He said that his compound was close. Just on the other side of the three distant acacia trees. Deborah grabbed her labor and delivery kit and we set off after him. Forty-five minutes later, we stepped into the dark chet in which his wife was attempting to deliver twins.
The first level of the hut was filled with women smoking, drinking Methe, the local brew, and awaiting the arrival of the second baby. Labor had started early the day before. More than 24 hours later, at 7 am, the older twin, a baby boy, was delivered. However, by the time Deborah and I arrived nearly five hours had elapsed and still there were no cries heard from baby number two.
Once our eyes adjusted to the blinding darkness, we found the mother squatting on a small rock, cradled from behind by another Didinga woman. The ornamental scaring of her youth was distorted on her naked belly, swollen and hard with contractions. She was calm, silent and obedient - child-like in her dependence upon those surrounding her. Without taking the effort to think, she followed the instructions given and seemed to trust those around her with not only her life, but that of her unborn child.
The labor was discussed with the two midwives and five other nursing mothers present. Not being trained in labor and delivery, Deborah did the best she could in assessing the situation. The group was amused, if not slightly disappointed, that both Deborah and I, two boogeches, or women without children, had been sent for. We couldn’t help but agree with their assessment, acknowledging the wealth of knowledge and experience these women possessed.
Eventually, a jug of Methe was given to the younger of the two midwives/witch doctors. She passed the container around the mother’s head three times in a clockwise circle. Small sips of the local beer were then taken by the mid-wife and spit on each side of the mother. In between contractions, taking her turn, the mother rhythmically spit the brew around the room. When she was done drinking the local beer, she was handed a long tobacco filled pipe. Deborah’s warnings of imminent danger to the baby were overlooked and only when the pain’s intensity grew too strong for smoking, did she pass it on.
With few options, no medicine and the closest clinic a day’s walk away, Deborah encouraged the mother to breast-feed the new little boy in hopes of increasing her contraction’s strength and frequency. However, this suggestion was also vetoed as the newborn had already been fed by one of the other new mothers present and would not be allowed to “steal” the milk from the unborn child.
In the end, we encouraged the father and, more importantly, the crowd of women gathered, to take the woman to the closest clinic in Nagishot. We prayed with the group and realized our complete dependence on the Great Physician, our Lord Jesus Christ.
After more than 48 hours of hard labor this mother died in Nagishot. Her unborn child was cut out of her, and lived. A week after my initial visit, I returned to this compound. I found the twins, Dowdie and Tabon (Hard Labor), strapped to the backs of their older sisters. Their bodies were decorated with the witch doctor’s charms, their bellies full with a wet nurse’s milk.
They asked me to take the children home and…I wished that I could.
