Grateful for K

I am grateful for Kampala. I was born there, and that fact taught me a lot about preconceptions, judgement, belonging, wandering, colonialism, love, subservience, race, heat, memory, and dogs.

Preconceptions are sometimes funny. When my son says his mother was born in Uganda, they look at him in a funny way, and the cartoon balloon springing from peoples' heads reads: "you don't look very dark".  Also, people have thought that my parents were missionaries. That's a laugh too, especially if you knew my parents!

Judgement is one of those things we all do. I have my prejudices, although I'm not going to air my dirty laundry here, I know that I am judged for many facets of my existence. Being born in Kampala gave me an early insight into people's prejudice and knee-jerk need to pigeonhole.

Belonging, ah! belonging! A thing I've never felt. I spent my first three years in a paradise that was, as most paradises are, a touch unreal. From there I was swept off to Calgary, the land of snow, cowboys and Dallas gas men. I felt like the only girl in the whole town with crooked teeth and frizzy hair, and a dad who thought "puck" was a swear word.

Colonialism, that bugbear of the 20th century. I have though long and deep for much of my life about how colonialism has transformed our world. Of course, every generation always thinks theirs is the first to experience big events. I know that colonialism is an ancient practice that springs from one human's need to dominate another.

Love.

Subservience. In Malawi, when I was a skinny traveller eating mangoes, an older woman called me "memsahib". That was sad, and struck me down.

Race. Another place we can hang our coats of distrust, hatred, otherness, prejudice.

Heat! I love feeling the air at 37 degrees, or blood temperature. I love feeling sweat on my face, I love the sun, I love a rainstorm at 4pm, I love never having to wear a jacket.

Memory: When I finally returned to Kampala when I was 23, twenty years after I had left, I emerged from the plane and smelled a smell that felt like home. Fruit, sweat, woodsmoke, an unidentifiable perfume that the tropics emit. I went to the market in the center of Kampala - that was after Idi Amin but before the Ruandan genocide and before Kampala grew into the huge city it is now. I remembered the market. Nothing else remains in my conscious memory.

Dogs: When my mother was pregnant with me, her neighbor had two German Shepherds that were trained to kill anyone who entered the grounds of his house unannounced (read black Africans looking for work or begging). One grabbed her arm with his large teeth and wouldn't let go. My lesson learned was that dogs are very loyal, obedient, and can be killers. Ditto people.

Wandering - the opposite of belonging. Cavafy speaks better than I do on this one:

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka

hope the voyage is a long one,

full of adventure, full of discovery.

Laistrygonians and Cyclops,

angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:

you’ll never find things like that on your way

as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,

as long as a rare excitement

stirs your spirit and your body.

Laistrygonians and Cyclops,

wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them

unless you bring them along inside your soul,

unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope the voyage is a long one.

May there be many a summer morning when,

with what pleasure, what joy,

you come into harbors seen for the first time;

may you stop at Phoenician trading stations

to buy fine things

mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony,

sensual perfume of every kind—

as many sensual perfumes as you can;

and may you visit many Egyptian cities

to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.

Arriving there is what you are destined for.

But do not hurry the journey at all.

Better if it lasts for years,

so you are old by the time you reach the island,

wealthy with all you have gained on the way,

not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.

Without her you would not have set out.

She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.

Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,

you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley

Herbs and Poetry, Birth and Death

In the midst of our world turning as it does - MBC doesn't have enough doulas for our needy clients; refugees are streaming from war-torn countries to other, less war-torn countries, Kofi Awoonor killed in that horrific bombing in Nairobi - Kofi Awoonor! - may he rest in peace...

"Across a New Dawn"

Sometimes, we read the

lines in the green leaf

run our fingers over the

smooth of the precious wood

from our ancient trees;

Sometimes, even the sunset

puzzles, as we look

for the lines that propel the clouds,

the colour scheme

with the multiple designs

that the first artist put together

There is dancing in the streets again

the laughter of children rings

through the house

On the seaside, the ruins recent

from the latest storms

remind of ancestral wealth

pillaged purloined pawned

by an unthinking grandfather

who lived the life of a lord

and drove coming generations to

despair and ruin

But who says our time is up

that the box maker and the digger

are in conference

or that the preachers have aired their robes

and the choir and the drummers

are in rehearsal?

