home sweet home...sort of

Part of our job throughout the week is to do “home visits.”  Home visits consist of us trying to contact mothers that we have delivered and somehow, some way communicate with them enough to let them know we want to come visit them at their house. It’s a great way to show the women and their families that we care about them, that they are important enough to see after they have delivered. It also gives us the opportunity to do a check up on them and their baby and give them the time, love, and attention that we all feel they deserve. It always has the potential to be a bit awkward, seeing that neither of us can speak each others language and I am never really sure if they want us there or if they just feel obligated to allow the weird white “doctors” into their homes.

Well last week my team of 4 had the opportunity to visit two different families. We hoped in a rickshaw that made a lot of wrong turns but 45 bumpy minutes later we found a man in a shiny metallic purple shirt waving down our transport so that we could follow his motorcycle down some windy dirt roads into a Hindu neighborhood. I would later come to find out that it was Jothi’s husband. It’s often the husbands who come to find us and bring us back to their home. I like to see the dads, to know that they are involved. I often imagine our moms (meaning the ones we deliver) shooing their husbands away to go and find us. I wonder what that conversation looks like.

Mom: “Husband-go get my white doctor friends.”

Husband: “you have white doctor friends?!?!”

And then she looks at him sardonically and wonders why she has to waste so much time answering his silly questions.

Mom: “of course I have white doctor friends, now they are lost go find them and bring them back to me at once!”

Maybe my imagination gets a bit ahead of me at times? Have you noticed?

(Let me pause for a moment and explain that most of the women here think we are doctors. It’s a bit hard to explain that we are in fact midwives, and we are just students. We definitely do try to clarify it, but with the language barriers it tends to be easier to just go with it.)

When we arrived at Jothi’s (pronounced Jody) house we were warmly welcomed into a room where a “well fed” (like my mom likes to call it) bald man was sleeping on a couch. He woke up to four us just starring at him.  I think he was the uncle or brother-I’m not sure. I am sure though, that never in a million years would he have imagined waking up to four western women sitting next to him when he arises from his normal afternoon slumber. Remember- potential to be awkward at times. We just said hello. Not much more to say in that situation. Jothi eventually came into the room. Is it okay for me to be in love with my moms? She lit up the room. I first connected with her in the hospital a few weeks ago when I approached her bed while she was laboring and asked her how old she was.

“twenty tree. Twenty faw. I done know?” and then she just laughed and begged me not to leave her side while she was contracting. She was full of joy, even in the midst of her pain. She was the same age as me (we both think) and she spoke a little English. How can you not fall in love with that?

It was no different seeing her today. We stumbled over our language barrier but we quickly connected and had a great time. We met the rest of her family, looked at pictures from her wedding, had water and warm milk that I had to pass to someone else when she wasn’t looking. She took out her bangles and put them on all our wrists and then after about an hour we ushered into a different room to enjoy a big meal that her husband went out to get us. The whole afternoon was so much fun. I want to be friends with Jothi. I wish we could hangout and actually talk. I look at her and think we are from such a different world. Not only our cultures but the fact that we are the same age and she is this loving, kind, mother of 2 and housewife and I am… definitely not. We eventually had to part ways because our second home visist was eagerly awaiting our arrival. I hope to see her again.

Jothi

Don't you just have to love her?

Her oldest daughter

baby!

her mother preparing plates for our lunch

eating some rice with our hands

with the hubby!

the whole fam- uncle put a shirt on for the photo!

One family down, one to go. This next visit was interesting. I arrived as a “doctor” and left as an Indian Princess. Is it bad that I don’t mind either of those titles? 
She was so overwhelmed with joy that we would come to her home and spend time with her. Like in any Indian home, snacks and drinks were immediately brought to us. We stuffed  down the food as our stomachs were already filled to the max from Jothi’s meal just an hour beforehand. You can never refuse food and even if you do take food- seconds and often time thirds are always expected from you. Its not the ideal diet plan, but it is an honor to be so well taken care of.  We talked and shared stories and heard about her husband and it didn't take long until the family started playing dress up with us. Just like a little doll, this is how I transformed from a doctor into a princess.

I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking….

You can see- Ingjerd, my teammate is being adorned with a veil and jewelery.

her baby

not my dress, not my jewelery. The loved making me wear it though!