Men nana niibi tey?

On Sunday at 11:10 am, my host son was born.  Technically, he’s my nephew, but in Senegal, your father’s brothers are called your father and their children are your siblings and their children’s children are your children.  He won’t be  named until the baptism this coming Sunday, but for the moment, he has the generic name of Nene (applied to any newborn, male or female) Thiam.

I was at the weekly market when he was born.  That morning, I had opened my door to my host mom asking if I would be going into town that day; only when I had denied the fact did she tell me that Thiam Thiam had left at the 5 am morning prayer to go to the maternity clinic.  But I still had to go to the market to buy vegetables for myself and my host family for the week as well as to work my table teaching people about moringa.  When the number of people approaching me about moringa started to die down around 3, I quickly packed my bag before more arrived, brought the table over to a nearby compound where I store it each week, and began the 5 km walk to the maternity clinic.  Thiam’s mom was still at the market selling squash, but my host mom had finished selling her sweet potato and had already left.

I arrived at the maternity clinic to find Thiam’s grandmother and my host sister Binetou.  Thiam’s grandmother had accompanied her to the clinic this morning since my host mom and her mom were both at the louma selling.  In Senegal, all responsibility should fall to the mother-in-law, so my host mom was supposed to be there.  Luckily, her grandmother had agreed to assist.  (And they’re all related anyway.  She is married to my host dad’s brother, but my host dad’s father’s co-wife’s son is her dad.)  It was now 4, but they hadn’t been allowed in to see Thiam since they’d arrived that morning.  In Senegal, women who give birth at health facilities do it alone.  No family is allowed in the room, no one talks to the women, and no help is provided.  She just lies on a bed, takes hold of the bedframe if she needs to, and has her baby.  I was told later that Thiam is a strong woman because she did not make any noise while giving birth.

I joined them in sitting under the shade structure to wait.  Soon, my host mom arrived with my host dad, host brother, and Thiam’s 2-year old son Samba.  He missed his mom already, and I made it my responsibility to entertain him as we were waiting.  Suddenly, he caught sight of his mom through a window and couldn’t stop calling her name and laughing.  Shortly after, we were allowed in to see her.  She was lying on the bed with her son wrapped up in pieces of fabric.  I sat with her awhile.  My host mom had brought lunch, and we all sat down around the bowl to eat.  Later, when everyone went to leave, Thiam looked at me and asked if I was leaving too.  I said I could stay if she wanted, and so I remained there with her and my host mom.  I sat with her for a bit, and then I went outside to the shade structure with my mom.  It was getting dark, and I assumed we’d be spending the night there, so I spread out my tablecloth from my market stand and lay down.  I pulled out a carrot I’d bought at the louma and split it in half for dinner with my host mom.  I didn’t mind at all, but as soon as I got comfortable, one of the nurses came over and saw me.  She started laughing really hard.  Apparently, only mother-in-laws ever stay over (just the one person) and they always take one of the empty beds in the room if available or else share a bed with the new mother.  Never do they pass the night outside.  I was given a bed inside next to Thiam and then was called to eat dinner with the midwife’s family and other nurses.

The next morning, we were switched to a room in another building.  We stayed there all day, waiting to be told we could leave.  I helped Thiam understand her medicines: iron and paracetemol for herself, amoycillin and paracetemol for the baby.  Later, she was also given hemorrhaging meds and amoxicillin.  I explained the purpose of each medicine, since the nurses only instruct in when to take the meds and how much, but not what they do.  That morning, my host brother stopped by on his way to the high school.  Later, Thiam’s mom stopped by with two other women from my village to see the baby.  In the afternoon, my host aunt, host brother, host sister, and Samba stopped by to see Thiam.  They came on a donkey cart expecting to bring Thiam home, but she wasn’t released yet.  The baby had been large, and they’d made a cut to get him out.  The cut wasn’t healing well, and they wanted to keep her in the hospital to monitor it and ensure that she was keeping clean.

We stayed in the hospital for 4 nights; I never left.  I’m glad that I was able to be there for her.  My host mom’s job was to do laundry, and she was constantly washing Thiam’s skirts and the baby’s wrappings (since they don’t use diapers here).  I was also able to ensure that Thiam ate breakfast by buying her a bean sandwich and coffee every morning.  My host sister works as a maid in the town, so she’d bring lunch over every day around 4 and then the donkey cart would arrive with the rest of my host family later.  They’d bring lunch, which we’d save for dinner.  I also ate a second lunch and dinner with the midwife’s family and spent some time hanging out with her children who are my age and educated, which was nice.  Every day passed pretty much the same.  We’d wake up in the morning, Thiam’s mom would visit briefly either alone or with other women from the village and my host brother would stop by on his way home from school, but otherwise it was really quiet.  Then it’d get really loud for the hour that my host family all came to visit.  And then they’d leave, and it’d be quiet again except for our conversation and that of (and with) other women in the room; we shared a room with 1-2 other new moms and their mother-in-laws.  I kept Thiam entertained by telling stories, crocheting a hat for the baby, making paper snowflakes with her, and just being goofy.  She really appreciated that I was there.  It was fun to be able to see how the maternity clinic truly functions on a 24-hour basis since I’ve only seen it in the morning.  The midwife and nurses work so hard; they’re often there until 9 pm treating patients and then may be up all night assisting with births.  But every day, I would walk into the midwife’s office and say, Men nana niibi tey? (Can we go home today?)  All three of us were anxious to get back to the village, to be with the rest of my host family, to drink Senegalese tea, and be outside instead of stuck inside (though the room was well ventilated compared to American hospitals).