What started out to be an educational and voluntary trip, turned into a true test of life. Each morning
before we would go onto our shift, we shared a daily devotional, a prayer, and sang a hymn together. It
was like the great crusades going into battle together. The cultural barrier didn't exist here for us.
We were united in a single cause, to help these women and their babies. Our weapons were our instruments,
our knowledge and our beliefs. What we didn't have to fight with, we did without. Sometimes we won the
battle, and others we lost. It was in these times of loss that we found our strength in God, each other,
and within ourselves. We trusted our hands to guide each and every baby into the safety of its mother's
waiting arms.
One by one, the women came. Some nights there would only be a few, and some there were more than we knew
what to do with. Once we even caught a baby on the delivery room floor because of a lack of a bed. And a
quick glance into the labor room one evening we found 19 women laboring on only 8 beds! Though family and
friends were not allowed to accompany the women, they found comfort and suppoert in each other in their
times of need. They didn't know each other's names, but that didn't matter. As the time would draw near
for one, others would gather around and support her. One young mother, Racquel, was 15 years old and
came to us in early labor. She had a very hard time, especially being alone. I wanted terribly to get her
mother for her! As the hours wore on, I noticed how tired and terribly scared she was. I sat with her as
much as I could through the night, taking her through each contraction. At one point, I needed to go and
deliver another baby. The woman on the bed behind her was having her second baby, and was in early labor.
I asked her if she would hold Racquel's hand until I came back. She nodded, and instead slid onto the bed
behind Racquel and held her in her arms, like it was her own child. I was deeply moved. When Racquel was
finally ready to have her baby, she came walking across the hallway on the arm of this older woman. After
her baby boy was born, we sent him to the nursery, because he was small and premature. She walked back
across the hallway as soon as she could, and went to the bedside of the woman who had held her. She stayed
there until it was time for her baby to be born. I can remember vividly her absolutely radiant smile and
beautiful young face. It was truly a community event, as almost every birth was. This is quite the contrast
with the American love for privacy! We wanted to love them, comfort them, and hold their hand. But it was
quite common to have several births happening at the same time. Most of the time we didn't even remember
their names. After a few days, we began referring to ourselves as the "Zombie Midwives."
When a woman was ready to deliver her baby, she walked across the hall, alone, with her bundle in her hand
to receive her baby. It really was a sight to see! Their babies came so quickly, with most pushing stages
well less than half an hour. And when her baby had come, she paraded down the hall to the postpartum ward,
only to be greeted by the still laboring women with smiles and congratulations. She would remind them that
their time was near. We would help them into bed, and settle in to nurse their babies. Every baby down
there was breast fed. I didn't see a single bottle while I was there, not even in the nursery. They are
truly advanced and dedicated in this area. The education and suport these women receive is commendable.
Having a baby was a normal part of everyday life, as it should be.
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