ALL ROADS LEAD TO BATABIKA
Prior to Malayaka’s birth on December
22, 2005 I had been organizing a perfect plan with the local authorities to get
Sarah to the right people. Helen, the
officer in charge of the Child & Family Protection Unit of the Entebbe
police station was working with me to coordinate the effort and we had
everything ready. Together with the
Medical Superintendent of Entebbe Hospital we were going to take Sarah to
Batabika, a home for the mentally challenged and the right place for Sarah to
deliver her baby. Once this happened I
was going be done with my “Good Samaritan” effort and on with my life.
Let me back up a few weeks in the story…
I found Sarah in a place called Kitoro, a special little town in Entebbe,
Uganda. I first noticed she was
pregnant, homeless, and mental ill and I was shocked. I have seen many terrible things in life but
never have I been completely stopped in my tracks. When I first noticed Sarah I began asking the
locals, “what’s up with that lady?” Some
shrugged me off, many laughed, and others just told me the obvious (pregnant –
homeless – crazy) as if I couldn’t see for myself.
Over the years I have learned that in
Uganda, not unlike many parts of the U.S. and India, people can be heartlessly
indifferent to the homeless and mentally ill.
I find it hard not to wonder, when I see people like this, what if that
was me, a friend, or one of my family members?
How strange that nothing could make more sense than doing unto others as
we want them to do unto us, yet actually doing something often seems senseless.
How can I look past certain things and
do nothing? I remember thinking that if
I do nothing and Sarah’s baby dies, I will have nobody to blame but myself.
I started visiting Sarah on a daily basis
and we became friends. I would bring her
water and food. When the locals saw me
talking with the insane lady, they would circle around laughing and making
jokes. I had no problem with this but it
infuriated Sarah and she would chase them away with a big stick. In her mind she became my guardian and
protector and accepted that I meant her no harm. Sarah was on another planet…mostly gone, but
not completely. She had moments of
clarity and she would talk about her previous life with intensity. The stories bounced through time, from one
topic to the next, but there was a thread of consistency when she talked about
experiences at the university and hospital.
I believe she once had a family because she talked of five children, a
husband, and a bad accident. Her stories
made me think she was once a teacher, nurse, or other professional.
Everyone knew Sarah but no one knew
anything about her. Apparently, she had
just walked into town and set up camp.
Sarah was frightened, sad, angry, and like a ghost to these people. They would mock and make fun of her. When I would ask about the big stomach to see
if she knew she was pregnant, her response would vary. Sarah would tell me she was attacked and
raped, that she was going to kill this baby, or that there was no baby at
all. I became increasingly worried by
the set of circumstances facing this young woman (about 30 years old) and the
apathy and total disregard of everyone witnessing the tragedy playing out
before them.
The plan to
get Sarah to Batabika was in place, but it was a few days too late. When I visited her on December 21st
she told me her big stomach was hurting.
Knowing nothing about pregnant women and childbirth I started making
calls. Apparently, the water broke and
the clock was ticking. The doctor told
me to get her in the car and take her to Batabika, and she would make all the
arrangements for them to receive us. I
thought it would be better to get her straight to the maternity ward in Entebbe
than try to drive her 40 minutes to Kampala, but she insisted.
When I asked
Sarah if she wanted to take a drive and visit her friends at the university,
she accepted. She had no idea what was
about to happen, that a baby was on the way, and it is a miracle she agreed to
go anywhere with me. It took her 30
minutes to pack all her belongings into a big sack, and another 30 minutes to
get in the car. Once we started driving,
the contractions started. The louder she
shouted the faster I drove, and the faster I drove the louder she shouted. I was talking to the police and doctors and begging
for help. They insisted I get her to
Batabika. Sarah was vomiting and trying
to jump out of the car. I was holding
her arm, swerving through traffic, and she kept saying she wanted to
defecate. The only thing going through
my head was not causing an accident and hoping she doesn’t deliver in the
car. I was not prepared!
We made it
to Kampala, but got lost trying to find the hospital. When I stopped to ask someone for directions
Sarah escaped and took off running. Two
men helped me catch and drag her back to the car…and told us that all roads
lead to Batabika.
We entered
the compound of the hospital and I finally felt a sense of relief and a light
at the end of the tunnel. I remember
thinking, “Maybe this is almost over and I can go clean my stinking truck.” I started asking people for assistance. One person told me to go upstairs, but when I
got there other people sent me back downstairs.
I talked to four different people until finally they told me no one was
going to help me and I should go to Mulago, the government hospital. All the while Sarah was in and out of hysteria
and I could not let go of her. She wasn’t
fighting but wanted to break free. I was
trying to calm her with stories and anything I could think of, but nothing was
working.
The roads
leaving Batabika all go to Kampala, but I was totally lost and had no idea how
to get to Mulago. It was about 5:00pm
and I found myself in a huge traffic jam on the outskirts of the city. As I look back now I realize that the driving
induced something in Sarah that had us both panicking. She was in pain and making a lot of noise, I
was trying to get to help and we were both stuck in traffic. This was an emergency, so I decided to drive
accordingly. There was not much of a shoulder,
but I was able to get the truck off-road and negotiate through some rough
terrain for about 200 feet until I saw police officer looking at me, surprised
to see someone driving so recklessly straight for him.
