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January 2001
JUMLA JOURNAL
Dear Friends,
Kali Maya goes to Kathmandu
Kali Maya is a 5-month-old little girl from Pere village, a 6-hour
walk from Jumla Bazaar. Her mother left her with her 10-year-old
sister while she went to the forest. The sister put the baby to
sleep by the open fire and went to play with her friends. When
she returned, Kali Maya had rolled into the hot coals and had
full burns on both legs from the knees down. Her parents brought
her to the district hospital. She was sent to INF clinic for dressings.
But Kali Maya needed more care than could be provided in Jumla
if she was to ever walk. Several phone calls were made to arrange
her transfer to the mission hospital in Kathmandu. People were
to meet her plane in Nepalganj and see that she got on a flight
to Kathmandu. They would then call the designated person in Kathmandu,
who would meet the plane at the airport and take them to Patan
Mission Hospital. No tickets were available on the Friday flights,
so plans were changed to send them on Saturday. I told the mother
I would come at 7:30 a.m. to take them to the airport. I arrived
on time Saturday, but her mother was having second thoughts. She
had never been outside of Jumla—airplanes, etc. were all
new to her. Everyone around told her what a fortunate person she
was and that she should not pass up this opportunity. On the way
to the airport, when no one was around to intimidate her, I asked
if she planned to go or not. "If not," I said, "there
is no reason to waste your time or mine. I will go home and you
can do as you like." "I’m going, I’m going,"
she replied. Off we went to the airport. The plane was delayed
so we waited over two hours. Kali Maya’s mother said she
was going to see her sister who was near the airport and would
return in a short time. I waited over an hour and then went looking
for her, to no avail. She had gotten frightened and ran away.
I was angry. Four hours the previous day and five on Saturday.
That was it. I would have nothing more to do with them. A couple
of nights later, I awoke at 3 a.m. with the thought, "What
if God had given up on me that quickly?" Okay, Okay, God.
I get the idea. I had an antenatal clinic the following weekend
near her village. If she didn’t show up before then. I would
go looking for her.
After the clinic the following Saturday, I sent a message to
her house. An hour later, the mother and child came to the place
I was staying. Kali Maya’s legs were black from the knees
down. Her feet were swollen and all the toes falling off. "She
cries all the time," her mother complained. "It hurts,"
I replied. "Are you still giving her the medicine?"
(She had been given antibiotic and painkiller.) "No, it’s
all gone." I told the mother I was traveling to Kathmandu
myself in two days. If she wanted to go, she must take Kali Maya
to Jumla for dressing and be prepared to go with me. "Of
course I want to go. I didn’t really run away the last time.
It was just that I had heard my older daughter had fallen and
I came home to check oil her," the mother said.
We arrived at Jumla airport at 9 a.m. No one was sure if/when
planes would come. If one did, it wasn’t certain we would
get tickets. There were a lot of people trying to leave that day.
We managed to get tickets to Nepalganj on a flight that arrived
in Jumla at 11:30 a.m., despite the fact that the airport was
to be closed after 11 a.m. every day. Switch planes and we were
off to Kathmandu. The taxi ride from the airport to the hospital
was much more frightening than the plane ride for Kali Maya’s
mother. We went to the emergency room, which was busy. Four hours
later, Kali Maya was admitted to the hospital. Other parents in
the room took pity on this woman from far away and helped her
learn the hospital routine. Kali Maya has had surgery to clean
her burns and is getting good medical care.
A typical Jumla birth
Monthly antenatal clinics in Chhumchaur are going well. This
past month, 47 women came, along with the traditional birth attendants
from their respective villages. Of these, 23 were there for the
first time. The clinic went later than I had planned—too
late to return to Jumla that day. My friend and I stayed at the
home of Nepali Christians friends who live on the way home. The
younger sister-in-law was pregnant and had gone a couple of weeks
beyond her due date—not that due dates are very exact here.
