April 20th, Friday

Friday am, April 20th. We come awake to the cacophony of bird calls and interweaving bird songs each morning. Roosters with no real sense of timing, doves cooing, little birds chirping in all pitches, and the trill of another bird whose sound always makes me smile. Today there is also a cell phone alarm nearby to remind its owner that it is time to pray. Such a mix of worlds. Through my hands this week, I briefly held a baby whose life left him in those first long moments, a baby who never breathed for himself though we tried to bring breath in, and tried again.  By my hands this week, another baby lived, that would most likely not have lived had my hands been tending to something else that moment. Perhaps another set of hands would have helped instead. It is humbling work. A baby for a baby, not a fair exchange. Never equal of course, especially for the mothers and families connected to these babes. Another baby born into the dirt on the dark road to the clinic last night,  placenta following easily, both scooped into a big tub and brought into the maternite. The baby's cord is still fat and full, he must have just been born. Healthy, chubby, and except for being a little cold, alive and well, big leaves, sand and twigs stuck in the vernix on his back.  Hazel and I take a nap together this morning. She tells me "lie this way mama", so she can snuggle into my arms. We sleep to the sounds of Kafountine, drumming and singing in the distance, roosters, still with no sense of timing, children playing and mothers calling. Maybe today we will walk to the ocean. I love the sun wind and water together. Hazel loves the white sand. We both love collecting the hard little red palm seeds on the way. "here is a good one, mama..."