More On Transportation

On Friday I went back out to Mukonchi to interview some women in the hopes of documenting their "story." Just put a name and face to the statistics. Needless to say hearing these women and what they have gone through make complaining about the elevator taking too long to get to the top floor look like a sin. AIDS, lost babies, neighbors, inability to get mosquito nets because their children are over 5 years old and they are not currently pregnant, husbands that just walk away one day and never come home, no transportation, and their biggest wish being that their children will be able to get educated all the way through high school and find a job.

Quite simply, stories of loss and the wish for survival.

After being at this rural clinic for a couple of hours I start talking to one of the staff workers. As our conversation is coming to a close and he has politely answered all of my questions he calmly asks if I'm going back to Kabwe. I tell him yes, and then he starts to tell me about his wife that has given birth to a premature baby at the clinic and needs a way to get to the hospital. After a little confusion (lost in translation) I manage to figure out that she gave birth at 04:00 that day, (it was now 16:00) and the baby was born premature and at 6 months. Of course I try to contain my worry and I immediately tell Humphrey to get ready for company and tell him that we'll take them to the hospital right away. We go to the new mom and I ask to see the baby. They hand me a pile of blankets that was so big that I had to unwrap for some time to try to find the little girl. There she was, sleeping, pink. Still breathing. Everyone piles into the vehicle, I hand the wee one back to her mom and politely suggest to unwrap a layer or two (there were more than 3) to get a little more air to the baby.

I ask the mom how much the baby weighs and she does not know. I ask how many weeks the baby is and she doesn't know, she only knows that she is 6 months along. So now I relax a tiny bit more as I'm thinking that maybe she's further along than she thinks and I know that a baby's chance of survival increases quite a bit each day after 24 weeks.

An hour and a half later we get to the hospital and I carry the baby and help mom walk down to the nursery, while dad carries the luggage. I can't imagine being in the back of a car for this rough, bouncy ride shortly after giving birth, and I can't imagine how that baby felt being jostled into this world. I ask mom if she has any pain and she quietly says yes but her eyes tell me "YES!" I wonder if she's had anything to help make her more comfortable. She didn't make a peep the entire ride. Either way baby is now admitted and in a nurse's arms, so I take our exit after wishing the family well.

What struck me is that the dad is a staff member of the clinic. There is an ambulance in Kapiri Hospital that is supposed to be dispatched to the clinic and take them to the hospital in Kabwe. The truth is that the ambulance will come if there is money for fuel and it is available. When I had asked him during the journey if they were waiting for an ambulance to come when we showed up first, he told me he didn't even radio because he knew they would never come. This is a member of staff! He won't even radio because he knows the chances of getting transport are unlikely. Instead, he waited until something else came along.