Both America 's
and Malawi 's
Independence Days are here! People's, the local small nearby market, has an
Independence Day Deal on Colgate toothpaste.
275 kwacha: a steal. Relevant, the following has entertained me: In
Mzuzu, the nearby large city (loyal reader, you know that by now?) there is a
billboard for Colgate. It features a boy, grinning big, holding out a large rod
of sugar cane with a bite taken out of it. Get it? It's funny because the tooth
care brand is featuring sugar. Dentists! Rach! Weigh in.
As promised, words on this past Wednesday are owed. To Luhomero (pronounced Ruhomero; I don't
know; I now roll the second r) we
traveled, and it is now that I must provide some serious background. Four years
ago, when Emily and her husband were in Malawi, they donated a bicycle
ambulance to Luhomero. What is a bicycle ambulance? It is a bicycle with an
attached metal cart, of sorts, in which a person can lie and be taken to the
hospital. Though the community wanted to name the bicycle after Emily and Matt,
they insisted the community take ownership and responsibility for the bicycle;
that they sustain it. And so, the Safe Motherhood was born, and has only
evolved since. Now, there is a Safe Motherhood Committee, a bicycle ambulance
usage log book, and a Safe Motherhood garden, where crops are cultivated to
raise money for bike repairs. Is that, like, amazing or what? It gets better.
Spearheading the initiative are Richard and Alfred, two
local health surveillance assistants (local health workers) who have
insurmountable pride and respect for the bicycle and its benefactors. They also
have unbelievable insight and skill, and have truly turned the program into
something hard to believe.
On Wednesday, Richard and Alfred had us come to Luhomero for
a program, a day to honor what was
accomplished. It should've been Matt there and not me, but I took enough AV
footage to I think make the day at least come to some sort of life. Attending the
program were 6 local village headmen, the Safe Motherhood committee, at least
10 women who had used the bicycle ambulance, and a handful of dramatists (just
wait). There was a Master of Ceremonies, who stood up every short while to
update the crowd on the order of events, namely what had just transpired and
what was upcoming. Richard, Alfred,
Emily, and I sat on plastic chairs in the front of this outdoor but covered
patio, the headmen also sat in the front, off to the side, and a lot of the
additional guests sat on the floor facing us, with children and infants in tow.
Incredibly, Emily and I had the opportunity to conduct two
focus groups with the women who had used the BA. Approximately an hour and a
half each, the women shared heartfelt stories of how the bicycle ambulance
changed and saved their lives. I can't do a lot of the quotes justice, so at
some time soon I'll share them more verbatim. Let's just say that their
appreciation showed no bounds; their pride in their community low-key but
palpable; their experiences, though some of them years ago, evoking feelings as
if yesterday.
As an intermission to the two focus groups, we saw the drama, basically a play that told the
story of a pregnant woman who required medical care and who first went to the
local traditional healer but then took the bicycle ambulance to the hospital
where she delivered a healthy baby girl.
The drama was complete with dancing, singing, bright costumes, and
props. I can't do it justice in words; I have video footage.
So to conclude: by all of this I am grounded. The women who
told their bicycle ambulance stories brought me to the verge of tears: the good
kind. We're still thinking it out, but we're trying to understand the best way
to potentially expand what currently exists in Luhomero. Richard, whose
contribution I've detrimentally understated, is dreaming (I'm pretty sure quite
literally) of more bicycle ambulances in more villages. We're going to see what happens.
Happy July 4th,
Rebecca
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