Babycatcher

Malawi was lovely. It was wonderful to be back. Even before I actually stepped off the plane a Malawian nurse on-board recognized me and said, “Welcome Home.” Mrs. Namaleu greeted me outside the baggage claim and escorted me to my friend Ruth’s home - a Swiss nurse working at the American Embassy. In comparison to Kumasi, Lilongwe looked so tidy. In the months since our departure there had been notable development - new buildings, new traffic lights, freshly paved roads. Though people complained of the heat I felt comfortable, my shirt remained dry against my skin and I could feel a breeze on my face. It felt so good to be with friends, to hear the sounds of birds and bugs rather than radios and conversations as I fell asleep and woke up, it felt so good to be with friends, and it felt great to be useful again.

I did find a small dose of shock waiting for me as I was confronted again by the grip of HIV on the country. In Ghana the HIV rate is reported to be around 4% (while in Malawi it is 14%) but even with the hundreds of women I have seen for prenatal care in Ghana I noted that only one of them tested positive. Perhaps I am less aware of the effect of HIV in Ghana because I still have few friends. In In Kumasi, the heart of the Ashanti region, funerals are celebrated grandly and just moving within my limited radius I see about one funeral a week (I am not suggesting that these funerals are all HIV related). All the guests dress in black, large tents are erected - sometimes blocking off a section of road, people dance, and the drumming and music can be heard from great distances. Evenso, in Malawi quiet funerals marked only by a couple branches laid down on the road in front of the house and crowds of men and women sitting outside, the funerals seem much more visible. All my Malawian friends told me about relatives who had died, about siblings who had tested positive, and about co-workers who had died since I left. During my three short weeks in Malawi someone who had helped with my wedding died and a key figure at the hospital died.

In Malawi HIV touches everyone. After each death, children are redistributed to surviving relatives and over time the burden on certain families becomes crushing. As in much of Africa, orphanages in Malawi are rare. When parents die relatives or even villages take on the responsibility of caring for the children. Many times this works well for the children - as they live within a loving familiar environment but other times jealousy, resentment, or poverty work to their detriment.

As we moved around visiting the babies and families we are supporting through our non-profit, African Mothers Health Initiative Mrs. Namaleu often said, “Mutu umodzi susenza denga” One head cannot hold up the roof. She said this in relation to the work she had been doing - as she is our only employee and has been going to great lengths to keep things moving. She would say this in gratitude for my visit and in gratitude for the linkages with others we began to establish but I could not help but apply this to the situation of Malawi in general. Because of HIV the number of heads holding up the roof is decreasing and the remaining people are struggling under a crushing weight.

This is illustrated dramatically by the story of a woman living near Mrs. Msumba the TBA in Kauma. As she was on her way to visit Mrs. Msumba a few months ago Mrs. Namaleu noticed a large group of women gathered around a neighbor’s home. Gradually she made her way to the center of their circle and there she found a toddler with severe Kwashiorkor (a disease of malnutrition, manifested by - generalized swelling, peeling skin, loss of pigment of hair, and areas of the skin which are either hyper or hypopigmented). After inquiring, Mrs. Namaleu learned that the child’s guardian was his grandmother. The grandmother had had 15 children but 12 of them had died in adulthood leaving their children in her care. She was married to a man who was not the father of any of her children but he was a good man and was trying to support them all on his salary as a night watchman. Often they did not have food in the house for days at a time so the grandmother decided to get work at the nearby rose farm. Unfortunately while she was working, spending long hours away from home and from her youngest grandson, his condition deteriorated. After a month of working six days a week and still not having received the measly salary of 1,500MK (about US$10), she returned home. The day Mrs. Namaleu came to their home, hope had disappeared and the women gathered were literally waiting for the child to die.

Without hesitating, Mrs. Namaleu took the grandmother and the child to the malnutrition ward, admitted them, visited them regularly, oversaw his care, and in time the child made a full recovery. However once he was discharged home and stopped receiving the enriched peanut butter based supplement from the hospital he immediately began deteriorating. Again the grandmother took him to the hospital and again he was restarted on the food supplement. At the time of our visit the baby looked very healthy but he was still receiving the supplement and the family worried what they would do once he was again discharged from the program. The grandmother, her husband, and their nine dependents live in a small mud brick home on the outskirts of Lilongwe. We are looking for funds to help support this family. We would like to provide them with what they will need to begin a vegetable garden as well as supplements for the youngest children in the household.

Ruth told me of another friend, an educated middle class Malawian - who has built bunk beds throughout his home to accommodate nieces and nephews, orphaned by HIV. This man who by the standards of most Malawians “made it” is now struggling to stave off poverty. The great tragedy is that these stories are not uncommon and they are becoming increasingly common. How can the weight be redistributed?

On November 4th I was on my way to Malawi. It was time to go and check on the projects I left behind and after a few difficult months in limbo, I was more than ready for a reunion friends and family there. Unfortunately Clement was in the midst of exams so he will stay in Kumasi. I promised to return with edibles and stories. In order to register as a nurse in Ghana I must take an exam. The exam is only offered in June and December and when I bought my ticket they did not yet have a set date in December. After I bought my ticket they set the date for December 3^rd, so in the end Clement and I could have traveled together.

I spent the night of the 4th in Accra with friends. Thoughts of the US election consumed me but even late in the evening, coverage of the US elections was minimal. Though the pre-US-election frenzy was not equal to that in the States, for months Africa had been emotionally participating in the US campaign process. Streets vendors sold homemade pamphlets on Obama and his family and people every where discussed what Obama’s election would mean for the continent and whether it was truly possible. The night of the 4th I only lightly skimmed the surface of sleep then around 4am I heard someone switch on TV. Relieved, I jumped out of bed and rushed to a chair in the den. We heard McCain’s speech and then moments later Obama‘s acceptance speech. A friend called and said people were dancing in the streets in New Hampshire. My cousin in New York wrote an email saying people on his block were chanting, “Si, se puede.” As I began my journey, to the airport in Accra then to Nairobi then to Lilongwe, every television along the way was tuned to the coverage of the US election results. People kept asking if I was an American, if I voted, and if I voted for Obama. Each yes was met with cheers and handshakes. I don’t remember ever feeling this way. I guess for the first time I was beginning to believe in the American dream; recognizing with awe and pride the reality of dramatic peaceful transformation of a country in the span of a single lifetime. My mother, my aunts and uncles lived under Jim Crow, my older cousin desegregated their high schools, and now we have a black president. Hope and change don’t sound like mere slogans but forces that have been working their way up to the surface and are beginning to bubble.