my husband died of AIDS when I was one month pregnant
my best friend died of lymphatic filariasis when I was 3 months pregnant
my mother died of typhoid when I was 6 months pregnant
my sister died of malaria when I was 8 months pregnant
my midwife couldn’t get to our village
because rebels had blown up the bridges
my baby wouldn’t turn, my only living child
– my 6-year-old son who is sick with diarrhoea –
could see her feet
I couldn’t get to the hospital because of the monsoon rains
the nearest doctor was in the city, 150 miles away
my son pulls my baby’s feet out, I bite down on the stick
my baby is blue, and I bleed and bleed
she will not suckle, but I have no milk anyway
because the harvest has failed for the last 3 years
because, thousands of miles away, rich people
have changed the climate with their cars and factories
my baby dies when she is two days old
I die of septicemia the day before her
my 6-year-old son has no family left
and he is very sick.
© Char March
www.charmarch.co.uk
One Response to “My whole birth plan was ruined (the sub-Saharan Africa version)”
Helen Sargeant
This poem reminded me of how privileged my position as a mother living in the UK is. It is easy to forget how lucky I am to have given birth to two healthy children under the care of the excellent NHS. I am humbled by your thoughtful and provocative words, your kindness, consideration of mothers in Africa. Thank you Char.