the wedding celebration

Jessica Johnson, a Lay Midwife from California, has travel almost half the way around the world to get here.  Her flight from San Francisco to Dulles did not leave because of engine trouble. She was re-routed from SF to Frankfort, Germany, then Lisbon, Portugal then Dakar.  Her luggage is still in Lisbon and will not catch up with her for 5 days. United Airlines did not upgrade her seat or provide her meals.

At 7:00 a.m. M’Backe takes us back to the airport. The same ritual of persistent vendors waiting to serve. But this time I am tired and my diplomacy in negotiating a money exchange is less than suave; I get the rate I want but there is one man who will run from a Sista from the U.S. the next time.

Makeda arrives (no, she was not at her favorite Dakar club, Just For You).  She ask M’Backe what size plane this is and he says,”It is not a small plane. It is a big plane but not a big, big plane.”

Now we have to get the excess luggage on this plane. As a side note this airlines, Senegal Air, was recently bought by Akon, the hip hop music star. We are 3 people with 4 bags; the clerk quietly lists our fourth bag next to a passenger who does not have any.

In fact the plane has 18 seats, one that is often called an “Island Hopper”; the passengers feel the need to hop up in unison when the plane goes over a mountain. A 50-minute ride and we land in Ziguinchor, the capital of the state of Casamance, the bread basket for Senegal.

We could have taken the ferry but recently it has been over crowded; or drive the long pot holed ridden roads with the annoyance of gun bearing soldiers looking for the “rebels” who are fighting for the cessation of Casamance from Senegal.

When we leave the runway we break into “I Love Being a Midwife” as we get out luggage. We buy fresh roasted cashews from the lady vendors across from the airport and await our driver, Papalyo and his Peugeot station wagon.

The drive from Ziguinchor to Kafountine takes about 2 hours. These pothole-filled,  pavement and sand  roads are like those found in almost any country outside of industrialized settings—be it Romania, Cuba,  Brazil or Montezuma Georgia.  Add to this the re-occurring stops for the military, toll road keepers and animals, and the drive can stretch out to 3 hours. We listen to reggae and souk music and take photos of the houses, mosques, children sitting in groups doing their Koranic work, women selling their produce, donkeys puling carts.

A sign announces our arrival in Kafountine. Down along road, then another and we enter the pound where we will be staying and a celebration is just beginning.

Last weekend one of t he daughter in the family got married. This weekend, the groom’s family comes to present presents to the bride’s  family.  There is brief ceremony with a speech on the need to hold onto your marriage with both hands. Gifts are presented and exchanged.  A woman puts on a costume that looks like a beggar and carries the bride’s lingerie in a sack on a pole; meanwhile the young girls get in a circle and the beggar throws the sack into the group—much like we do with the bride’s bouquet.

Then the drumming stars. This is the land of the djembe; these are Jolla People and this is a women’s celebration.  The compound fills with over 100 people, dancing, singing, drinking palm wine and being happy with each other. It was not long before Makeda could no longer resist the call of the drum…

By 10:00 p.m. the party had thinned.

Off to bed for our first day in Kafountine.

Claudia outside the plane for Ziguinchor

We arrive at 5:30 a.m. and it is still dark and cool. Customs and baggage pickup take less than 10 minutes and out into the press of multitudes outside the airport. The press of persistent men refusing to accept, ”Nonnumeric”, men selling phone cards, exchanging $$, saying that they have known you all of your life.  The exact same press as in any other country comprised of poor people trying to survive; this is an airport outside of the U.S., be it in Bulgaria, Botswana, or Brazil.  People with little money but plenty of game, serving those who have much.

Makeda and the ABC guide M’Backe greet me. I quickly exchange some $$ (I love the street $$ exchange part of traveling) and off to the tiny hotel on the beach near the airport Cap Ouest in Yoff Village.

Then off to Dakar to get the phone and internet service.  As we drive into town I notice HUNDREDS of men jogging, springing, doing bench presses and all sorts of physical raining along the miles of beach coast of Dakar.  In Dakar every man is “in training” and thousands spend part of each day exercising at the beach, on the special gym equipment built into the sand. But Senegal continues to be plagued with diabetes and high blood pressure—a result of the high sugar, white rice and bread.

We pass a huge bronze-like statute of a man, woman and child.  M’Backe does not know the name of it but refers to it as the African Family.

Makeda and I have lunch with a Senegalese couple with whom I have mutual friends.  The husband, Douda, has gotten his Ph.D. from Harvard after spending over 6 years studying the malaria parasite.  His wife Fran is an OB/GYN  And works for Intra-Health.  She is very familiar with the state of medical care services for women in general and pregnant women, new mothers and infants in particular.  We discuss prenatal care in Senegal and the U.S., and the state of life for Black Americans with Obama while we enjoy yassa and ginger beer.

Back to the hotel to wait for Nikki Plaskett for dinner.  But the ocean calls and I have to put my body in it. The waves are rough and the beach is rocky and there are no swimmers, only surfers out; plus it is winter and the water is COLD. I walk out until the water is waist high (on my tippy toes–cold water) practicing in my head the visualization that I use with my clients during birth; comparing contractions to building waves and he moment the contraction peaks as the time to soften yourself for the wave and pushing off from the bottom  and going where the wave takes you……Yes, it works in reality body surfing! When I crawl out of the ocean’s grasp there is just enough time to get ready for dinner.

Arthur and his older son Ari Noble arrive to get me.  I have known Arthur for about 5 years (I was the birth assistant at Ari’s birth) and I have never seen him so happy, relaxed and at peace. He and his wife Nikki and their 2 sons moved to Dakar from St. Croix in November for about 1 year. They are staying in a hotel that is being finished in the Yoff Village. We have dinner on the roof, watch the sun set and listen to the numerous mosques call followers to prayer.  We discuss their decision to move here, their recent trip to St. Louis (I hear it has architecture similar to New Orleans), and how this time with the boys is so special. In fact Nikkie and her entire family will join us in Kafountine on Feb. 5^th!

