Remember Us

About two weeks ago a woman came into Bottom on her own, without a mother or sister or husband, and after she gave birth to a baby girl she died. Sister Mzumara told me about the baby as soon as I walked in Wednesday morning. I found her in the nursery, awake, silently mouthing her hunger, content for the moment, nestled in blankets sent from the States. (Just a little side note, all nurses are called Sister – they are not nuns – the patients even call me Sister Joanna). I asked the Sister in the nursery to call me when the relatives arrived.

After a few hours the mother arrived with an expressionless face and devastated eyes. We sat down with the nursery nurse and when we learned that the father was outside, we called him in so he could also learn how to make milk for his daughter from the powder in a can. Both mother and husband listened attentively, and when the mother-in-law became confused the son-in-law explained the process again. I gave them a ride to the mortuary. The mother carried her daughter’s things on her head, to and from the car, in a bag that almost eclipsed her upright figure. As the men pushed the body of her daughter into the ambulance that would take them to the village, I held her shoulders and then helped her in after the still form wrapped in an old blue blanket. I told the father I would meet him Saturday at 10am at Bottom hospital, to give him more formula, and then we would travel together to his village.

Saturday at 9:54 I left my house, Nathan called a minute later to say he was waiting at Bottom, I told him I was on my way. I got stuck in traffic and arrived at 10:15. He greeted me with a friendly smile and we drove back together 50 kilometers to his home. I realized that he had biked 20 kilometers from his house to a larger town, then boarded a minibus for the remaining 30km and was waiting for me by 10, in a suit. I imagine it was his only suit, threadbare with a tear in the knee. I imagined his wife in heavy labor making her way those 50 kilometers to Bottom Hospital.

Nathan is a farmer with four children. He farms maize and some years tobacco, but not this year. He speaks good English, but he says he just trys. On the way Nathan told me that I should name the child. I suggested a few of my favorite Chewa names but after turning them over on his tongue a few times, it was clear none really satisfied him. I asked him what name he thought would fit and without hesitating he said “Chikumbutsu.” (Good thing I asked, that would have never come from me!) He said it means “Remember us.” I told him it was a good name and he smiled softly.

We first went to his home where he introduced me to his parents and sisters, and they gave me the biggest cucumbers I have ever seen. All of his siblings live within meters of each other in neat mud brick homes with well swept dirt yards. Three of his sisters and his mother sat on the ground preparing pumpkin leaves for cooking and his father leaned back in a chair looking well, although I later learned he has tuberculosis.

From there we went to his wife’s family home, another 12 km away. He said that her family was keeping his children because they needed children around in such a time of sadness. Nathan said he would collect the children in a couple weeks. When we arrived, he ushered me into a small dark room where many female relatives quickly gathered. I held Chikumbutsu as he called her name for the first time. His four year old daughter Pamela climbed into his lap. The women expressed their gratitude. I told them I was sorry. His oldest son Clement went to the field and returned with pumpkins and maize to fill my back seat. So much gratitude for so little, after too much had happened. Then I departed.

Nathan promised he would accompany me until I was sure of the road and Pamela began to cry as he climbed in and so he lovingly took her on to his lap again. We drove about a kilometer and I assured him that I would find my way. The two of them got out and he thanked me again. In my rearview mirror I watched Nathan walking away, back towards the house, with Pamela on his shoulders.