Never Say Never

Isn't that the expression? I said I would never go into the maternity building after dark. For some reason, babies prefer to be born at night. Maybe they have become used to the darkness in the womb. I don't know. Maybe they just want to wake everyone up. Whatever the reason, I know better than to go near that building after sunset. In my village it seems like every night a baby is being delivered, so our clinic's midwife is a busy woman. She almost never leaves village at all; she is too important not to be there.

There is a situation which occurs every few months or so, where for some reason or another all of our three qualified medical professionals in village have left, leaving me alone. Last Friday was just such a night. It is similar to an eclipse, where everything needs to line up perfectly. My major, the head nurse, was out of town, planning his wedding, I think. Madame Zongo, the assistance nurse, was in Ouahigouya for additional training. And Agi, the midwife who never seems to leave. . . seemed to have left, for some reason. It is like the perfect storm, and I am left to man the dinghy alone.

It was probably around 8pm when I hear a knock on our gate. I was in the middle of waching a movie, (Smokin' Aces to be exact) so I paused it to see who it was. A man on a moto was behind the door, a bit shocked I think to find a whitie on the other side. With my basic Mooré skills, I am able to deduce that there is a woman at the maternity whose stomach is hurting. I explain that I am not a doctor and that none of the clinic staff is there tonight. As a Peace Corps volunteer, it is prohibited to give technical medical assistance since we do not receive training for that. After I explain that to him the best I can, he leaves, and I return to my movie.

Perhaps thirty minutes later, I get another knock, this time from two different men. They tell me the same thing, and I tell them there is nothing I can do. They then ask me to come anyway, just to look. I think to myself that if someone is actually in serious danger, I would regret not doing anything. I grab a flashlight and lock my house, and we walk towards the maternity. I try to ask if she is going to have the baby tonight but I don't understand the response. I was nervous, since all I know about delivery babies comes from television shows and movies. As we get to the building the men stop at the doorway, not actaully going to go inside. Another red flag I shouldn't be here. As I enter cautiously, I hear crying, not the crying of a pregnant woman but rather that of a baby. I walk into the delivery room and see a young woman lying down. An older woman is there as well, which comforts me to know I am not the only one. As I get closer, I see the source of the crying - a tiny baby lying on the table between the woman's legs, its cord still attached.

I realize, lucky for me, the baby had already been born. The mother was moaning quietly and looked in pain. I asked, ¨Your stomach is hurting?¨ She says yes, and then I start to worry. Complications? Could something have happened during the delivery? But then I think, she just had a baby. My stomach would hurt too if I had just pushed that out of me! So I go check on the baby. A little pale but crying alot, which I assumed was a healthy sign. The other woman seemed have handled everything well, but now she was searching the room for something. She needed alcohol, but we couldn't find any, so I head over to the main building to get some from the storage closet. When I get back, she saids we need scissors. Luckily, the word scissors sounds the same in French and in Mooré. I walked to a table to see literally more than a dozen pairs of scissors of different sizes and shapes. Now which are the ¨cutting the cord¨ pair? Eeny, meeny, miny, moe. I used a strip of fabric to tie a tight knot in the cord a few inches from the baby, held the flashlight, and let the woman do the actually cutting, which proved more difficult that I had imagined. Eventually she was able to cut all the way through. Then we lifted the baby and wrapped him tightly in some cloth. I ask the woman again if her stomach was still hurting, and she said no. The other woman says that we are finished, so I congratulate the new mom and head out. The men are still hanging out outside and I tell them that everything seems to be ok. When I got back home, I was so tired. I went to bed, leaving my movie to be finished the next day.

Although I didn't have to actually deliver the baby, it is as close to it as I would like to get here in Burkina. I checked the next morning and both baby and mother were fine and thankfully the assistant nurse returned that morning, relieving the pressure off me. Never say never.

I bet you never thought I would put up more photos either, but you are wrong. Thanks to suspiciously fast internet, enjoy more photos I have taken in and around my village, Aorèma.

This is one of my moringa trees in my yard. It now reaches a foot or so above the wall. This is the kind of tree that is packed full of nutirents. Through harvesting and adding the dried leaves in sauces and such, it can greatly increase the nutritional value of otherwise less healthy meals.

This is a picture of a frog. Sorry it is not a better shot, but they are actaully smaller than a jelly bean. I have never seen a frog so tiny before. When I first saw them, I wondered how flies could hop.

Found across Africa, the baobab on the other hand can grow to enormous size. The trunks of some are wider than a car. They use the leaves of the baobab to make a sauce used for to, a Burkinabe dish made from millet.
I have to give credit to the makers of Shrek. Never did I know how annoying donkeys could be until I moved here. I have been waken up at all hours by what sounds like an asthmatic horse trying to cough up a hair ball.
Women getting water at the well. Whenever I have my camera out, everyone wants their picture taken.

Kids riding a donkey cart. In Burkina, when you have heavy things to move, you don't call a moving trunk, you call a donkey cart. A pretty reliable system, albeit very very slow.

What do people think of when they think of Africa? Yes, people carrying things on their heads. This is nothing. I have seen women carrying on their craniums firewood in bins the size of large trashcans. Pretty crazy.


Really cool lightning over the clinic. I think my neighbors are used to seeing me with my camera whenever a storm comes.

And I leave you again with another one of my favorite recent shots. Right before a storm comes, the wind picks up, turning the sky brown with dust. When this happens, everyone knows to get home fast before things get worse. I got this photo right in my courtyard looking over the wall, as some kids retreat with a bull into the haze of sand. Until next time!

P.S. I made slight changes to my wish list, so check that out. I really appreciate everything everyone has sent. Thank you.