No; where the worm eats

a grain grows.

the consultant deities

have measured the time

with long winded

arguments of eternity

And death, when he comes

to the door with his own

inimitable calling card

shall find a homestead

resurrected with laughter and dance

and the festival of the meat

of the young lamb and the red porridge

of the new corn

We are the celebrants

whose fields were

overrun by rogues

and other bad men who

interrupted our dance

with obscene songs and bad gestures

Someone said an ailing fish

swam up our lagoon

seeking a place to lay its load

in consonance with the Original Plan

Master, if you can be the oarsman

for our boat

please do it, do it.

I asked you before

once upon a shore

at home, where the

seafront has narrowed

to the brief space of childhood

We welcome the travelers

come home on the new boat

fresh from the upright tree

From "Promises of Hope: New and Selected Poems", selected by Kofi Anyidoho, University of Nebraska Press and the African Poetry Book Fund, 2014

I bring to you a recipe for St John's Wort oil in the hopes that you will be able to use it to heal each other and yourselves.

This can be used for muscle strain, sunburn, muscle cramps, bruises, labor pains. Do not apply it to open skin, and remember that it may increase photosensitivity so don't use it as a suntan oil.

Have fun with herbs, read poetry, make love not war!

What to Expect from Nestle

We all have our prejudices and opinions about breastfeeding and natural birth. At a certain point, however, it is important to try to discover the facts buried deep beneath everyone's political agendas. I was struggling with this for a few days before I decided to write this blog, and a lady jumped out from the past and told me very clearly that I have to speak out.

I was in my early twenties, traveling through Africa on my own. I was walking to get on a ferry, which was basically a very large raft kept afloat by prayers and habit, to cross a river. A woman about my age approached me. She had a baby on her back, and she swung him around and presented him to me. Because of the color of my skin, she expected me to have some knowledge, medication, or connections that would assist me to bring her baby back. He was almost dead. His eyes were glazed and dry. He had diarrhea, she explained. I had no idea what to say to her. I didn't know anything back then. I had never seen a dying baby before, and I hope you never will.

I don't think people fully understand the significance of the use of baby formula in countries where poverty is rampant, and clean water is impossible to find. Here in Canada, those women who bottle feed their infants may be at risk for being sneered at, and their babies may be at higher risk for allergies or obesity. But in Africa and all over the world, babies who are fed formula are at a higher risk of  infection, from the moment they are born until they are at least two years old.

Unicef recommendations on breastfeeding are here, and they are worth looking at. The authors suggest that "The major problems are the societal and commercial pressure to stop breastfeeding, including aggressive marketing and promotion by formula producers. These pressures are too often worsened by inaccurate medical advice from health workers who lack proper skills and training in breastfeeding support."

Nestle is one of the major formula producers in the world and has just bought Pfizer Nutrition which markets four brands of artificial formula. Nestle actively promotes its breastmilk substitutes in Africa and elsewhere, claiming that HIV positive mothers' babies should not be breastfed. This is a subject that has seen much research and discussion over the past few years and it is by no means a conclusive claim. Infection rates can go up by over 60% after six months, so perhaps a better suggestion would be (see WHO recommendations) that babies everywhere and in every situation should be exclusively breastfed for the first six months of life.

The problem with formula feeding in poverty-stricken areas are twofold: one is the lack of clean water, refrigeration, sterilizing equipment and so on. Bottles are washed in less-than-sterile water; the powdered formula is mixed with infected water; and the remaining formula is left out and breeds bacteria. WHO guidelines on the preparation of powdered formula are very strict concerning cleanliness and refrigeration. This level of cleanliness is simply not possible in many households around the world.

Nestle has been boycotted for over forty years because of its aggressive marketing of breast milk substitutes  all over the world.

This is why I was shocked to see that it is sponsoring the What to Expect When You're Expecting movie premiere, and to see that these two organizations are partnering to sponsor a contest for pregnant women. The prize is a trip to Hollywood to see the WTE movie. Visit the link: Nestle Baby.  If you try to enter the contest, you are told that only "Nestle Baby Program" members are allowed to enter. So you go to the Nestle Baby link. A tiny popup opens to let you know that breast is best for up to six months. Then you are met with a $100 coupon for free samples, including formula and bottles.

