Ever visited a market? Noisy, from the shuffles of buyers and sellers, Hagglers trying to out do each other. These are my wares, buy now they are cheap and good.
This market day was however not about wares. Not food nor vegetable and not even clothes, yes, not merchandise.
It is about the life and death of women. Those who carry any nation’s greatest wealth, its people in their wombs, for nine months, nurture and cuddle them into useable materials.
But from the day the fetus is planted and until it is delivered, that woman lives with the thought of knowing that the process could result in her death.
Yes, Trafalgar is not a market. It is a referral Hospital. The Volta Regional Hospital often referred to as Trafalgar, name of the contracting firm which put it up and the market place is the mother’s clinic on December …….
Bellies at different levels of puffiness, some with dreary looks from fatigue, I guess. Scenes of conviviality, were many, friends made at previous attendances or pals or relatives mixed for a long time but brought under the same roof by one condition, being pregnant.
There were also babies wrapped like loaves of bread, with mothers dressed or draped in white, noticeably exuding relief for going through child birth safely. Some had weary eyes, perhaps from sleeplessness imposed on them by the little ones.
The presence of the health aides, nurses and midwives were evident as they moved to and fro, serving the hordes of pregnant women and mothers.
When she, the midwife got up with a bunch of folders it was to pronounce the much awaited edict for you to proceed to a service table or line up to see the doctor, who were ensconced in their consultation rooms.
She was blonde, medium height and rounded figure, pretty, yes pretty and active but sometimes got up with a squint, suggesting nagging muzzles.