered how to nurse and is happily sucking away. 

Mrs. Handemu gratefully accepts the food and begins eating.  After a few happy photos, the rest of us take our food outside to eat our portion. 

As we’re sitting in the shade, still 100+F, I feel the adrenaline wear off and exhaustion set in.  Although hot and tired I am bursting inside with JOY. 

Mrs. Kabayame:  Lauren!  You have killed an elephant!!

Me:  WHAT?!!? 

We all roar with laughter.

Me:  What!? That sounds terrible!!

Mrs. Kabayame: No, it is a good thing!  It means you have successfully accomplished a very big job!

Me:  Haha oh!  Wow… so I killed an elephant AND delivered a baby all in one day!?! 

We return to Mrs. Handemu and ask if there is anything else she needs.  She asks for some tea and scones, and I happily agree to bring her some. 

As we drive out of the clinic we see MR Handemu coming down the path- someone was finally able to contact him and he came as quickly as he could from the village he was visiting.  We announce to him he is the father of another baby BOY.  This photo explains it all:

The ladies help me wash dishes, bake some scones and make some tea.  In the meanwhile they share stories with me of their own deliveries… let’s just say there was so much laughter in my apartment that people came by asking to see what the excitement was all about. 

We return to the clinic and find Mr. Handemu very happily and proudly holding his baby.  My heart melts.  There is something extremely significant about a father holding his child in this culture.  It is a symbol of the shift of gender roles and expectations.  A father is now allowed to express his love for his children and help to take care of them.  This father was bursting with excitement and joy, so much so that he was dancing J

Me: Mr Handemu, you should be very proud of your wife- she did a great job.  She is very strong!

Mr. Handemu: (very genuinely) Yes! I am SO proud of her.  She is so wonderful, and I am so happy for my new baby!!

We all pass around the baby taking pictures, giggling as the little tiny person in our arms sucks on his hands and attempts to suck our fingers too.  

Someone suggests to Mr. Handemu that he needs to buy his wife a new chitenge.  A new chitenge for a new baby!  He happily agrees and skips out of the ward running off to the nearby shops. 

I give Mrs. Handemu a handful of pads, happy to be able to give her something more sanitary than her chitenge cloth.  At least for the next couple days she’ll be able to have something more comfortable.  I also hand her a little newborn outfit that I have been saving for her baby.  These are the first clothes this baby will wear J

The other ladies check the time and realize that they should be getting home to cook food for their own families, and I happily agree to call it a day. 

And WOW what a day!!! There is still a giant pile of papers on my desk to grade and lessons to plan and plenty of other things to DO.  But I can’t imagine a better way to celebrate International Women’s Day!!

On March 8^th 2013 at approximately 1:30PM I helped to deliver a little baby boy.  The Lord has known this little baby from before the time he was conceived.  He looks so tiny and frail, and he is- yet the Lord knows him.  He knows the name that this baby hasn’t been given yet, he knows his future, he knows everything.  Without any doctors, medicine, monitors or comforts, this little life came into the world simply and beautifully by the unique and perfect way that the Lord designed it to happen.  What an amazing blessing to be a witness to the messy, smelly, and yet so beautiful moment of this little life entering the world!!