PROLOGUE: “A Person who has children does not
die”
~ A proverb from Nigeria
Nov
5, 1968, Accra, Ghana
The red and yellow taxi sped into the tiny alcove at
the entrance to the Korle-Bu Teaching Hospital, spewing toxic smoke from an
exhaust that was so loud it announced its presence long before the car was
visible. It was 2:35 am and the hospital was swathed in darkness, with the few
orderlies and nurses holding lanterns or candles up to light whatever needed to
be lit. A rickety hospital gurney,
flying at top speed down a corridor, met a tall, slim Hausa orderly and
literally knocked the man over. Its inept driver was another orderly, who was
stocky and bore a tribal cut on his left cheek. He lumbered down the corridor,
struggling to hold onto the wayward gurney. Half way down the hallway the gurney got stuck in a large
crack on the floor where an errant tile, laid down circa 1950, had finally
decided to give up the ghost after eighteen years of scant maintenance. It would
seem that the orderly had received instructions to bring this gurney down
because of the screaming woman being helped out of the taxi with legs open wide
and pain contorting her features.
No telephone call had announced her arrival. Two
years after Kwame Nkrumah, the architect of Ghanaian independence, was removed
from power by a military coup, it was unlikely that telephone lines were in
operation, or that if a call had been placed, anyone would care enough to
answer it. The pregnant woman was just over five feet tall with a bouffant
hairstyle, large eyes and, save for the protrusion of an oncoming baby, a
slight build. Helping her out of the taxi were two people, an even shorter
woman, wizened and yet firm, with a strong jaw and piercing dark eyes, wearing
traditional cloth and fake leather slippers. The other one was a tall man in
his thirties with thick black hair and large glasses that made him look every
inch the academic. He looked nervous, like an unwilling participant; the tiny
old woman was leading the way.
“Can’t anyone see we need a doctor?” she shouted
through the darkness.
No one answered her, so she continued pulling the
pregnant woman and the man towards the stocky orderly who was failing to
dislodge the gurney from the cracked floor. She gently released her hold on the
pregnant woman who then leaned heavily on the man. The old woman rushed towards
the orderly, yanked his hands away from the gurney and, with all the force of
her small frame, struggled to dislodge the gurney from the cracked floor.
“So is no one going to help me? The fact that Nkrumah
has been deposed doesn’t mean we can’t use common sense to help people!”
“Please Madam, I was trying to help but…”
“But what? Since you people kicked out the white
people, everything has gone downhill. Are you one of the people who pulled down
Nkrumah’s statue in Accra after the coup? Or are you one of those who admired
him?”
The orderly did not respond. The old woman sucked in
her teeth with a tschew sound as she
kept tugging and pulling the crooked gurney in pitch-black darkness while
muttering to herself.
“This Ghana of ours, when are we going to be truly
free eh? We have the Volta Lake but we can’t make enough electricity. We have
gold but somehow, it cannot be sold to build proper hospitals. We have diamonds
and yet our paved roads end just outside the capital city of Accra. And then
some stupid people decide that the best way to move forward is to kick out the
people who at least knew what they were doing!”
Two things then happened all at once. The gurney came
loose, flinging the old woman against the cement wall just as a wail emanated
from the pregnant woman. Suddenly, lanterns appeared as nurses seemed to spring
into action.
“Look at you people – can’t you see that she is the
one who needs the help? She’s having a baby and if you don’t hurry up, her
husband will also faint from anxiety!”
The old woman was looking angrily at the hospital
workers who had rushed to her aid. She pointed them in the direction of the
pregnant woman and her husband as she struggled to get back on her feet. They
wheeled the pregnant woman along the corridor, taking care to avoid the
potholes in the floor as well as the nervous husband.
The pregnant woman whimpered. The man consoled. The
old woman glared.
By 3:30 am, everyone was tired, especially the
pregnant woman. A doctor had come into the birthing ward at 3 am to assess her
and declared her to be well on the way to delivery of a healthy baby. The
husband was pacing up and down the darkened hallway; anyone passing him as he
paced could hear him muttering a prayer. The old woman was inside the room
holding the pregnant woman’s hand. Every so often she’d bend towards the
pregnant woman and say something softly…it almost sounded like a song.