This is directly in contravention of the World Health Organization's International Code of Marketing of Breastmilk Substitues, which states that: "there should be no advertising or other form of promotion to the general public" and that "manufacturers and distributors should not provide … to pregnant women, mothers or members of their families, samples of products…" Promotion through any type of sales device, including special displays, discount coupons and special sales, is prohibited. Furthermore, no company personnel should seek direct or indirect contact with, or provide advice to, pregnant women or mothers.



I expect and encourage What to Expect to immediately sever ties with Nestle, for the sake of their own reputation, and for the sake of the health of millions of mothers and babies around the world.

Just Visiting

I have always traveled a lot. From the time I was born I have traversed oceans, flown in small rickety planes over the desert, walked through Africa, hitchhiked countless times back and forth across the country I found myself growing up in. I love to see how we humans live our lives. Do you know, at this very minute, there is an old lady walking through a chestnut forest, on her own, looking for mushrooms that she will dry for the winter? And there is another woman, cooking a small pot of corn meal over a fire made from waste crude oil she collected from the stream near her home. She is waiting for her husband to return, annoyed with him for keeping her waiting but full of love for her man. On a train, there is a family from Belgium, staring at the immensely beautiful scene that is spread before them.

The life of a tourist is a hard one. There you are. You have saved for this small chunk of time for a while - perhaps all year. You are in a place where you probably don't speak the language. You don't know the customs. The food is different. You suspect you are getting cheated most of the time. You miss your own bed. The place smells funny. Your spouse has decided that it is NOW that you have to figure out your problems. The children are either sick or adolescents.

But the place is beautiful! You don't have to get up early! You are really in love with your spouse, especially when you get some time alone to walk on the beach in the moonlight. You imagine selling everything and moving here. You would wear comfortable clothes every day. Your wife would wear those sexy sandals and that little dress. Your kids would be all tanned and happy.

It doesn't usually work out that way though.

I live in two places these days. Most of the time I am in a big city, and for three months I am on top of a mountain far away from everyone. I always imagine I will spend those three months really sorting everything out. I will come back all transcendent-looking and calm. But, like the midwives say, meconium happens, and life does tend to keep going. The vacation, the holiday, the three-week all inclusive, ... it's all just life, and why should it be otherwise?

And so it is in life, it is in birth. It is one of the most important days of a mother's or father's life - and of course the most important day of a baby's. But at the same time, life does continue, before, during, and after. So, as in life, it is not the hugely transcendent, mind-blowing experience that it is the important thing. It's not the orgasm, the blinding flash of out-of-body-ness, that is important. It's the quiet, day-to-day, pleasant (yes, even when you're in labor!), humdrum traveling that is important. Let us turn to Cavafy for some wisdom:

Ithaka

As you set out for Ithaka hope the voyage is a long one, full of adventure, full of discovery. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them: you’ll never find things like that on your way as long as you keep your thoughts raised high, as long as a rare excitement stirs your spirit and your body. Laistrygonians and Cyclops, wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them unless you bring them along inside your soul, unless your soul sets them up in front of you.   Hope the voyage is a long one. May there be many a summer morning when, with what pleasure, what joy, you come into harbors seen for the first time; may you stop at Phoenician trading stations to buy fine things, mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony, sensual perfume of every kind— as many sensual perfumes as you can; and may you visit many Egyptian cities to gather stores of knowledge from their scholars.   Keep Ithaka always in your mind. Arriving there is what you are destined for. But do not hurry the journey at all. Better if it lasts for years, so you are old by the time you reach the island, wealthy with all you have gained on the way, not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.   Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey. Without her you would not have set out. She has nothing left to give you now.   And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you. Wise as you will have become, so full of experience, you will have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

Translated by Edmund Keeley/Philip Sherrard. (C.P. Cavafy, Collected Poems. Translated by Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard. Edited by George Savidis. Revised Edition. Princeton University Press, 1992)

Mother's Day?

