#newbabymama

She descended the stairs painfully, basin and bag on her head, baby on her bosom.
I asked if I could help.
She said "yes" and handed me the heavy baggage.
She told me she was leaving the hospital after being admitted for a week. That she had been discharged earlier in the day.
She wanted directions to the stage where she board a taxi to Gayaza.
She had called her husband about six hours earlier (it was now 5pm) and she was tired of waiting.
I told her she would not make it to the stage in her condition. Freshly C-sectioned, lugging a heavy bag and basin, and her baby.
Could we call her husband perhaps.
No, because her phone had blacked out.
"You can use mine," I offered.
So she did. And smiled as she talked to him. He said he was a few minutes away.
I offered to wait with her.
Her baby boy was swaddled loosely in a cheap blue blanket. It did not look like a baby. She had covered its face completely.
I told her to allow him to breathe. Cover his head, yes, but allow him to breathe.
So we sat at the benches on Floor 2 and waited.
Mulago hospital. The place where, when all else fails, you are referred. No medicine, rude nurses, rotten rusty beds. New mothers lying in the chilly corridors, minutes after a cruel experience in the delivery room. Bloodied, swollen faces look up to you in the Casualty ward. Boda boda accidents mostly. Broken and twisted limbs. Police patrol cars racing in and out of the gates. The lift also badly needs treatment. It is so old and creaky. The floor paneling is worn out, and the wood is showing. You almost have the feeling that you will fall right through.
After about 20 minutes on the hard benches, I dial her husband's number again. He tells me, his voice sounding very out breath, that he had left the hospital because he had searched in vain for her. But he would be ten minutes.
She is staring into space.
After about 10-15 minutes, I call him again. "I'm just round the corner, I'll be with you any time now."
I stand up, ready to see who he is. Actually, I have made up my mind that he must be pretty irresponsible.
Five minutes turn into 10, then 20.
I'm frustrated, but keep my cool. I tell her that I will help her get home. It's very windy and not good for the baby.
She gets up, baby in hand. I grab the bag and basin and we started walking. That's when she tells me how much of a bum her husband is.
I am beginning to doubt this word "husband" which women these days just love throwing around. He is your "hubby" because you are shacking up with him. Girl, he ain't nobody hubban!!
"I tell you madam, I have really suffered in this hospital," she starts. "I came here on Tuesday, was operated upon and my baby was taken to emergency because he was breathing badly. I couldn't even walk to check on him because I was so weak and in pain. I have not been eating, because he left me no money, and yet he told the nurses on the first day, that he had left me enough and would check on me.  He has never come."
I notice she is kind of limping. The strap of her plastic sandals is cut. "I asked him to bring me a pair of shoes but he refused, saying I don't need them. I tell you madam, I have really had it. But I just wish I could get home, then everything will be okay."
My heart went out to her. She didn't look a day over 22, and here she is telling stories like she has lived to be over 50.
We get to the bodaboda guy. I give him a lecture about her delicate situation, and that he should transport her and the baby safely. I pay him 2,000 shillings, give her another 5,000, and wave her good bye.