Sunday was our first full day in Cabestor. We woke up early prepared to go to church…or so we thought. Cabestor is out in the beautiful countryside of Haiti and surrounded by mountains. We had been told that it would be a bit of a hike and that on our way back we would go on a few home visits. We grabbed our water bottles and supplies for the home visits, tried to dress somewhat nicely, and set out to go to church.
About thirty minutes in, we realized that getting to church was much more of an adventure than we anticipated. The journey could be compared to the stages of labor. The first stage of labor is from the time labor beings until dilated 10 cm. We were in the stage one, trudging up a mountain over rocks, through soggy mud from a storm the previous night, and through the plants on either side of the narrow path. We took multiple breaks to catch our breath and refresh our dry throats. Finally we made it to the top of the mountain, our entire bodies and clothing drenched in sweat as if we had just swam through a river (which would not be totally out of the question.) We continued on down the other side, as I sheepishly passed by women carrying buckets on their heads up the mountain with grace and ease.
Eventually we arrived at a little Catholic church near of the bottom of the other side of the mountain. We laughed at ourselves as we observed others arriving in heels, dresses, and dress pants free from dirt, as we sat there caked in mud with clothes discolored from sweat. We stayed for part of the service but left early to do a prenatal check for a woman at church and then journey on to the home visits.
Unfortunately, it turned out that only one home wasn’t a multiple-hour walk away or didn’t involve somehow crossing the river. We arrived to the home, and I cannot imagine how it was for the mother to have a group of seven white Americans show up at her home, especially in our condition. We completed a postpartum assessment on the mother and her five-day-old baby, who was delivered in her home. One of the valuable aspects of the home visit is to see the home and setting in which the mother and baby live. The home was simple, with two small beds that took up almost entirely each of the two rooms they were in. The only other furniture in the house was a tiny table with a few things on top. A separate building held the kitchen. This mother was beginning to raise her eleventh child in this small space. Some of the other children were scampering around or watching us with curious gazes from the doorway. It was exciting to see that the mother and baby were looking healthy and doing well.
We continued on with the hike, headed back to the birth center in Cabestor. By this point, it was getting to the hottest part of the day, and the air was so thick it almost seemed unbreathable. I trudged along, one chaco after the other. Going back to our labor analogy, we were in the last part of the first stage of labor: transitional labor, which is intense, painful, and difficult. I think those types of words were going through our heads as we continued to climb up rocks up the mountain, getting low on glucose and water. This is when a woman in labor might start saying, “I can’t do this anymore.”
Miraculously, we were saved by a man who had been trying to catch up to us since the church with a bucket full of coconuts he had found for us. I was shocked by the effort he put in for us, a group of strangers. We graciously drank and ate the delicious coconuts, reenergizing our bodies. Time for the second stage of labor: pushing. The reflex kicks in and you just push. We pushed ourselves as we made it the rest of the way up to the top of the mountain, thankfully, with no one passing out.
Stage three: the baby is out, you just have to deliver the placenta, and it’s downhill from here. From the top, we had a glorious view of Cabestor and the surrounding mountains. I breathed a heavy sigh of relief and took in God’s creation with amazement. As we walked along the ridge, we sang together hymns and other songs about journeying and walking. (We found this week that it’s not uncommon for women to break out in song once the baby is out.) We enjoyed the rest of the downhill, passing through the community and soon reaching our destination.
While the hike was rewarding for the view at the top, it was valuable for so much more. It gave us a small glimpse into the daily lives of the Haitians we are working with. For them to get water or go anywhere, they walk these mountains. For the midwives to go on home visits to check on mothers and babies, it requires hikes such as this. It puts into better perspective the effort that must go into providing this type of quality care in an area of Haiti such as this and how that care is very difficult to come by. In the majority of our day, we were only able to make it to one home. There were thirteen on our list of patients needing to be visited. One of my motivations to get through our laborious hike was that many of the women we have been seeing at the clinic walk the entire distance like our “hike,” or from farther way – even four hours. Not only that, but they walk while pregnant and even in labor when coming to the center to give birth. We had our tennis shoes and chacos, but many of them walk barefoot or in flip flops. It was a challenging day but a vital experience to gain understanding of life here and to have a moment to walk in their shoes, or should I say, to walk in their flip flops.
– Leona
emuinhaiti 