Well, yesterday was Mother's Day and what a week it was! It started out with a birthday party - last Sunday was my youngest son's tenth, so we took a crew of little boys out and about and then home for cake and fun. Monday was his actual Birth Day so that was busy too. I always get a little sad on the birth days but I didn't have a chance.
I spent every other waking minute working on a very exciting project proposal that involves mothers and babies in Africa. Keep tuned and I will definitely let you know what happens. So I was working like crazy on the proposal when, Thursday morning, two out of my 6 clients for May called to say they were in early labor. Of course - couldn't do it next week, on separate days. By Thursday night they were both having good contractions, so I went to my first-time mother's absolutely beautiful natural birth - just a wonderful birth, a wonderful family, and all...the only thing that rang a slightly jarring tone was my pager that kept beeping and muttering. I snuck into the bathroom every so often to call for backup but I really wanted to make the next lady's birth. Baby was born, and they new parents said "Go! Go on, we're behind you! Go give that other mother some love!" So I rushed out, got a cab, and Baby #2 was born soon after. A triumphant VBAC after two cesareans. Yay!!!
Back to work on my project. Very excited at the possibility that I may be able to give back to Africa what Africa gave me (life, the spirit of adventure, a sense of rhythm, love of heat...). Then my best friend, husband and partner found out he had to go out of town. Now I know most modern people spend lots of time apart but we don't. We are usually together. So for him to go away for two days is a BIG DEAL. And he left on Mother's Day, at 7am.
But what a wonderful day - all sorts of giving and loving from my five sons. A sunny day, a bike ride, the kids messing around with the mechanical stuff in the driveway. A postnatal visit to a happy mother. Homemade brunch including pancakes, pasta salad, apple tart, salad.... all made by the chef (22 y.o.) and his ten-year-old assistant. Then a barbecue at night.
Mother's Day is for loving - and mothers are for loving - and let us try to open the doors to all that love and leave not one mother behind.

Baby Milk

Being one of the bottle-fed generation, I wasn't brought up with an intimate acceptance of breastfeeding. Two years travel in Africa took care of that. In the countries I visited, it was common to see babies and toddlers snacking on milk at all times and in all sorts of places. Women would sit down for a minute, to get a little break from their work, and a toddler would run up for his milk break. A woman would be walking on a path, with a heavy sack on her head, and her small baby nursing from her sling.
Breastfeeding for me was a straightforward event. And for most women, it is, or it should be. Unfortunately, many women who are giving birth in the hospital (reality check: over 90% of North American women) are being educated wrongly about their breasts and breastfeeding and end up having painful difficulties with what could be such an easy and joyous activity.
Most women's breasts are well equipped to produce milk. Some women have nipples that aren't perfect, and some have had surgery that makes it more difficult. But there are a few simple ingredients that make up a happy breastfeeding relationship:
Skin! is one of them. Take your bra off - take your clothes off - take your baby's clothes off!
Remember when you first met your true love? You probably spent a lot of time in bed without any clothes on. That's the way new babies like to relate with their new mothers.
No interference! is another. Forget the bottle, the pump, the soother, the baby equipment. If you want to get breastfeeding off to a good start, you and the baby are all you need. Later, you can play with all the baby toys.
Position! is important. Make sure the baby is taking the breast correctly. Breastfeeding should not hurt for longer than about thirty seconds at the beginning of the feed. If it does, remove the baby and place her on again. Get someone to observe you feeding if you are in pain - and call someone in soon to prevent problems. Call your doula! Do not suffer in silence!

It is such an indescribable feeling, looking down at a fat and happy breastfed baby and knowing that your body helped that child to survive and thrive. Remember that your body created a newborn, and it can create enough milk for that newborn.

This post is dedicated to Luna, who is transcending her limits.

December 25, 2010

Just imagine all the food that was eaten and prepared today! I remember when we spent a winter in Africa and we endured Roast Turkey with all the British accompaniments: bread sauce, soggy vegetables, roast potatoes, and an ancient canned cranberry sauce, served with many bottles of ice cold beer (good), in a heat of well over 40 celsius.

New Year's Eve was even better. We were in Mombasa and we decided to go out and get some lunch. We ate a delicious goat curry, again, with many cold bottles of Tusker. The heat was infernal, so we went back to our guest house (read: flop house), where we had a bathtub! We spent an hour or so filling it with cold water and lay in it until well into the night.

Last night I was craving an Irish coffee, after attending a nice quick birth (baby girl). But alas, the Cool Whip had gone gray so I will try again tonight after a trip to the grocery store...

But we made some mulled wine instead.

Mulled Wine

2 large wineglasses red wine
1 large wineglass water
3 cloves
one stick of cinnamon
juice of half a lemon.
Bring it all to the boil and quickly turn it down to a simmer. Simmer for five minutes. Drink it hot.