If you read this blog regularly, chances are you care about struggling people—in the developing world and elsewhere. Maybe you’ve watched the powerful video Birth and Death—screened recently at the opening of the Global Maternal Health Conference in New Delhi.
If you haven’t, take a couple of minutes to watch the video now. I’ll wait.
Likely you’re horrified by maternal death facts and figures. And maybe you’re damned mad at the sluggish response to this health crisis.
But while some of us feel moved by maternal death, few of us willingly upend our lives to change the status quo. And that’s exactly what the Young Champions of Maternal Health are doing.
Guided by Ashoka Fellows, these 16 young people will spend the next nine months developing programs aimed to end maternal death worldwide.
The Young Champions have changed schedules and schooling to participate in the program. They’ve rearranged jobs and relationships. They’ve made countless accommodations we’ll never know of.
But none have sacrificed more than three women who—in addition to acting as Young Champions—are mothers who leave young children behind.
Mothers sacrificing for mothers
They come from Iran, Nigeria and Ethiopia. They are educators and advocates. One is a midwife to expectant women—and to “their souls, as well,” notes Faatimeh Ahmadi.
Driven to action by the suffering they’ve witnessed, these women made a mother’s ultimate sacrifice: They left young children behind—in the care of husbands and family—to work full-time for new solutions to maternal death.
“Mommy, can’t they send someone else?”
Faatimeh Ahmadi’s son, Mahdia, looks out of photos with huge brown eyes, chubby cheeks and a round face surrounded by brown curls. He is seven years old. In October, when he starts first grade, his mother will be working in rural Uganda. She’s committed to reducing maternal mortality using the critical pedagogy of Paulo Freire to educate, research and build community.
Faatimeh plans to assess living conditions in Uganda. If it’s safe and appropriate, Mahdia will join her. But two months ago, she also prepared her son for a less happy option.
How?
“My husband and I,” said Faatimeh, “believe the best way to communicate with Mahdia is through dialogue.” That’s why Faatimeh explained her plans to Mahdia months before she left.
“Then one night,” recalls Faatimeh, “I was putting him to bed—that’s a good time to talk. And he told me, ‘Mommy, around the world, every minute one mother is dying because of giving birth. And after that, the mother and the baby are separated from each other forever. They cannot see each other ever. So we can be far from each other for a while—and after nine months we can see each other again.’”
“He thought, then he said, ‘Mommy, I’m happy. Somehow I’m proud of you and I’m happy for having a mother like you.’”
Naturally, the little boy changed his mind soon after, remembers Faatimeh. “He said, ‘Mommy, is it possible they could exchange you for another person? Can’t they send someone else?’ And I said, “No, Mahdia. I know something. And I have to share it with others. If I don’t do this, I’m afraid that in the future, when I see a mother dying while giving birth, I will hate that I didn’t go. I have to prevent that event.’”
Longing to be the mother of many—while leaving her only child
Martha Fikre Adenew is the mother of one child. But she harbors a secret fantasy of mothering many more. Years from now, when her public health work is done, “I will open an orphanage,” says Martha breaking into a huge smile.
At home in Ethiopia, Hemadn, Martha’s energetic two year-old daughter is a bundle of non-stop motion. “Sometimes she breaks things—and sometimes she makes me mad,” says Martha. “But when I leave work and go back to my home, I have someone to smile at me. I’m very happy to have her.”
Martha has always worked outside the home, entrusting Hemadn’s care to her mother-in-law. So Martha’s nine-month mentorship in New Orleans, reasons Martha, will not be so jarring for the little girl.
With Hemadn too young to understand explanations, Martha opted instead for distraction. Martha’s mother-in-law has a couple of helpers—teenage relatives visiting over summer vacation—to pamper and amuse Hemadn.
When Marta had to leave, the teens “took Hemadn shopping,” says Martha, adding sheepishly, “I hid.”
A “passion” for her work—though it takes her far from her children
Cared for often by their grandmother, Egwaoje Ifeyinwa Madu’s children were fairly prepared for the nine-month separation, believes Ifeyinwa. During her fellowship in the New Orleans, Ifeyinwa will plan, educate and raise funds for an innovative program that supports pregnant, at-risk women of color.
Ifeyinwa has a girl, Angel, aged five and a little boy, Daniel, three years old. From an early age their grandmother watched over them for two- and three-week periods as Ifeyinwa performed Nigeria’s mandatory Youth Service, then later, worked.
Of course parting was difficult. But necessary.
“I have a passion for sexual and reproductive health,” explains Ifeyinwa. “It’s part of my life. It’s just what gives me satisfaction.”
One Young Champion’s child comes along for the adventure
Three days before the Young Champions met for the first time on August 30, 2010 at Delhi’s Global Maternal Health Conference, one of their own, Zubaida Bai, gave birth to her first child. It was a boy.
Luckily, Zubaida’s internship is in the United States. She will work with pregnant women at risk for transmitting HIV/AIDS to their babies. And Zubaida’s son will stay with her.
Follow the Young Champions—and their children
Will Zubaida’s son take his first steps here in America? Will Mahdia be able to join his mother in Uganda? How will Ifeyinwa and Martha juggle their work while staying in close touch with their children?
Find out: Subscribe to this blog to stay updated on the Young Champions journey.
This post written by Lorraine Thompson, Ashoka’s correspondant and live blogger for the Global Maternal Health Conference.
Photo of mother and child courtesy of Mishimoto