A very memorable teacher once asked ‘Do you understand your privilege?’ My immediate reaction (in my head) was ‘of course.’ I mean, I had been to Africa, volunteered and raised money to help people in the poor countries so I surely must have some idea right? If only it was that simple. I have come to realise that I had not really understood the meaning of such a question and even today, I’m still unsure of whether I do, two years after living in Africa.
In short, I moved to Kenya and after a while met a Kenyan man, began a relationship and are now considered ‘married’ albeit informally. His closest family is from Kibera, the biggest slum in Kenya. Early this year I found out we were pregnant which we were so happy about. A little while later, we also found out two of his cousins were pregnant and due around the same time as us.
I had my baby almost 10 weeks ago. She was born in Nairobi and although my mum rang me and offered the chance to fly back to Australia and give birth there, I decided to stay and have her born in Kenya. I have insurance from my job so I chose probably the most expensive and ‘western’ hospital in Kenya to deliver. Everything was covered except some nappies, creams and little things like that. My mum deposited money into my account to pay for the extra right after we got home. My experience was excellent. I was seen by compassionate nurses and doctors, talked to about pain medication options, was able to use the water bath for the majority of my delivery; had my partner with me through the whole labour and he had his own fold out bed in my room so he could stay with me after the delivery too. I was given options, prepared a birth plan and positively encouraged when going through contractions and pushing. We were given space, not rushed through anything and we were listened to. Immediately after delivery, I held my baby and breast fed within 30minutes. We stayed in the hospital for 3 days of which I was seen every few hours by nurses, doctors and lactation specialists who helped with breast feeding in the first hours. At night when I was crying because breast feeding hurt so much and I couldn’t get the hang of it, I pressed a button and a caring nurse consoled me and helped with positions and information. We were fed 3 meals a day with snacks in between, visitors came and went with no restrictions, vaccines were administered after the nurses gave us all the information we needed and we were shown how to bath our new daughter. When I was still struggling with breast feeding the day we were being discharged, the nurse suggested I stay in longer so they could help me more. Overall, I had an almost perfect first time delivery experience at an excellent hospital.
Why am I explaining this you might be thinking? Of course the nurses were caring and gave me the information I needed. Of course I was helped through labour by supportive staff and of course my partner was able to be there with me right? Of course I chose the best hospital for us. Well no.
I was able to have this experience because of my privilege. I was able to relax and enjoy the moment because I was born in a country where education is actually free, where I got a degree without paying a cent and subsequently got a job which offered medical insurance. I was able because my mum, even though she brought us up as a single parent and struggled day to day herself, is still able to say ‘how much?’ without much consideration when it comes to my health or safety.
My experience was very different to that of my partner’s cousin. Shantelle was due first, a few months before me. She was living in Dandoora – another slum area of Nairobi known as the ‘garbage slum’ because of the huge landfill site there. She had gone to a clinic for check-ups but never had an ultra-sound or other tests to check if everything was ok with her and the baby. When she went into labour she walked herself, on her own, to the local hospital. It’s quite common for the partner not to be in the delivery room, let alone the hospital in Kenya and so her partner was not there, nor was any of her family when she delivered. The hospital was less than basic and there was no welcoming by friendly nurses and doctors explaining her options, rather she was told NOTHING and given no information about her options. There was no pain relief, no water for her to relax in, no discussions about what positions were best for her and no sympathy. When the pain was too much and Shantelle was screaming, the doctor actually said to her, ‘Why are you making those noises? I didn’t bring you here. I didn’t make you get pregnant.’ She was comforted somewhat by the midwife who ended up delivering her healthy baby girl but as you can imagine, how the doctor treated her stuck in her mind long after the birth. After delivery she was given no support or information on breast feeding – which is one of the toughest things as a new mum – and left the hospital the day after she delivered. Because Shantelle was born in a developing country, because she was not part of the privileged few and because she didn’t have an opportunity to get a good education, a job and money to pay for a decent hospital, she had to go through what should be an awesome, liberating experience feeling alone and worthless.
Now to me, that’s bullshit.
Mama Nyla 