Like this:

It has taken me a while to publish this blog post.  It was written during my last weeks in Kisangani, DR Congo.  Not sure whether it would be ‘too close to home’ for other friends in similar contexts, or if it was just too hard to read…it lingered amongst my notes.

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However, I think it’s important to share it.  I think it’s important to paint a picture of one woman’s reality behind the cold statistics concerning maternal and infant mortality in the developing world.

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I won’t say ‘enjoy’, I’ll simply say ‘absorb’…

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They say that hard times create solidarity.  One of the dangerous things about being here for ‘so long’ (and seven months is not a long time, really…) is how your life starts to intermingle itself with that of your staff and community.  You inevitably share joys and hardships and it would be near impossible to keep yourself from doing this – especially as that would make the whole experience miserable.

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But it’s quite another experience to walk alongside my staff in their darkest moments.  About the time I arrived in Kisangani, one of the two women who works closest with me became pregnant.  Let’s call her Mary.  In other words, while to most there seemed to only be three women in our office (myself and my two assistants)…in reality, we were four the whole time…just one was in womb.

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It has left an indelible mark on me, after the anticipation and the long wait, that Mary will never get to hold this precious baby.  Labour complications and a doctor that refused to listen to her persistent requests for a C-section, based on a mother’s instinct…meant that a healthy, full-term baby had to be buried.  I’m no obstetrician, but even I could tell his judgement was off – or he simply didn’t care.  This is Africa, damnit.  This is damn well Africa and this is a tragedy.

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I can’t help but feel a partial responsibility.  Had I known how serious it was…had I known how easily I could have called a doctor that I trusted…had she called me earlier to say that things were going terribly wrong…maybe things would have been different.  I’ve asked a lot of “What if…?” questions lately.

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As it happened, she did call me early in the morning 48 hours after going into labour…the fear in her voice was palpable…”Lucy, ca va pas…peut-tu appeler le médicin? Il ne repond pas, il refuse de venir…”  - “Lucy, it’s not going ok at all, can you get the doctor? He won’t respond, he refuses to come…”  There is no other word for it but negligence.  I jumped out of bed, threw on clothes and raced the one minute down the road to the hospital…the doctor walked in on my heels.  Why does it take the mundélé boss in a big white Landcruiser to get some action?  Her parents and brother had been keeping vigil all night – why were their pleas to no avail but my mere presence was “enough to make the doctor tremble in his boots” as Mary herself said?

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It’s hard to believe and an abhorrence that in this day and age, a male doctor can still literally say to a well-educated, well-respected mother of 5 in labour once again “Shut your mouth, you have no place telling me what to do…No, things are fine, just let the miracle happen naturally…”  It’s a scandal, it’s bastardious, and I don’t know how that man can sleep at night.  Lord, have mercy on him – he doesn’t realise what he’s doing.

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He has continued to show very little compassion towards her in her follow up care, administering the minimum of transfusions – probably to save money for the clinic.  And yet ACF pays dearly for such health coverage for our staff.  (Author’s Note: Since this post, we have changed health providers for the staff remaining in Kisangani…)

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As I sat by Mary’s side this evening, something I’ve tried to manage everyday since she lost her child, for the first time she really let it out how angry she was with the doctor.  ”Lucy, he said I had no place to speak up…and look at the result.”  She looks away, at the wall, fighting back tears.  ”I walked into this hospital with a perfectly healthy baby inside me, and I will go home without her…let’s see him tell me who was right…”  Her words will be etched in my mind forever.

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Maybe my own anger towards the doctor comes from a sense of guilt that, had I realised, had I known, had I understood, I could have done more.  Never again.  To Mary’s precious little one who has gone straight to be with the angels, please pray for us down here.  We’ve got a long way to go.
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After reading that, it’s easy to shake one’s head and say “How tragic…”  But please take at least one action…check out MaterCare.  When I was still a university student and ‘wet behind the ears’ in terms of development work, I met one of MaterCare‘s founders, Dr Robert Walley, at a development conference.  I was quickly captured and inspired by the work of Matercare’s gynaecologists and obstetricians who adopt “a preferential option for mothers and babies.”  Their aim is to “improve the lives and health of mothers and babies both born and unborn ” through initiatives of service, training, advocacy and research.  They’re doing everything they can to make sure woman like my assistant Mary and her unborn daughter get the attention they really deserve.

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