Most of the time, it is a matter of asking, "Was it the beginning
of the month, the end or somewhere in between?" The sister-in-law
was around when we arrived, but later was not to be seen. After
eating, there seemed to be a lot of whispering, and younger children
were told to go to the neighbors for the night. I told my friend
it must be time. Many villagers are of the belief that if you
can give birth with very few people knowing about it, the delivery
will be easier. Soon the room started filling with smoke. They
must have started a fire downstairs. Tracey and I played Yatzee
and pretended we had no idea what was happening. Later, a neighbor
came over to talk with us. She also was pregnant. We talked for
a while, and then she said she was going downstairs to see how
things were going. She soon returned. "It is very difficult
down there. They want you to come down." Not exactly sure
what they expected of me, I said a prayer as we went downstairs.
Through one room into an inner one— no windows, an open fire
to one side, smoke so thick you couldn’t breath standing
up. It wasn’t the cowshed, but it was far from being a clean,
birthing environment! All I had with me was a fetal scope from
the clinic. Strong fetal heart. Mother’s pulse was good.
No gloves, so I couldn’t check dilation. "We just need
to wait," I think. One of the women (there were two pregnant
women in the room) said "If she doesn’t have this baby
soon. it won’t be born until morning." "Why is
that?" I asked. She looked at me as if I didn’t know
anything. "'Everyone knows that babies are never born in
the middle of the night!" "They are in my country,"
I replied. During the labor pains, the mother-to-be would repeat
"Father in heaven…Lord Jesus…Loving Father"—she
wasn’t swearing. First time I had ever heard anyone say that
at such a time. Later she asked us to pray for her. The sister-in-law,
one of the pregnant neighbors, and I laid hands on her and prayed
for strength, endurance—and for the baby to come quickly!
The pregnant neighbor said, "I hope my day never comes!"
"You intend to carry that baby for the rest of your life?"
I asked.
At 10: 15 p.m., a healthy, large (by Nepali standards) baby boy
made his appearance in that smoky cold room. Someone produced
some string for tying the cord—not sterilized of course.
Someone else was sent upstairs to get a knife from the kitchen.
"At least put it in the fire to sterilize the blade,"
I said. Then came the discussion as to the proper way to tie the
cord before cutting. I lost the discussion to the neighbor (who
has had children). The kitchen knife proved so dull it couldn’t
have cut hot butter. It gnawed its way through the cord. "Lord,
they say neonatal tetanus doesn’t exist at high altitudes.
But, just in case it does, protect this little one." A shawl
was provided to wrap the baby—but it had been used earlier
in the day to carry leaves, etc. from the forest and had lots
of stickers and thorns in it. I went upstairs and got my flannel
nightgown. Wasn’t going to get much sleep that night anyway
and I would be home the next morning. Took the baby out of the
shawl, and he was bleeding from the cord. I did not say, "You
should have done it my way," but I did insist on another
tying. A little after midnight we all had a cup of tea, gave thanks,
and prayed blessings on the little one, and I went to bed with
two thoughts—"It is a miracle the infant and maternal
mortality rates aren’t higher than they are and, I am going
to purchase a couple of home delivery kits for the other two pregnant
women." These simple kits contain: a bar of soap, sterilized
string for tying cord, a new razor blade for cutting it and a
piece of plastic to put over the dirt floor. They are inexpensive
and advertised over the radio. These women had heard of them,
just didn’t see the need for the expense (less than 50 cents
each).
Many thanks to all of you who sent Christmas cards. Your thoughtfulness
is much appreciated.
As you pray, please remember to include:
Healing for Kali Maya and opportunities for her mother to hear
the good news while they are in the hospital. For all children
left by open fires this winter.
Thanks for a safe delivery, and continued health for the mother
(she has a history of postpartum depression). For safe deliveries
in less than ideal situations. For the Safe Motherhood project,
due to start in Jumla in March.
A stable government—political instability continues to
be a problem.
In Christ,
Nancy McGaughey
The 2001 Mission Yearbook for Prayer & Study, p. 152
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