“Yeh
me ho nsenkyerene, Na ensi mi yie, Na ma tanfo ehu…”
At 4:30am, as the sun began its ascent into the
Ghanaian sky and the cocks were beginning to let out their morning welcome, the
contractions were now just 1 minute apart. The wails had increased in number
and intensity and the prayers coming from the hallway continued abated. There
were now two nurses and a doctor in the room. And of course, the old woman.
“Push, push, push”, they all seemed to be saying.
The pregnant woman did as she was told.
4:45 am arrived. The old woman moved towards the
single window in the room, standing with her back to the action, muttering
under her breath; every so often, she’d turn to look at the heaving woman. She
moved closer as the doctor announced that the head was crowning.
At 4:55 am a baby’s wail pierced the crisp morning
air. There were claps everywhere as all those present rejoiced in the new
birth. Or maybe they rejoiced at the sunlight streaming through the single
window, allowing everyone to do their jobs without the help of a candle or a
lantern. The old woman kept shouting, “Halleluiah! Praise the Lord! Halleluiah,
he is good!” The husband dashed in from the hallway, jubilant. The doctor held
up the screaming baby, mucky from the ordeal, as one of the nurses enveloped it
in a thick white towel.
“Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Apea, you have a baby
girl,” announced the doctor.
“Correction. WE have a baby girl”, said the old
woman.
Everyone laughed heartily, as if they had never been
worried at all. A flurry of activity ensued as the doctor gave orders to the
nurses. The lady in the bed looked exhausted but relieved. The baby was being
measured and prodded at a wooden table by the window while the old lady looked
on. After a few minutes, the doctor left and returned with some papers on a
clipboard.
“Mr. Apea, I’m going to have to confirm some details
in order to register the new baby. Let’s start with the name.”
“Mary Apea,” the father responded without hesitation.
“Ummhhh…. Father’s name we have on record: Emmanuel
Apea. Profession: Chemistry Teacher at Achimota School. Hometown: Asamankese in
the Eastern Region. An address?”
“P.O Box AH1245, Achimota,” Mr. Apea replied.
The doctor made a few scribbles on the clipboard.
“And Mr. Apea, can you please confirm your wife’s
details for me?”
“Yes of course. Her name is Emma Apea. She is also a
teacher by profession, currently at Anumle Middle School and her hometown is
Asamankese also.”
“Thank you,” acknowledged the doctor. He continued
his scribbling for a minute more and turned around when he heard one of the nurses
call to him.
“Doctor, we are done. Would you like to take another
look?”
“Why, what is wrong?” said the old woman springing
into action from her perch at the corner of the room.
The doctor ignored her as he poked and prodded the
little baby. Mr. Apea left his wife’s side and moved across the room to the old
woman, imploring her with his eyes and his words.
“Nana, you know they just say these things as they
check the baby over, so please don’t be worried. We’ve prayed long and hard and
look, Emma is doing well so I’m sure there’s no cause for alarm”.
“But…But…ah well…are you sure?” Nana bleated out.
Mr. Apea smiled a very re-assuring smile. Even Nana
couldn’t afford to be worried as she basked in the glow of Emmanuel’s
confidence that everything would be all right with this first-born child.
¥¥¥¥¥
I loved this story of how I was born because,
somehow, all three family members present at the birth -- Nana, Mummy and Daddy
– managed to tell the story differently. This version just recounted is Mummy’s
and I guess I should take her word for it – she was the one giving birth after
all. Daddy claims that he fell asleep at home after dropping Mummy off at the
hospital, and that he knew I’d been born only because one of his friends, who
was a doctor at the hospital called to congratulate him; he’d thought the
birthing process was a few days long, so it’d be okay to take a nap while Mummy
negotiated labour all by herself! .
For me however, Nana’s tale —given her larger than life
personality—always seemed to have a ring of truth to it. In her version, she alone
delivered the baby. And when I came out, I shocked everyone by uttering my first
word.
And of course I said, “Nana”.