Back to the hotel and bed. The plane for Ziguinchor leaves at 8:00 a.m.

At 3:45 a.m. there is a knock on the door and it is Jessica Johnson.

My daughter wakes me at 7:00 a.m. and I coax her into my bed for 5 minutes. We review the house rules, but it is really my excuse for having an opportunity to make sure I tell her how proud I am to be her mother. She hates it when I am mushy!!!!

I take care of last minute business thing, again call SA Airways and Doris arrives to drive me to Dulles. We look at all of the stuff.  I tell her that I have plans: Plan A—take all of the stuff to the airport and hope for the best; Plan B—take just the 2 bags and 1 bin to the airport and give the other bin to the Haitian refugee relief campaign. Doris quietly says, “Claudia just go on faith, don’t’ get caught up on doubt now.”

At the airport we unload EVERYTHING. We stand there like supplicant elders with copies of the records of my communication with SA Airways requesting  a waiver.  They weigh the bags: 33 lbs, 37 lbs; bins: 50 lbs and 25 lbs; carry-on 23 lbs. Baba OJ was right on the mark!

So SA agreed to allow us to stuff everything in the 2 bags from the bin #2 and remove the excess weight from my carry-on and just pay 1 excess baggage fee of $125.00!

The  SA  Airways Airbus  is one of the biggest commercial planes in the world, but the seats are still designed for leprechauns.

But the movies!!! Being a birth worker, I am on call 24/7, and I rarely get to the movies for fear my phone will vibrate and I will have to leave in the middle of it or I will not feel my phone vibrate and will miss a birth.  But on this plane there are BEAUCOUPS movies and while other passengers sleep I watch almost a year of movies!  I sat back to watch: Public Enemies; Marley and Me; Darjeeling Express; and MJ This Is It twice. Quiet as kept it, I didn’t sing out loud but I did my MJ moves in my seat. When I was  leaving the plane two of the flight attendants commented on them.

Nap time.

The day before the trip my inner village of women showed up to complete the millions of tasks left undone.  Chinyere, Doris and Kamala each took projects and ran with them.

When I signed up for third trip I began requesting donations of supplies or money to purchase medical supplied for the clinic.  The Universe always works—when you ask you are given. I received enough supplies to fill 3 large 19 gallon bins: gloves (exam and sterile) DeLees; bulb syringes; gauze; specula; infant hats; surgi-lube; alcohol wipes; amnihooks; straight catheters; infant ambu bag masks;  food/snacks;  childbirth education posters; Tylenol/Motrin; plus 25 gorgeous “mommy and infant bags”; just to name a few things.

But South African (SA) Airlines will only allow: 1 carry-on, 2 bags for free and 1 excess bag ($125.00), each weighing 50 lbs or less  I  had written a letter to the SA Airways requesting a waiver of this excess baggage restrictions due to the humanitarian nature of the trip (medical supplies), but in two weeks of persistent calling and e-mails I had gotten no response.

So I called Mother Packers.  Ju Ju took charge to smash/combine all of the critical medical supplies into 2 bins and meet the 50 lbs limit and get the top duct taped on. Maisha, known for the “Drop and Roll” packing style made me drop my clothes amount in half; then she did the old camp roll of the remaining clothes.  The “Mommy and Infant “bags went in with my clothes. We throw everything left in the last bag.

Now Lorrie arrives with dinner (my favorite, ropas viejas and rice) and her skills as a mover and shaker. She prioritizes the supplies and repacks the bag and announces that they all exceed the 50 lb limit.  I do not own a scale so we each guestimate what each bag weighs and agrees with her and prays SA Airways will let the extra bin and extra weight on board.

They leave and shortly Shayla’s husband, “Baba OJ” as I call him arrives to drop off some things. I ask him to guestimate the weight of the bags and bins: bins—50 and 26; bags— 37 and 33. I asked how he knows that and with the confidence of a Natural Born Black Man he stated that his youngest child weighs 44 lbs so he knows that stuff.

I call my Mom to say good bye, take a white bath, say my prayers and go to bed.

About 10 months ago a Midwife-Sista-Healer began talking about her dream—for a group of African Diasporic midwives and midwifery students and apprentices to go work in a clinic in Senegal together. There have been a few such trips to various places in Africa, put on by ICTC and other groups, but not to Senegal. Za”Yn and I dreamed and worked on this idea and found an extraordinary midwife to precept the trip. With the generous cooperation of the African Birth Collective, who has a long term-relationship with clinics in Senegal and providing excellent midwifery care though its program, we were able to to arrange a trip for us Sistas. Yes, Zayan birthed this trip and I got to be the midwife!

So, on January 22 (through February 16) we leave on a trip of a lifetime. Za”Yn Muhammad Manna,  Jessica Johnson and Makeka Kamara, our preceptor, and me. Hopefully Nikki Plaskett will be able to join us for a while. We are headed to work in a small clinic in Kafountine, Casamance, Senegal.

Can you imagine us—who have studied and read of maternal health issues in Africa— having a chance to contribute our hands, minds and hearts to our sisters. To be with Makeda who has lived African midwifery and is a warrior for intra-partum and post-partum women’s care. And UmmSalaamah Sondra Abdullah-Zaimah is in Ghana to explore opportunities for ICTC to have a clinical site.

Makes my heart break into song, “I love being a midwife deep down in my soul…”

I am starting on a very long journey to become a great, caring and well trained midwife; but it begins with this first step.