I am not always able to take pictures of specific situations. Sometimes I have no camera, sometimes it's just weird to come to someone with a camera in the hand. But I want to share these situations with you, so I want to try and do it via word pictures. So read the story, close your eyes and try to see it- life in Zambia for us.
Today was the third time someone arrived at our door- would you please come, my .............(neighbor, sister, whoever) is having a baby. Each time I feel my stomach sink, O please let me not have to deliver this baby. But I go, with my cellphone, so I can time the contractions or phone Carl, whichever seems more appropriate.
We've made it to the hospital each time, on time. (I went to buy some umbilical cord clamps yesterday to replace my rope I take to the hospital each time- for when we don't reach the hospital).
The first time was a young girl, no crying. Just looked at me with big eyes, what was this white woman with her dirty paint clothes doing in my house? I took her with her mother and grandmother to hospital, had to buy gloves and sanitary pads on the way (the pads cost a days wage). But they arrived very thankful. The baby was born, but died one day later. Leaving me to try and explain to Rashelle why the woman came home without a baby, and my heart aching. No one knows why, no one asks. It's just the way.
The second time, Carl took the lady. Her husband came this morning to say the little boy's name was Brighton. Big name for a little fellow.
The third time was yesterday. I was called before breakfast, once again dressed to paint, but with my teeth still unbrushed. Hope she didn't notice. The contractions were 3 minutes apart, but they waited till the morning before calling us. Their choices are us, the bicycle or the ox wagon. Her husband sat next to me as I examined her holding gloves out at me, as if I should not want to touch her. I knew how much they pay for those gloves, so I was not going to use them. Everything was in place, time to leave for the hospital.
Carl was leaving for town, but had already some other passengers. So we had to squish in. So thirty minutes later we left, teeth now brushed. I suddenly realized, this must be quite the picture. Carl was driving, next to him sat the pregnant lady. Behind then were the children, nicely strapped in. On the back all the pregnant ladies family, the pastor that lives with us, me, and the pastor's dinner. As we were bobbing along the chicken laid his head down on my foot. If I dared to move it, it picked at my foot. So I tried to sit still.
People stared at us from all directions, as you can imagine. I'm sitting there praying that the baby doesn't come on the way. And what does Carl do? He stops to pick up two more ladies that looked like they needed a lift.
We reached the hospital, before the baby came. We are still waiting for news from the hospital. In a country where the child mortality is high, it is not misplaced to keep praying till they come home, and then some more.
I'm planning a sticker for our car: Ambulance Paalman- book when you are seven months
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