Monday 30 August 2010
You know that smell in a campground, usually late in the evening or early in the morning when most campfires are either just out or just being rekindled? That slightly hazy, charcoal smell? That is what it smells like here. In the villages, food is cooked over an outdoor fire. In some fields they burn the grasses or trees, presumably to amend the soil.
Awoke this morning to a cacophony of birdsong. So many different trills and coos and twitters (and not the electronic kind). There is a bird here with a coo very much like a Maui bird, only with more rhythm. I’d give it an 8 on the American Bandstand scale - nice melody and easy to dance to. There is also a not-too-close by rooster. And last night, I heard what are apparently wild hyenas in the distance. Now that’s an interesting sound.
Lilongwe is one of the largest cities in Malawi. It is the seat of current government. There are factories and car dealerships, hotels and commerce - but all distinctly different from anything familiar. Residential neighborhoods are called areas, and you cannot see anything as houses are sheltered behind brick walls. There are people walking everywhere. There is traffic at the roundabouts at 5:00 pm. The main roads (at least so far here in the northern Lilongwe area) are paved, but every side road, every path, every "shoulder" is red Malawi dirt.
And as we head out of the City this morning on our way to visit a Mission Hospital a couple of hours away, we begin to see greater Malawi. Scattered along the road are small groups of homes, huts really. In the villages, houses are often built of brick but roofed with thatch, or aluminum or a quilt of long, narrow tree branches. Some have thatch walls. Some are clay/adobe that maybe once had fresh paint, but alternating seasons of rain and dry have weathered and pocked and stained them otherwise. There are few windows. There are children everywhere. There are people walking and riding bikes along the road, between villages and on paths the run off presumably to a village deeper into the plains. There are many many goats, some chickens, a pig or two, and oxen-pulled carts. I even saw a white donkey. There are dogs, but not for petting or cooing over.
As we approach a "town center" the number of people increases significantly. Some have set up small stools or tables to sell their wares - tomatoes, beans, unidentifiable things. There are men sitting around under the meager shade afforded by trees. Women, wrapped in colorful chitenjes, walk with large loads of items balanced on their heads, many are barefoot. Children stand by the road and often wave enthusiastically. Most are barefoot; their clothes are worn, tattered, torn, ill-fitting and shabby. This is but a glimpse of what is to come.
We leave the main paved road and turn onto a rough dirt road that travels more intimately through several small villages. We get a closer view of the rural life. After several miles of this, as we approach St. Joseph’s Hospital at Ludzi, we first come upon the church. It is a very, very large, brick church, with stained glass windows, much like you would see really anywhere. Around the corner, we turn into to the gate that leads us to the hospital grounds. There are several buildings, all the single level red brick. There are people milling or sitting near most of them. Because of our number (we are 10), we caravan in three vehicles, each with a Malawi driver. People tend to notice when this many cars show up and once and 10 white people (Azungus) pile out. So we have dubbed ourselves The American Show.
We go first to the new maternity clinic that GAIA built - there is a lovely plaque at the door acknowledging this. We are greeted and escorted by a very petite Sr. Bernadetta who pretty much runs the place. By some amazing providence, we walk in to the delivery room minutes after a baby has been born. The nurse is just putting her on the scale as we enter. As you can imagine, every woman in our group "ooooooh’ed" in chorus.
There were five beds in the room, two of which were occupied. One with the brand new mother now suckling this brand new life. In the bed next to her, was a young woman in the throes of labor. The room, except for the 8 or so of us women clucking around and taking pictures, was very quiet. We did not even realize there was someone in the neighboring bed at first. The curtain got pushed aside, and I saw her lying on her side and slowly trying to turn over or get comfortable, with just a soft moan crossing her lips. We learn later that it is the Malawi way for a woman to stoically and quietly endure her labor and deliver her child. It’s astonishing.
We then visit the next two wards down the hallway where the other new mothers who have delivered in the last few days are resting. It is dormitory style with about 8 beds each. Both rooms are nearly full. Young woman, aged from 16 to 38 are sitting on their beds, with little bundles either asleep under the covers or feeding. They are shy, but allow us to take their pictures. When it is explained to them in Chichewa who we are, they bashfully smile and nod. We learn to say "Zabuna sonse" (congratulations) to them - and they laugh a bit, but smile more broadly. They let us come and see their precious new babies.
Across the hall are two more wards where the expectant mothers who have traveled some ways in from the surrounding villages and are waiting for the labor to start. They come early so that they can deliver their babies in the safety of the hospital. The hospital has no staff or facilities to feed the incipient mothers, so they must bring their own caregiver. These caregivers cook on the outside fire. I forgot to ask where the caregivers sleep. These young women were a little less shy and very happy to have us take their picture.
We then walked to another building, the pediatric hospital, to see a 2 year old boy, Charles, who ad been burned in a cooking fire. This apparently happens in villages with alarming frequency. At night the children awake and are cold because they have little or no blanket. They go out to the fire pit, and sometimes back up too close and fall, or trip and fall in face first. Charles had burns all along his back and buttocks, had just been sedated in order to have his wound debrided. Next to him was another tiny boy, obviously in a lot of pain who had just been scrubbed on his hands and stomach where the color was burned out of his skin. The mothers were sitting with them, quietly taking us all in. Not so many smiles in this room. Walking out through the main ward, the large room was full of beds with sick children (mostly malaria), each one attended by a parent (mostly mothers, but there were one or two men). It was a very quiet room. Not somber, just quiet. (We were assured that once we were out of the building, the parental chatter would resume - and mostly they would be talking about us!)
There were several other outbuildings - Receiving, which included a long hallway waiting room, reminiscent of a train station, a pharmacy with sparely stocked shelves of antibiotics, anti-diarreals and other medicines, some exam rooms and a chapel. Then there was the quarantine building where people with contagious diseases were sequestered. There was a little girl with big Keane eyes watching us parade by with fascination.
There is more this day... but it’s late and this has gone long already.
