Kamale

There's a nurse in the ward who's sole job is to immunize the new infants, making them scream in shock and pain. If you knew this nurse, you would know that this job seems to suit her. With deft movements, she scoops up the new arrivals and carries them off to prick them and bring them back - their little faces all puckered up and red. 

Kamale is straight forward, loud and has no trouble telling me what's on her mind. If she thinks I'm not understanding her, she grabs my arm and pulls me over to whatever it is she's talking about. She raises her voice and tells me the information again. She's not mad. She's just intense and...well...she just scares me a little.

She speaks a local dialect and has been trying to teach my friend and I little bits here and there. My friend is much more committed to this endeavor than I am. I'm just intimidated by Kamale and I'm not afraid to admit it! There are days when I actually think to myself, "She senses fear. Don't let her see that you're afraid!" But in the end, I stumble over my words and I'm left feeling a little rattled and she wanders away looking confused.

However, the thing that intimidates me about Kamale, also endears her to me. Regardless of the nonsense I've sputtered out in my attempt to communicate or despite a little labor and delivery faux pas, she still comes up to me each day, greets me, asks how I am and brings me up to speed on what's happening with each mama. Or she practically shouts her welcome and puts an arm around my waist, speaking faster than I can mentally translate. 

My friend and I put together bundles of essentials and give them to mamas after they've delivered. These bundles are made up of the types of things you'd expect to receive as a courtesy in the States but these women are required to bring these items with them. Such things as toilet paper (a basic human right, I feel...), soap, a towel, sanitary pads, a cord clamp for their newborn (yes, they actually sell these in the local grocery store). The list goes on. Also among these treasures is a booklet that talks about loving and caring for your child - seemingly obvious advice but very needed. We put these things together and wrap them up in a baby blanket for a cute presentation that I feel is lost on most wiped, new mothers. Kamale has taken it upon herself to look out for women who don't have the things they need. Then she'll hunt us down and take us to these women, some of whom have already been discharged and are in post-natal. 

So off we traipse with bundles flung over our shoulders, Kamale leading the way, to find these mamas who don't have a square of TP to their name. 

We often venture past the post-natal ward, down the back hallway that smells like stale urine, hopping puddles of unknown substances. We go into the "nursing mothers" room that is the temporary home to as many as eight women and their babies. Some seem surprised and shy and we can't hardly get a peep of response from them. Kamale talks loudly, often telling them to thank us. Sometimes she'll even push them around a little in an attempt to get a response other than the sheepish glance up through their eyelashes or the characteristic, barely perceptible, eyebrow raise which means, "Yes." I always feel awkward for these women. I want to kneel down at their bedside and whisper my words because that's what seems most comfortable to them. And sometimes, after Kamale has moved on, I do. Other women are thrilled to get the bundle and, I think, equally as excited for the attention. These mamas are all smiles and full of conversation.

So our Kamale - this take-charge, bossy, needle-wielding nurse - is in tune to the needs of the mothers around her and isn't afraid to point them out. She's rough around the edges and her delivery is brusque but she is genuine. I value her heart for the mamas and while she frightens me a little, I'm happy to follow her to the need.